As Billy hit his mark, Pedro released the balloon and pulled the lever to drop the trap centre stage. The floor gave way under Billy. With a curse, he made a grab for the nearest thing to hand (yours truly), pulling me over the edge with him. Flinging the lantern aside, I just managed to take hold of the edge of the trap. With a jolt, his grip on my dress gave way and he fell into the black hole, taking half my skirt. Usually put to use for Satan’s sudden descents to Hell, the trapdoor had sent a new devil to the underworld.
Meanwhile, the balloon had plummeted to the ground, crushing Meatpie, Pox-face and Ferret-features like beetles beneath a giant’s boot.
Pedro darted on to the stage and hauled me out of the hole. Below I could hear Billy cursing. He had not broken his neck then. Shame.
‘Quick, we don’t have long,’ said Pedro, hurrying to untie Johnny. Once free, Johnny slumped, limp like a rag doll, unable to get to his feet.
The boys under the basket were beginning to stir. I could see Meatpie’s foot twitching. I took one side of Johnny, Pedro supporting him on the other.
‘I thought you’d never pull that damned lever!’ I swore as we heaved Johnny up.
‘But you told me to wait until they were all lined up!’ Pedro protested.
‘I’d’ve settled for three out of four . . . I thought Billy was never going to move into range and I was running out of ideas.’
‘You? Out of ideas? I don’t believe it!’ said Pedro with a grin.
I smiled back into the eyes of my friend.
‘Where to now?’ I panted as we dragged Johnny to the door. He was so heavy, it was clear we could not keep this up for long.
‘Have you got any money on you?’ asked Pedro.
‘Yes,’ I gasped. I had the Earl of Ranworth’s sovereign still in my pocket.
‘We’ll take a cab . . . get him to Grosvenor Square. It’s the safest place.’
Pedro left us at the corner of Russell Street and ran off to find a hackney carriage. It was late and the street was quiet. The only person about was a man loitering in a doorway opposite. I did not like the look of him. Sooner than I hoped, I heard the clatter of hooves and wheels behind me.
‘Let’s see your money, girl,’ said the jarvey from his driving seat on top of the cab, sceptical that either Pedro or I could afford the luxury of a ride across town. I held up my sovereign. He gave me an appraising look. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘In you get.’
Pedro and I heaved Johnny into the cab.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ laughed the jarvey. ‘Too much to drink?’
Punch drunk, I might’ve said, but I didn’t want to share this information with the coachman.
‘I’ll double the fare if you get us to Grosvenor Square in ten minutes. Stop for nothing and no one,’ I called up.
‘Right you are, miss,’ said the jarvey, cracking his whip. ‘Brownie and I’ll show you the meaning of speed.’
The carriage pulled away with clatter of hooves. As it did so, I heard a yell behind us.
‘Stop!’ bellowed Billy after us. ‘Stop that cab!’
But the jarvey had his orders and with a shrill whistle urged his horse to a faster trot. I craned my head out of the window to see if Billy was gaining on us but I need not have worried: he could only manage a hobble as far as the end of Russell Street and he soon gave up. I gave him a cheery wave.
‘I’ll get you, Cat!’ he shouted. ‘You’re dead!’
‘You forget, Billy,’ I called back. ‘Cats have nine lives!’
I sat back on the seat to give my companions a delighted smile but I found them looking at me sombrely.
‘What’s up?’ I asked.
‘Nine lives?’ croaked Johnny, his hand clutching his ribs. ‘You seem to be running through your portion rather fast.’
‘He’s right, Cat,’ said Pedro. ‘You shouldn’t bait Billy Shepherd.’
‘As if I had a choice in the matter!’ I exclaimed. ‘Anyone would think to hear you two that I enjoyed it!’
‘And didn’t you?’ probed Johnny with a pained smile as the cab went into a pothole. ‘Didn’t you enjoy outwitting him?
‘Just a little, a very little,’ I admitted, unable to keep a huge grin from my face.
ACT V
SCENE 1 . . . DRESSES
Johnny managed to walk from the cab into the Mews behind Grosvenor Square without assistance. We led him into the unlocked stable Lord Francis used as a changing room and dropped him on to the straw. In the next stall, a horse stamped its feet. From the quarters above the stables came the loud voices of the grooms, punctuated by the occasional thump of a game of shove ha’penny.
‘What now?’ I asked Pedro, peering through a barred window at the house. It was brightly illuminated: it seemed as though the family were still awake.
‘One of us needs to go in and find Frank and Lady Elizabeth,’ said Pedro. We looked at each other, remembering the fierce French cook and the hordes of servants we had seen on our last visit. It would be a miracle if either of us got in unseen.
Someone pulled a curtain on the third floor . . . a girl’s hand.
‘Do you think that’s her bedroom?’ I asked, nudging Pedro.
He nodded. ‘Makes sense.’
‘I’ll go then,’ I said.
‘No, let me,’ said Pedro.
‘You can’t. It’s got to be me. Think what’ll happen if they find you creeping round a lady’s bedroom at this time of night! You stay and look after Johnny.’
Pedro gave in, recognising the sense of what I was saying. If he were caught, he’d be lucky if they spared his life and only packed him off to a slave plantation in the West Indies; I might escape with a thrashing.