‘If you don’t want me to arrest you too, Blackie, I suggest you keep away.’
‘Arrest me?’ I turned to stare up at my captor in astonishment. It was Constable Lennox, the Bow Street runner who had come to Grosvenor Square . . . the same one who had searched Johnny’s office. ‘But what’ve I done?’
‘You know best, miss. I’m arresting you on suspicion of theft.’
‘Theft? What theft?’
‘Oh, don’t come over the innocent with me, young woman. We know you are the leader of a gang of thieves preying on the theatregoers. I have my informant . . . your accomplice . . . already under lock and key. He’s told us all about it. He’s been very cooperative.’
‘But I haven’t . . . I’m not . . .’ I spluttered helplessly, looking to Pedro for some way out of this nightmarish turn of events.
‘You can explain all that down at the station, miss,’ said the runner pompously, increasing his grip and beginning to march me away.
‘Pedro!’ I shouted over my shoulder. ‘Fetch Lizzie!’
‘Don’t worry, Cat, I will!’ Pedro called back, overtaking us as he ran off to Grosvenor Square.
‘You’ve been having a rare old time, haven’t you, young woman?’ said the constable, giving me a shake as he nodded down at my fine clothes. ‘First you pop up as a maid, then as a lady going about in a fine carriage. That’s what I can’t abide: little vicious tricksters who take the soft-hearted for a ride, rob them and run off laughing. Well, my girl, it’s just as well we caught you young and can put an end to your criminal activities. Nip evil in the bud is my motto.’
I let him ramble on. My mind was in a whirl. It was not hard to guess his informant. Billy Boil would be singing like a blackbird to get himself let off. But surely the mistake would all be cleared up once Lady Elizabeth vouched for me? I comforted myself with the thought that I was certain to be allowed back home before the day was out. As long as Johnny was kept out of it, all would be well. I was mindful that, with the wind in the east, he would not yet have sailed and was still within reach of the law.
The runner took me through a side door of Bow Street Magistrate’s Court into the sparsely furnished office used by the patrol.
‘Sit there,’ he said, pointing to a wooden bench. ‘Don’t try nothing clever or it’ll be the worse for you. We don’t normally put nippers like you in irons, but that can change. The clerk will take down your particulars.’ He nodded over to an old man who was hunched over a writing desk. ‘Real little vixen this one, Amos. Head of a gang of thieves at her age, would you believe it!’
Amos peered at me short-sightedly over the top of the desk, quill in hand. His thin white hair shone like a halo around his balding crown.
‘Ah, a little Moll Flanders in the making, eh what!’ he said. ‘Hard to credit it when you see them so young. They look so innocent.’
‘Maybe, but this one’s heart is as rotten as a six month-old egg,’ said the runner, straightening his uniform in the glass-panelled door leading into the court.
‘No, it’s not!’ I could no longer contain my indignation. To hear him speak I was the most hardened of criminals.
‘Name?’ said Amos, cutting across my protest.
‘Catherine Royal,’ I muttered, blushing despite myself as two runners marched through the office and gave me a curious look. I must appear very out of place, dressed like a lady but being treated like the lowest of the low.
‘Residence?’
‘Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.’
Amos raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’
I nodded.
‘Parents’ names?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘You’re an orphan?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Guardian then?’
‘No one.’ I was feeling increasingly desperate as his questions drove home the fact that I had no close family to defend me.
‘No parents, no guardian. So, to whom do you belong, child? I suppose I could put down “abandoned” or “vagrant” maybe,’ he mused, sucking the end of his quill.
‘I’m no vagrant,’ I said hotly. ‘I belong to Mr Sheridan’s household.’ That’s if he did not disown me for ending up in so disgraceful a situation.
Amos gave me another of his bleary looks and scratched Mr Sheridan’s name down on my record.
‘Charge?’
‘Theft,’ interjected the runner.
‘With a value of how much?’
‘Jewels with a value in excess of forty pounds.’
‘Ah! A capital crime then,’ said the clerk with a weary shake of his head. ‘Another one for the hangman.’
I thought I was going to be sick. This was like some nightmare! Surely I would wake up any moment and find it was all a dream?
The runner came over to me. ‘Turn out your pockets, miss.’
I got up unsteadily and emptied every last penny and scrap of paper I had in my possession on the counter. The runner poked the pile with distaste and fished out the crumpled pawnbroker’s ticket.
‘I thought as much. I was told you’d have the proof upon you.’
‘But I never pawned anything stolen!’ I exclaimed staring at my signature on the piece of paper he was waving before me.