Pedro lowered his voice. ‘I’ve got Syd and Frank with me . . . they’re keeping watch. We couldn’t get to you before now. The night patrol’s just gone in for some refreshment. We’ve only got a few minutes, I’d guess.’
‘I’m so pleased you came.’ I didn’t need to tell him how awful it was. Pedro had been on the lower decks of a slave ship. He’d know only too well and would have seen worse.
‘I’ve got some food. Frank took it from home. I’ll slip it between the bars. I’ve got something to drink too, but I can’t get the bottle through,’ Pedro said.
‘Wait!’ I said. ‘I’ve got a mug.’ I ran to fetch the cup of water I’d been given with my crust for supper. I tipped the remains into the slop bucket and held it up. Pedro uncorked a bottle and began carefully to pour the contents between the bars. I had to stretch on my tiptoes to reach up and I wobbled slightly at one point. The liquid splashed on the side of the cup and cascaded down on to my upturned face.
‘What is it? I gasped as the sweet mixture splashed into my eyes and mouth. I wiped it away.
‘Champagne,’ said Pedro.
‘Champagne!’
‘It’s all Frank could steal from home, Cat.’
‘I must be the first prisoner at His Majesty’s Pleasure to sup on champagne!’ I said, managing my first smile since I had arrived down here.
‘Cat, you’re a marvel.’ In the faint moonlight, I could see Pedro’s eyes twinkling. ‘Here’s the food.’ He pushed a flat parcel between the bars.
‘What’s this?’ I joked, stuffing it into my pocket for later consumption. ‘Smoked salmon and syllabub?’
‘No,’ answered Pedro with perfect seriousness. ‘Game pie, roast beef and apple and almond tart. Leftovers from some fancy dinner party, Frank says. It might be a bit jumbled up . . . sorry about that . . . but I had to squash it to get it through.’
We were both silent for a moment, Pedro staring down, me looking up.
‘Oh Cat . . .’he began. I could tell he was going to commiserate with me but I couldn’t bear that. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down as it was.
‘How’s the wind? Has Johnny sailed?’ I asked quickly.
‘No.’ Pedro looked nervously over his shoulder, presumably to where the others were waiting. Our time was running out. ‘And we’ve agreed that tomorrow we’ll let Johnny know what’s happened and tell the duke the whole story.’
‘You can’t do that!’ I said, aghast. ‘They’ll catch him.’
‘But we all know that Johnny wouldn’t want us to leave you down here on his account. The only way the duke can be brought to believe his children is if Johnny be produced. The duke’s already packing Frank off to school tomorrow . . . our chances to change his mind are fast running out.’
‘But the duke will tell the magistrate, then Johnny’ll be down here charged with treason!’
‘We know,’ said Pedro grimly, ‘but in case you haven’t noticed you’re facing a capital charge too. We think that there’s more chance of a rich man with powerful friends, like Johnny, being let off by an English jury for insulting the king, than for an orphan like you, charged with theft by a peer of the realm. Let’s face it, Cat, you’re as good as dead if this goes any further.’
‘But . . . !’
‘There are no buts. You’re outvoted on this . . . four to one. Five to one if Johnny were here.’
‘Four? Who’s the fourth?’
‘Syd. We’ve told him the whole story. He said that if they don’t let you go he’ll break you out himself and finish Billy off while he’s at it, but we’ve persuaded him to hold off for the moment.’
‘Tell him thanks, but he’s not to get into any trouble for me,’ I said, though heartened to find I still had friends on my side.
Pedro looked over his shoulder. I too heard a sharp whistle.
‘That’s it. I’ve got to go. But you’re all right, aren’t you, Cat? Billy’s not giving you any trouble?’
‘I’m fine,’ I lied. What was the point in telling the truth? It would only upset them. ‘But, Pedro, don’t tell Johnny just yet. Let’s see if we can think of something else. I don’t want his death on my conscience.’
Pedro gave my outstretched fingers a gentle squeeze. ‘And we don’t want yours on ours! No promises, Cat. Goodbye!’
And with that he sprang to his feet and dashed off into the darkness.
His departure was rapidly followed by the tramp, tramp, tramp of the night patrol resuming their duties.
I returned to my bench and set my mug carefully down beside me. With great care I opened the package of food and spread it on my lap. So there I sat on a hard seat with my back against the slimy wall of the cell, staring down on a terrible irony. On my skirt was the finest supper I had ever seen, even though, as Pedro had warned, it was somewhat mangled in its journey across town. And I had champagne to wash it down . . . a drink I had never tasted before. Well, it was either look at the food until the rats stole it from under my nose, or eat and have done with ironies. I ate . . . and enjoyed it. But there was one unanticipated side-effect: the wine sent me into an overpowering sleep. Murderous cellmate or no, the bubbles of champagne could not be resisted.
‘Morning, Cat.’
I was rudely woken by an apple core bouncing on my forehead. I sat up with a start.
‘Still ’ere then with poor old Billy, I see. Might be thinking my offer weren’t so bad after all, eh?’
I looked across the cell and saw Billy grinning like an evil goblin in a fairytale.
‘You don’t look so fine this morning, girl. You‘d better get out of ’ere before you ruin that there new dress of yours.’
I looked down. The silk was now dirty and stained with the champagne that had spilled on it last night. My once white silk stockings were grey and had a large hole on one knee. My hair straggled over my shoulders, the once neat ringlets ruined by a night on the bench.
‘So where are your fine friends? Forgotten about their pussycat, ’ave they?’