Frank, Pedro and I agreed that same day to despatch Joseph to Bristol to make enquiries about Syd. After carefully preparing the ground to get Mr Dixon used to the notion that a duke’s son counted a boxing butcher as one of his closest friends, Frank took him into his confidence and asked for his advice. As Frank predicted, his cousin’s response was immediate and generous: he promised that his own people in Bristol would help with the search. He advised us to start at the docks: if anyone went missing in that part of the world, this was the first place to look.
‘Why is that, sir?’ I asked. We were at dinner. I had been placed on Mr Dixon’s right hand and was enjoying his respectful attention at the table. It made a pleasant change. Frank was rather too inclined to treat me like a fellow, neglecting to refill my glass or offer me delicacies out of my reach. This was all right in Drury Lane, where it was every man (or woman) for themselves, but at Boxton Frank did not notice that his behaviour often left me high and dry, with an empty glass and plate. I knew enough of table manners to be aware that it would have been unladylike to shove him aside to help myself. But Mr Dixon was not Frank; he was very agreeably different.
Mr Dixon poured a splash of wine into my crystal goblet, then watered it down. ‘It is because of the press gang, Miss Royal. When they have trouble filling up His Majesty’s ships, they go looking for likely customers and persuade them to serve their country for a voyage or two.’
I shook my head. ‘Not Syd Fletcher. He’s got his life in London; he won’t want to go sailing.’
Mr Dixon smiled grimly. ‘I’m afraid it does not matter what he wants once the press gang get him. He’ll be thrown on board and expected to do his duty, willing or no.’
‘But that’s . . . that’s slavery.’
‘Not quite. He’ll get paid and a discharge at the end if he survives. Who knows, he might even take to the life.’ Mr Dixon must have noticed my shocked expression for he patted my hand. ‘Do not worry, Miss Royal, your friend might not have fallen into the hands of the press gang. He might be quite at liberty, enjoying the life of a – what was it? – itinerant boxer.’ He smiled at his cousin. ‘My, Frank, you have got to know some interesting people while I’ve been away. I’m not sure I totally approve.’ He quirked an eyebrow.
‘I’m glad I’ve shocked you, Will,’ Frank laughed. ‘You never used to be so stuffy. My new friends will be good for you. They’re all sterling fellows.’
‘If they are anything like Miss Royal, then I’m sure I will be charmed,’ said Mr Dixon, raising his glass to me.
There was nothing more we could do for Syd until there was some news, so I did not feel too guilty about enjoying the preparations for my first appearance in Bath. We had fixed on the dress ball the following Monday at the Upper Rooms and – guess what, Reader – I was to have a new gown!
Now, I expect my gentlemen readers to skip a page at this point, but, ladies, can you imagine it – me, a new dress! Not a hand-me-down from Lizzie’s wardrobe. Not one chosen by someone else. But a completely new outfit made for me. You could have knocked me over with a feather when the duchess offered the services of her personal dressmaker.
‘Don’t mention it, my dear,’ the duchess boomed when I had stammered my thanks to her. ‘We’ll look on it as your coming out.’ Pausing for a moment, she tapped my cheek thoughtfully with her finger. ‘You may be a trifle young for Society, but then you tell us you do not know your exact age. I think we can allow ourselves a little latitude. There have to be some advantages to being a duchess.’ Returning to the game, she dealt me a card from the top of the pack, slapping it down on the table. ‘And after all, you will be representing the Avon family: we can’t have you disgracing us in a shoddy muslin, can we?’
Frank put down an eight of hearts. ‘Sometimes, Cat, it’s too easy to forget you’re a girl just like any other. But after hearing you today go all giddy over bolts of silk, I won’t forget.’
‘Is that the best you can do?’ I asked a shade resentfully as I trumped his card with a ten.
‘Forgive my cousin,’ said Mr Dixon, laying a knave on the top of the pile and scooping up the lot. ‘I’m sure you’ll do us all credit, Miss Royal.’
I eyed Mr Dixon as he gathered the winnings to his side of the table, already imagining myself on his arm, cutting a dash in the ballroom as we danced a cotillion.
And the finished dress was simply wonderful: made from a glorious patterned white silk, it had embroidered roses round the hem and delicate lace at the neck. Not too fussy. Elegant was what I was aiming for – and that was what I think I achieved as I examined myself in the mirror before leaving. I felt a twinge of guilt as I studied the exquisite needlework. I knew that a poor girl somewhere had probably slaved for hours over this – for very little pay. A number of my friends in Drury Lane had been seamstresses and it is thankless, eye-wrecking work, believe me. But, just for one night, I was going to pretend I was above such concerns. I was going to be a proper lady going to a real ball, just as I had so often done in my imagination. Who knows, perhaps I might even meet the man of my dreams and be swept off my feet? Why not? It happens in fairy tales and this evening it felt as if I was stepping into one.
I descended the stairs with the duchess to where the gentlemen were waiting. Her grace was robed in scarlet with a black feather nodding over her head, not unlike the costume of the Mogul prince Pedro had once worn at Drury Lane. Pedro caught my eye and grinned, knowing we were both thinking the same thing. Mr Dixon, dressed in a coat of dark blue – a colour that became him very well – stepped forward to take my hand.
‘As I predicted, Miss Royal, you do us all credit.’
Frank, for once also smartly turned out, cast a strange look at me, making me wonder if I had got something wrong.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, glancing anxiously at my feet. Two white slippers peeped from beneath the roses. I couldn’t spot anything amiss.
‘No, Cat, you look . . . you look very well.’ Frank’s face flushed as if he’d said something embarrassing. He then moved away from me and climbed into the carriage without waiting. Mr Dixon hurriedly covered for his cousin’s ill manners by handing me into the coach as the duke escorted his wife. Frank was looking at his nails as I took my seat beside him.
‘What’s going on?’ I whispered, completely baffled.
Seeing we were unobserved as his father made a fuss of settling the duchess’s fur cape around her, Frank took my hand in its white silk glove and gave it a squeeze. ‘It’s just . . . you have to understand, Cat, I’ve seen you dressed as a boy, covered in bruises, as a ballerina, a Quaker, and all the time you looked like you. But tonight, you don’t. You’re someone else. It’s . . . it’s just a lot to get used to. I’m sorry.’
Suddenly I began to have doubts about the evening. Did I want to be this new person – this lady – that had shocked Frank more than any of my other guises?
But then the thought of my new finery bolstered my resolve. It wouldn’t be like me to waste all this on a quiet night at home, now would it?
Mr Dixon climbed in and took his place on the other side. Pedro remained on the front steps to wave us off.
‘Aren’t you coming?’ I called.
‘Heavens, no, Cat,’ he replied with a laugh.
‘He’s worried someone will ask him to dance,’ said Frank, returning to his old self.
‘No, I’m worried someone would shove a tray of drinks in my hand and expect me to play waiter all evening. The Assembly Rooms are no place for me.’
‘But Pedro –’ I began. The shine on my brilliant evening was already beginning to tarnish.
‘It’s nothing. You can’t go shooting; I can’t go to the ball. Fair’s fair. You can tell me all about it tomorrow.’
Mr Dixon nodded his approval. ‘The young man is right,’ he said. ‘Sadly, he would only be despised for trying to move in circles above his station.’
The carriage moved off. I was silent, my thoughts employed cursing the world that constantly threw up so many barriers in the way of Pedro and me. Why couldn’t we just be allowed to be ourselves – not a black boy or a poor lower class girl? It was almost as if we had labels round our necks proclaiming our inadequacy. Fittingly, it was at that moment that the duchess handed me a folded card on a ribbon.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, turning it over.
‘It’s your price tag,’ said Frank, fastening it to my wrist for me. ‘All the single ladies carry them. Two thousand a year in bonds. Only child of ailing banker. Fifty pounds a year.’
‘Frank, don’t tease Miss Royal,’ scolded the duke, frowning.
‘It’s your dance card,’ explained Mr Dixon. ‘And I’ve no doubt, dressed as you are, it will be full by the end of the evening and you will have worn out those slippers of yours.’
I was grateful to him for taking pity on my ignorance, but I also noted that neither he nor Frank rushed to be the first to be marked down on my card. Such depressing thoughts were pushed aside, however, as the carriage was beginning its steep descent of Lansdown Hill, giving me my first glimpse of Bath. Night had fallen but in many ways that only made it more exciting as the lights in the windows glimmered like a swarm of fireflies in the valley, allowing my imagination to fill in the details of the handsome houses and parades of shops I had heard so much about. The townsfolk had gone to a lot of trouble to build Bath to the heights of modern elegance, putting other cities to shame with their hotch-potch of styles. Where I come from in London, there has been only fitful planning as the city expands, leaving many streets with the more decrepit buildings slumped against recent additions. In Bath, the citizens have not been so sentimental, clearing the way for construction on a scale never seen before. The grand houses either side of the carriage bore witness to this: honey-coloured terraces clustered together to impress, somewhat like the chorus line in the ballet, all standing in identical costumes, following the same steps of the dance. Each house on its own would have not raised an eyebrow, but put them together and the effect was breathtaking.
Nearing the Assembly Rooms, the traffic began to build. We got stuck in a line of carriages, none of us going anywhere, but this did not prevent some trying, leading to much inventive cursing from the coachmen as the more audacious drivers tried to force their way in front. Two drivers started up a fist fight. Imagine it: fighting over something as stupid as bad manners on the road! I thought Bath would be more civilized, but apparently human nature does not change even if the architecture does. I stuck my head out the window to enjoy the show until the duchess pulled me into my seat by the back of my gown and gave me a reproving look.
I’m sorry, Reader, but sometimes my roots can’t help getting the better of me.
Some sensible people had resorted to going on foot and were following the flambeaux of link boys as they led the way to the Rooms. I itched to get out and go the last few hundred yards in similar fashion, but no one seconded my suggestion. It appeared that ducal pride would be dented if we did so, which meant we had to sit for an unnecessary quarter of an hour waiting for the blockage to clear.
Finally, it was our turn at the door. Leaving hats and cloaks with the footmen, we entered a packed corridor leading to the rooms beyond. Our names were announced, starting in clarion tones with ‘His Grace, the Duke of Avon; Her Grace, the Duchess of Avon; His Lordship, the Earl of Arden; until finally the footman tailed off with ‘Mr Dixon, and, um, Miss Royal.’ Earl of Arden!? I’d never heard Frank introduced formally before. He’d kept very quiet about his impressive title.
An excited whisper rustled through the people gathered at the sides of the corridor, fans fluttered, spectacles pinched to noses to take a better look. The duke and duchess swept through with gracious nods to acquaintances. Frank offered me his arm with a quizzical smile. I accepted it and we did our best to glide along in their wake, but I would keep tripping on the hem of the duchess’s gown.
We were lured onward by the sounds of an orchestra and the clink of glasses. My heart was beating fast with excitement as I took in the beautiful dresses, the glittering mirrors and thousands of candles. Only as I entered the Octagonal Room adjacent to the ballroom did I remember the card on my wrist. It was as blank as when it had first been given to me. Indeed, the flimsy thing hung between us like a manacle, accusing Frank of neglect. He glanced at it once then fixed his eyes on something in the distance. I couldn’t remember seeing him look so awkward before. And I sensed it too. It felt as though our friendship was about to move into a whole new territory which neither of us was ready to explore. A step beyond this room and we’d find ourselves in the middle of a dance.
Frank cleared his throat.
‘Ah, Arden, you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence!’ A young man descended on him, a gaggle of ladies in tow. Somehow, with sharp elbows and simpering smiles, they managed to shoulder their way in between us. ‘I don’t believe you’ve met my sisters?’
No sooner had these young ladies been introduced than a queue of other female contenders started to form. Matrons thrust me aside as their daughters fought to get to the front. It reminded me of a market crowd getting wind of a bargain, Frank – or should I say the Earl of Arden – being the item on sale. My feet were trodden on and my finery was in grave danger of being ripped in the scrum.
Frank gave me a rueful grin as he was buried under the bevy of giggling girls all wanting to curtsey to the duke’s son. I raised my eyebrows in sympathy and turned to seek refuge with the rest of our party. It took a moment to locate them as there were so many people. The room was built for easy passage from refreshment room to ballroom, designed with mingling in mind. Ladies and gentlemen were coming and going the whole time, swirling in their finery around those who had chosen to stand still for a moment. The duke was in earnest conversation with some elderly gentlemen by one of the fireplaces. The duchess had seated herself among four matrons who were all inspecting the finery on display with a critical eye. Mr Dixon was closest. He was greeting a naval officer and a gentleman in a fine purple jacket standing with his back to me. I moved towards them, uncomfortable among all these people who seemed to know each other already.
‘Miss Royal, I wondered where you had got to!’ Mr Dixon held out his arm and brought me forward. ‘May I introduce some acquaintances of mine? Lieutenant Belsize of His Majesty’s ship, Courageous.’ I curtseyed to the young man with ginger hair, resplendent in his dark blue uniform, white breeches and buckled shoes. ‘And this gentleman is –’
‘Shepherd, Mr William Shepherd – and there is no need for an introduction: Miss Royal and I are old friends.’ The man in the purple jacket turned and gave me a grin.
My poise momentarily left me. ‘Billy! What the blazes are you doing here?’
Mr Dixon and Lieutenant Belsize looked scandalized – as well they might. You don’t normally hear language like this from a lady in a ballroom. But perhaps you will forgive me when you understand that Billy and I go all the way back to Covent Garden, beginning our acquaintance – if you can call it that – on the streets. If you have read my earlier adventures, you will know that he has tried to cut my throat twice, but rather spoilt his record by once saving my life.1 Clawing his way up the social ladder through thieving, threats and thuggery, he now controls one of the most dangerous parts of London and has expanded his interests into legitimate business, no doubt attempting to buy himself respectability. But Bath?
‘Language, my dear! Remember where we are,’ laughed Billy, taking me by the elbow. I was surprised to hear that he had managed to lose much of his street accent, only detectable in his over-aspirated haitches. ‘Gentlemen, please excuse us: Miss Royal and I have a lot of catching up to do.’
Still half in shock, I let Billy lead me into the refreshment room. He thrust a glass of punch into my hand.
‘At least try and look as though you’re enjoying yourself,’ he said with a wry smile as he raised his glass.
‘Billy, why Bath?’ I finally croaked.
‘Mr Shepherd to you, my dear.’ Billy stroked his magnificent embroidered waistcoat and gazed around the room with satisfaction. ‘I’m taking the waters and enjoying the innocent diversions of the place.’
A horrible thought struck me. ‘Did you follow me down here?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Cat. That is all at an end.’ From the glint in his eye, I could tell we were both thinking back to our last meeting when he had almost killed me for refusing to stay with him as part of his household fixtures and fittings. ‘Did you know I’m engaged to be married?’
I spurted a mouthful of punch over him, unable to stop my laughter. ‘Who’s the victim?’ I choked.
He gave me a humourless smile as he wiped himself down with a white silk handkerchief. ‘Miss Abingdon, heiress to the Abingdon Brewery fortune.’
‘That follows: she’d have to be drunk to marry you.’
‘You won’t mind, Cat, if I don’t introduce you.’ Billy’s gaze was now roving the company as if looking for someone. ‘She’s rather a cut above you.’
‘Above me? What about you, you lying, thieving, murderous bully! What stone did she find you under?’
He turned back to me, his eyes travelling over my new attire. ‘You forget your place, Cat. The dress becomes you well enough, but it doesn’t change who you are. One word with the Master of Ceremonies and he’d have you out on the street where you belong, with a flea in your ear for polluting the company. There are few mothers who like their girls mixing with a bastard daughter of some common streetwalker.’
I flushed with rage. He was always trying to drag me down to his level. ‘And what if I was to mention to the Master of Ceremonies your little criminal empire?’ I spat.
Billy shrugged. ‘He’d probably appreciate proof of the depth of my purse. Half the young bloods in Bath are in debt to me.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Tell me, Cat: when was your world ever fair?’ He lifted my chin with his index finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. ‘When you got thrown out of the theatre company for being no use to anyone?’ His grey-green eyes gleamed maliciously.
You have to hand it to Billy: he certainly knows how to pour salt on a wound.
I had had enough. Rapping his finger away with my fan, I freed myself. ‘Well, Mr Shepherd, it’s been a joy and delight as always to pass the time in your company but I’m afraid I have obligations that tear me from your side.’
I turned to go but a hand shot out and grabbed my arm.
‘I believe the next dance is mine,’ said Billy.
‘You must be joking.’ I shook him off. ‘Besides, I have a full dance card. I couldn’t possibly squeeze you in.’
Billy tugged the card from its ribbon, opened it and laughed. He now brandished it in front of me. ‘Come off it, Cat.’ His language was sliding back into his old ways. ‘’Aven’t you twigged yet? No one’s going to ask you to dance. Look, not even your Lord Francis has demeaned himself to take you out for an ’op. If you don’t dance with me, you’ll be a wallflower all evenin’, common garden variety.’
I bit my lip.
‘Aw, I’ve upset you, Kitten, ’aven’t I? But look around you: can’t you see the stares you’re attractin’? You entered on the arm of the catch of the season so you can bet your last farthin’ that all the old dears in the room were quick to smoke you out.’ He put down his glass and took mine from my unresisting hand. ‘’Alf of them are plottin’ to snare Lord Francis so they’ll make sure you’re no threat to the nice girls. They’ll want you ground into the dirt where you belong. I really needn’t’ve threatened to tell the Master of Ceremonies: it’s been done already, no doubt. P’rhaps the Avons’ influence is enough to protect you from being thrown out on your ear, but I bet all the young men have been warned off approachin’ you on pain of disinheritance. As for your little lord, ’e’ll make enemies if ’e pays you ’alf a second’s notice.’ He laughed. ‘Such a shame when you’re lookin’ such a flash mort.’
Humiliated, I knew I was blushing scarlet, never a becoming colour for a redhead like me. How I hated Billy – and the ball with all its fine people who thought themselves too good to breathe the same air as me. I snatched the card back from him, ripped it in half and dropped it in his glass of punch. I just wanted to go home: home to Drury Lane and not back to living as a hanger-on at Boxton, an object of derision to all Frank’s circle.
He scanned my face. ‘So, Miss Foundling of Dubious Reputation, does that mean you’re going to dance with me or not?’ Billy asked in mockingly polite tones, fishing the card out with a smile.
‘No.’
‘Come, come, don’t you want to see me disgrace myself in the ballroom?’ He flicked the punch off the card, staining my pretty white dress with droplets. ‘Wouldn’t that be some recompense – save an otherwise horrible evening?’
He knew me too well. I would relish the chance of getting my own back for his insults. If he thought he could pretend to be a gentleman, let him prove it!
‘All right, Billy. Let’s see you dance. But don’t get angry if I fall about laughing.’
‘Nah, Cat, I couldn’t get angry with you.’ He offered me his hand with a flourish and this time I took it. As we walked into the ballroom, it felt more like we were going to a duel than a dance. The minuet had just finished and the orchestra struck up a cotillion. Good: all the more difficult for Billy to get it right. We moved into position, facing each other, lacking only the pistols to complete the scene.
I curtseyed.
He bowed.
Then the dance began.
Damn and blast him! It took only a few turns for me to realize that he was good – too good. He had an instinctive grace so there was nothing to mock. Dancing as well as elocution lessons – he was doing the gentleman thing properly. He grinned at me when he saw I had noticed his faultless steps. We came together for a hand spin.
‘Really, Cat, you must say something, you know; it’s only polite,’ he commented as we passed.
I wanted to ask him why he always had to turn up and spoil things for me, but he’d only take that as proof he was winning.
‘If you want polite, then I hope you and Miss Abingdon will be very happy together,’ I said sweetly.
‘Hah!’ he gave a derisive snort. ‘Actually, I don’t come to you for polite. Miss Abingdon is an ugly old stick well past her prime. I doubt we’ll see much of each other after we’re wed.’
‘Then why marry you?’
‘My beloved’s business owes me a lot of money; in fact, everyone seems to owe me a lot of money these days. It’s why I can afford to dance with you.’
I ignored the dig with Olympian calm. ‘Well, I must say, you dance well for a vicious cut-throat. All that running from the Bow Street runners must’ve done you good.’
‘Yes, we’ve both had a lot of practice at that. I think we make a charming couple.’
The dance came to an end and he bowed to kiss my hand. Thank goodness I was wearing a glove. Time to end this charade. I turned abruptly on my heel, whipped my hand out of reach, and left him kissing the air.
I had reached the corridor to the cloakroom when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Billy was breathing down my neck, far too close.
‘Miss Royal, we’re not through yet. Perhaps you are not accustomed to ballroom etiquette? You owe me a pair, a second dance, that’s the rule.’
Our altercation was attracting the stares of the footmen on duty. Billy backed me into an alcove behind a potted palm.
‘I’ve offended you, ’aven’t I, Cat? You don’t like it that I’m risin’ above you. You never thought I’d cut it as a gentleman.’ His face was a study in self-satisfaction.
‘Rising above me? Don’t fool yourself.’
He leant closer, his face serious now. ‘But I’m glad you’re ’ere, Kitten. I’ve been wantin’ to make you an offer.’
‘You’ve nothing to offer that I could possibly want.’ I took a step back, not liking what I saw in his expression.
‘No?’
With snakelike swiftness, he darted forward and clamped his mouth on mine. His kiss was hot and fierce. I was too stunned to do anything – I couldn’t even break away as his arm circled my waist, crushing me to him. My heart was racing, my legs turning to water.
Then it got worse.
‘You said she went this way?’ said Frank as he and Mr Dixon walked in upon us. ‘Cat!’
Billy looked up and relaxed his hold enough for me to push him away. I fled, his laughter ringing in my ears.
‘Lord Francis, how delightful to see you again,’ Billy crowed, his voice following me down the corridor, ‘but I’m afraid your timing leaves a lot to be desired.’
Mortified, I hid for the next hour in the ladies’ cloakroom until the stares of the attendant became too hostile for me to ignore. I moved then to the hat room by the front door, talking my way in thanks to the friendly black footman who had heard of Pedro. I helped out by handing him the hats as the gentlemen presented their tickets at the window.
‘You shouldn’t be doing that, miss,’ my new friend said. ‘You should be enjoying yourself.’
‘But I am enjoying myself, Sam – here with you. I shouldn’t have tried mixing with the likes of them.’ I jerked my head towards the ballroom where the music was still playing.
‘Number six hundred and sixty-six,’ a familiar voice announced at the window, handing over a ticket. I tried to duck down behind a naval officer’s bicorne but Billy had spotted me. ‘So that’s where my blushing partner ran off to.’ I wordlessly passed a black silk hat to Sam, who in turn handed it to Shepherd. Billy tipped it to me as he put it on his head. ‘A most amusing evening. I’ll be seeing you soon, Miss Royal. We need to finish our interrupted conversation.’ And he left.
‘Who was that?’ asked Sam, pocketing the generous tip Billy had left him.
‘A low-down, conniving, vicious, son of a –’
Perhaps it was fortunate for the innocent Sam that I was unable to continue.
Hot on Billy’s trail, Frank appeared at the window. He glanced out of the door in time to see him climbing into his carriage, then looked back at me.
‘Cat, is this where you’ve been all evening? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing here? Were you and he . . .?’ He gestured towards the coach.
‘No, we were not,’ I said tartly, getting up to depart. ‘Sam, thank you for the refuge.’
‘Any time, miss. Send my best wishes to Pedro. Tell him he did us all proud last year.’
‘I will.’ And with that I thrust Frank’s hat into his arms and marched out to the Avon carriage.
To say that the atmosphere in the carriage was Arctic would be an understatement. The North Pole is positively warm compared to the rear-facing seat that night. The duke and duchess chatted merrily about their acquaintances, oblivious to the awkardness opposite them. I was desperate to be home, get out of my ridiculous outfit and put the evening behind me. The very worst of it all was the nagging realization that part of me – a very small rebellious part, it must be said – had been excited by the kiss. My first proper kiss. Syd had once pecked me on the lips but that had not really counted. Of course, I was revolted by Billy – he was more toad than prince – but the kiss felt somehow . . . dangerous.
Perhaps I should stop being so candid, Reader. You will probably be thinking all sorts of terrible things about me now I’ve admitted this much. But I’ve never liked the safe or the conventional. And it’s not that I’m in love with Billy or anything – grant me some taste, please! But the experience had been – how can I put it? – illuminating.
On arrival at Boxton near midnight, Frank foiled my attempt to slink off unchallenged. He took my arm.
‘I want a word with you.’
Mr Dixon passed us in the hall, casting an odd look at me. I felt my cheeks flush again, knowing I had shattered any hope I had had that I could persuade him that I was a proper lady, worthy of Frank’s friendship and trust.
‘It’s late, Frank. Can’t it wait?’ I replied wearily.
‘No, it can’t, Catherine Royal.’
Escorting me into the library, Frank sat me down in a chair. He paced in front of the fire for a moment.
‘So, what have you got to say for yourself?’ he managed at last, sounding like some pompous father from a Fanny Burney novel.
‘Me? Say? Nothing. It was you who wanted to talk to me, remember, Frank?’
‘I hope you realize you’ve disgraced yourself – and my family – by kissing that man like that in public.’
I felt a surge of anger. ‘Look, my lord, it was him kissing me!’
‘Well, it looked to me as if you were both enjoying yourselves.’
‘Frank!’
‘I don’t understand you, Cat. I thought you hated him.’
‘I do, but –’
Frank waved his hand dismissively. ‘It doesn’t matter. I just want you to understand that kissing is not appropriate behaviour for a lady.’
How dare he preach to me!
‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Frank, but I’m not a lady. I’m a foundling of dubious reputation, apparently. Didn’t you see how everyone snubbed me? Billy was the only person who came near me all evening. The rest of you were a load of arrogant prigs with pokers up the –’
‘Now don’t change the subject, Cat.’
‘I’m not changing the subject; I’m trying to tell you what happened. You all think you’re too good for the likes of me, and perhaps you are.’ Oh Lord, he was the Earl of Arden for heaven’s sake. He really was above me. I swallowed a sob and ploughed on. ‘But at least Billy, for whatever twisted reason of his own, deigned to ask me to dance. Even you – one of my best friends – couldn’t humble yourself to do that, could you?’
‘What?’ Frank was confused that his accusation of me had somehow returned as criticism of him. ‘I didn’t . . . you can’t think I failed to ask you to dance because I don’t respect you?’
‘Well, do you respect me?’
‘Yes, of course!’
‘I don’t believe you. You’ve already said you were ashamed of me. Anyway, Lord Francis, yes, I admit that I danced with Billy Shepherd, but only because I wanted him to look stupid. But, do you know something? He didn’t. He did us street people credit. Then he followed me out of the ballroom and . . . and kissed me.’ I paused, remembering rather too vividly the sensation of Billy’s lips on mine. Frank looked so horrified that I felt an urge to punish him for his prudishness. ‘In fact, you are right: I quite liked it. And now I’m off to bed, if you don’t mind. No need to fret about the family honour because I’m packing my bags and heading back to London. I won’t be around to embarrass you with my vulgar ways any longer.’
And then I flounced from the room, something my new gown allowed me to do very well, leaving Frank gaping by the fire.
You may be assured, Reader, that I had the decency, when preparing for bed, to take myself to task. It was a low trick to turn my behaviour into Frank’s fault. And, I know, I know, dangerous is bad. All the novels I’ve ever read tell me that – just look at Clarissa and Lovelace, Pamela and Mr B, Joseph Andrews and Lady Booby. One slightly enjoyable kiss does not change the fact that Billy Shepherd kills, terrorizes and exploits people for a living.
It was only when I had blown out my candle that it struck me that my wish had come true: I had met the man of my dreams at the ball. Unfortunately, no one had warned me that he would be the stuff of nightmares.
1 For throat-cutting attempts, please see The Diamond of Drury Lane and Den of Thieves; for life-saving, I refer you to Cat among the Pigeons, all published by that nice Mr Egmont.