Cat's Cradle (7 page)

‘Who are they?' I asked Nick.

‘The Paddies. Irish porters from the theatre building site. Done nothink but make trouble since they arrived. Syd, we've got to do somethink about 'em.'

Syd scratched his chin. ‘Not till they step out of line.'

‘But they're well out of it now – comin' where they're not welcome.'

‘So where are they supposed to go?' I asked, annoyed by Nick's prejudice against them for no good reason that I could see.

‘Somewhere else – with their own kind.'

One of the men moved over to a nearby table and sat down next to a girl, engaging her in conversation. It was as if he'd issued a challenge to the entire male population of the room – and from his gloating smile I could tell he knew it.

Syd stood up and took my arm. ‘I think we'd better leave.'

He'd moved too late. The footman who had escorted the girl to the ball returned from the servery and found his companion being treated to some Irish charm. He grabbed the interloper by the scruff of the neck and hauled him up – not a wise move, as his muscles could not compete with that of a man who spent his day heaving stones.

Syd groaned. ‘I'd better see if I can calm things down. Keep out of the way.'

I nodded and backed over to the wall.

‘Now then, lads,' called Syd as he strode to the confrontation. ‘Let's take this outside – there are ladies present.'

Ladies or not, the first punch fell before he reached them. The Irishman staggered back and the girl screamed. The room erupted. The Irish lads piled towards the aggressor only to find their way blocked by London apprentice boys. Mistaking Syd's intentions, one Irishman went for him. I could see Syd give a resigned shrug as he deflected him easily. That brought another brother on top of him – and another. He was going to have to fight.

What a welcome home!

As the plates flew and tables crashed over, I decided a retreat was called for. Edging along the wall, I bumped into the Irish lass: hands over her head, cowering behind the punchbowl. She was soaked in the stuff and looked plain terrified. I reached out and touched her arm. She flinched. A footman bashed into the wall beside us and slid down unconscious. I hunkered down beside her.

‘Hello.'

She looked up. I found myself confronted by the most amazing violet eyes rimmed with black lashes. Briefly tempted to hate her for her beauty, I mastered myself.

‘I'm Cat. Shall we escape this madhouse?'

She nodded slowly, as if not convinced that I wasn't an inmate of Bedlam myself.

‘Come with me.'

I led her as we made our way on hands and knees under the tables to the door. Once clear of the ruckus I scrambled to my feet, tripping on my hem with a mild curse. ‘We're making for the orchestra.'

She nodded then followed me in a quick sprint across the dance floor. The fight had spilled out here, and I could hear girls shrieking as the pandemonium spread. The manager was trying to restore order, but his attempts were futile. The cause of the altercation had been forgotten – now it was just about who shoved whom.

As expected, I found the members of the orchestra battened down behind the podium, protecting their instruments. They were in high spirits, like an army under bombardment, passing around a flask of brandy while the missiles flew.

Peter patted the floor beside him. ‘What's all that about?' He jerked his head to the fight.

‘It's my brothers,' whispered the girl miserably. Her husky voice had a sweet Irish lilt. ‘Their idea of a good night out.' She gave an involuntary gulp of a giggle, eyes brimming with humiliated tears.

Crash! One of the mirrors in the ballroom shattered and tinkled to the floor in a musical shower.

Peter gave her a little bow. ‘But no one can blame you, my dear. Take a pew.'

She sat down nervously, wiping her eyes.

‘Are you all right?' I asked.

She nodded, but I wasn't convinced.

‘What's your name?'

‘Bridgit O'Riley.' She straightened, her pride returning.

‘Pleased to meet you, Bridgit. Are those all your brothers?'

‘Every last one of them.' She sighed.

‘Why did they bring you if they planned to start a fight?'

She shrugged hopelessly. ‘It's never stopped them in the past.'

Deciding that this was probably not a pleasant subject to pursue, I turned to Peter. ‘Is there a back way out of here?'

‘Of course. May I escort you two ladies home?'

Bridgit looked torn. She glanced towards where the battle was thickest; a dark head appeared from time to time only to dive right back in again.

‘Where do you live?' I asked.

‘The sheds on the building site,' she admitted
after a slight pause.

Peter gave her a sympathetic look.

I was not about to take her back there without her brothers to protect her. ‘I think we can do better than that for tonight. I'm sure Mrs Fletcher won't mind you sharing my room when she understands the situation.'

‘No, no, I can't.'

‘Will your brothers worry?'

She shook her head. ‘I doubt they'll be aware of anything till tomorrow.'

‘Then you can come with me now. Peter, would you mind?'

‘You don't understand. No one likes us –' Bridgit began.

I cut short her protests. ‘I like you. And Mrs Fletcher will like the excuse to mother another girl. Peter?'

Entrusting his violin into the care of a friend, Peter gallantly offered us each an arm. ‘Ladies, if you would come with me.'

Leaving the noise of the battle behind us, we slipped out the back door and headed towards
Bow Street. A party of the watch passed us at a run, heading for the ballroom. It looked like the manager had called in reinforcements.

‘Mrs Fletcher!' I tapped on the back door, hoping she hadn't gone to bed yet. Mr and Mrs Fletcher appeared in the kitchen: she dressed in her nightrobe and he in his breeches, carrying a candle.

‘Good gracious, Cat!' Mrs Fletcher exclaimed, opening the door to us. ‘What 'ave you done with Syd?'

‘There was some trouble at the ball, ma'am,' said Peter smoothly. ‘Your son was unavoidably detained so I had the pleasure of bringing the ladies home.'

‘It was those Irish devils again, I wager.' Mrs Fletcher beckoned us in, her eyes going to my other companion.

‘Indeed so, ma'am. I won't linger. I have a violin to rescue from distress.' With an elegant bow, Peter retreated. ‘I'll tell the watchman on the site where you are, Miss,' he called over his shoulder to Bridgit.

‘Mrs Fletcher . . . er, Joanna, can my friend stay?' I asked hesitantly. My first day in her home and I was already bringing in waifs and strays. And I'd just turned down her son.

Mrs Fletcher took in the girl's ragged condition and pursed her lips.

‘And she is?'

‘Bridgit O'Riley.'

Mr Fletcher grunted. I guessed that meant he disapproved.

Bridgit hovered on the doorstep. ‘No matter. I'll be leaving then.'

That seemed to decide Mrs Fletcher. ‘Oh, don't be so foolish, girl. You're welcome 'ere. I won't say the same for all Irish, but you'll do for tonight.'

I gave Mrs Fletcher an impulsive hug. ‘Thank you. Are you going to wait up for Syd?'

She shook her head. ‘No. I've long since learned that 'e can look after 'imself. Both of you, go on up. Some of us 'ave to work in the morning.' She shooed us up the stairs.

Placing my candle on the bedside table in the box room, I gestured Bridgit to the washstand.
‘You might like to get some of that punch off before you sleep.'

She nodded, still looking dazed by her good fortune to be in a proper bedroom for the night. She stroked the counterpane reverently.

‘I'm afraid none of my things will fit you. I'll just run and borrow a robe from Joanna.'

When I got back, I found Bridgit had cleaned the sticky residue off her skin and brushed the worst of it out of her long black hair.

‘I must smell like a drunkard,' she muttered.

‘You smell like the contents of an orange-seller's basket. Not so bad.' I handed her the old nightgown and set about changing for bed.

‘You're very kind.' Bridgit tugged the robe over her head, her resemblance to a dark-haired angel all the stronger now thanks to her garb and the hair tumbling around her shoulders.

‘I just know what it feels like to be an outsider.'

‘I doubt that,' she murmured, folding back the sheets and running the warming pan over them for us both.

I took the pan from her and set it on the hearth
to cool down safely. ‘You can't get much further outside than a foundling.' I was reminded once again of my strange day. ‘You're lucky: you've got brothers.'

‘Lucky, am I?'

‘Oh, yes. You have the luck of the Irish. Better seven problem brothers than not a soul on your side.'

She yawned and snuggled down under the blankets. ‘Maybe. But you haven't met them yet.'

My chance to make my acquaintance with Bridgit's brothers came sooner than expected. It started with a thundering on the doors at three in the morning.

‘Bridgit, get down here now!'

I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. In the street stood seven men, none of whom appeared to be in a good humour. It was still too dark to see them well, but my imagination supplied the blackened eyes and bruised ribs. Behind me, Bridgit had tumbled out of the blankets and was rapidly dressing. There was a whistle further up the street and Syd and the boys appeared at the corner.

‘Oh, no!' I groaned.

Mr Fletcher opened the window next to us and shouted, ‘Get away from 'ere, you Irish devils. She'll come 'ome in the mornin' like decent folk do.'

‘What have you done with my sister?' roared the biggest of the bunch.

Mrs Fletcher decided to add her tuppenny worth. ‘She's sleepin', so scat!' There was a splash as she upended the contents of a basin of water over them – at least I hope it was water.

Bridgit's brothers did not appreciate being dismissed like a pack of stray dogs. Enraged by their dousing, the thumping on the door became more violent. Syd and his gang were running now, rushing to the defence of their territory.

And it had seemed such a good idea to offer Bridgit shelter.

My new friend was having similar misgivings. ‘I'd better go. Thank you for everything, Cat.' She started out of the door but I caught the back of her skirt.

‘Wait a moment. Oh, this is all my fault! Look, I'll explain to your brothers and Syd that I invited you in.' I tugged an old round over my nightdress.

As we rushed to the shop door, we could see silhouettes of people grappling with each other
outside and hear the grunts of yet another fight. You would have thought they'd had their fill of that tonight. I threw the door open and Bridgit dashed into the fray.

‘Stop! Corny, Ody, Christy, you stop it this minute, you hear me!'

The O'Rileys were outnumbered, backed up against the wall by the Butcher's Boys. Syd had the big one caught in a headlock.

‘Syd, let him go now,' I called out. ‘They're not attacking the shop – they just came for their sister.'

Syd released his captive and pushed him towards his brothers. His blood was up: his normally friendly face looked positively menacing as he wiped away the sweat of battle. ‘What's she doin' 'ere?'

Poor Bridgit stood wringing her hands, separated from her brothers by the ranks of the Butcher's Boys. She was staring at Syd, clearly terrified of him. I suppose he did look a mite formidable in his fighting mood; I tend to forget how he would appear to a stranger.

I moved between them. ‘She's taking refuge
with me after a bunch of buffle-headed trouble-makers ruined her evening,' I replied tartly. ‘Stop scaring the girl, Syd.'

Syd took a step back and relaxed his fists, taking a deep breath to regain control over his racing pulse. He then smiled at Bridgit with just a touch too much teeth to be completely reassuring. ‘Don't worry, darlin', I wouldn't dare be buffle'eaded round Cat. I'm terrified of 'er, I am.'

Bridgit gave him a wondering look, perplexed as to how the towering giant could claim to be afraid of a red-haired girl of so few inches.

‘But she seems so sweet to me,' she said wonderingly, not quite sure if he was joking, but concluding he probably was.

‘No, no, you've got 'er all wrong,' Syd continued, enjoying his make-believe. He put his fists on his hips, rocking on the balls of his feet, still ready to fight if called on. ‘Cat's a real tiger – keeps us boys in line, she does.'

The Butcher's Boys echoed this sentiment with a chorus of agreement mixed with laughter. I realized that Syd was trying to turn this dangerous
confrontation into a bit of harmless pantomime. I knew my role.