Cat Among the Pigeons by Julia Golding Page B

What have you got to be sorry about? It was me who rampaged through Brook’s. I was so stupid.’
    â€˜But you were angry and frightened – you couldn’t help it.’
    â€˜That won’t count for anything with a judge, I’m afraid.’
    â€˜I suppose not.’
    â€˜You’re being careful, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Me? Of course. Syd’s boys are escorting me to and from the theatre. I’m staying in Drury Lane or at Signor Angelini’s, and never sticking my nose out of doors. I’ve got Joe and Nick waiting for me now outside.’
    â€˜Good.’ Footsteps approached. We fell silent and waited for them to pass.
    â€˜You know,’ I said once the coast was clear, ‘I was thinking that if the worst comes to the worst I’ll try to get to Johnny in America. He offered me a home, you know.’
    â€˜I remember. He probably realized it wouldn’t be long before you did something really outrageous. He saw it brewing inside you.’
    I dug him in the ribs for that. Pedro smiled.
    â€˜Yes, my sisters would have loved you,’ he added. ‘I know it’s got you into very hot water, but at least you told Hawkins what you really thought of him. I wish I’d done that when I was his slave.’
    â€˜No, you don’t. You wouldn’t have lived if youhad. And you did do it on Friday in any case. You beat him good and proper in public.’
    Pedro peered around the edge of the tomb. ‘I’d better go. There’s no knowing how long Frank’s diversion will last.’ He gave my hand a final squeeze. ‘See you, Cat.’
    â€˜Goodbye, Pedro.’
    I waited for him to disappear back into the Sunday crowds before crawling out from my hiding place. No sooner had I dusted myself down than a heavy hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump out of my skin.
    â€˜Hengrave! What are you doing, boy?’ It was Mr Castleton, the Latin teacher.
    â€˜Just paying my respects to Shakespeare, sir,’ I improvised. ‘I’ve never been to Poets’ Corner before.’
    He let go of my shoulder. ‘Hmm. You probably didn’t know that you are now supposed to be in Bible study until noon. As it’s your first week, I won’t report you.’ He tipped his hat to the bard and steered me back towards the maindoors. ‘You like Shakespeare, do you, Hengrave?’
    â€˜Yes, sir, I love him,’ I replied honestly.
    â€˜I went to a most remarkable performance of
The Tempest
myself on Friday. “The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces . . . shall dissolve . . . Leave not a rack behind.”’
    â€˜â€œWe are such stuff
    As dreams are made on; and our little life
    Is rounded with a sleep,”’ I finished for him.
    Mr Castleton looked at me with approval. ‘Poetry, my boy, poetry. I’m delighted to see you have learnt it by rote. It’s the only way to get the rhythms into your heart. I suppose you went to the theatre in Dublin?’
    â€˜Occasionally,’ I said with a smile. I had not had to learn that speech by rote; it was in my blood.
    â€˜Well, lad, if you’re lucky, I might just take you to the home of drama itself – Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. There you’ll see the very best actors of our age – Mr Kemble and his incomparable sister, Mrs Siddons. Would you like that?’
    A lump had risen in my throat. ‘I don’t know, sir,’ I said huskily.
    â€˜Well, I do. A boy like you who understands true poetry will be swept away by the experience. I would be proud to be the first to introduce you to the delights of the London stage.’
    â€˜Thank you, sir.’ His kindness was alarming. He sounded as if he intended to carry out his promise. ‘Perhaps next term?’
    â€˜Yes, yes, boy. Find your feet here first, eh? Is that what you’re thinking?’
    I nodded.
    â€˜I must remember you when it comes to casting the