Den of Thieves by Julia Golding

too was on my way. What was the world beyond the city like? I couldn’t wait to see. The familiar landmarks fell away surprisingly quickly as we crossed the Thames and travelled on into Kent. Except for one short stay in the village of Clapham, I had never spent so much time in the countryside. All that open space made me feel nervous.
    Frank was watching me with an amused expression. We were alone in the carriage, as Madame Beaufort had elected to travel with her girls to seed in the story of my trial with the troupe. She hoped the tale would be in full flower by the time we reached Paris before any awkward questions were raised as to why a protégée of Mr Sheridan should take it into her head to travel at his expense. She was representing it as the pay-off for making me homeless – which in a way it was.
    â€˜Beautiful, isn’t it, Cat?’ Frank said teasingly as we passed through a field where the hay was entwined with splashes of red and blue wild flowers like paint spilled by a overenthusiastic set decorator. Butterflies danced above, tiny winged ballerinas in multicoloured gowns.
    â€˜It’s . . . er . . . it’s . . .’ I couldn’t find the words. I wanted to say that it was ‘empty’, ‘strange’, ‘frightening’, but I knew from my reading of poetry that I should be saying things like ‘arcadian’, ‘pastoral’ and ‘peaceful’. For me, the silence was deafening.
    â€˜You don’t like it, do you?’
    I didn’t want him to find me so unrefined as not to be able to appreciate nature. ‘It’s very . . . green.’
    â€˜True . . . honest and true, just like you,’ he laughed. ‘I’m so pleased you didn’t come out with any of that tired old poetic stuff. Yes, the countryside is green, undeniably green.’ He offered me a chicken leg from the hamper stowed under his seat. ‘You must let me show you Boxton one day. It’s very green too, but there’s loads to do – riding, hunting, fishing, walking.’
    â€˜Frank, can you really see me on a horse?’ I asked, wrinkling my nose.
    â€˜I can see you excelling at anything you turn your hand to, Cat, horse riding included,’ he replied loyally.
    â€˜I didn’t excel at looking after myself, did I?’ The bleak mood settled on me again as I remembered the humiliation of my time at Mr Tweadle’s.
    Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Why didn’t you tell us, Cat? I thought you knew you could ask us to do anything for you. Any of us would.’
    â€˜I thought I had to make my own way.’ I staredat my hands, still coarse after weeks of scrubbing and peeling.
    â€˜But why? None of us do. Lizzie and I – we have our parents. Syd’s got his family, his manager, and his boys around him. Pedro has Signor Angelini looking out for him. Why should you be on your own?’
    How could he understand what it was like to be me?
    â€˜I always have been, Frank. On my own, I mean. Ever since I can remember, my place in the world has been precarious, bound up with Drury Lane. When that went, I felt as if I too no longer existed.’
    â€˜But you’re far more than a theatre, Cat. Don’t you see that?’
    â€˜Thank you, Frank. I’m trying to.’
    â€˜We all think highly of you – and not just your friends. Lord, Cat, even Billy Shepherd compliments you by thinking you worth his attention.’
    His comment took me back to Billy’s collection and the empty cushion. I wondered if I should tell Frank about the deal I had made. It would be goodto share the burden with someone – and he was as good as inviting me to rely on him.
    â€˜There’s something you should know about me and Billy Shepherd, Frank,’ I began awkwardly.
    Frank threw his chicken bone out of the window. ‘Oh, yes? Don’t tell me you’re engaged?’ he joked.
    â€˜Not exactly .