Read Online Cat Among the Pigeons by Julia Golding - Free Book Online Page B

overlooking Brydges Street, it’s possible to slide down to the gutter, swing to the broad window ledge of the tavern next door and then, if you are lucky and the catch is open, climb in on the first floor. At least, that was the theory. I’d never done it before.
    With a quick glance back at Mr Sheridan, I began my perilous journey across the tiles. Reaching the Brydges Street end, I leant forward on my stomach to look down to the road. Two men were lounging against the wall opposite the theatre. Moonlight glinted on the buckles of their uniform. Mr Sheridan was right: the runners were after me in force. I would have to make my slide down to the gutter that ran between the theatre and the Players’ Tavern as noiselessly as possible. I took a couple of calming breaths. My fingers were frozen – my bare toes also. I had my boots slung by their laces around my neck but dared not pause to put them on. Swinging my leg over the ridge I hung there for a moment, silently counting to three.
    â€˜One . . . two . . . three.’
    I let go and slid all the way down to the gutter, leaving the skin of my hands and knees behind me on the leads. Thump! I jolted to a halt and gave a hiss of pain.
    â€˜What was that?’ I heard one of the runners ask on the deserted street below. ‘Did you hear something?’
    â€˜Nah. Probably just a cat.’
    Now for the most difficult part. I would have to come into view – albeit two storeys up – to drop on to the window ledge. I crawled to the edge of the gulley and let myself down, legs dangling over the void. I know it was not the most ladylike behaviour, Reader, but I had no choice.
    I must be mad, I thought. Well, it was either break my neck this way or let the hangman do it for me. I let go, dropped to the ledge, and nearly missed my footing. To stop myself falling, I threw myself forward against the sash window; a pane shattered with the impact and glass tinkled to the ground.
    A whistle blew on the street below. Not daring to look down, I tugged at the window until it crashed open. I heaved myself in and tumbled to the floor of a bedroom. In the gloom, a man in a nightcap sat up in bed.
    â€˜What the . . .!’ he exclaimed.
    â€˜Sorry!’ I hissed as I darted for the door. ‘Must go!’
    I made my way to the stairs, and there bumped into the innkeeper, Mr Mizzle, on his way down to answer the hammering at the door.
    â€˜Mr Mizzle, it’s me, Cat. The traps are after me! Don’t let them in yet.’
    Us theatre folks stick together. As chief provider of ale to the thirsty crew from next door, Mr Mizzle knew that now was no time for the whys and wherefores of the matter. Now was the time to help me escape.
    â€˜Out the back, Cat. You know the way,’ he said, thrusting me through the kitchen door into the yard. ‘I’ll keep them busy in here.’
    I dashed across the yard, climbed on someempty barrels and over the wall, dropping to the ground in the alleyway. I then breathed a sigh of relief. From here on, I was safe. I knew the back alleys around Drury Lane better than any Bow Street runner. Hopping into my boots, I threaded my way down to the Strand and ran westwards into the night.

SCENE 2 – SWITCHED
    I only stopped running when I reached Westminster Bridge. Panting so hard I thought my ribs would crack, I leant against the parapet. It was cold – so cold. As the heat of my dash across town faded, the frosty air began to bite. I was shivering uncontrollably. I couldn’t remember ever being this frozen. But then, I’d never been homeless dressed only in a nightgown, shawl and boots since – well, since I was a baby left on the doorstep of Drury Lane. And there was no going back to the theatre tonight – or for many nights – perhaps forever.
    I stared out at the dark water of the Thames rolling below, wisps of mist creeping along the banks. Dawn was breaking and the streets were coming