Den of Thieves by Julia Golding Read Free Book Online Page B

smile. ‘I couldn’t really afford you, you know, at the moment as I’d have to do the work twice over, wouldn’t I?’
    She was right. I was useless at sewing. Sarahhad the makings of a fine seamstress. There had been no competition.
    â€˜Excuse me, Mrs Reid, I’d better go and . . .’ And what, I wondered? ‘And pack.’
    She patted me on the shoulder. ‘No need to leave until Saturday, child. That gives you plenty of time.’
    I bobbed a curtsey and left, not wanting to see or be seen by anyone, particularly not by those lucky ones who were moving with the company.
    The Sparrow’s Nest is a good place to hide. I tucked myself between a trunk of Roman robes and a pile of musty furs, pulling my favourite moth-eaten bearskin over me. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. Empty was the closest I could come to describing it. I couldn’t believe that they could do this to me after all these years – and yet I perfectly understood the decision. They had called me their cat, Mr Sheridan had once dubbed me his diamond, but all that counted for nothing in the cold light of day. I was nothing to them. I had no skills to speak of; I’d outgrown my time as theatre pet; as of Saturday night, I was on the street.Through pride, I’d turned down offers of help and now had to survive on my own. I couldn’t even tell the Avons I’d changed my mind; Lizzie and Frank were gone – Lizzie on the boat to Paris, Frank in his carriage to Bath. He’d be learning irregular verbs and she sampling the latest fashions while I was left to sample the irregular life of the homeless.
    Anger welled up inside me. Didn’t I mean more to everyone than this? Hadn’t I rescued Johnny for Mr Sheridan? Didn’t I save Drury Lane’s favourite boy star when I’d thrown myself between Pedro and Mr Hawkins’ blade? Despite all this, everyone thought someone else was looking after me and all were quite happy to be shot of the responsibility.
    Even in my foul mood, I knew I was being unjust. I had many friends. The problem was that those with the means to help had gone away; those that remained were in as precarious a position as me.
    â€˜Pull yourself together, Cat,’ I hissed at myself. ‘You’re not the first girl to be expected to earn her own living. Look at it this way: you’ve beenincredibly lucky for ten or more years: now that luck has run out.’
    â€˜All the same,’ a miserable voice piped up, ‘at least the management had the decency to let Caleb know in advance and arranged a soft landing for him with Widow King. After all these years, no one thought to let me know; they made me go through the humiliation of seeing the list.’
    â€˜They’re treating you just like everyone else.’
    â€˜But I thought I was special. I thought I was Drury Lane’s Cat.’
    â€˜Well, if that’s your attitude, go and curl up at Billy Shepherd’s fireside. Become his Cat. He’d have you quick enough.’
    â€˜Never.’
    â€˜Well then, pull yourself together. Pack and make the best of it.’
    This bitter dialogue with myself ended, I started to gather up my possessions. It didn’t take long. Apart from a few hand-me-down clothes, I had little I could call my own. My notebooks and papers – all gifts from Mr Sheridan – were my most treasured belongings. I stowedthem in a canvas bag. Frank had passed on to me his old Latin primer – this also was given a respectful burial in the sack. Lizzie’s gifts were mostly of the practical sort: silk stockings and gloves, much finer than the stuff I usually wore. I kept them for special occasions but right now there seemed no call for them. Folding them into a ball, I tucked them away, mentally noting that I could sell them if the worst came to the worst. Then there were a few mementoes that only had value for me: the playbill for Pedro’s