Free Cat Among the Pigeons by Julia Golding

alive. A barge sailed beneath me, coals in a brazier glowing as the bargemen warmed their hands. They laughed gently and took a swig from steaming cans of tea. The contrast between myown situation and their cheerful life made the view the most depressing one I’d ever seen.
    That’s enough, Cat, I told myself fiercely. This is no time for self-pity. You’re in a spot of trouble? Well, it’s not the first time. You’re cold? So you need warmth. That means clothes and a fire – possibly breakfast too if you’re lucky.
    I pulled open the bundle of clothes I had grabbed in my hurry to escape and found that I’d picked up the breeches, jacket and cap that I’d put by for jaunts out with Syd’s gang when I dressed as a boy. Oh brilliant, I groaned. I didn’t even have a full set of proper clothes.
    But then I had an idea . . .
    â€˜You’ve a message for Lord Francis?’ The porter at Westminster School peered at me sceptically from the warmth of his lodge. ‘Bit early isn’t it?’
    â€˜Ain’t it just, gov,’ I said, legs astride and wiping my nose on the back of my hand in my best messenger-boy manner. ‘That’s wot I said when the duchess ’erself sent me ’ere.’
    â€˜Hmm. Hand your note over and I’ll see it delivered when his lordship rises.’
    â€˜Well, that puts me in a fair pickle, gov. I’s ’avin’ the message in my canister if you foller me.’ I tapped my cap to indicate my head.
    â€˜All right, all right,’ said the porter, already tiring of talking. ‘Lord Francis has the top room in that staircase by the clock tower.’
    I touched my cap and bolted across the courtyard. First barrier overcome; breakfast a couple of steps nearer. As I entered the staircase, I met a young man with curly black hair on his way down.
    â€˜Here, tiddler, where do you think you are going?’ he said, grabbing me by the arm.
    â€˜Message for Lord Francis, sir,’ I said, keeping my head lowered. I realized with a horrid jolt that I knew him: it was Frank’s friend, the Honorable Charles Hengrave. I’d even read some of my work to him earlier that year at one of Lizzie’s tea parties.
    He laughed. ‘He won’t be out of bed until thebell – dead to the world until the last moment. You’d better leave him be.’
    â€˜I can’t do that, sir,’ I said desperately, trying to worm my way past him. ‘It’s urgent. It’s his Great-Aunt Charlotte. She’s on ’er last legs.’
    The Honorable Charles pulled me up short by the back of my jacket.
    â€˜What? I know for a fact that he doesn’t have a Great-Aunt Charlotte.’ He turned me roughly to face him – and then let go as if I’d burnt him. ‘Miss Royal! I do apologize, but what on earth . . .!’
    I made frantic shushing noises. The porter was peering out of his cabin at the altercation going on across the quad. ‘Please don’t give me away. I’m in enough trouble as it is. I’ve got to see Frank.’
    Charles turned on his heel. ‘Come on then. We’d better hurry. Everyone will be up in a moment.’
    I followed him up the narrow stone staircase to the very top and he hammered on the door.
    â€˜Frank! Frank! Make yourself decent. You’ve got a visitor.’
    Waiting a few moments, my escort opened the door.
    â€˜Lucky for you we share a set of rooms,’ he said. ‘You can’t imagine how much trouble he’d be in if anyone else caught him with a . . . well, with a you-know-what in his room unchaperoned.’
    We entered the study to find a bleary-eyed Frank standing in a rumpled shirt.
    â€˜Who is it, Charlie?’
    There were footsteps outside. The porter appeared at the door. ‘Everything all right, sir?’
    â€˜Yes, Mr Jennings, everything is perfectly in order,’ said Charles, shoving me out of sight