A Nest of Vipers by Catherine Johnson Page B

tried to remember the maps. He’d looked at one or two but they weren’t half as interesting as the prints of giants who dwell in the deserts of Africa.
    ‘Maybe I could talk to the Russian downstairs, get an idea of the country and the principal towns from him?’ Cato suggested.
    ‘You didn’t look, did you, Cato?’ Addy said smugly. ‘I’ll bet he was head down in some ballad mongers reading cod poetry!’
    Mother Hopkins pressed the seal hard into the melted wax. ‘This is a most important enterprise, Cato,’ she said. ‘I would have thought you understood that.’
    ‘Honestly, Mother, I do.’ Cato felt himself flush.
    ‘Even though your part in this lay will be behind the scenes, you have to know that Bella’s deception must be entirely plausible.’ Mother Hopkins sucked hard on her pipe. ‘Addeline, run down and tell Bella to question her Russian on his home town.’
    Addy was about to go when she saw the stays and servants’ clothes. ‘Who are they for?’ She curled her lip as she picked out the dark flannel stays and skirts.
    ‘Well, we need someone inside the Stapletons’ household.’ Mother Hopkins didn’t look up.
    Cato and Addy looked at each other. Cato couldn’t imagine Addy in that get-up.
    ‘Can’t he go?’ Addy pointed at Cato.
    ‘They might rumble him,’ said Mother. ‘It’s too much of a risk. And he’s playing fiddle at the party on Friday – it’s an African orchestra, the latest fashion apparently.’ She smiled.
    Cato tried not to look anxious; he had neglected his playing since Bella’s ‘wedding’.
    ‘Will we rehearse, Mother?’ he asked. ‘What if I can’t—?’
    ‘There’s never any
can’t
, Cato. If you don’t know the tunes, play along quietly and smile.’
    Addy folded her arms. ‘He gets to play music while I sweep up ashes! I’ll not do it. A housemaid!’
    ‘Cato.’ Mother Hopkins ignored Addy and handed Cato the envelope. ‘Here is the letter for the Stapletons recommending Addeline Hammond as maid of all work. Listen well, Addy, for Hammond is your name until our lay is done. According to this, you have worked for the Salters of Highgate for these two summers past.’ Addy made to speak but Mother Hopkins shushed her. ‘Sam has sweet-talked the Stapletons’ current kitchen maid and has already promised her a better position with Mendes in Cheapside. And, Sam told me not an hour since , she has packed her things already. We must be sure it is Addeline who fills the post, so, Cato, give the letter to Jack and Sam to take to St James’s tonight. Quick now, before dark! And, Addy, get yourself down to The Vipers to sound out the Russian.’
    Mother Hopkins looked from one to the other. ‘I’ll have no dissent, chickens. We depend on each other utterly! And if you don’t know that by now . . .’
    That Friday found Addeline squirming and uncomfortable in her new woollen maid’s uniform. Cato walked alongside her – he’d promised to go with her as far as Leicester Fields. It was a done deal: Addy was to start as the Stapletons’ kitchen maid at noon and she could no more wriggle out of the job than she could wriggle out of her newly laced stays.
    ‘Stays!’ she spat. ‘They are the devil’s own work!’
    Cato couldn’t keep a straight face.
    ‘And you’ – she poked him hard under the ribs – ‘can stop with your smug face! I hope the strings of your fiddle cause your fingers one quarter of the pain I am in on account of this infernal corsetry.’
    ‘You must not fidget so, Addy, or your new employers will assume you are ridden with fleas,’ Cato teased her.
    ‘I would rather be home to a thousand thousand fleas than wear these hateful instruments of torture all day,’ Addy protested.
    ‘You will soon be used to them. Think of the number of times I had to wear one of those damnable metal collars. And once – somewhere uncivilized up north, it was – they chained me up in their kitchen like a dog! All you have to do