Cat's Cradle by Julia Golding Page B

a broom from the corner. He sneered, expecting me to take a swipe at him with the brush, but I knew better than that. I jabbed him in the stomach with the pole, producing a satisfying ‘oof ’. He bent double to clutch himself, freeing Bridgit. His two brothers were too busy laughing to think of retaliating.
    Breathing heavily, I stood with the broom held out in front of me. ‘I came here this morning to invite your sister out. She will be in no danger in my company and I certainly have no intention of seeing her starve, so you’ll just get out of my way or I’ll call the foreman. Get your shawl, Bridgit.’
    Corny was staring at me as if he’d never seen a girl stand up to him before. Perhaps he hadn’t.But neither had he met a girl who’d sailed on a naval ship, escaped a slave master and survived an ambush in the middle of a war. His fists curled.
    â€˜Don’t even think about it,’ I growled.
    â€˜Let Bridgit go, Corny,’ intervened one of the boys behind me. ‘That’s Syd Fletcher’s girl you’re talking to. He’d run us out of here as fast as a horse on Derby day if we touch her.’
    Taking that as permission, Bridgit grabbed her shawl and tugged me away with her. Rather surprised I had got off unscathed after my explosion of temper, I stumbled after her.
    â€˜Widow King’s – that’s the place,’ I panted, feeling rather elated by my triumph.
    â€˜What?’ Bridgit was still taking worried looks over her shoulder.
    â€˜Breakfast. Best pastries in London.’
    My old friend Caleb Braithwaite, formerly Drury Lane doorman, now assistant to Mrs King, found us a prime spot near the fireplace in the little dining room attached to the kitchen. He refused any charge for the mound of mouth-watering buns.
    â€˜I’ll tell her they were spoiled,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you see me drop ’em when I took ’em off the stove? She won’t mind a bit – not for you.’
    â€˜Thanks, Caleb. You’re a star.’
    â€˜The only payment I expect is a nice long natter when you’ve a moment.’ He returned to his post in the kitchen watching the next batch in the oven.
    Bridgit looked a trifle bemused by this kindness. She must have had a poor time of it in London so far if she’d not seen us do each other favours.
    â€˜So, Bridgit, tell me about yourself,’ I said, pushing the plate of buns towards her. ‘Are you liking it here?’
    â€˜Hate it.’ She took a bun but didn’t bite. ‘My brothers get angrier each day, the place reeks to high heaven, not a green field in sight, and I’ve no one to talk to.’
    â€˜Other than that, you’re having a swell time. Where’ve you come from?’
    â€˜Near Dublin.’ She picked out a raisin and ate it thoughtfully. ‘We were rack rented off our farm– lost the tached cabin, the cow, the bit of land, all to keep the absentee landlord from London in fine style. Mam and Dad been dead these three year so the boys had to look for work.’
    â€˜And you had to come with them.’
    She nodded. ‘There was nothing else for me to do. I wanted to get a position here in London but Corny won’t hear of it. Says he’d prefer me to work for the devil than a Londoner.’
    â€˜Plenty of devils here. But there are good people too.’
    She shrugged. ‘Good to you, but not to us Irish.’ She brushed some crumbs off the table as if dismissing an unpleasant subject. ‘So now, tell me about yourself, Cat.’
    I chatted away, sketching out the details of my recent travels while she ate her share of the buns. I did wonder if she believed me as even to my own ears it sounded an extraordinary adventure for a girl from Covent Garden. Feeling the need to explain my background, I even told her about my plans to travel to Scotland in search of my family. Her eyes glinted with