Den of Thieves by Julia Golding

first appearance as Ariel, a cartoon by Captain Sparkler, a note from Mr Kemble, a pressed flower once worn by the great actress Mrs Siddons. My entire life fitted into that bag – and still it was far from full.
    Saturday 4th June came round all too quickly and I had yet to sort out new lodgings. Lack of funds was some excuse. When I counted the contents of my purse, they were alarmingly light. But I knew what I was doing: part of me was still pretending the day would never come when I’d have to leave. I was like King Canute, stubbornly sitting on histhrone as the waters rose to his neck. The crisis was upon me and yet I still waited.
    Pedro couldn’t fail to notice that something was seriously wrong. He had commiserated with me when he had learned of my fate, but he had more confidence in me that I did. He thought I would soon be on my feet again.
    â€˜Why don’t you write a short story, Cat? Something that’ll sell,’ he suggested as we watched the audience assembling for the last night. There was a carnival atmosphere in the room. I noticed several people breaking off bits of the decorative rail as souvenirs.
    â€˜Oh, you mean some silly love story where a poor girl wins a rich man with just her wit and vivacity? Ple-ease!’
    Pedro shrugged. ‘Why not? It could be good if told well.’
    â€˜Ah, but to sell to a bookseller it’d have to go on about female duty and polite manners – I’d feel sick writing such stuff.’
    â€˜Can you afford to be so squeamish?’ he asked wisely.
    â€˜Would you play any old tune on your fiddle for the drunks who chucked you a penny, Pedro, or would you prefer to play Handel and Mozart?’
    â€˜You know the answer to that, Cat. But it’s not about what I prefer – I’d play “Black-eyed Susan” all night for any bunch of sailors if it made the difference between a bed under a roof and under the stars. You have to find somewhere to go and you’ll need money to pay for it.’
    He was right, of course, but that only made me feel angry with him. What did he have to worry about? He’d be off to Italy Monday morning, travelling through France. He would see Johnny and Lizzie in Paris in a couple of days.
    â€˜I’ll be fine, Pedro,’ I lied, wondering why I was telling everyone this when it so patently untrue. ‘I’ve got some money to tide me over. I’ll manage.’
    â€˜Hmm,’ said Pedro sceptically. He dug into his pocket. ‘Look, I don’t have much but –’
    â€˜No!’ I pushed his hand away, taken aback by the strength of my feelings on this. ‘I don’t want anything from anyone – not unless I earn it. I don’t want anyone’s charity.’
    â€˜But you’re my friend, Cat.’
    â€˜Exactly, so I’m not taking from you. I know you need it yourself. Do you think I’m so pathetic that I can’t find myself a place to go?’
    Put like that, he had to say that of course I was quite capable but I could see he was suspicious that I was hiding something from him.
    â€˜Look, I’ve got to go now,’ said Pedro. The orchestra was taking their seats and it would not do for him to miss the final chance to perform in the old Drury Lane. ‘I’ll be busy afterwards as Signor Angelini is giving us all a farewell supper and then we have to pack, but promise me you’ll come and tell me your new address? I have to see you before I go to Italy. I really, really don’t want to leave you.’ He squeezed my hand urgently as I was pretending to inspect the audience.
    â€˜Of course I’ll come to say goodbye. I wouldn’t miss seeing you off for the world,’ I said gaily. ‘It’s a new adventure for all of us, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Hmm.’ My false tone had not fooled him. ‘Come and see me, Cat, understood? Or I’ll send the Butcher’s Boys to find