A Nest of Vipers (4 page)

* * *

As they walked home, the snow began falling. Bella had gone in a chair to save her dress from the slush in the street that blackened everything it touched. Mother Hopkins pulled her shawl close and Addy and Cato slipped and slid through the rubbish of Holborn Hill westward to the inn on Great Queen Street. Mother Hopkins was quiet and Cato could tell she was thinking. He knew she was worrying, though – five guineas from the wedding scam wasn’t enough. But at least they all lived and breathed and they’d eat until the end of the week.

Cato watched Addeline and hoped she wouldn’t grow up as fickle and careless as Bella. She ran ahead round a corner and Cato thought she could never care as much for clothes and presents as Bella. Not Addy. He was thinking this as he turned the corner and she hit him full face with a snowball, which exploded stinging ice crystals down inside his clothes and all over his body.

‘Addy, you devil!’

‘Aye, and you one and the same!’ she shouted back as she ran off.

Cato scooped up a handful of snow in his tingling hands. He aimed it for the centre of her back and got her just before she ran into the inn.

The sign was heavy with snow and the picture on it was hard to make out. It was a knot of snakes writhing in and out of each other and the words
THE NEST OF VIPERS
was marked out in red. Home, thought Cato, and what’s
more
, home to the best gang of coney catchers, thimble twisters, sly coves, or any of the hundreds of names that confidence tricksters go by, in the whole of London town. Cato couldn’t remember any other kind of life. Mother Hopkins was as good as any real mother, he supposed; he had good shoes and enough clothes even for this cold weather.

In the bar the regulars sat close to the fire. Ezra Spinoza, the massive ex-boxer who ran the bar with Sally, his wife, smiled as Cato and Addy went past. Cato loved The Vipers: he’d lived here nigh on half his life and it felt as comfortable and as warm as the sheepskin he kept on his bed. The walls were washed with white lime, turned yellow by the fire and countless tobacco pipes. There were pictures on the wall of Mother’s choosing: a horse that she claimed had won her enough money to buy the lease on The Vipers; a pale, dark-eyed young man she swore blind was Bella’s father; and the cliffs down by the sea at Kent, where she said her childhood was passed finding ways to escape the sea and the smell of fish, and seek her fortune in the city. And there were the pictures the Spinozas had added: one engraving of Ezra in his heyday, fighting Rowley George, the Irish Terror, and another of him beating Toby Forewood, the Marquess of Abingdon’s favourite. Cato loved the one of Ezra and Rowley a good deal and had spent many hours marvelling at the muscles on the young Ezra Spinoza in the picture.

Upstairs in the comfortably appointed drawing room above the bar, Bella had already changed out of her wedding gown, and brought them up hot mulled wine and fresh bread rolls from the bakehouse in Drury Lane. Bella was Mother Hopkins’s only blood relative. Well, Cato told himself, the only one they knew about. Mother Hopkins wasn’t exactly old, but she had the wisdom of someone who had lived nearer one hundred years than the forty or so she admitted to.

Mother came up a good half-hour later. She had changed back into her usual, less showy widow’s blacks but her face was set hard. Cato knew something was up because Sam Caesar and Jack were there too. They were all there, all of Mother Hopkins’s professional family: Bella, the beauty, blonde ringlets and pink cheeks; Jack and Sam, strong and quick and ready if muscle was needed; Addy, her light-brown hair untidily tied off her face, comfortable in her boy’s britches; and Cato, almost as tall as Jack but not as broad, with nimble fingers from picking locks and playing the fiddle.

Mother Hopkins took her place in the good overstuffed chair that was closest to the fire and her face was lit by the fierce orange firelight. Cato thought that he could see how Bella would turn out one day from the set of her face. She was still handsome, but you could never tell exactly what she was thinking purely from looking at her.

Mother Hopkins sat up and cleared her throat. ‘Chickens, I am too old for London, too old for scams and schemes. Today was too close a shave.’

Cato looked at Addy and he knew she was thinking the same thing: how could you be too old for anywhere?

She went on, ‘There must be change. I am too well known and my actions are anticipated. It seems to me that the good people of London watch me harder every day.’

‘Mother, do not worry so,’ Addy said. ‘When Bartholomew Fair opens in the summer, there will be pickings for all of us – stupid farm boys, and stupid farmers with more money than sense.’

‘Addeline, I am grateful for your kind thoughts but I am getting old. I do not want to live my final years dependent on greedy farmers who think they can beat you at cards or on wedding scams that go wrong. Someone could have been hurt today.’ Mother looked at Bella.

Everyone was quiet. Someone
was
hurt today, Cato thought, remembering poor Edgar with his broken heart.

‘You are my family, chickens. You know that.’ Mother Hopkins looked around the room. ‘And I would not go without any one of you. So . . . we must have a plan.’

Addy leaned forward. ‘What kind of plan, Mother?’

Mother nodded as though she had been thinking about this for some time. ‘A big one, Addy. One so big
that
no one would ever think it possible. One that would net us enough old goree to never lift a finger or pick a pocket or play cards ever again. I want to buy us a house, like the quality do. A big house, with enough rooms, well appointed . . . in the country maybe.’ She sighed. ‘No more watching my back, forever wondering if the magistrate’s men will have me.’

Jack Godwin whistled. He leaned forward and his chestnut hair shone in the firelight. ‘That would take a deal of cash, Ma. And me and Sam, as things stand, we can make an honest wage. Life is good for us here. I don’t mean to disrespect you, Mother, but we don’t need to get involved in anything dodgy. Not now we own the chair outright. Thing is, me and Sam, we’re on the straight an’ narrow – the law don’t give us no trouble now, Ma . . .’

Mother Hopkins looked furious. ‘And how did you come by the readies to purchase said chair? Answer me that! From the backs of Addy and her cards or Cato and his bag of lock picks! You are a part of this and never forget it! How did Sam here come to be your partner? Providence? Hah! More work than you care to think of, and none of it straight! Sam at least owes us his very freedom and you, Jack Godwin, would have been thrown onto the mercy of the parish if I hadn’t taken you under my wing! What was it they were to do with you? Oh yes, you were to be pressed into service – one of the prettiest
cabin
boys in the Pool of London, and don’t we all know what happens to them!’

Cato saw Jack’s face flush scarlet.

‘But the country is so dull, Mother!’ Arabella pouted.

Mother Hopkins looked into the fire. ‘I am thinking of Bath. There’s enough parties and the like to keep you happy, and Jack and Sam could wipe the floor with the West Country chairmen. You would clean up, I warrant!’

‘Bath!’ Arabella smiled. ‘That’s a different kettle of fish! I have heard the season in Bath rivals London!’

‘Bath?’ Addeline looked unconvinced. ‘I like London.’

Cato looked at Addy and agreed. He liked London too. But he knew how afraid Mother Hopkins was of Newgate. She had escaped the hangman once, in her youth, but Tyburn on a hanging day made her fearful. The only time he’d seen Mother Hopkins shake was when the cart for the gallows at Tyburn passed and the poor wretches ready for the off blew kisses and waved to the crowd on the Oxford Road.

And Newgate smelled of death. Cato always tried to avoid the bulky dark stone building, going the long way round just to avoid the sight of it. But if the wind was in the wrong direction, it would carry the scent of death and dirt and men shut up, and blow it right into your face. Bath must be a thousand times better than Newgate, he thought.

‘Bath will be an adventure,’ Cato said aloud to reassure Addy as much as himself.

Sam agreed. ‘A new start, a new challenge.’

‘But we have a lot to do,’ Mother Hopkins said. ‘And we’ll need more money, more blood and bread than we’ve ever even sniffed at before.’ She shifted in her seat and put the palms of her hands out to catch the best of the warmth from the fire.

‘I’ve not decided on the lay. We need to choose our mark first then cut the plan to fit our mark closer than a brocade waistcoat. Someone with more money than brain and enough of a hunger for wealth that he will do anything to grab extra cash.’

‘Mayfair and St James’s is full of them,’ Jack said. ‘They ride our chairs and talk of South Sea investments and slaving and tobacco and sugar as if the money is lying on the ground in the colonies and all you have to do is get your servant to bend down and pick it up for you.’

‘It’s stocks and shares that are the thing, Mother. The lottery has had its day but the rich love to speculate,’ Sam said.

‘Speculate?’ Addy said. ‘Bet? Like on the horses?’ She pulled her jacket close and listened.

‘Exactly so,’ Sam told her. ‘I heard Lord Adeney’s son bet one hundred pounds on which of his satin slippers would wear out the fastest!’

‘You lie!’ Addy said, open-mouthed.

Mother Hopkins clapped her hands. ‘Enough! We will
need
to study harder than the scholars up in Oxford for any plan to work. Tomorrow, Bella, find yourself a place at one of those coffee shops frequented by gentlemen. Find one where trade is the thing, not politics or books. Sam and Jack, keep your ears and eyes open! Who is spending money like there’s no tomorrow? Big amounts mind – thousands, not hundreds!’

‘And us, me and Addy?’ Cato asked.

Mother Hopkins looked from one to the other.

‘I am almost as tall as Jack!’ Cato said.

Jack laughed.

Mother Hopkins thought. ‘You’ll to St James’s and see who’s moving into the new houses around Green Park. Watch and listen, chickens. Watch and listen.’

Cato could see Addy’s head droop and Mother Hopkins must have seen it too.

‘Addeline, Cato. This is the long game we must play. And if you will play the long game, you must work hard and keep quiet, look hard and say little. We are not playing for odd pennies here and there! If you are not yet old enough to take a part, then I would rather you stayed out of this.’

She looked hard at them both and Cato knew she was right. Addy was good at the street game, the Find the Lady card booth; she had once taken a whole guinea that way at Smithfield Market. But a house in Bath would take planning.

‘I know that, Mother,’ Addy said. ‘Cato and me will do what’s needed.’

‘I know you will. I know you all will.’ Mother sat back in her chair. ‘So find me a good mark. A fleshy mark, a soft and greedy mark, one who’ll think we’ll give him the world on a plate and that he deserves it. It’s always better – always easier – to rob a dishonest man, a lying man. Then what we do is less a crime against society but more of a favour, a redistribution of wealth, you might say.’

‘Like Robin Hood in stories. Giving to the poor!’ Addy said. Cato could see that taking a big mark was getting them all excited, even Addy.

‘So find us a lazy mark,’ Mother continued. ‘One that lies as often as he opens his mouth, one with a mistress or two maybe, one who loves money more than his own children’s life. One who deserves to live in penury and know a hunger for bread and such cold as he can only dream of!’

Mother Hopkins spoke with such fury, Cato imagined she must have felt that hunger herself more than once. The others were quiet. The log spat in the fire and Mother Hopkins relaxed. She sat back in her chair, smiled and closed her eyes like a cat with a plate full of fish tails. ‘And then we will take him for every last penny he has!’

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

A Walk Up West

‘I HAD SO
wanted to see the Frost Fair today.’ Addeline was sulking. Cato could feel it in the drag of her step. He put his arm through hers. The cold was bitter and their breath escaped in huge clouds of vapour.

‘The Thames will not melt overnight, Addy. There will be plenty to see tomorrow. In fact, unless spring comes in January, there will be plenty to see until next February!’

‘Cato, you are too sensible,’ she said. ‘Bella has been already!’

‘And bought enough fairings and fancies to fit out a troupe of acrobats,’ Cato exclaimed.

‘She saw them, the acrobats. And she said they were from Spain, wearing orange and gold, and leaping and turning so fast! You should like them, I’m sure.’

Cato agreed. ‘I never said I wouldn’t, although how
they
will keep their hands from fixing to the ice with cold is beyond me. And I bet they do not like this weather, if they are truly Spanish.’

‘Hah! Then do you like the cold less than the Spaniards, being from Africa or wherever?’ she questioned.

‘Addy,’ he reminded her, ‘I am a Londoner, same as you. More than you in fact, as Mother Hopkins said she found you in Liverpool and you spoke no English till you were three!’

‘I have heard those tales!’ she retaliated. ‘She said
you
were bought for threepence from a blackamoor maid in Newgate.’

‘And you were found on the Mersey foreshore sucking fish eyes out of the heads the fishwives had thrown away, talking only in Dutch or Welsh or other gibberish.’

Addy made a huffy sound and they walked as far as Leicester Fields in silence. Sheep huddled together in the centre of the square for warmth and the poor girl watching them stamped her feet against the frozen earth. The usual stallholders had vanished, and the gangs of builders worked slower than normal, the wooden scaffolding around so many new buildings frosted like man-made spiders’ webs against the city sky.

‘Town is so quiet, Cato!’ Addy moaned. ‘Everyone is at the fair except us.’

Cato was beginning to agree. Some of the shops had
their
windows shuttered and closed as if it was Christmas morning, and even the beggars and crossing sweepers seemed to have vanished. Apart from the crowd of ragged children around the door of a bakers – for the warmth, Cato thought – there was scarce half the number of people on the street as usual.