‘Enough about my politics, Jack. Tell me what you have discovered about The Cat.’ Jack had access to all sorts of information that might shed some light on The Cat.
‘That’s a very abrupt conversational parry,’ Jack noted. ‘You are losing your touch.’
‘Enough, Jack. Now, tell me what you know.’
Jack leaned in close despite the privacy of their dining room. ‘The Cat of Manchester is not exclusive to this area. I think there is reason to believe that the moniker comes from the fact that The Cat is merely from this area. There are reports of similar burglaries taking place in Birmingham, Leeds and Bradford. As you know, those are cities whose situation is much like Manchester’s. They are highly industrialised and face the same social issues.’
‘Could it be that there are several people who call themselves by that name?’
Jack shook his head at the conjecture. ‘The timing of the burglaries does not suggest that there is a group of people acting in tandem. The timing would support that there is only one person and that the one person moves around from place to place. The only constant is the reference to the name. Wherever this thief goes, the name is the same as well as the cause.’
Brandon drummed his hands on the table, taking in Jack’s findings. ‘How long has The Cat been operating?’
‘Reports indicate three years. But that only indicates how long the name has been showing up. This person may have been active for years under different aliases.’
‘Are there any leftover Luddites still practising?’ Brandon knew the chance was slim. The Luddite movement, an organisation started by craftsmen who opposed the replacement of manual labor with textile machinery, had been wiped out years ago, but one never knew.
A sickening feeling formed in his gut. It was one thing to rationalise The Cat as being a misguided local with a Robin Hood complex. It was entirely another to know he had fraternised with a hardened criminal. The Luddites had used violent means to demolish machinery. Such behaviour had led to their downfall. How far would The Cat go to make her point? Would robbing lead to other crimes? Would she go as far as to destroy the mill if her earlier ploys failed to bring about the desired results? The truth was, Brandon didn’t honestly know.
Jack shook his head. ‘I checked the records from the 1813 Luddite trials in York. It is not likely that The Cat was among the group and is still rebelling nearly twenty years later. For starters, it would make The Cat awfully old for carrying on the shenanigans you’ve written to me about.’
‘What about Eleanor Habersham?’ Brandon asked the question he dreaded most. Once the connection was firm, he had no more excuses, but at least he could feel less guilty about his behaviour at Mrs Dalloway’s.
‘I have found nothing, which also means nothing. Your spinster is either what she claims to be and there are simply no records on her because she’s of no criminal threat to England or she’s a persona The Cat has conjured up. I can’t see why the burglar would do that. It makes no sense to create a spinster unless The Cat is a woman.’ Understanding dawned on Jack’s face. ‘You think The Cat is a woman, don’t you?’
Brandon nodded. ‘I know The Cat is a woman.’
‘How do you know?’
Brandon put a finger to his lips. ‘Wait until we get home.’
‘I need a drink.’ Jack poured himself a brandy and resumed his seat, where he’d sat riveted at Brandon’s encounters with The Cat. ‘I find it peculiar that you haven’t told anyone. Care to explain?’
‘At first I was embarrassed. I’d let The Cat get away.’
‘And later?’ Jack prompted.
‘Let it suffice to say that, later, catching The Cat held little novelty for me.’ Brandon took a swallow of brandy.
‘That must be how she gets away with it.’ Jack smiled triumphantly, gloating a bit at his friend’s discomfort. ‘Men don’t want to turn her in. If she’s caught, she simply cajoles them into compliance just as she’s done with you.’
‘She is not a trollop!’ Brandon protested, although he had nothing to base that claim on and plenty of evidence to the contrary. Jack’s comment had done its work.
‘I’ve yet to meet virgins who tie men to beds. Good lord, Brandon, do you think you’re the only man she’s tried this on?’ Jack pressed, then softened his tone. ‘You’re making no sense. You say you want me to help you catch The Cat. Now you’re telling me the opposite. Which is it? Do you want to catch her or not?’
Brandon said nothing. Jack’s eyes glinted with knowledge. ‘Ah, so that’s how it is. You want to catch her for yourself. Why? Jealousy? Can’t stand the thought of another man under The Cat’s thrall?’
‘I am not under her spell,’ Brandon argued, incensed by the implication that a thief could buy his loyalty with her charms. The claim to jealousy rankled. Was Jack right?
‘Then how do you explain this urge to protect her?’ Jack shook his head. ‘You should know already you can’t tame a wild thing. You can’t tame The Cat, Brandon.’
Brandon looked down into the remains of his glass, suddenly inundated with vivid memories of his last meeting with The Cat. ‘I suppose you’re right, Jack. Still, she’d be better off in a cage of my making than a cage of society’s making. If the investors catch her, it’s off to prison for certain. If what you believe is true and she’s guilty of robberies elsewhere, no judge can overlook three years of indiscretions.’ He recalled her comment Christmas Day that there was no sense in stopping the robberies because of her past.
‘So it’s a race and you believe you have the inside track because you think The Cat is Eleanor Habersham the spinster.’ Jack began sorting through the pieces of the puzzle aloud. ‘You believe this because of a slip in a conversation you had with Eleanor at a card party?’
Brandon stood up and began to pace. ‘For other reasons too. The spinster is a disguise, I’m sure of it. Well, I was sure of it until I blundered a few nights ago at the card party. I wrote you about it in my note.’
Jack nodded at the reminder. ‘Your account was deuced hilarious. When do I get to meet this paragon?’
‘Tonight, at the New Year’s party, but, Jack, don’t alert her to our suspicions. If she bolts, we’re back to nothing.’
The New Year’s celebration was in full swing around her as Nora sat unobtrusively with a few ladies of Eleanor’s acquaintance. The display of wealth tonight was more than lavish. It was garish, almost as garish as Eleanor’s dress with its large red rose print against a cream background. The material might have done well for curtains, but definitely not for a dress. As Nora intended, the large pattern distracted the viewer from further scrutiny.
The women with her tittered and fanned themselves, exclaiming over the gowns and jewels of the investors’ wives. One of them raised her voice over the others and gestured to the doorway of the ballroom. ‘Oh, my, the Earl of Stockport has come after all and he’s brought a friend. I heard talk that his friend’s a Viscount. They had lunch at the Cart and Bull this afternoon.’
Nora diverted her attention from the conversation. Stockport’s eyes swept the room, giving her the distinct feeling of being hunted. He was looking for her. For once the guise of Eleanor Habersham offered no protection. He had reason to mistrust Eleanor as much as The Cat after their exchange at the card party.
Damn him for looking so handsome. She took in his dark evening attire. His toilet was flawless, not a hair out of place, or a hair visible on his clean-shaven jaw.
Her cheeks burned at the memory of him a few nights ago, looking less than perfect, but no less delectable in his state of undress, stubble staining his jaw. It would be