The Diamond of Drury Lane (20 page)

‘Lord Francis . . .?’ I began.

‘Frank . . . it’s Frank, Cat.’

‘Frank, would you and your sister spare me a few minutes? There’s something I need your help with.’

Lord Francis looked surprised. ‘But I already told you my father’s interested in supporting your work.’

‘It’s not that,’ I said, blushing that he had immediately leapt to the conclusion that I was after a handout. ‘No, it’s about your sister’s friend. It’s urgent. He’s in danger.’

I saw that Lord Francis understood what I meant. But Pedro was naturally intrigued.

‘What’s going on, Cat? Which friend’s this?’ he asked scanning our faces.

Lord Francis did not enlighten him. ‘You’d better come home with me now, Cat. Our father will be out and Mother’s still in the country. I should be able to smuggle you in unobserved.’

‘Thank you. Pedro, could you let Johnny know I delivered his parcel safely for him?’

‘Absolutely not, Cat. I’m coming with you. You can’t wander the streets on your own when it’s getting dark,’ said Pedro firmly.

‘I’m not on my own; I’m with Frank.’

‘And what good will he be in a scrape? You need someone who knows their way around.’ Pedro looked at me with a glint of anger in his eyes at my rebuff. I could tell that the bad feelings between us aroused by our recent confrontation in Mr Sheridan’s office were rearing their ugly head again.

‘No, I don’t need your help, Pedro,’ I repeated.

‘But Cat, Pedro’s right: a young lady should not
wander the streets on her own and you will need someone to escort you home,’ said Lord Francis, oblivious to the undercurrents passing between Pedro and me.

This was all going wrong. The last thing I wanted was Pedro to hear about Johnny’s real identity. They were both as bad as Marchmont, using the excuse of my sex to force unwanted company on me. ‘I’m not a parcel to be handed between you,’ I protested.

‘Typical Cat! Too proud for her own good,’ said Pedro as if I wasn’t there. ‘Of course I have to come; she knows it really.’

‘Good,’ said Lord Francis, ‘because I won’t be able to slip out again to bring her home.’

‘Will you two stop it!’ I snapped at them, stamping my foot in anger. ‘I was finding my way around London on my own before you’ (I turned to the duke’s son) ‘were breeched and when you’ (I glared at Pedro) ‘were still baking under your hot African sun. I can look after myself.’

Pedro and Lord Francis smiled in understanding at each other, driving me further into a fury.

‘Stop treating me like an empty-headed fool! I can decide what’s best myself!’

‘Well, Cat, let us say that I have invited Pedro as my guest. If you still want to come, you will just have to put up with his company,’ said Lord Francis with a wink at Pedro.

I was now sorely tempted to give up the whole idea of appealing to Lord Francis and Lady Elizabeth for help. Perhaps I should just go back to the theatre and tell Johnny to make a run for it. But what was he to do for money to fund his escape? On balance, I realised that I trusted Johnny less to look after himself than I mistrusted Pedro.

‘I still wish to come,’ I replied sullenly.

‘In that case, you won’t object if I ask you to accompany my friend back to the theatre then, Cat?’

I shook my head. Having lost the more important battle of keeping Pedro out of the secret, I was not going to kick up a fuss about the journey home.

‘Shall we go?’ The chimney sweep lord offered me his arm and we headed west for Grosvenor Square.

T
he back entrance to the Duke of Avon’s London residence smelt heavily of horse. The stables in the mews were close and from the slushy trails in the snow, it appeared that the horses were frequently employed.

‘Wait a moment,’ said Lord Francis, disappearing into a stall. ‘I’ll just get changed.’

Pedro and I shivered by the pump in the back yard, trying to look inconspicuous. Snow still fell. Pedro’s short black hair was frosted with flakes. He looked more than ever like an exotic bird out of place in cold, wintry London. He noticed me looking.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘Why are you staring at me like that?’

‘I was just thinking how strange it is that you’re here.’

‘I wasn’t going to let you come on your own.’

‘No, not here here, I mean here in London.’

He shrugged. ‘Is it that strange? All sorts of queer folk wash up here. London sucks us in and spits us out to sink or swim as we can.’

It was time to test him out, before Lord Francis came back.

‘You know what we said about the diamond?’

Pedro looked suddenly shifty. His eyes left my face to gaze at the icy pump handle. ‘What about it?’

‘I understand you need money, Pedro, but you’d not do anything to get it, would you? There are some things you wouldn’t do?’

‘Many things. What do you take me for, Cat?’

‘You wouldn’t send a man to his death, would you?’ I asked.

‘Not unless he deserved it. What’s this to do with the diamond?’

‘Nothing. It’s just that there’s something other than a diamond hidden in Drury Lane at the moment.’

Lord Francis reappeared from the stable dressed in his usual smart clothes, though his face
and hands were still an unlordly sooty shade. He flipped a coin to the stable boy, who followed with his old garments.

‘Put them away for me, Jenkins,’ he said.

‘Right you are, sir,’ said Jenkins with a toothy grin.

‘And now, the final step in my transformation!’ Then, despite the freezing conditions, Lord Francis put his head under the spout, pumped the handle twice and gave himself a hurried wash. He emerged dripping but returned to his normal colour. ‘Let’s get in before I catch my death of cold,’ he panted.

We slid our way over the cobbles to the rear entrance. Lord Francis held us back just as we reached the step. ‘Now understand, most of the servants can be trusted, but watch out for the French cook and my tutor. Both would see me beaten severely for being out without permission. I have to time my excursions for when they are otherwise engaged.’

We nodded and crept in after him. To our right, in what I presumed was the kitchens, I could
hear the sound of clattering pans and swearing.

‘
Mon dieu!
Zat sauce iz not fit for a
cushion
, a pig!’

There was a loud slap and the cry from an unfortunate maid.

‘Good!’ said Lord Francis in a whisper. ‘Monsieur Lavoisière is too busy with dinner to notice us.’

Barely had he said these fateful words than an apparition in a white floppy hat and apron burst from the door on our right. With well-honed reactions, Lord Francis hauled Pedro and me into a room off the corridor on the left. From the rows of copper pans gleaming on the walls, I guessed we were in the scullery. For the first time since I had met him, Lord Francis looked scared. Heavy footsteps approached. I shrank behind a large bathtub; Pedro and Lord Francis took refuge behind the door.

‘Where iz zat blancmange?’ shrieked the cook. ‘If you ’ave not finished it, Pierre, I will ’ave your guts for my garters!’

‘Here it is, sir!’ said another voice outside, speaking with the military precision of a lieutenant
reporting to his commanding officer. Pierre appeared to be rather more fortunate than the maid: his dessert passed muster and, with only a few grumbles, Monsieur Lavoisière retreated into his den.

‘Quick!’ said Lord Francis. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

As quietly as we could, we ran down the corridor, mounted a flight of stone steps and pushed through a green baize door into the hall. Once on the marble paving, Lord Francis heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Safe!’ he exclaimed. ‘Let’s find Lizzie.’ He charged up the stairs shouting for his sister. The footman who had opened the door to us on our first visit intercepted him on the landing.

‘I think you will find Lady Elizabeth in the library, sir,’ he said. ‘And Mr Herbert said to tell you that he wanted to see you on your return.’

Lord Francis grimaced. ‘I’ve not come in yet, Joseph.’

‘Indeed you haven’t, sir. But when you do decide to come in, can I take it that my message will be delivered promptly?’

‘As soon as I set foot across the threshold,’ he confirmed with a conspiratorial wink.

‘Very good, sir.’

The footman clearly had a healthy loyalty to his young master.

‘Mr Herbert is your tutor?’ I asked.

Lord Francis nodded. ‘I’ve been trying to stave off going to boarding school. Mama’s on my side but I rather think my days at home are numbered. Shame, just when I was beginning really to enjoy myself !’ He looked at Pedro regretfully. His expeditions on to the streets had evidently made a deep impression. ‘But I’m determined not to go until I’ve got your friend Syd to teach me a few moves. Should put me in good stead at school. Scare off the bullies.’

‘There are bullies even in schools for your sort?’ I asked. I had thought that these were only to be found on the streets where my kind lived. Surely rich children were too refined for bullying? Didn’t they spend all day speaking to each other in Latin and dining off china plates?

‘You’d better believe it!’ said Lord Francis.
‘Schools are a breeding ground for bullies. I could tell you a few tales of my father’s old school that would make your hair curl. Not that either of you need it,’ he joked. ‘Here, Cat, what happened to you?’ He’d noticed that one of my locks was missing.

‘Nothing,’ I said quickly, feeling sick again at the reminder of my brush with Billy. I put my hand up to my forehead defensively, but that only revealed my cut arm.

Pedro had also noticed. ‘There’s something you’re not telling us, isn’t there, Cat?’ he asked astutely. ‘You’ve not been yourself today. You seem . . . you seem frightened.’

‘Is that you, Frank?’ Lady Elizabeth stepped out on to the landing, a book held in one hand, her finger marking the page. ‘I thought I heard voices.’ Her face broke into a smile when she saw us all standing there. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased! You’ve brought me some visitors. Quick! In here. Mr Herbert’s on the warpath, but he’ll never think to look for you in the library.’

‘Course not! What would I be doing in there? It’s
only bluestockings like you that find this a congenial place to sit before dinner,’ said Lord Francis.

Lady Elizabeth ushered us into the most beautiful room I had ever seen. Two high windows on one wall looked out on the darkening square. Candles flickered on the many small tables set between comfortable armchairs and sofas. A large desk with silver inkpot, blotter, a fresh supply of paper and wax, waited invitingly on the far side of the hearth. How I would have loved to sit at it and write! But the most impressive things about the room were the shelves upon shelves of books, all neatly arranged and lavishly bound. One could have been set loose in here and not need to emerge for years, thanks to all the fascinating reading matter on hand. I envied Lord Francis and Lady Elizabeth this privilege above the many others they enjoyed.

‘Now, what is this about?’ asked Lady Elizabeth, inviting me to take a seat on the silk-covered sofa. I hesitated, worrying that my grubby skirt might stain it, and I sat down on a wooden stepladder instead.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Lord Francis, taking a final listen on the landing before closing the door. ‘Cat needs to talk to us. It’s about Lord Jonathan Fitzroy.’

Lady Elizabeth’s face went red.

‘Lord Jonathan Fitzroy?’ asked Pedro.

‘Johnny,’ I explained reluctantly. ‘He’s not what he seems.’

‘So I see,’ said Pedro slowly, digesting this latest news. ‘A lord? He’s the most unlordly lord . . . with the possible exception of Frank here . . . that I’ve ever met.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ I said. ‘But first you must promise me, all of you, that even if you decide you cannot help Johnny and me . . . Lord Jonathan, I mean . . . what I tell you will go no further than us four. You must promise not to betray him, even if this means passing up the opportunity to earn a lot of money.’ I looked directly at Pedro who was slowly beginning to understand what I had been hinting at earlier.

‘Of course I won’t,’ he said indignantly.

Still far from certain that I could take him at his word, I knew I had to proceed if I were to
get the help we so urgently needed.

‘Johnny has another name . . . a name that you all have heard before. He’s also Captain Sparkler.’ I was watching Pedro closely as I spoke and thought I saw a strange gleam light up in his eye. This worried me: what was Pedro thinking? He now knew that Johnny belong to the privileged classes . . . he might even be from one of the many families grown rich on sugar and tobacco at the expense of thousands of slaves’ lives in the West Indies. Did this weaken any personal loyalty Pedro might feel towards him? Would the temptation to sell him out prove too strong? After all, no one had cared about the feelings of Pedro and his family when they were sold. Why should he care now?

The duke’s children were easier to read. From the steady expression of Lady Elizabeth I could tell Johnny’s identity did not come as a shock to her; to Lord Francis the news was almost welcome.