The Diamond of Drury Lane (21 page)

‘Fancy that! Lord Jonathan Fitzroy turning out to be the captain! I never knew he was so clever . . . not just a stuffed shirt then like most of Lizzie’s suitors.’

‘Hush!’ said Lady Elizabeth as Pedro now looked at her with renewed interest. I wondered with a sinking heart what scheme he was concocting with these pieces of private information.

‘But I think your friend Marchmont suspects something,’ I continued, trying not to let Pedro distract me from my purpose. ‘Not about Lord Jonathan, of course, but he suspects that the captain is hidden in Drury Lane. The net is closing in. Johnny’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.’

‘And you need our help to find him somewhere? What does Lord Jonathan think?’ asked Lady Elizabeth.

I dropped my head and examined my grubby fingers. ‘I have to admit he doesn’t know I’m asking you. I have only just found out about Marchmont.’

‘He’ll be cross with you,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘He’s very proud, you know.’

‘But it’s too much for him to handle on his own,’ I replied. ‘He’s taking too many risks. He doesn’t see the danger . . . or doesn’t care. And it’s
not just him, it’s the diamond as well.’

‘Diamond? You mean there really is a diamond?’ asked Lord Francis excitedly. ‘It’s not just something you made up for your story?’

I nodded, my eyes again on Pedro, who was keeping suspiciously quiet. ‘It’s quite possible that the Shepherd gang’ll try to get it and that puts Johnny in double danger.’

‘What’s Johnny got to do with Billy Boil?’ asked Pedro shrewdly. He seemed very interested to hear that Billy had got wind of the diamond.

I was trying to think up an explanation that avoided divulging the events of last night but Lady Elizabeth was too quick.

‘Lord Jonathan saved Cat from those ruffians,’ she replied, remembering the praise I had given her sweetheart.

‘He did what?’ exclaimed Lord Francis. ‘This gets better and better!’

I was now compelled to tell the whole story, but only after I had again sworn them to secrecy. A stunned silence followed my brief but brutal narrative.

‘So it’s not only Johnny in danger. You are too,’ said Lord Francis looking at me with concern.

‘Maybe,’ I said dismissively. ‘But Billy’s not interested in me, he’s interested in the diamond and Johnny’s protecting it for Mr Sheridan . . . perhaps in exchange for having a place to hide. I’m not sure.’

‘Hmm,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘There’s something not quite right about this. Where would Mr Sheridan get a diamond from and why hide it?’

‘The second part’s easy: he’s probably hiding it from his creditors,’ said Lord Francis. ‘It’s well known that it’s only because he’s a member of parliament that he’s not arrested for debt. If they got wind that he had some money for once, they’d be down on him like a pack of crows.’

‘And he’s best mates with the Prince of Wales, isn’t he?’ asked Pedro. ‘If anyone is dripping diamonds in this country, it’ll be royalty. Maybe it was a gift.’

‘Maybe,’ said Lady Elizabeth sceptically. ‘I just don’t see it though.’

‘But the long and the short of it is that Johnny’s
in danger,’ I continued. ‘He’s got to get out and the sooner the better. He’ll need help to do so. He’ll need you and . . .’ I felt embarrassed to say it ‘. . . and your resources.’

He would have to leave London . . . go abroad even . . . and I had no gold to buy him a ticket out of England. If his father had disowned him, he needed rich friends to help him . . . friends like the children of a duke, not a pauper like me.

‘Of course,’ agreed Lord Francis, ‘but it won’t be easy, even for us, Cat. My pocket money hardly stretches to a passage to a safe country.’

‘I suppose I could pawn some of my jewels,’ suggested Lady Elizabeth. ‘That is, if someone would take them to the broker for me. Papa would be furious if he found out I’d gone.’

‘You are an angel, sis,’ said Lord Francis. ‘I’ll take them for you.’

Pedro wrinkled his nose in disdain. ‘Not a good idea: any self-respecting pawnbroker would fleece you and send you packing with half their value. Let me do it.’

‘No, I’ll take them. I’ve an idea where to go,’ I
said quickly. Who knew where Pedro would be this time tomorrow if entrusted with a small fortune in jewels?

Pedro frowned but did not object.

‘If Cat raises the money for us, I’ll find out how to get safe passage out of the country,’ said Lord Francis.

‘Good idea. Johnny must get away as soon as possible,’ I said. ‘They might come looking for him at any moment. And when he does leave, he may be recognised, so we should prepare a disguise for him.’

‘Leave that to me,’ volunteered Lady Elizabeth. ‘I’ll think of something so that even his own mother won’t recognise him.’

The clock on the mantelpiece began to strike a melodious six. Two mechanical dancers emerged from a door set in the face, approached each other and began to twirl around. I was just thinking how pretty it was when another thought came to me.

‘Pedro, aren’t you supposed to be doing the hornpipe tonight?’

He looked thunderstruck. It was not like him to
let a professional commitment escape his attention. ‘You’re right! We’ve got to run!’

‘Wait. I’ll get the jewels,’ said Lady Elizabeth. She disappeared upstairs and returned a few minutes later with a small package wrapped in a silk handkerchief which she thrust into my hand. ‘Look after them, Cat, won’t you? I would like to redeem them in time. Some of them are special to me.’

We arrived back at Drury Lane at half past the hour. The play had already started but Pedro was just in time for his musical interlude. He had barely ripped off his livery and donned his costume before he was summoned on stage. I could see Johnny looking mightily relieved as Pedro bounded on to the boards.

‘Safely delivered?’ Johnny asked me under his breath.

I nodded, but my eye was caught by Pedro dancing in the footlights. The cartoon might now be in safe hands but I realised that Pedro had been delivered on stage far from complete.

‘Violin!’ I hissed under my breath to Johnny. ‘Pedro’s forgotten his violin!’ After the first dance, he was supposed to do the same steps again while playing.

‘Fetch it then!’ whispered Johnny urgently. ‘I’ll think of something.’

I ran to the Green Room and found the violin. Grabbing it, I darted back towards the wings, dodging through the press of performers, accidentally treading on Miss Stageldoir’s toes and receiving a cuff to the back of my head in retaliation.

I arrived at Johnny’s side to find he had thought of something, but it was a ‘something’ that made my heart leap into my throat.

‘Here!’ he said. ‘Put these on.’ He thrust an old Harlequin spangled costume at me.

‘No, you!’ I hissed.

‘Don’t be funny! I’m supposed to be in hiding, remember? But you, you can run on, do a twirl or something, and give him the violin. The crowd will think it’s all part of the act. They love a clown.’

‘You’re joking,’ I said hollowly as he pulled the baggy costume over my head.

‘I’m not. Go! You’re on!’

With that, Johnny clapped a black beaked mask over my face and gave me a firm shove in the shoulder blades. I staggered on to the stage. Pedro had just come to the end of the first fast and furious rendition of the hornpipe and was taking a bow. He had not yet realised he was missing a vital ingredient for the next part of his act. A few people in the boxes began to titter, seeing a confused Harlequin dithering by the side of the stage. I had no choice now: I had to do something other than stand here like a fool. Clutching the violin and bow under one arm, I took a short run and turned my one-handed cartwheel. I’d never performed it before others and was gratified to find it brought a wave of applause from the audience. I landed neatly at Pedro’s side and presented him with the violin. Pedro looked shocked for a brief second, then recovered himself. He began to mime, making it clear to the audience that I had brought a challenge to do the
dance again while playing. I nodded vigorously.

‘Go on, prince!’ shouted someone in the audience.

‘You can do it!’ called another.

Pedro gave me a deep bow, accepting the challenge. I was about to run off but he gestured to me to sit on the anchor that dressed the stage. I was surprised: I had thought that Pedro Hawkins was only interested in having the stage to himself. As it would have looked strange if I had refused, I sat down. All these years of living in the theatre, I’d never been on the boards with a full audience in front of me. I felt heady with excitement.

Pedro composed himself to play. Signor Angelini raised his baton and signalled for his protégé to start. Pedro then began the most extraordinary dance I had ever seen. With legs stamping like in an Irish jig, upper body still, he began to play a hornpipe. Sitting so close to him, I could see the beads of sweat flying from his brow, but all the time he kept an impassive expression on his face. From a distance, it would look as if he was having to make no effort. The audience began to
clap in time to the music. He went faster and faster. I thought that it must be impossible for him to carry on playing without losing step or fluffing a note, but no. It was almost as if he had found freedom in the dance and would take flight if it did not end soon. I could see him do it: he’d fly out of the theatre, out of the smoke of London, into the blue sky and home to his land of hot sun and friendly faces. But before his wings had a chance to sprout, he brought the hornpipe to an end with a flourish.

The applause was immense. It rolled towards the stage like a barrage of thunder. Pedro bowed three times, perspiration dripping off the end of his nose and falling on to the boards. He then turned to me.

‘How about it, Cat? Run off with a cartwheel together?’

He was testing me, I thought, paying me back for my earlier doubts about him and seeing if I could repeat my performance. I nodded, accepting the challenge.

He took my hand. ‘Go!’

We ran towards the wings in step.

‘Now!’ he shouted, dropping my hand. With perfect timing, we cartwheeled off the stage, landing neatly by Johnny’s seat.

‘Well, well, well!’ Johnny said, laughing as he slipped the mask off my face. ‘Who would’ve guessed you could do that? If you’re not careful, Mr Kemble will give you the part. Cat the clown. Has rather a ring to it, don’t you think?’

Pedro slapped me on the back. ‘You saved my skin out there, Cat. I owe you one.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not likely to let you forget,’ I said with a wry smile.

Early the next morning, I slipped out of the theatre and headed down towards the Strand and the pawnbroker’s shop that many of the actors and musicians used. I’d been there before for Peter Dodsley, the first violin. When he had been going through a particularly lean patch, he had pawned his watch on a Saturday and redeemed it after being paid on a Monday. He’d explained at the time that as he spent most of Sunday resting in bed, he did not need to know the time, but he did need a few creature comforts, such as a bottle of fine French wine. I had always thought this a poor way of managing his money, but he was by no means the only one to use the services of the broker.

As I arrived outside the shop, who should come up behind me but Jonas Miller, the hog-grubber clerk who was more usually to be seen causing trouble in the Pit.

‘Out of my way, girl,’ he said rudely, pushing me aside. He was in a fearful hurry to get into the shop. I wondered why. I probably would have followed him in to find out even if I had not had an errand myself.

Pushing the door open, I entered the darkened room. It had the secretive atmosphere of a Catholic confessional: little cubicles separated the customers from each other so they could admit their monetary failings in privacy. Behind an iron grille, Mr Vaughan and his assistants heard their clients’ troubles and offered a temporary cure. The items put up for pawn were displayed in locked cases, tempting their owners with a knowing twinkle and glitter to claim them back . . . if they had the money, that is, and they rarely did. Amongst the snuff boxes and rings, I noticed with a shudder of disgust that someone had even pawned their porcelain false teeth: it was hard to imagine what depths of despair had pushed them to that extreme. The teeth grinned back at me from their red velvet cushion in a smile like the rictus of death.

‘Ah, Mr Miller, I have your silver inkstand waiting for you,’ said Mr Vaughan loudly. Perhaps he had not noticed someone else coming in for he was speaking more openly than usual. ‘Have you the money?’

‘That’s all I have.’ Jonas pushed a bag of coins over to him.

Mr Vaughan pulled the bag under the grille and carefully counted out the silver and coppers. ‘Hmm, not enough, sir, not enough,’ he said with a regretful shake of his head.

Jonas ran his fingers through his dirty hair in desperation.

‘Look, I’ve got to have it back. There’ll be hell to pay if I don’t. You see, it’s . . . it’s not exactly mine.’

Mr Vaughan frowned. ‘I don’t deal in stolen goods, sir,’ he said sharply, hand hovering over a bell to summon his assistant.

‘No, no, you misunderstand me,’ said Jonas. ‘It’s borrowed . . . from a friend.’