The Diamond of Drury Lane (25 page)

As Billy hit his mark, Pedro released the balloon and pulled the lever to drop the trap centre stage. The floor gave way under Billy. With a curse, he made a grab for the nearest thing to hand (yours truly), pulling me over the edge with him. Flinging the lantern aside, I just managed to take hold of the edge of the trap. With a jolt, his grip on my dress gave way and he fell into the black hole, taking half my skirt. Usually put to use for Satan’s sudden descents to Hell, the trapdoor had sent a new devil to the underworld.

Meanwhile, the balloon had plummeted to the ground, crushing Meatpie, Pox-face and Ferret-features like beetles beneath a giant’s boot.

Pedro darted on to the stage and hauled me out of the hole. Below I could hear Billy cursing. He had not broken his neck then. Shame.

‘Quick, we don’t have long,’ said Pedro, hurrying to untie Johnny. Once free, Johnny slumped, limp like a rag doll, unable to get to his feet.

The boys under the basket were beginning to stir. I could see Meatpie’s foot twitching. I took one side of Johnny, Pedro supporting him on the other.

‘I thought you’d never pull that damned lever!’ I swore as we heaved Johnny up.

‘But you told me to wait until they were all lined up!’ Pedro protested.

‘I’d’ve settled for three out of four . . . I thought Billy was never going to move into range and I was running out of ideas.’

‘You? Out of ideas? I don’t believe it!’ said Pedro with a grin.

I smiled back into the eyes of my friend.

‘Where to now?’ I panted as we dragged Johnny to the door. He was so heavy, it was clear we could not keep this up for long.

‘Have you got any money on you?’ asked Pedro.

‘Yes,’ I gasped. I had the Earl of Ranworth’s sovereign still in my pocket.

‘We’ll take a cab . . . get him to Grosvenor Square. It’s the safest place.’

Pedro left us at the corner of Russell Street and ran off to find a hackney carriage. It was late and
the street was quiet. The only person about was a man loitering in a doorway opposite. I did not like the look of him. Sooner than I hoped, I heard the clatter of hooves and wheels behind me.

‘Let’s see your money, girl,’ said the jarvey from his driving seat on top of the cab, sceptical that either Pedro or I could afford the luxury of a ride across town. I held up my sovereign. He gave me an appraising look. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘In you get.’

Pedro and I heaved Johnny into the cab.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ laughed the jarvey. ‘Too much to drink?’

Punch drunk, I might’ve said, but I didn’t want to share this information with the coachman.

‘I’ll double the fare if you get us to Grosvenor Square in ten minutes. Stop for nothing and no one,’ I called up.

‘Right you are, miss,’ said the jarvey, cracking his whip. ‘Brownie and I’ll show you the meaning of speed.’

The carriage pulled away with clatter of hooves. As it did so, I heard a yell behind us.

‘Stop!’ bellowed Billy after us. ‘Stop that cab!’

But the jarvey had his orders and with a shrill whistle urged his horse to a faster trot. I craned my head out of the window to see if Billy was gaining on us but I need not have worried: he could only manage a hobble as far as the end of Russell Street and he soon gave up. I gave him a cheery wave.

‘I’ll get you, Cat!’ he shouted. ‘You’re dead!’

‘You forget, Billy,’ I called back. ‘Cats have nine lives!’

I sat back on the seat to give my companions a delighted smile but I found them looking at me sombrely.

‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘Nine lives?’ croaked Johnny, his hand clutching his ribs. ‘You seem to be running through your portion rather fast.’

‘He’s right, Cat,’ said Pedro. ‘You shouldn’t bait Billy Shepherd.’

‘As if I had a choice in the matter!’ I exclaimed. ‘Anyone would think to hear you two that I enjoyed it!’

‘And didn’t you?’ probed Johnny with a pained
smile as the cab went into a pothole. ‘Didn’t you enjoy outwitting him?

‘Just a little, a very little,’ I admitted, unable to keep a huge grin from my face.

J
ohnny managed to walk from the cab into the Mews behind Grosvenor Square without assistance. We led him into the unlocked stable Lord Francis used as a changing room and dropped him on to the straw. In the next stall, a horse stamped its feet. From the quarters above the stables came the loud voices of the grooms, punctuated by the occasional thump of a game of shove ha’penny.

‘What now?’ I asked Pedro, peering through a barred window at the house. It was brightly illuminated: it seemed as though the family were still awake.

‘One of us needs to go in and find Frank and Lady Elizabeth,’ said Pedro. We looked at each other, remembering the fierce French cook and the hordes of servants we had seen on our last visit. It would be a miracle if either of us got in unseen.

Someone pulled a curtain on the third floor . . . a girl’s hand.

‘Do you think that’s her bedroom?’ I asked, nudging Pedro.

He nodded. ‘Makes sense.’

‘I’ll go then,’ I said.

‘No, let me,’ said Pedro.

‘You can’t. It’s got to be me. Think what’ll happen if they find you creeping round a lady’s bedroom at this time of night! You stay and look after Johnny.’

Pedro gave in, recognising the sense of what I was saying. If he were caught, he’d be lucky if they spared his life and only packed him off to a slave plantation in the West Indies; I might escape with a thrashing.

I ran across the cobbles and slid in through the back door to the kitchens. The place was once again alive with activity: from the clatter of pans and splash of water in the scullery I guessed that the plates from some fancy dinner were being washed. No refuge there this time then. I crept as far as the open kitchen door and peered in. The
chef was sitting with his feet up on the table swilling a glass of red wine, humming to himself. I stole past and ran as quietly as I could up the stairs to the green baize door Lord Francis had taken us through.

I stopped. I could hear the confused babble of many voices and a door opening and closing. It appeared I had arrived just as the duke’s guests had taken it into their heads to depart. Pushing the door open a crack, I saw a large party of gentlemen fetching their cloaks from the two footmen on duty. There was Mr Sheridan reaching for his hat and cane and, yes, there was Marchmont senior accompanied by the Earl of Ranworth. If only Mr Sheridan would look in my direction. How I could do with his assistance! I wished I could tell him how much danger his ‘diamond’ was in! But to break from my hiding place would be to reveal my unauthorised presence in the house and attract far too many questions from the host. I watched despondently as Mr Sheridan resolutely looked the other way, bade the duke goodnight and left.

So, no way up those stairs while the duke was still about. I backed down the steps to the corridor and paused for thought. Where were the back stairs? I wondered. There had to be some for the servants to pass unseen about the house. As if in answer to my question, a maid emerged from the scullery carrying a jug of steaming water. I hid behind a row of aprons hanging from pegs along a wall. The maid walked straight past me and took a passageway on the left. I crept after her. She then took a sharp right and disappeared. I followed, discovering that she had indeed led me to the stairs. I had to be quick: this narrow flight offered no hiding places. I’d have to be up and off them before she headed back down.

She carried her burden up three flights, pausing only to straighten her cap when she reached a landing. She then knocked on the door of the room closest to the stair and entered.

‘Put it over there, please, Mary.’ It was Lady Elizabeth! Feeling a wave of relief, I remembered to dart behind a linen chest just in time.

Mary’s feet could be heard getting further away
as she went down the stairs. I had a final look up and down the corridor . . . all clear.

Tap, tap! I knocked softly on Lady Elizabeth’s door.

‘Come!’ she called.

I opened the door and saw her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She looked beautiful, like a mermaid rising out of a silver pool: her hair was strewn with pearls and her silk dress was the colour of bluebells.

‘Cat!’ she exclaimed, dropping her brush on to the table with a clatter. ‘Whatever has happened to you?’

I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass. My hair was in a hopeless tumble and half my skirt was missing, displaying grubby white petticoats beneath.

‘Ah,’ I said gesturing to my dress ruefully. ‘I had a merry meeting with my friend Billy Boil.’

She got up, moved swiftly across the thick rose-coloured carpet and pulled me inside the room. She took a quick look at the silent corridor before she closed the door and turned the key.

‘Oh, Cat, are you all right?’ she said. ‘Have a seat. Tell me what happened.’

‘Forget about that, Lady Elizabeth . . . ’

She held her finger to my lips. ‘Lizzie, Cat. Remember!’

‘Lizzie, then. What I’ve come to tell you, Lizzie, is that Johnny’s here. He didn’t come off quite so well in his encounter with our friend so we’ve brought him here. He’s in the stable with Pedro.’

Lady Elizabeth now ran to the window and peered out into the yard.

‘Is he all right?’ she asked anxiously.

I nodded.

‘He’ll be safe there for the moment,’ she told me. ‘It’s quiet now. It is very fortunate you did not arrive half an hour earlier: we had all the carriages lined up in the yard. They’ve only just gone round to the front of the house.’

‘Will you help us?’ I asked anxiously.

‘Of course. Stay where you are. Don’t answer the door unless you hear four taps. I’ll fetch Frank.’ She picked a candle up from her dressing table. ‘Father sent him to bed an hour ago, but if I know
him he’ll be spying on the guests as they leave, giving their carriages marks out of ten or some such fancy of his.’

She slipped out and I locked the door behind her. It would not do for a maid to find me in here alone. I sat at the dressing table and stared at myself in the mirror. I did not have the luxury of my own glass at home, though there were plenty in the dressing rooms for the actors. A solemn face looked back out at me. My red curls were matted with dirt. My freckled nose was smudged, my bodice torn where the skirt had departed from it at the waist, my hands red raw with marks of hard work and blows. Compared to the vision with white skin and chestnut locks that had just sat there, I was a complete troll. It was a depressing comparison.

Four taps on the door. I quickly opened it to find myself almost knocked down by the arrival of Lord Francis.

‘Cat!’ he exclaimed, giving me a relieved hug before remembering himself and giving me a formal bow at arm’s length. ‘Lizzie’s told me what
happened. I’m so pleased to see you in one piece. When our gang gets to hear about this, Shepherd’ll wish he had never been born!’

Our gang? Since when had Lord Francis been enrolled among Syd’s followers? But I had forgotten . . . he was a boy, wasn’t he? That was sufficient to earn Syd’s approbation.

‘Now, you sit down and let Lizzie look after you. I’ll fetch the others,’ he said, taking charge.

To be honest, it was a relief to relinquish responsibility for seeing Johnny to safety. This was Lord Francis’s home: it was right that he should deal with the ticklish matter of smuggling a wanted man inside it. He led me back to the dressing-table, gave me a pat on the arm and left.

Minutes later Lady Elizabeth returned. She slopped some hot water into a porcelain bowl decorated with pink roses and carried it over to me.

‘Here, you can clean yourself up with this,’ she said, passing me a linen towel.

It was worse somehow with her standing there watching me. I went hot with embarrassment, feeling common and dirty. A girl like me should not be
sullying her bedchamber with my presence. I was distressed to find a tear had trickled out of the corner of my eye and dripped in the bowl in front of me.

‘What’s the matter, Cat?’ Lady Elizabeth asked, coming to kneel beside me.

‘I’m not fit to be here,’ I said despairingly, dropping the linen cloth into the now grey water. ‘I should go.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said, getting up and going to a closet on the far side of the room. ‘You won’t feel like that when you’ve put this on tomorrow. I’ve grown out of it but it should fit you.’ On the bed she laid the loveliest emerald silk dress that I had ever seen. ‘Green never was my colour, but it will suit you.’

‘I can’t take it,’ I protested.

‘Of course you can,’ she said, smiling. ‘Now, you get yourself into bed. You must be exhausted.’

‘Bed?’

I looked round the room. The only bed I could see was Lady Elizabeth’s four-poster, hung with muslin curtains and covered with a white satin counterpane.

‘My bed, of course,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘There’s plenty of room for both of us. You get in; I’ll just go and check on the boys to see they have arrived safely.’

She left, closing the door softly behind her. I stood irresolute for a moment in the middle of the carpet and then made my decision. I was used to sleeping on the unyielding surface of the old couch in the Sparrow’s Nest. I had no need of the luxuries Lady Elizabeth had so kindly offered me. Finding a spare blanket in the chest under the window, I curled up on the floor behind the screen and, despite my determination to stay awake to hear her news when she returned, I must have dropped off to sleep.