The Diamond of Drury Lane (30 page)

My dark thoughts were interrupted in the small hours of the morning by a soft metallic tapping noise. I started, wondering for a disconcerted moment if Billy had begun work on his fetters again, but then realised that the sound came from the grating in the ceiling . . . the only
entry for light and air to the cellar beneath.

‘Cat!’ came a soft hiss. ‘Cat!’

I leapt to my feet and moved as quietly across the room as I could so as not to wake my cellmate. Rats scattered from my path, squeaking in alarm. Billy gave a murmur. I stopped. He then rolled over on to his back and resumed snoring even louder than before.

‘Cat!’ came the voice again, now more urgent.

I reached the grating and stood directly below it, looking up into the darkness.

‘Who is it?’ I whispered.

‘It’s me, Pedro!’ said my friend, rather too loudly.

I could have wept to hear his voice.

‘Ssh!’ I cautioned. ‘Billy’s here . . . asleep for the moment, but he could wake up.’

Pedro lowered his voice. ‘I’ve got Syd and Frank with me . . . they’re keeping watch. We couldn’t get to you before now. The night patrol’s just gone in for some refreshment. We’ve only got a few minutes, I’d guess.’

‘I’m so pleased you came.’ I didn’t need to tell him how awful it was. Pedro had been on the lower
decks of a slave ship. He’d know only too well and would have seen worse.

‘I’ve got some food. Frank took it from home. I’ll slip it between the bars. I’ve got something to drink too, but I can’t get the bottle through,’ Pedro said.

‘Wait!’ I said. ‘I’ve got a mug.’ I ran to fetch the cup of water I’d been given with my crust for supper. I tipped the remains into the slop bucket and held it up. Pedro uncorked a bottle and began carefully to pour the contents between the bars. I had to stretch on my tiptoes to reach up and I wobbled slightly at one point. The liquid splashed on the side of the cup and cascaded down on to my upturned face.

‘What is it? I gasped as the sweet mixture splashed into my eyes and mouth. I wiped it away.

‘Champagne,’ said Pedro.

‘Champagne!’

‘It’s all Frank could steal from home, Cat.’

‘I must be the first prisoner at His Majesty’s Pleasure to sup on champagne!’ I said, managing my first smile since I had arrived down here.

‘Cat, you’re a marvel.’ In the faint moonlight, I could see Pedro’s eyes twinkling. ‘Here’s the food.’ He pushed a flat parcel between the bars.

‘What’s this?’ I joked, stuffing it into my pocket for later consumption. ‘Smoked salmon and syllabub?’

‘No,’ answered Pedro with perfect seriousness. ‘Game pie, roast beef and apple and almond tart. Leftovers from some fancy dinner party, Frank says. It might be a bit jumbled up . . . sorry about that . . . but I had to squash it to get it through.’

We were both silent for a moment, Pedro staring down, me looking up.

‘Oh Cat . . .’he began. I could tell he was going to commiserate with me but I couldn’t bear that. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down as it was.

‘How’s the wind? Has Johnny sailed?’ I asked quickly.

‘No.’ Pedro looked nervously over his shoulder, presumably to where the others were waiting. Our time was running out. ‘And we’ve agreed that tomorrow we’ll let Johnny know what’s
happened and tell the duke the whole story.’

‘You can’t do that!’ I said, aghast. ‘They’ll catch him.’

‘But we all know that Johnny wouldn’t want us to leave you down here on his account. The only way the duke can be brought to believe his children is if Johnny be produced. The duke’s already packing Frank off to school tomorrow . . . our chances to change his mind are fast running out.’

‘But the duke will tell the magistrate, then Johnny’ll be down here charged with treason!’

‘We know,’ said Pedro grimly, ‘but in case you haven’t noticed you’re facing a capital charge too. We think that there’s more chance of a rich man with powerful friends, like Johnny, being let off by an English jury for insulting the king, than for an orphan like you, charged with theft by a peer of the realm. Let’s face it, Cat, you’re as good as dead if this goes any further.’

‘But . . . !’

‘There are no buts. You’re outvoted on this . . . four to one. Five to one if Johnny were here.’

‘Four? Who’s the fourth?’

‘Syd. We’ve told him the whole story. He said that if they don’t let you go he’ll break you out himself and finish Billy off while he’s at it, but we’ve persuaded him to hold off for the moment.’

‘Tell him thanks, but he’s not to get into any trouble for me,’ I said, though heartened to find I still had friends on my side.

Pedro looked over his shoulder. I too heard a sharp whistle.

‘That’s it. I’ve got to go. But you’re all right, aren’t you, Cat? Billy’s not giving you any trouble?’

‘I’m fine,’ I lied. What was the point in telling the truth? It would only upset them. ‘But, Pedro, don’t tell Johnny just yet. Let’s see if we can think of something else. I don’t want his death on my conscience.’

Pedro gave my outstretched fingers a gentle squeeze. ‘And we don’t want yours on ours! No promises, Cat. Goodbye!’

And with that he sprang to his feet and dashed off into the darkness.

His departure was rapidly followed by the
tramp, tramp, tramp of the night patrol resuming their duties.

I returned to my bench and set my mug carefully down beside me. With great care I opened the package of food and spread it on my lap. So there I sat on a hard seat with my back against the slimy wall of the cell, staring down on a terrible irony. On my skirt was the finest supper I had ever seen, even though, as Pedro had warned, it was somewhat mangled in its journey across town. And I had champagne to wash it down . . . a drink I had never tasted before. Well, it was either look at the food until the rats stole it from under my nose, or eat and have done with ironies. I ate . . . and enjoyed it. But there was one unanticipated side-effect: the wine sent me into an overpowering sleep. Murderous cellmate or no, the bubbles of champagne could not be resisted.

‘Morning, Cat.’

I was rudely woken by an apple core bouncing on my forehead. I sat up with a start.

‘Still ’ere then with poor old Billy, I see. Might
be thinking my offer weren’t so bad after all, eh?’

I looked across the cell and saw Billy grinning like an evil goblin in a fairytale.

‘You don’t look so fine this morning, girl. You‘d better get out of ’ere before you ruin that there new dress of yours.’

I looked down. The silk was now dirty and stained with the champagne that had spilled on it last night. My once white silk stockings were grey and had a large hole on one knee. My hair straggled over my shoulders, the once neat ringlets ruined by a night on the bench.

‘So where are your fine friends? Forgotten about their pussycat, ’ave they?’

No they haven’t, I thought to myself, determined not to let Billy wear me down with his jibes. After all, I had supped on fine meats and sparkling wine.

‘Good morning, Mr Shepherd,’ I said, stretching and yawning as if just waking from a deep sleep on a goose feather mattress. I was feeling strangely light-headed as if buoyed up still on the bubbles of the champagne. ‘I see the weather is set fair today.’

Billy half-turned to look up the grating but then caught himself.

‘You’ve cracked, ain’t you, Cat? Poor girl: one night behind bars, and you’ve lost it.’

‘No,
au contraire
,
mon ami
, I have never been more in my right mind. I was just reflecting on the pleasure a good supper can give an empty belly.’

‘A good supper? You call a crust of bread and a mug of scummy water a good supper? They must ’ave been meaner at the theatre than I thought.’

I picked up my mug, which still had an inch of pale golden liquid at its bottom, and raised it to my companion.

‘Your good health, sir,’ I toasted him and downed it with a gulp, then gave a small, contented burp.

‘Mad! Quite mad!’ exclaimed Billy, rubbing his hand across his forehead, half in admiration, half in doubt.

The rattle of keys at the door made us both look up. Constable Lennox appeared in the entrance.

‘Miss Royal. Come with me.’

My heart leapt into my throat as I wondered
what this summons signified. Surely it was too early for the magistrate to be sitting? I would have thought he would be sipping hot chocolate in his powdering gown, not choosing to deal with the London riffraff like me. Or . . . I swallowed hard . . . had they caught Johnny? But I had no choice in the matter: I had to follow.

Billy must have been wondering the same thing. My premature departure did not suit him at all: he’d not yet had time to persuade me to lie to save us both.

‘Where’s she goin’?’ he asked the runner urgently, again rushing to the length of his chain like a zealous guard dog.

The runner did not deign to give an answer, but shut the door on him.

‘This way, miss.’

He did not place his hand on my shoulder as he had done on my last outing from the cell but walked ahead, shining a lantern so that we would not miss our step. Anxious but intrigued I followed him up the stairs and into an office. There, standing in front of the desk occupied by the clerk
Amos, was a gentleman in a claret-coloured jacket and black boots. He turned to face me: it was the Earl of Ranworth, Johnny’s father.

‘Is this the child, my lord?’ asked the runner respectfully, ushering me forward.

‘Indeed it is,’ said the earl. He was staring as if stunned to see me there, though apparently he had asked for me to be brought to him.

‘And you say you know for a fact that she gave forty pounds to your son on behalf of the duke’s daughter, which he returned to this child on the evening of the day before yesterday, after receiving money from you?’

‘That is exactly right. So, you see, constable, the girl would not have had time to return the money to its original owner as no doubt she intended to do.’

‘So how did it end up in the hands of Billy Shepherd?’ the runner asked, looking at me doubtfully.

‘I suggest you ask her. Has anyone thought to listen to what she has to say about the whole matter?’

Constable Lennox coughed uncomfortably. ‘Well, sir, I can’t say that . . .’

‘Ask her then, man!’

The runner turned to me. ‘You heard the gentleman,’ he said roughly. ‘What’s your story?’

‘Billy’s boys broke in to steal . . . to steal something they thought was in the theatre,’ I began quickly. ‘Two of them . . . I don’t know their real names . . . found the money under my pillow and took it. I told Billy and he took it off them later to count it.’

‘So he wasn’t one of the thieves who stole it from you?’

I reluctantly shook my head but the truth was I couldn’t incriminate Billy without explaining more about Johnny and the beating.

‘There you are, constable,’ said the earl loudly, putting an arm around my shoulders. ‘You’ve got the wrong people. It’s those two boys you should be after, not this little girl. Tell the man what they were like, child, and I’m sure that’ll be the end of the whole business.’

‘Now wait a minute, my lord,’ stuttered the
runner. ‘I can’t just let her go. I need proof. Where’s this son of yours? What’s he to do with it? I’ll need to speak to him.’

‘You can’t, sir. He sailed this morning on the tide.’

‘Where to? When will he be back?’

The Earl of Ranworth drew himself up to his full patrician height and glared at the runner. He reminded me forcibly of Johnny in one of his more frightening moods, such as when he had confronted Billy’s gang with empty pistols.

‘I don’t know, man,’ he said irritably. ‘He’s gone and that’s that. You can’t keep an innocent child in prison just because my son’s not here. My word not do then?’

‘But the duke!’ said the runner feebly.

‘Heavens, man! I’ll deal with that. Look, here’s fifty pounds bail for the girl.’ The earl drew a large paper banker’s draft from his pocket book and let it flutter down on to the desk. ‘You let her go now and I’ll swear that the duke will have dropped all charges by mid morning or call me an ass!’

As the unfortunate runner did not want to be
accused of calling a lord an ass, he reluctantly picked up the banker’s order and nodded to Amos.

‘Start to make the necessary arrangements, Amos,’ he said. ‘I’ll clear this with the magistrate.’

‘Sir John Solmes, isn’t it?’ said the earl.

Constable Lennox nodded.

‘In that case, I’ll come along and help you. We’re old friends . . . went to the same school. You sit there, child. I won’t be long.’

The earl led me to a chair by the fireside and handed me into it as if I were a fine lady.

‘Thank you,’ I said hoarsely, bemused by this unexpected turn of events. How had he known I was here? And would he really be able to get me out?

In the interval that followed all that could be heard in the office was the scratching of Amos’s quill and the crackle of the fire. For the first time since yesterday afternoon I did not feel cold.

‘Ready to go, my dear?’

In my exhausted state I must have fallen into a doze, for the earl was at my elbow before I knew it.

‘Go?’

‘Yes, child. You are free to go.’

‘She’s on bail, sir,’ corrected Constable Lennox, looking at me with distrust. He clearly still suspected me of as yet unspecified crimes. After all, he had me down as the mastermind behind one of London’s most fearsome gangs.

The earl ignored him.

‘My carriage waits outside. We have a call we must make before I can return you home, I’m afraid, Catherine.’ The earl helped me to my feet. ‘Good morning.’ He tipped his hat to Amos and the constable and led me out into the sunlight.

‘How did you know?’ I asked once we were settled in his carriage. The earl tucked a large blanket around me and handed me a flask of warm tea.

‘Sheridan. Last night he sent an urgent message explaining how you’d ended up in gaol thanks to my miscreant of a son. I came as soon as I could, but I had to check that Jonathan had gone.’

‘So it’s true . . . he has left.’

‘Yes, sailed this morning with a stiff breeze to
fill his sails. You need not worry about him any more, Catherine.’