‘Do you have one where your mother was a beggar and your father could’ve been anyone?’
‘Pedro!’
‘For that’s the truth, isn’t it, Cat? Just as my family are probably dead or in chains. And the dead ones are the lucky ones.’
‘Why did you say that? What harm have my stories done to you?’ I asked, unable to swallow a sob.
‘Because they’ve kept you living in a dream, Cat. This place – it’s fed you a load of make-believe. Stupid happy-endings.’ He grabbed my arm and pulled me close to the window. ‘Take a look around you and see what’s out there. I live in the real world and I can’t afford daydreams. I’m very likely to go back into the service of a violent, evil man. So perhaps even you can understand why I don’t want to hear your ridiculous ideas about my family!’
I wrenched my arm from his grip. ‘I’m sorry, Pedro,’ I said with dignity. ‘I was only trying to help. I’ll leave you to your stars.’ And I picked up my mending and carried it off to the Green Room.
When I came back after the performance I was already regretting that I had left Pedro so abruptly. I would’ve liked the chance to make it up with him but the Sparrow’s Nest was empty. The stars still shone coldly in the night sky but there was no one to look at them.
It wasn’t until I turned back the covers on the old sofa I sleep on that I saw that Pedro had left a sprig of lavender on my pillow and a note.
‘Sorry, Cat. Sweet dreams,’ it said.
* See the first volume of my adventures, The Diamond of Drury Lane, published by Mr Egmont and available from all good booksellers and circulating libraries.
SCENE 2 – ABOLITIONISTS
Lady Elizabeth, daughter of the Duke of Avon, poured her guests tea from a silver teapot.
‘I can’t offer you sugar,’ she said as she handed around the china teacups. ‘We’re no longer taking it.’
‘Oh?’ I asked, surprised. I knew Lizzie had a liking for sweet things. ‘Has the tooth puller warned you off?’
She shook her mass of shining chestnut curls. It never ceased to amaze me how she could always look so perfect – fine white skin, intelligent blue eyes, neat silk skirts. I’d only been in the parlour for two minutes and I was already aware that my ginger ringlets were tumbling from their pins, my ‘visiting’ muslin dress was as rumpled as if I’d been playing in a haystack and my nails, I noticed now, were distinctly grimy. Syd Fletcher, leader of the Butcher’s Boys and our escort for the day, seemed strangled by his collar as he tried to accommodate his six-feet of muscle on a spindly chair that looked in peril of immediate collapse. Only Pedro did the lower classes credit as he sat bolt upright in his spotless blue and yellow livery.
‘So why no sugar?’ I asked, winking at Syd as he juggled with the tiny cup in his ham-sized fist.
‘To support Mr Wilberforce, of course,’ said Lizzie, passing a plate of cakes to Frank to hand round. ‘Try a piece – the chef ’s experimenting with honey.’
I have to admit that I didn’t know who Mr Wilberforce was – or why he should’ve taken against sugar. Pedro, however, helped himself to a large slice of fruit cake and took a defiant bite.
‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ he said approvingly.
‘Sorry, but can someone enlighten me?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Cat, you know so much about some things and so little about others,’ said Frank with a twinkle in his eyes. He’d grown up a lot since I last saw him. Boarding school had stretched him a few inches but not, I was pleased to see, taken away his mischievous grin. ‘Mr Wilberforce is trying to pass a law in parliament to end the trade in slaves.’
‘That’s good,’ interjected Syd, taking a mouthful of cake. ‘I don’t ’old with no slavery.’
‘Well said, Syd.’ Frank saluted him. ‘Then you might be interested to know that Mr Wilberforce’s supporters are showing their colours by refusing to buy goods produced by the slave-owners in the West Indies – sugar, cotton and so on.’
I looked down at my clothes. I was decked from head to foot in this very cloth, but then I had nothing else to wear. I took what I got given by the theatre and I doubted Mrs Reid would have much time for the politics of cotton. Noticing my guilty expression, Frank patted my hand.
‘I don’t think Mr Wilberforce would expect you to go naked for the cause, Cat.’
‘Frank!’ said Lizzie in a shocked voice. Syd flushed and gave Frank an angry look.
‘In fact, I’m sure Mr W would hate the idea – he’s a man of the strictest moral principles,’ Frank continued, oblivious to their disapproval.
‘You mustn’t talk like that to Cat, Frank,’ said Lizzie. ‘School has made you coarse.’
‘So it has, but at least it’s not made me a brute like most of my fellow students. Half of them are sons of planters, you know. They’d give me a good pasting if they found out our household was refusing to buy their papas’ goods.’ He turned back to me. ‘Sorry if I offended your delicate ears, Miss Royal. I meant merely to assure you that you did not have to divest yourself of all offending garments before crossing our threshold.’
‘I’m most relieved to hear that, Lord Francis,’ I replied in kind, then punctured his grand manner with a punch in the ribs.
‘Ow! Have you been taking lessons?’ Frank nodded at Syd, the local boxing champion, who chuckled, restored to his good humour. ‘Now then, my friends – to business. What’s caused you to drag me away from a scintillating afternoon of geometry? I had to swear it was at least a family bereavement before they’d release me from that prison they call Westminster School. Great-Aunt Charlotte had to die – again. It had better be worth it. Come on, spit it out.’
Syd put his plate aside. He too had been waiting for our explanation.
Pedro gulped, struggling to find the words. He looked to me for help.
‘Pedro’s old master, Mr Hawkins, came for him this morning,’ I announced.
Lizzie dropped her silver spoon with a clatter.
‘Hawkins?’ asked Syd. He looked confused. ‘Ain’t that your moniker? Is ’e your old dad or somethink?’
Pedro shook his head fervently.
‘No,’ I explained. ‘Hawkins chose Pedro’s name for him. Pedro was his slave. That vile man bought him during the middle passage to the West Indies. And now he wants him back.’
‘Oh, Pedro!’ said Lizzie quietly. Frank began walking to and fro in front of the hearth.
Syd turned to Pedro. ‘Look, Prince, you ain’t without pals now. You’re in the gang. No queer cove from foreign parts is goin’ to ’urt you. I won’t let ’im.’
It was just like Syd to think he could treat the rest of the world as if it were Covent Garden. But I wasn’t so sure. There was something about Hawkins that made me think he was more than a match for the Butcher’s Boys. Not in a fair fight, of course. Syd could trounce all comers in the boxing ring, no problem, but Hawkins appeared a man of means. He had threatened the law on Mr Kemble. Not even Syd could do anything about that.
Frank stopped his pacing and swung round to face us.
‘Well, you’ve come to the right place. I agree with Syd. No way will we let Hawkins get away with this.’
Lizzie looked up, a hesitant smile on her face. ‘Of course, Frank’s right. We’ve got friends among Mr Wilberforce’s abolitionists. They’ll know what to do. You must leave it with us.’
Suddenly, there was an explosion of yapping at the parlour door and a white lapdog burst into the room. With all the velocity of a small cannonball, the dog leapt into Frank’s arms and covered his face with licks.
‘Bobo?’ exclaimed Lizzie in astonishment. ‘But that must mean . . .’
‘Mama! You’re back!’ cried Frank. He dumped the dog on to Syd’s lap and ran to the door as a large lady decked out in eye-scorching pink sallied into the room.
‘Where are my little chickens? How I have missed you!’ she cried in a ringing voice. ‘Frankie – how clever of you to be here to greet your old ma! Still giving them hel
l at school, I hope. How’s the Avon rear protector selling?’
‘Going like hot cakes, Mama.’ He kissed her twice on her rouged cheeks.
‘Avon rear protector?’ Pedro muttered as Syd struggled with a dancing armful of fluff. I shrugged, though I could take a shrewd guess as to what it might be protecting the wearer from. The masters at Westminster School were famous for their attachment to the cane.
‘And Lizzie! Still here? Not run off after your handsome rebel lord yet?’ said the Duchess of Avon, kissing her daughter.
‘Not yet, Mama.’
‘What’s wrong with you, girl? At your age, I would’ve thrown off the parental shackles and hopped on board the first boat to America to see him.’
‘Perhaps I’m rebelling against the parental shackles by not doing as you say, Mama,’ said Lizzie with a smile.
‘True,’ chuckled the duchess. ‘Fortunately for us all, Lizzie, you inherited your father’s wit rather than mine. No one ever said the Bristol Nightingale had a fine brain. A fine voice, yes – that was what caught your father – as well as a fine –’
‘ – Mama,’ interrupted Lizzie loudly, ‘I don’t think you’ve met our friends. Remember, we told you about them? May I present Miss Royal, Mr Hawkins and Mr Fletcher?’
The duchess now noticed us standing by the tea table. I bobbed a curtsey. Pedro and Syd bowed.
‘Who?’ she said coldly, lifting a pair of spectacles on a gold chain.
‘Cat, Pedro and Syd,’ Frank whispered. ‘You know – from Drury Lane.’
‘Why didn’t you say so at once, you ninnies! Thank goodness you’re not wasting your time with those stuffy respectable types your father favours. Drury Lane! My, my. I was there when Mr Garrick ruled the roost.’ She chucked me under the chin – I couldn’t help staring: she had been one of us, a singer, but was now a duchess! ‘How’s that for a make-believe ending?’ I wanted to ask Pedro.
‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard all about you three,’ she continued, looking Syd up and down with admiration. ‘The conqueror of the Camden Crusher, if I’m not mistaken?’ Syd bowed a second time, impeded by his lively burden of yapping dog. ‘Come, come, don’t stand on ceremony.’ The duchess bent towards me. ‘Fill me in on all the gossip, my dear. Who’s Mr Sheridan’s latest conquest? Quite how much does he owe everyone these days?’
I was spared the need to answer by the appearance of a tall gentleman, his white hair brushed forwards on to his forehead. Enter the Duke of Avon.
‘My dear, I heard you had arrived,’ he said, kissing his wife’s hand affectionately.
‘Couldn’t miss me, could you, not with all the brouhaha I made in the hall?’
‘Indeed not. You were never one to make a mean entrance. How was your journey from the country?’
‘Roads were frightful. Almost lost the coach in a pothole near Reading. Scared off a couple of highwaymen at Heath Row. That pistol you gave me makes a wonderful bang.’
‘I’m so glad you like it, my dear. Now, have you met our guests?’ The duke turned to smile at Pedro, Syd and me.
‘Oh yes, the boxer, the African violinist and the little girl you tried to hang?’
‘That’s the ones.’ The duke gave me a rueful look.
‘Yes, we’ve just been introduced. But you interrupted Miss Cat. She was about to serve me up the most delicious feast of gossip.’
‘Mama,’ said Lizzie, placing a restraining hand on her mother’s arm. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got far more serious things to discuss. Pedro needs our help.’
‘Oh,’ said the duchess, rather downcast. ‘In that case, I’ll take myself off to my boudoir and repair the damages of the journey. I can be of no assistance to anyone while still carrying half the roads of southern England on my gown.’ She cast me a regretful look as she passed.
‘Ask me again later, your grace, and I’ll tell you all I know,’ I said in an undertone. The duchess brightened visibly.
‘Wonderful. What a good girl you are! I can see we’ll get on splendidly.’
And trailing silk scarves, she flounced from the room, the duke at her side, Bobo barking excitedly at her heels. All the colour in the room seemed to leave with her.
‘That, my friends, was our mother,’ said Frank, with a broad grin at our astounded faces.
Joseph, my favourite footman from Grosvenor Square, sought me out on Wednesday morning. He found me emptying chamber pots in the privy out the back of the theatre.
‘Miss?’ he called, standing tall in his impeccable Avon livery and snow-white wig in the middle of the muddy yard.
I ducked my head round the door.
‘Hello, Joseph, how are you?’ He had proved himself to be a friend during my unfortunate imprisonment for theft earlier in the year, and I was always pleased to see him.
‘I am enjoying most excellent health, Miss Royal,’ he said solemnly, bowing to me as if I were the Queen herself and not a skivvy emptying piss down the drain. ‘And you?’
‘Not bad,’ I replied, wiping my hands on my apron and coming out of the privy to receive him. ‘Do you have a message for me?’
‘An invitation.’
‘Oh? That sounds even better.’
‘If you like that sort of thing, I suppose, miss,’ he said with a disdainful sniff. ‘Not my idea of a convivial evening.’
‘What is it then?’
‘One of Lady Elizabeth’s gatherings – the serious set.’
‘What’s that?’
Joseph handed me a card. ‘To us below stairs, you, Master Pedro and Mr Fletcher are the jolly set, these are the serious set. Believe me, we prefer your visits. Far less bother.’
I turned over the card and read a note in Lizzie’s elegant script:
The next meeting of the Society for the Abolition of the Slave Trade is to be at our house tonight after dinner. Please make sure Pedro comes. L.
‘Tell her we’ll be there,’ I said.
‘Certainly, miss.’ He bent forward. ‘Is it the young master’s debut this Friday?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Good. I’ve got my tickets,’ he said, patting his breast pocket. ‘Had a word with Lord Francis and got the evening off. Tell Master Pedro that me and Mary wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
‘I will,’ I promised.
‘Splendid.’ Joseph stood up straight and resumed his peacock bearing. ‘I bid you “Good day”, miss.’
Pedro and I turned up in good time at Grosvenor Square and were ushered into the library. As the first to arrive, we decided to amuse ourselves on the sliding stepladder that serviced the top shelves of the well-stocked bookcases. It was one of Frank’s favourite games and, as he had once told me, the only reason he ever went into the room.
‘What do you think these abolitionists are going to be like?’ Pedro asked as he sent me flying to the far end of the room with a shove on the ladder. Clunk! I came to a stop.
‘Don’t know. Joseph said they were “serious” – whatever that means.’
I slid the ladder back.
‘Doesn’t sound too bad as long as they’re serious about helping me.’ Pedro propelled himself across the room. Clunk!
‘Back together?’ he challenged.
‘Yes, why not?’
We climbed on board and both pushed off a bookcase marked ‘Philosophy’. The ladder rocketed towards ‘Natural Sciences’ at the opposite end of the room, the two of us shrieking as we hung on.
At that moment the door opened and a little huddle of ladies all in grey and black entered the room.
‘Oh my!’ exclaimed one. A second shielded her eyes against the scene before her. The third gave a scream and retreated into the hall.
Clunk! Pedro leapt from the ladder and bowed to the incomers. I tumbled to the floor.
‘Ladies, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,’ he said.
I bobbed a curtsey, struggling to hide my giggles. They looked so shocked to find us playing; it was tempting to offer them a ride.
‘I suppose I am, ma’am,’ said Pedro.
The lady now turned to inspect me. ‘And, child, who art thou?’
Her antique manner of speaking marked her out as a Quaker. Mrs Reid had told me about them: they were an odd religious group who worshipped by sitting in silence. (Mrs Reid had gone on to add that she wished I would convert as I never gave her a moment’s peace.)
‘Catherine Royal, ma’am,’ I said, having regained my composure. ‘From the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.’
‘Ah, the orphan,’ said the lady, turning to her companions with a grave nod of her head. ‘That explains it. Well, Sister Catherine, Brother Pedro, please join us.’ She waved to two footstools near her skirts. ‘I am Miss Miller; this is my sister, Miss Prudence Miller.’ The second lady bobbed her head. ‘And this is my youngest sister, Miss Fortitude Miller.’ The third lady gave us a shy nod. ‘We are here on behalf of the brethren from Clapham. But we are all brothers and sisters before the Lord, are we not?’
‘I . . . er . . . yes, I suppose so,’ I agreed, glancing at Pedro to see what he was making of all this.
The door now opened again and let in a gaggle of men and women, most of them dressed in similarly sombre colours. Miss Miller began to introduce everyone, but there was so much brother this and sister that – I couldn’t keep up. Lizzie came to our rescue, fluttering into the room in a beautiful blue gown, a tropical bird among the sparrows.
‘So sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said to her expectant guests. Turning to Pedro and me, she added, ‘Sorry, dinner overran as it so often does when Mama’s here. She’ll be here in a minute. Have you met everyone?’
The visitors seated themselves in a circle, leaving Pedro and me stranded on footstools in the centre. Lizzie took a chair just behind us. Joseph and another footman came in with trays of refreshments. He tipped me a wink as he offered me a cup.
Cat Among the Pigeons Page 3