The Diamond of Drury Lane

by Julia Golding

  ‘In that case, I suggest you listen to me, and listen hard. Put that razor down and move away from the girl,’ Johnny said. The barrels of the pistols were rock-steady in his hands, both cocked, prepared to fire.

  Billy tightened his grip on my hair, dragging me from the bench so I was on my knees in front of him. He brought the blade to my throat. I could feel its sharp edge prick my skin.

  ‘’Oo the ’ell are you?’ Billy growled.

  Johnny gave a flick of the gun barrel, gesturing Billy to move away from me. His eyes were fixed on my captor, blazing with anger.

  ‘Her back-up. Let her go,’ he said menacingly.

  ‘Or what?’ sneered Billy. ‘I’ll cut ’er throat if you take a step nearer. ’Oo said you could come in ’ere and break up our private talk? You don’t want ’im ’ere, do ya, Cat?’ He used his grip on my hair to shake my head like a marionette.

  ‘You won’t find out about the diamond from her,’ said Johnny coldly. ‘She knows nothing.’

  Billy pulled my head back, exposing my throat to the knife.

  ‘So why don’t ya tell us then? Tell us, or I’ll kill the kitten.’

  ‘You won’t do that,’ said Johnny, not even looking at me but keeping his eyes on Billy. Pox-face made a move on Johnny’s left, trying to creep up behind to jump him. ‘Stay where you are!’ ordered Johnny. Pox-face stood still, eyes fixed on the second gun barrel now pointing at him.

  ‘Oh, won’t I?’ jeered Billy. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’ll shoot you first.’

  ‘You won’t do that: you might ’it the girl,’ said Billy, pressing the blade tight against my throat.

  ‘Take my word for it: I’m a very good shot. I won’t miss. Now, what are you going to do?’

  There was silence. Then a clatter as Billy dropped the razor on the floor in front of me.

  ‘Very sensible,’ said Johnny. ‘Now let her go.’

  Furious, Billy released his grip on my hair and kicked me away from him, sending me sprawling on to the floor so that I landed on top of the razor. I felt it cut into my arm.

  ‘One more trick like that and I’ll blast you to hell,’ said Johnny fiercely. ‘Get up, Cat, and come over here.’

  I scrambled to my feet, cradling my bleeding arm, and stumbled past Johnny out of that hateful place.

  ‘Now understand this,’ I heard him telling them. ‘I’m going to escort the young lady home. If I spot so much as a whisker of any of you following us, I’ll fire without warning.’ With a final look at each of them, he ducked out of the room, slamming the door so violently it made the sign creak on its hinges. He then stuffed one of the pistols in his belt, seized my injured arm and began to run.

  ‘Come on, we must get away from here!’ he urged, setting off at a smart pace.

  Not needing to be told twice, I ran after him, though hampered by slipping several times on the icy cobbles. Only Johnny’s firm grip on my arm stopped me falling to the ground. I was too numb to think of the pain. Pale faces appeared in dark doorways, like ghosts rising from tombs. They watched us pass in eerie silence as the snow fluttered down in frozen tears. Suddenly, a scrawny woman darted forward and made a grab for my shawl. I let it go, leaving it hanging like a tattered flag in her hands.

  We turned a corner into a busy thoroughfare of smoke-filled taverns and shabby lodging houses. A drunken Irishman stumbled out of a dark alleyway and into our path.

  ‘Gi’ us that!’ he shouted at Johnny, trying to pull me away.

  I didn’t see exactly what Johnny did, but next thing the man was doubled up, hands clenched to his stomach, and we were running out on to St Giles High Street, and away.

  ‘I can’t breathe!’ I gasped, my side pierced by a stitch.

  ‘Forget breathing; just run!’ Johnny said with an anxious look over his shoulder.

  He towed me along after him, back across Long Acre and into Bow Street. Taking a side street to avoid passing the magistrate’s house, he did not stop until we reached the stage door. Caleb was on the watch: he threw it open for us and we burst inside, collapsing as soon as we were across the threshold.

  ‘What ’appened to you, sir?’ asked Caleb, looking with concern at Johnny’s bloodstained hand as my rescuer bent over to regain his breath.

  Johnny stared down uncomprehendingly at his palm.

  ‘But I’m not hurt!’ He turned to me. I was on all fours, panting and sobbing with relief. ‘It must be Cat. Let’s see.’

  I raised my left arm to him: a cut, about four inches long, was oozing bright red droplets vivid against the white skin of my inner arm.

  Johnny gave a low whistle. ‘Nasty! An inch lower and that would have got the vein. Here, let me take you to my office and I’ll clean it up.’

  Caleb blanched as he caught sight of the blood dripping down my wrist.

  ‘Will she be all right?’ he asked huskily.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Johnny assured him. ‘But keep a sharp eye out tonight, Caleb. The boys who did this might come looking for us. Bar the door and don’t let anyone in unless you know them.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the old doorman, picking up a stout cudgel he had concealed behind the door curtain. ‘They won’t get past Caleb Braithwaite in a hurry.’

  ‘Thanks, my friend,’ said Johnny.

  He then knelt and picked me up. I was so shocked and exhausted by my adventure that I no longer cared what became of me: I just wanted to curl up, fall asleep and forget all about it. But Johnny had other ideas. There were matters he had to attend to first. He sat me in a chair by his fireside and put a kettle on the fire to boil. Tearing up some clean strips of linen, he set about tending to my wound.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Catkin. I should have acted faster,’ he said, shaking his head over the cut.

  ‘You’re sorry!’ I said in surprise. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry about. It was all my fault: I should never have fallen for their trap.’

  ‘They set a trap, did they?’ Johnny probed gently as he staunched the wound.

  I nodded.

  Johnny pressed my hand comfortingly. ‘I really must know what they said to you. I must know what they know about the diamond.’

  So he was in on Mr Sheridan’s secret too! It occurred to me then that he might even have been put here to help defend it. I looked up at him to see if I could read the truth in his face. His eyes were no longer cold: they had returned to their old friendly expression, and yet tonight I thought I could sense a new shadow in their depths as if he was particularly sad about something.

  ‘And I need to know why you were with those blackguards in the first place, Cat.’ He turned to take the boiling kettle from the grate and poured some of the contents into a china bowl. ‘It wasn’t you who told them about the diamond, was it?’ he asked levelly as he put several teaspoons of salt into the steaming water.

  ‘No!’ I protested. ‘I never said nothing about the diamond . . . except to Pedro.’

  ‘To Pedro?’ Johnny asked, his voice careful as if he was walking on thin ice.

  ‘But it wasn’t him, neither!’ I added. At least, I hoped he hadn’t told them. ‘Ouch!’ Johnny had just dabbed my cut with the salted water.

  ‘Billy Boil told me one of his gang had seen me at the stage door. It must have been the night Mr Marchmont came.’

  ‘Who is Billy Boil?’ Johnny looked puzzled.

  I smiled weakly. ‘I mean Billy Shepherd. I’m afraid I gave him that nickname: we aren’t the best of friends, as you saw. He was the one with the razor . . . the one you threatened with the pistols.’

  ‘Oh those,’ said Johnny contemptuously, taking the pistols from his belt and throwing them on to the camp bed still cocked. I ducked, half expecting them to explode. ‘I didn’t have time to load them. If I had, I would have ended that interview much sooner, believe me. No, I was curious as to why you were running off into the night and I took it into my head to follow you.’

  ‘The messenger told me Pedro had been h
urt.’

  ‘Ah. Now I see.’

  I suddenly realised why Johnny had taken the risk of following me into St Giles. It hadn’t been out of gallantry as I had assumed.

  ‘You didn’t trust me, did you? You thought I was going to betray you.’

  He tied off the bandage around my arm and sat back on his haunches.

  ‘I must admit it did cross my mind. I was going to run for it if I saw you going to the magistrate to tip them off about the new cartoon. Whatever my motive, I am heartily thankful I did follow you. I dread to think what would have happened if I hadn’t been on hand.’

  ‘I’d be dead and my hair a wig in Pollard’s window. I think you can be quite certain of that,’ I said with a small laugh that turned into a shudder.

  Johnny pressed my fingers again. ‘That would have been a very sad loss to Drury Lane. So, tell me, what did they know about the diamond?’

  ‘Not much,’ I said with a shrug. ‘Just that it’s hidden in the theatre. They thought I could fetch it for them.’

  He bit his lip and looked away from me to the fire. Bright flames danced on the coals, casting an orange glow over his handsome features. I was beginning to love seeing that face about the theatre. He was the only one who called me Catkin in that affectionate way of his, the only one who took the trouble to tell me things.

  ‘I think it’s become too dangerous to have the diamond here,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to tell Sheridan it’s got to move.’

  ‘Move where?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘Come now, Cat. You don’t really want to know that, do you?’ he laughed. ‘Look what danger a little bit of knowledge got you into tonight.’

  ‘It was my ignorance, not what I knew, that landed me in trouble,’ I countered.

  ‘So you would’ve handed the diamond over to them, would you, if you’d known where it was?’ he asked with a strange smile.

  ‘No, of course not. I’d’ve thought of something before it reached that point.’

  ‘I doubt that. Shepherd does not look the type to allow little girls to trick him out of a great prize. But in any case, you need not worry. I meant that the diamond should be put far out of anyone’s reach. Sent to America, for example.’

  ‘America! So far?’ I exclaimed. ‘What do they want with diamonds in America? I thought there was nothing but Indians and rebels in America.’

  ‘That about sums it up,’ said Johnny with a laugh. ‘Come now, to bed with you.’

  He helped me to my feet.

  ‘Thank you, Johnny,’ I said quietly. I had to say it before I left.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For saving my life.’

  He bent down and kissed the top of my head like a father or brother might do. Receiving this tender gesture, I felt an acute sense of loss. I had survived by not thinking too much about what I couldn’t have, but tonight I suddenly missed having my own family more than ever. Being with Johnny made me realise what I might have known.

  ‘It was the least I could do,’ he said, ‘especially as it was the diamond that put you in danger in the first place.’

  I was about to put him right on that and explain about the bad blood between Billy and myself, but he ushered me out.

  ‘No more tonight, Cat. We can talk in the morning.’

  I turned to go but a thought snagged me like a hook.

  ‘Johnny, don’t tell anyone about this, will you?’ I pleaded.

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll have to mention it to Mr Sheridan . . . but no one else, I promise. But why?’

  ‘If Pedro hears, he’ll tell Syd.’

  ‘Syd?’

  ‘The Bow Street Butcher. If he finds out what Billy did to me, it’ll be war in Covent Garden. Someone might get hurt and I wouldn’t want that.’

  ‘I understand.’ He paused. ‘You know, Catkin, you are wiser than you look. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, captain.’

  1Struck through by the censor.

  SCENE 3 . . . BACKSTAGE

  ‘Are you all right, Cat?’

  Pedro found me in the auditorium, replacing the candles in one of the chandeliers. Long Tom had lowered it to be within my reach so I could assist him in the neverending chore of keeping the theatre brightly lit.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ I said, not looking at Pedro as I chipped off the drips of wax from the glass reflectors with my nail.

  ‘Are you still cross with me? Don’t you want to hear what happened last night?’ He sat down on a bench and rubbed his calf muscles like an athlete limbering for a race. He was expected on stage in five minutes for his rehearsal.

  I already knew, of course, that nothing had happened in Covent Garden last night, but he was not to know that. A total lack of interest on my part would look suspicious.

  ‘So what happened?’ I asked dutifully.

  ‘Nothing. Syd thinks Billy funked it.’

  ‘Oh.’ I spiked a white candle on the prong in an empty bracket.

  ‘I thought you’d be relieved,’ said Pedro in a disappointed voice. ‘This means that Billy’s surrendered the market to Syd, doesn’t it? You’ll be able to go out again. He won’t dare touch you.’

  When I closed my eyes, I could still feel the choking pressure of Billy’s razor on my throat and touch the stub of hair where he had shaved off a fistful. Pedro’s comforting words could not be more ill-founded. I swayed on my feet and reached out for the bench to sit down before I collapsed.

  Pedro was alarmed. ‘Cat? What’s the matter? You really don’t look well.’ He now noticed my bandaged forearm. ‘What did you do to yourself ?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, taking a steadying breath, determined not to faint.

  ‘But your arm!’

  ‘It’s nothing . . . just a cut.’

  Pedro gave me a dubious look but did not pursue the matter. ‘Well, I know something that will cheer you up. Lord Francis and Lady Elizabeth are coming to the rehearsal today.’

  I raised my eyebrows quizzically. ‘In what capacity?’

  ‘Dressed as themselves, of course. Now that you’ve whetted their appetite for the stage, Mr Sheridan invited them to bring a party of their friends. They should be here soon.’

  I looked round quickly, wondering if Johnny was in view: he had to be warned. He would want to keep out of sight of such an invasion in case someone recognised him.

  ‘Come on, Cat,’ chided Pedro. ‘Aren’t you the least bit pleased?’

  ‘Sorry, Pedro,’ I said, turning back to him. ‘Of course I’m pleased.’ Looking into his deep brown eyes, it was hard to believe at that moment that this was the boy who had cheated on me. He did seem to care. Maybe the diamond-stealing was now all water under the bridge and we could start again?

  ‘Good, for I told Frank that you’d show them round.’

  ‘Pedro!’

  Pedro leapt to his feet and gave me a bright smile. ‘Well, I can’t, can I? I’ve got to be on stage.’ With a final stretch, he bounded away like a gazelle, climbing over the bars to the orchestra pit and up on to the forestage.

  Typical! I had just begun to like him again and he had sprung another surprise on me, using me to entertain his guests. If it weren’t for the fact that I liked Lord Francis too, I wouldn’t let him get away with it!

  I found Johnny in the wings, running through the cues for that night’s play with Mr Bishop. Hovering behind the stage manager, I tried to attract Johnny’s attention. This couldn’t wait: they could be here at any moment. Finally, my friend looked up and saw me waving at him.

  ‘Mr Bishop,’ said Johnny quickly, ‘I’m sorry to interrupt this, but could we finish this later?’

  The rebuff annoyed Mr Bishop. He was clearly having one of his bad days, but even he found it hard to show offence at Johnny’s polite but masterful manner.

  ‘If you must,’ he said grudgingly. He stuffed his dog-eared copy of the script into a deep jacket pocket. ‘I’ll see how the enchanter’s laboratory is coming along. Problem with the hidden compartment . . . kee
ps springing open.’

  He shuffled off, yelling to the carpenter to hurry. It appeared the poor chippie was going to bear the brunt of his anger.

  ‘This better be good, Cat,’ said Johnny, steering me into the prompt’s office. ‘I have to tread carefully around Bishop. I think he suspects something.’

  I hurriedly told him about the arrival of the party of young ladies and gentlemen. Striding to and fro in front of the fire, Johnny ran his fingers distractedly through his hair.

  ‘Who do you think will come?’ he asked.

  I shrugged. ‘I met a few of their friends at the tea party. Besides Lord Francis and Lady Elizabeth, there was a young lady called Jane, a young gentleman called Charlie, and the Marchmont children.’

  ‘The Honorable Charles Hengrave, I imagine,’ mused Johnny. ‘I don’t know the girl, Jane . . . probably some poor relation from the country. As for the Marchmonts, I know them all right: horrid little bores, the whole family. I can only tolerate the father because of his political views. As a man, I find him repugnant.’

  I was surprised by Johnny’s intimate knowledge of Lord Francis’s circle.

  ‘The Marchmont boy’s not like his father,’ I said quickly. Johnny looked surprised. ‘What I mean is, he’s still horrid, but he doesn’t share his father’s politics. Lord Francis said he was a supporter of Mr Pitt and dead against reformers. He certainly didn’t like my manuscript . . . thought it revolutionary stuff, unfit for the delicate ears of his sisters, and all because I wrote about what he considers “low” subjects.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Johnny fiddled with an inkwell on the mantelpiece, his shoulders in a dejected hunch. ‘Backstage at Drury Lane is not as safe as I thought . . . far too public. It’s a shame. I wouldn’t have minded seeing Lady Elizabeth again.’ He turned to me. ‘Is she still as pretty as ever?’

  ‘When did you meet Lady Elizabeth?’ I asked, intrigued.

  ‘Oh, here and there,’ said Johnny lightly, flicking dust from a brass candlestick.

  ‘You’re not telling me everything, are you?’ A suspicion was beginning to form in my mind, based on a growing awareness that my friend was not as he seemed.