After an hour of such dismal complaints, I’d had enough.
‘Come on, Cat,’ I told the darkness, ‘stop feeling sorry for yourself.’ I realised I was both hungry and thirsty. If I stopped sulking and did something about this, I’d begin to feel happier. This proved to be the case for, standing up, I found that my ankle was much better. Heartened, I picked up my candle and went downstairs in search of company and some food. There would be few people around this late on a Sunday, but I might be able to make it up with Johnny and have supper with him; failing that, perhaps Caleb, the night porter, might have something to eat.
Backstage was silent and very dark. I didn’t like it like this: a theatre should be full of people and life. Empty, it echoed with ghosts of past performances and dead actors. My candle cast long, misshapen shadows where it caught on the ropes strung like spider’s webs from the roof. I had to be careful as I made my way round scenery waiting in the wings: fragments of castle battlements littered my path, wizened trees grew from the boards in a thicket that caught on my clothes. An enchanter’s laboratory, abandoned in one corner, gleamed with glass bottles fastened to wooden shelves and gilt-edged spell books. It rattled as I passed as if it hid a skeleton that was trying to break out of its cupboard.
‘Johnny?’ I called outside the prompt’s room. My voice sounded frail in the yawning darkness. There was no answer. I pushed the door open. A low fire lit the room with a red glare. His office was filled with piles of scripts. A small camp bed, neatly made, stood ready in one corner. Pens, drawing equipment and paper were bundled underneath it. But there was no Johnny. I closed the door softly.
A noise behind me caught my ear like the sound of a distant door clicking to. I spun round.
‘Johnny?’
No answer.
Apart from Johnny and the night porter who manned the door, I did not expect anyone else to be in the theatre. Perhaps Johnny had gone in search of me? Perhaps he had also wanted to make up? Even if he didn’t, I would have welcomed a further reproof as long as I could have company.
I moved as swiftly as I could in the direction of the noise and found myself outside Mr Sheridan’s office. I paused, trying not to breathe too loudly. Yes, there was definitely someone moving stealthily about inside, but it couldn’t be Johnny, not in this office. I could hear the scrape of a chair as it was dragged across the floor. Had Mr Sheridan come in for something? That was most unusual this late on a Sunday night.
‘You’ll keep my jewel safe for me, won’t you, Cat?’
My promise to Mr Sheridan came back to me as I stood in the dark corridor outside his office. What if someone was in there right now? What if they had already found the diamond? I had to stop them. Looking around for inspiration, my eyes lighted upon a spear leaning against the wall: I recognised it as the one used in the pageant for ‘Rule, Britannia’. Though blunt, it should be sufficiently menacing to scare off a would-be burglar. But what if it was Mr Sheridan? I couldn’t just go bursting in and threaten him with a spear. There was a chance that he might find it funny; on the other hand, he might decide I’d gone too far. He was very particular as to who entered his office. Taking the spear in my right hand, I gently eased the door open with my left and peeked in. I could see a dark figure, too small for Mr Sheridan, standing on the chair, searching along the shelves opposite.
‘Stop right there!’ I shouted, pushing the door open with a bang. My abrupt entrance made the burglar totter on his chair in surprise and he fell to the floor. I rushed forward, intending to capture the thief by pinning him to the ground with my weapon . . . he was, after all, not much bigger than me . . . but he was too quick. He leapt to his feet, seized the end of the spear and pulled it sharply from my hands, sending me crashing into the table. I squealed with pain as the thief grabbed my arms and bent one up behind me.
‘Be quiet!’ hissed a familiar voice. ‘Do you want the porter to find us?’
It was Pedro! I stopped struggling.
‘Let go!’ I said furiously. He still had my arm bent back.
‘Promise not to shout?’ he asked, giving it a painful tweak.
I nodded. I couldn’t believe it: Pedro was the burglar!
He released me and bent to pick up the spear.
‘Thinking of sticking this in me, were you?’ he said lightly, touching the blunted end of the spear before leaning it against the desk.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, rubbing my arm. He was avoiding my eye, pretending to be busy righting the overturned chair.
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ he replied.
‘I live here, remember?’ I said sarcastically. ‘You were looking for it, weren’t you?’
‘What?’ he said, now tidying some papers he had pulled from the shelf in his fall.
‘Pedro, don’t fool with me! You were looking for the diamond.’
‘So what if I was?’ he said with a shrug.
‘But that’d be stealing. We promised to look after it!’ I protested.
‘You promised; I didn’t.’
‘But it’s still stealing!’
‘So what?’ said Pedro, looking up at me for the first time, his eyes full of anger. He was glaring at me, not as if he was seeing Cat, the girl he had befriended, but an English girl a white girl from a nation grown rich on slavery. I didn’t like that look. ‘Don’t you think it was wrong that I had everything stolen from me? My family, my home, even my freedom? So what if I just want to have enough money to get away from here? To go somewhere where I can be truly free. A place where people won’t see my skin first, but me.’
‘I see you, Pedro,’ I said quietly.
He shrugged. ‘You do perhaps . . . but maybe that’s because you’re no better off than me, Cat.’ A new thought struck him and he grabbed hold of my forearms, pulling me towards him eagerly. ‘What about you, Cat? Don’t you want to escape all this? If we found that diamond, we wouldn’t have to take another beating in our lives. We could repay everyone for the insults we’ve suffered. When I saw that beast dangling you by your ankle, laughing at you, it reminded me . . .’ He stopped and let go of me, turning his back.
‘Of what?’ I prompted, wondering what he had been going to say.
‘Of being a slave, damn you!’ he said angrily, as if it were my fault I’d made him remember. ‘Look, don’t you realise that with that diamond you could make Billy Shepherd sorry he ever touched you?’
‘No, I couldn’t.’ I shook my head vigorously. ‘I’d have to run away and hide for the rest of my life if I stole. Anyway, it’s different for me. You say your life was stolen from you . . . and it was . . . but Mr Sheridan saved my life. I’d’ve frozen on the doorstep if he hadn’t taken pity on me. I can’t repay that by stealing from him.’
While I spoke, I could see Pedro locking away the raw pain he had let me glimpse as he remembered his captivity.
‘Your problem, Cat, is that you latch on to other people too trustingly.’ He shoved a ledger back on the shelf as if he were ramming a cannonball home. ‘Do you think Mr Sheridan cares a damn about you? Of course he doesn’t. You’re so starved of affection that you think if someone pats you on the head, they must be your friend. Take it from me that pats all too often precede blows. You’ve got to learn to look after number one.’
‘Like you, you mean.’
‘Like me.’
‘But I do trust my friends. I owe Mr Sheridan everything.’
‘It doesn’t matter in any case,’ he said dismissively, giving the room a last inspection to check it appeared undisturbed. ‘It’s not here. I’ve been through the room three times now and found nothing.’
‘Three times!’ I protested.
‘While you were out of the way, burning the midnight oil on your stories of past adventures, Cat,’ he said with an ironic grin, ‘I was thinking of the future.’
‘But Pedro,’ I implored him, ‘promise me you won’t risk it again! If you’re caught, they’ll hang you for certain.’
‘
I promise I won’t come here . . . but only because I’m wasting my time. He must have hidden it elsewhere.’
‘Pedro! I’ll have to tell!’ I felt like shaking some sense into him as he stood there so calm, so sure of himself.
‘No, you won’t.’ His brown eyes looked defiantly at me.
He was right. My loyalty to Mr Sheridan did not extend to getting a boy executed. I’d have to rely on persuasion rather than threats.
‘Please, Pedro!’
‘Don’t worry. You don’t have to know anything about it. I’ll be very discreet.’ He smiled.
‘Argh!’ I couldn’t bear his smug face any more. Why did he not listen? How could he hope to get away with so audacious a theft? I grabbed his jacket lapels. ‘Please . . . don’t . . . do . . . this!’ I gave him a thump on each word until he caught my fists. He was still grinning at me infuriatingly.
‘Sorry, Cat, it’s my chance to get out. When someone shows me the exit, I take it. And if you knew what was good for you, you’d take it too. Mr Sheridan will tire of having you as his pet cat one day and what prospects will you have then? Unless a decent man like Syd takes pity on you and marries you, where will you be in a few years? I’ll tell you: you’ll be out on the street.’
I released his jacket and put my hands over my ears, not wanting to hear this from him.
‘You’re just saying this to excuse what you’re doing,’ I said bitterly. ‘But I know it’s wrong. I’ll be all right. I’ll find some way of earning my keep . . . an honest way.’
‘You’re so naïve, Cat.’
‘At least I’m not a thief.’
‘I’m no thief, I’m just trying to get what I’m owed!’
‘Thief!’
‘Coward!’
‘Thief!’
‘Hey, hey,’ said a man’s voice, ‘what’s all this?’ Johnny stepped into the room. ‘Why’re you calling each other names? And what are you doing here in any case?’
I looked at Pedro. The pearl earring he still wore in his ear glittered in the candlelight but he was staring at the floor, no doubt wondering if I was going to tell on him.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said. ‘We were just arguing about . . . about . . .’
‘About today,’ broke in Pedro when he realised I was not going to betray him. ‘We were angry about what happened at the boxing.’
Johnny looked dubiously at us both. ‘And you decided to have your argument in Mr Sheridan’s office?’ He leant down and picked up the weapon I had brought with me. ‘With a spear? It must be more serious than I thought.’
We both said nothing. What could we say?
‘Well, I’ll not mention it to Mr Sheridan this time, but I expect better from you both in future,’ Johnny concluded, gesturing to us to leave the room. ‘Especially you, Miss Royal. After all Mr Sheridan’s done for you, I didn’t expect you to repay him by entering his office without his permission. Perhaps his trust in you is misplaced?’
‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ said Pedro angrily. ‘Miss Royal remains his loyal servant . . . or should I say, slave?’ He turned from us both and ran off towards the stage door.
‘Johnny, I . . .’ I began, though I wasn’t sure what I was going to say in my own defence without dropping Pedro into the mire.
‘Hadn’t you better get to bed?’ Johnny said severely, showing no interest in hearing further excuses from me. ‘You’ve had a trying day: you need your sleep.’
I nodded miserably and headed for my bed, feeling terrible that I had now disappointed him twice today. Would that mean he no longer wanted to be my friend? I could sense his eyes on my back as he watched me mount the rickety stairs to the Sparrow’s Nest. When I turned at the head of the staircase to bid him goodnight, he was already walking to his own room. It was then that I noticed the brace of pistols stuck in his belt. Unlike my spear, they did not look like stage props. They were real.
The next morning, heartily sick of being frowned upon by Johnny, I was determined to find a friendly face. I took the opportunity of an errand to the other theatre in Covent Garden to call on Syd. I had come at a bad time . . . for the squeamish like me, that is . . . for he was in the process of butchering a particularly large pig. Death had already visited, but there was still much work for the butcher to do in dividing the carcass. Syd’s arms were red to the elbows in blood.
‘Ah, Cat,’ Syd said smiling at me over the pig’s snout, his face a lattice of cuts and bruises from the match. The creature grinned affably up at us . . . a silent third in our tête à tête. ‘’Ow you feelin’? ’Ow’s the ankle?’
‘Much better, thanks, Syd,’ I said hovering by the door, relieved to find that he at least did not bear me a grudge for what happened.
Syd brought his cleaver down with a thwack and threw the head into a bucket, slopping the floor with blood. I hurriedly lifted my skirts out of the way.
‘Sorry, Cat. Not used to ’avin’ a lady watch me work.’
The bloody scene before me took me back to the boxing match.
‘Aren’t there easier ways of earning a living?’ I asked wistfully, leaning on the doorpost to take the weight off my sore leg.
Syd looked hurt. ‘What’s wrong with butcherin’?’
‘Nothing,’ I said quickly and truthfully. It was an honest trade of which no one should be ashamed. ‘I meant being battered to a pulp in the ring.’
‘Ah, that.’ Syd brought the cleaver expertly down on the pig’s trotters, shearing them off. ‘I don’t expect a girl to understand but it’s my only way to fame and fortune, Cat. Butcherin’ is all right . . . but I want more.’
‘Like what?’
‘To be champion, of course. Then, perhaps, one day, own a boxin’ academy where fine young gents like your Lord Francis will pay me good money to teach ’em to box. I could then afford a decent place to live, raise a family in comfort, send my sons to good schools.’ He gave me a quick look from under his lashes. ‘I’d be on the up and up.’ He gave two short staccato taps at the curly pig’s tail and threw it on to a tray behind him.
I felt uncomfortable hearing him talk about the future; it was safer to bring him back to the here and now. ‘You’ll be careful, won’t you, Syd? Be careful about who you get involved with?’
He laughed. ‘Course, Cat. Don’t you worry your pretty little ’ead about me.’ He put his cleaver down and gave me a serious look. ‘To tell you the truth, Cat, I’m worried about you. Word is, the Boil’s after you for somethink. You stay away from the market for a bit, won’t you? Until I’ve sorted ’im.’
I swallowed. ‘Sorted ’im . . . I mean, him?’
‘Yeah. We’re settling it tonight. In the market. ‘’Is boys against mine.’
‘Syd!’
Syd smiled and wiped his hands on his apron, pleased to see, I think, that I was concerned for him. ‘Don’t worry, Cat. ’E don’t stand a chance. I’ll walk you back now, check nothing ’appens to you.’
He would not accept a refusal but escorted me like a prisoner under guard across Bow Street.
‘Wait a moment,’ I said as we paused outside the magistrate’s house. A new notice bearing a familiar name had gone up on the sign by the runners’ office. A crowd had gathered round it and were talking animatedly. I had to read it.
Syd obligingly stopped. The people at the front of the gathering respectfully made way to allow him to the best position.
‘What’s it say, Cat?’ he asked. He had never learnt to read, having contented himself with mastering a few sums, which came in handy for his trade.
‘It’s a reward notice,’ I said glumly. ‘They’re offering a hundred pounds for information leading to the arrest of the man known as Captain Sparkler.’
Syd clapped his hands. ‘Gawd, that’d be a nice sum for someone to pick up!’
‘You’re right there, mate,’ a bystander replied.
‘I wouldn’t mind an ’undred pounds . . . I could buy my own boxin’ club for that and forget about the fightin’.
’ He guided me away from the sign. ‘Won’t be long before someone squeals on him, I’d say.’
I nodded, while fervently praying he was wrong. One thing was certain: after last night, I would not breathe a word of what I had found out about Johnny to anyone, particularly not to Pedro. With the lure of a hundred pounds, telling Pedro would be like sending Johnny to the gallows myself.
SCENE 2 . . . THE ROOKERIES
I didn’t see either Pedro or Johnny for the remainder of that day. Signor Angelini informed me that Pedro had gone to entertain a duke’s son for the afternoon. He seemed to be under the impression that this involved playing the violin; I didn’t want to disabuse him, but I suspected that it meant that Lord Francis and Pedro were roaming London in disguise again. I had hoped that I could make it up with Pedro and try to persuade him not to take part in the fight planned for that night. But being warned by Syd to stay indoors, I did not think it wise to go in search of the boys.
As for Johnny, he was in the theatre, but ‘busy’. A sign had appeared on his door: ‘Do not disturb’, it read in Johnny’s elegant curling script. I pressed my ear to the door and, sure enough, I could hear him inside. From the sounds of the scratching pen, I guessed he was drawing. I could well imagine the reason he did not want any callers: seeing a half-finished drawing by Captain Sparkler on his desk would be as good a way of revealing his identity as running through the streets shouting the secret to the heavens. I waited outside for a time, sitting on a large wooden anchor used to dress the stage for the pieces with a nautical theme, but my watch was barren. Giving up, I trailed back to the Sparrow’s Nest and asked Mrs Reid if she had anything for me to do.