‘Well, sir, unfortunately for you,’ Mr Kemble returned icily, ‘you are in the theatre of this “jumped-up player” –’ I heard footsteps: Mr Bishop, the irascible stage-manager, ran up brandishing a hammer, his one good eye fixed on my persecutor, the other hidden by his black eye-patch. Behind him, Long Tom appeared out of the shadows slapping a chain threateningly into his palm. ‘– And you are surrounded by his cast and crew. I suggest you take up your claim with the proper authorities and stop manhandling our Cat as if she were some stray you had a mind to drown.’
My captor let out a hissing breath. Caliban, otherwise known as Mr Baddeley, now stumped into sight, his mass of wild whiskers and mud-splattered sackcloth making an appalling apparition. He was wielding a log with evident intention to apply it to any offending body he could reach. Six extras dressed as sailors followed and formed a semi-circle behind Mr Kemble, pushing up their sleeves in eager anticipation of a brawl.
‘You have ’til the count of three. One . . .’
Kingston Hawkins looked around him, counting his opposition.
‘Two . . .’
He looked down on my bedraggled head, wondering if I was worth the fuss.
‘Three.’
I was dropped to the floor.
‘I will be back!’ he shouted as he leapt down into the Pit. ‘In force. You’d better have my slave or his coffin waiting. And understand this: if he’s dead I own even the maggots eating his corpse. You can’t keep him from me.’
The door to the Pit slammed. There was complete silence on stage. Mr Kemble extended his hand to help me to my feet.
‘Now,’ he said lightly as if nothing untoward had happened, ‘where were we? Ah, yes: our Ariel has flown off. Hadn’t you better bring him back from the dead, Cat?’
ACT I
SCENE 1 – PAYING THE PRICE
I found Pedro hiding in one of the practice rooms in the basement, curled up and trembling on an old carpet that had once seen better service as the dying spot. (As you may have noticed if you’ve been to Drury Lane, actors never die on stage without a rug to stop them spoiling their costumes – this particular one had probably supported the legendary Garrick many years ago.) Pedro scrambled up when he heard my approach. We looked at each other speechless for a moment, the right words difficult to find.
He spoke first. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Me? Yes, I’m fine.’
‘I’m so sorry I ran away.’ He was still in a lather of fear. He began walking to and fro, clenching and unclenching his hands. I’d never seen him like this.
‘Don’t apologise. You did the right thing.’
‘Is he gone?’ He stopped to look at me. ‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No, not me.’ I surreptitiously shifted my neckerchief to hide my throat.
‘I’m so sorry I didn’t stay. I should’ve.’ To my horror, Pedro leant against the wall and thumped his head hard, again and again, punishing himself. ‘I’m a coward . . . coward . . . coward.’
‘Pedro, stop!’ I rushed forward and caught him in a tight hug. ‘It’s all right. Mr Kemble threw him out.’ I could feel Pedro quivering. ‘That Mr Hawkins thinks you’re dead – well, maybe he’s only half convinced, but it’ll do for now.’
Pulling himself together, Pedro stood up straight, furious with himself. ‘I’m sorry. You must think I’m a real girl for behaving like this.’
‘Nothing wrong with being a girl,’ I said with mock indignation, trying to cheer him up.
‘Not a girl like you, anyway,’ he replied, smiling despite himself.
I sat down and patted the carpet beside me. ‘I think you’d better tell me everything.’
‘Where to start?’ He held out his hands helplessly.
‘Well, for one, I thought you were apprentice to Signor Angelini?’
‘I am,’ confirmed Pedro, ‘well, sort of.’ He looked down at his fingernails.
‘What do you mean “sort of”?’ I sensed he was not being entirely straight.
Pedro sighed. ‘I suppose I’m paying the price for it now. You see, my . . . my old master passed me on to a man called Jack Grimes down in Bristol – it was a kind of loan. Grimes dragged me around the provincial theatres and private parties – “the noble savage and his violin”, he called me. Dressed me in the most ridiculous outfits.’ Pedro curled his lip with distaste.
‘Not much changed then,’ I said, gesturing to Pedro’s Ariel costume.
‘If you think this is stupid, you should’ve seen what I had to wear then. On second thoughts, I’m pleased you didn’t. I feel ashamed just thinking about it.’ Pedro managed a wry smile. ‘Anyway, last year Grimes ran into Signor Angelini during the summer circuit. The maestro was taken with my talent. Grimes thought he’d make a bit of extra money by arranging the apprenticeship. I knew then that it was an odd agreement – Signor Angelini paid him money to sign me up, realizing he’d get it all back through my earnings. I didn’t say anything – the maestro seemed a much better bet than either Grimes or Mr . . . Mr Hawkins. I thought he could teach me things, turn me into a real artist and not just some musical freak show.’
‘So Mr Hawkins is right to say that your articles of apprenticeship aren’t worth anything?’ I asked quietly.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Cat. Is that what he claimed?’
I nodded.
Pedro stared at the flickering lantern in misery. There seemed to be nothing more either of us could say.
‘I’m not going back to him. I’m not,’ he broke out suddenly. ‘I’ll kill myself before I let him a lay a finger on me again.’ Pedro ground his fist into his palm.
‘Of course you’re not. He can’t take you against your will.’
‘What? Him a rich man, and me a runaway slave – who’ll protect me?’
‘Who’ll protect you?’ I caught his hand in mine. ‘Why, your friends of course.’
He squeezed my hand in silent thanks.
‘Look, we’d better go and explain all this to Mr Kemble while Mr Sheridan is still out of town.’ I rose to shake out my skirts. ‘Then I think we should pay a call on Grosvenor Square. I’ll send word that we’re coming and arrange an escort to keep you safe from that villain Hawkins.’
Pedro’s face perked up at this suggestion. ‘You think Frank and Lizzie can help?’
‘I’m sure of it. It took an earl to get me off a hanging over the diamond*; a lord and lady might just do the trick for you.’