‘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?’