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 hell 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.