‘Wonderful. What a good girl you are! I can see we’ll get on splendidly.’
And trailing silk scarves, she flounced from the room, the duke at her side, Bobo barking excitedly at her heels. All the colour in the room seemed to leave with her.
‘That, my friends, was our mother,’ said Frank, with a broad grin at our astounded faces.
Joseph, my favourite footman from Grosvenor Square, sought me out on Wednesday morning. He found me emptying chamber pots in the privy out the back of the theatre.
‘Miss?’ he called, standing tall in his impeccable Avon livery and snow-white wig in the middle of the muddy yard.
I ducked my head round the door.
‘Hello, Joseph, how are you?’ He had proved himself to be a friend during my unfortunate imprisonment for theft earlier in the year, and I was always pleased to see him.
‘I am enjoying most excellent health, Miss Royal,’ he said solemnly, bowing to me as if I were the Queen herself and not a skivvy emptying piss down the drain. ‘And you?’
‘Not bad,’ I replied, wiping my hands on my apron and coming out of the privy to receive him. ‘Do you have a message for me?’
‘An invitation.’
‘Oh? That sounds even better.’
‘If you like that sort of thing, I suppose, miss,’ he said with a disdainful sniff. ‘Not my idea of a convivial evening.’
‘What is it then?’
‘One of Lady Elizabeth’s gatherings – the serious set.’
‘What’s that?’
Joseph handed me a card. ‘To us below stairs, you, Master Pedro and Mr Fletcher are the jolly set, these are the serious set. Believe me, we prefer your visits. Far less bother.’
I turned over the card and read a note in Lizzie’s elegant script:
The next meeting of the Society for the Abolition of the Slave Trade is to be at our house tonight after dinner. Please make sure Pedro comes. L.
‘Tell her we’ll be there,’ I said.
‘Certainly, miss.’ He bent forward. ‘Is it the young master’s debut this Friday?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Good. I’ve got my tickets,’ he said, patting his breast pocket. ‘Had a word with Lord Francis and got the evening off. Tell Master Pedro that me and Mary wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
‘I will,’ I promised.
‘Splendid.’ Joseph stood up straight and resumed his peacock bearing. ‘I bid you “Good day”, miss.’
Pedro and I turned up in good time at Grosvenor Square and were ushered into the library. As the first to arrive, we decided to amuse ourselves on the sliding stepladder that serviced the top shelves of the well-stocked bookcases. It was one of Frank’s favourite games and, as he had once told me, the only reason he ever went into the room.
‘What do you think these abolitionists are going to be like?’ Pedro asked as he sent me flying to the far end of the room with a shove on the ladder. Clunk! I came to a stop.
‘Don’t know. Joseph said they were “serious” – whatever that means.’
I slid the ladder back.
‘Doesn’t sound too bad as long as they’re serious about helping me.’ Pedro propelled himself across the room. Clunk!
‘Back together?’ he challenged.
‘Yes, why not?’
We climbed on board and both pushed off a bookcase marked ‘Philosophy’. The ladder rocketed towards ‘Natural Sciences’ at the opposite end of the room, the two of us shrieking as we hung on.
At that moment the door opened and a little huddle of ladies all in grey and black entered the room.
‘Oh my!’ exclaimed one. A second shielded her eyes against the scene before her. The third gave a scream and retreated into the hall.
Clunk! Pedro leapt from the ladder and bowed to the incomers. I tumbled to the floor.
‘Ladies, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,’ he said.
I bobbed a curtsey, struggling to hide my giggles. They looked so shocked to find us playing; it was tempting to offer them a ride.
‘Well!’ said the tallest of the ladies, proceeding further into the library and taking a seat by the fire. ‘I suppose thou must be the little African brother whom Sister Elizabeth told us about.’ Her two companions followed meekly and sat either side of her.
‘I suppose I am, ma’am,’ said Pedro.
The lady now turned to inspect me. ‘And, child, who art thou?’
Her antique manner of speaking marked her out as a Quaker. Mrs Reid had told me about them: they were an odd religious group who worshipped by sitting in silence. (Mrs Reid had gone on to add that she wished I would convert as I never gave her a moment’s peace.)
‘Catherine Royal, ma’am,’ I said, having regained my composure. ‘From the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.’
‘Ah, the orphan,’ said the lady, turning to her companions with a grave nod of her head. ‘That explains it. Well, Sister Catherine, Brother Pedro, please join us.’ She waved to two footstools near her skirts. ‘I am Miss Miller; this is my sister, Miss Prudence Miller.’ The second lady bobbed her head. ‘And this is my youngest sister, Miss Fortitude Miller.’ The third lady gave us a shy nod. ‘We are here on behalf of the brethren from Clapham. But we are all brothers and sisters before the Lord, are we not?’
‘I . . . er . . . yes, I suppose so,’ I agreed, glancing at Pedro to see what he was making of all this.
The door now opened again and let in a gaggle of men and women, most of them dressed in similarly sombre colours. Miss Miller began to introduce everyone, but there was so much brother this and sister that – I couldn’t keep up. Lizzie came to our rescue, fluttering into the room in a beautiful blue gown, a tropical bird among the sparrows.
‘So sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said to her expectant guests. Turning to Pedro and me, she added, ‘Sorry, dinner overran as it so often does when Mama’s here. She’ll be here in a minute. Have you met everyone?’