Pedro wrinkled his nose in disdain. ‘Not a good idea: any self-respecting pawnbroker would fleece you and send you packing with half their value. Let me do it.’
‘No, I’ll take them. I’ve an idea where to go,’ I said quickly. Who knew where Pedro would be this time tomorrow if entrusted with a small fortune in jewels?
Pedro frowned but did not object.
‘If Cat raises the money for us, I’ll find out how to get safe passage out of the country,’ said Lord Francis.
‘Good idea. Johnny must get away as soon as possible,’ I said. ‘They might come looking for him at any moment. And when he does leave, he may be recognised, so we should prepare a disguise for him.’
‘Leave that to me,’ volunteered Lady Elizabeth. ‘I’ll think of something so that even his own mother won’t recognise him.’
The clock on the mantelpiece began to strike a melodious six. Two mechanical dancers emerged from a door set in the face, approached each other and began to twirl around. I was just thinking how pretty it was when another thought came to me.
‘Pedro, aren’t you supposed to be doing the hornpipe tonight?’
He looked thunderstruck. It was not like him to let a professional commitment escape his attention. ‘You’re right! We’ve got to run!’
‘Wait. I’ll get the jewels,’ said Lady Elizabeth. She disappeared upstairs and returned a few minutes later with a small package wrapped in a silk handkerchief which she thrust into my hand. ‘Look after them, Cat, won’t you? I would like to redeem them in time. Some of them are special to me.’
We arrived back at Drury Lane at half past the hour. The play had already started but Pedro was just in time for his musical interlude. He had barely ripped off his livery and donned his costume before he was summoned on stage. I could see Johnny looking mightily relieved as Pedro bounded on to the boards.
‘Safely delivered?’ Johnny asked me under his breath.
I nodded, but my eye was caught by Pedro dancing in the footlights. The cartoon might now be in safe hands but I realised that Pedro had been delivered on stage far from complete.
‘Violin!’ I hissed under my breath to Johnny. ‘Pedro’s forgotten his violin!’ After the first dance, he was supposed to do the same steps again while playing.
‘Fetch it then!’ whispered Johnny urgently. ‘I’ll think of something.’
I ran to the Green Room and found the violin. Grabbing it, I darted back towards the wings, dodging through the press of performers, accidentally treading on Miss Stageldoir’s toes and receiving a cuff to the back of my head in retaliation.
I arrived at Johnny’s side to find he had thought of something, but it was a ‘something’ that made my heart leap into my throat.
‘Here!’ he said. ‘Put these on.’ He thrust an old Harlequin spangled costume at me.
‘No, you!’ I hissed.
‘Don’t be funny! I’m supposed to be in hiding, remember? But you, you can run on, do a twirl or something, and give him the violin. The crowd will think it’s all part of the act. They love a clown.’
‘You’re joking,’ I said hollowly as he pulled the baggy costume over my head.
‘I’m not. Go! You’re on!’
With that, Johnny clapped a black beaked mask over my face and gave me a firm shove in the shoulder blades. I staggered on to the stage. Pedro had just come to the end of the first fast and furious rendition of the hornpipe and was taking a bow. He had not yet realised he was missing a vital ingredient for the next part of his act. A few people in the boxes began to titter, seeing a confused Harlequin dithering by the side of the stage. I had no choice now: I had to do something other than stand here like a fool. Clutching the violin and bow under one arm, I took a short run and turned my one-handed cartwheel. I’d never performed it before others and was gratified to find it brought a wave of applause from the audience. I landed neatly at Pedro’s side and presented him with the violin. Pedro looked shocked for a brief second, then recovered himself. He began to mime, making it clear to the audience that I had brought a challenge to do the dance again while playing. I nodded vigorously.
‘Go on, prince!’ shouted someone in the audience.
‘You can do it!’ called another.
Pedro gave me a deep bow, accepting the challenge. I was about to run off but he gestured to me to sit on the anchor that dressed the stage. I was surprised: I had thought that Pedro Hawkins was only interested in having the stage to himself. As it would have looked strange if I had refused, I sat down. All these years of living in the theatre, I’d never been on the boards with a full audience in front of me. I felt heady with excitement.
Pedro composed himself to play. Signor Angelini raised his baton and signalled for his protégé to start. Pedro then began the most extraordinary dance I had ever seen. With legs stamping like in an Irish jig, upper body still, he began to play a hornpipe. Sitting so close to him, I could see the beads of sweat flying from his brow, but all the time he kept an impassive expression on his face. From a distance, it would look as if he was having to make no effort. The audience began to clap in time to the music. He went faster and faster. I thought that it must be impossible for him to carry on playing without losing step or fluffing a note, but no. It was almost as if he had found freedom in the dance and would take flight if it did not end soon. I could see him do it: he’d fly out of the theatre, out of the smoke of London, into the blue sky and home to his land of hot sun and friendly faces. But before his wings had a chance to sprout, he brought the hornpipe to an end with a flourish.
The applause was immense. It rolled towards the stage like a barrage of thunder. Pedro bowed three times, perspiration dripping off the end of his nose and falling on to the boards. He then turned to me.
‘How about it, Cat? Run off with a cartwheel together?’
He was testing me, I thought, paying me back for my earlier doubts about him and seeing if I could repeat my performance. I nodded, accepting the challenge.