‘No,’ said Lord Francis curtly. Then, realising how strange this sounded, he added, ‘It’s being sent on later.’
The waterman, however, was not interested in us or our concerns. He spat on the pavement, turned on his heel and led the way down to the landing stage. Suddenly, after the confines of the maze of alleyways, there it was: the Thames, stretched out before us, free of the buildings that had obscured its full extent from our sight. The tide was rising, the brown waters swallowing up the mudflats, erasing the bird-prints and footmarks of the scavengers. The river was buzzing with life: along its banks small boats were coming and going from all directions, crowded with people. Now I had a clear view of the ships anchored out in the Pool and I was intrigued by the variety of shapes and sizes before me. The sharp prows and sleek lines of the smaller ships promised speed. The blunter prows of the big-bellied merchant vessels, the ones that carried priceless cargoes from the Indies of porcelain and gold, silks and spices, suggested a stately rise and fall, coupled with stubborn resistance to the storms that blew them around the Cape. Even as we watched, another Indiaman, its wooden sides painted in bold battered colours of gilt and red, sailed in on the tide and glided to a berth on the southern bank, its white sails furling like a butterfly closing its wings after flight. I wondered what treasures it contained . . . perhaps some real diamonds or silks like that of my new dress?
A splash to our left . . . out of one of the buildings overhanging the river someone had thrown the contents of a chamber pot. The riverside smelt rank but now I perceived that the tide bore with it a fresher smell . . . the smell of the windswept spaces of the estuary and the open sea. The stones of the landing stage glittered with fish scales in the weak morning light. A flake of snow drifted in the air like a dandelion seed before melting on contact with the ground.
The waterman jumped down into his boat and held up a hand to assist ‘the countess’.
‘Well,’ said Johnny in a low voice as he turned to us, ‘this is it then. This is goodbye. How can I ever thank you all enough?’
‘You can’t, my friend,’ said Pedro with a grin. ‘You are eternally in our debt.’
Johnny seized Pedro’s hand and shook it. ‘I can’t think of four people to whom I would rather owe so much. I hope to see you again, Pedro . . . perhaps when you come to America with your own show.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Pedro with a pleased shrug.
‘And you, Lord Francis, take a bit of advice from an old woman and stay out of trouble!’ Johnny clasped the boy’s arm in his firm grip.
‘Old woman, you worry too much,’ said Lord Francis, twisting Johnny’s hand up to his lips and kissing it. Johnny shook him off with a laugh.
‘Lady Elizabeth.’ Johnny turned hesitantly to his sweetheart. ‘Lizzie . . .’
She said nothing, keeping her gaze steady on his face. I saw a tear glisten at the corner of her eye but she managed a brave smile.
‘What can I say?’ he murmured. ‘You know my wishes, my hopes . . .’
She nodded. ‘I know. Goodbye. Write very soon.’
‘I will. Look after my heart for me, won’t you? I’m leaving it in your keeping.’
‘And you take care of mine too, Johnny.’
He squeezed her hand and with great reluctance let it go.
‘And now my Catkin.’ He turned to me, free of the shyness that had hampered his farewell to Lady Elizabeth, and folded me in a brotherly hug. ‘I worry about you, Catkin. I won’t be happy unless you write frequently to let me know how you are. Remember, if ever you need a friend . . . a home even . . . there’ll be one for you in Philadelphia.’
I returned the hug.
‘Thank you. I will remember.’
Johnny released me and jumped nimbly down into the boat, much to the surprise of the waterman who had patiently been waiting to assist ‘the lady’.
‘To the Potomac!’ called Lord Francis, flicking the man a coin.
The boatman touched his cap and picked up the oars. The four of us stood shoulder to shoulder, waving at the bonneted figure of Johnny until the boat dipped out of sight behind the first of the moored vessels.
Lord Francis and Lady Elizabeth set us down in Bow Street to avoid the spectacle of arriving at the stage door in a carriage. As my foot touched the ground, what was waiting for me at Drury Lane came back like the rush of an incoming tide.
‘What did everyone make of the break-in?’ I asked Pedro. ‘And how’s Caleb?’
‘He’s recovering . . . though he’s complaining of a thumping headache,’ said Pedro, scanning the street with quick, furtive movements to check we were unobserved. ‘When they heard about the attack by Billy’s boys, they were worried for you, of course,’ he added, taking my arm as we slid down Russell Street. ‘Mrs Reid was relieved when I told her you’d fled to a friend’s house for the night. But cheer up, Cat: I’ve got some good news for you.’
‘Yes?’ A chill breeze cut through my new finery, reminding me of the virtues of woollen stockings.
‘They caught Billy. The night patrol got him soon after we made our exit. You won’t have to worry about him any more.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘But that’s wonderful.’ A great weight lifted from my shoulders and I felt as if I had actually grown an inch or two: not only had we got Johnny safely away, but my enemy was no longer able to reach me. With any luck he’d be for the drop . . . or at the very least transportation to the other side of the world.
We turned into the little courtyard by the stage door. Seeing my home ahead, I broke into an eager run.
‘Come on!’ I called to Pedro. ‘Let’s celebrate with a hot drink in the Sparrow’s Nest.’
‘Not so fast, miss.’
A hand landed on my shoulder, pulling me to a sudden stop.
‘Let go of her!’ protested Pedro, rushing to my assistance, but the man pushed him away.