The Diamond of Drury Lane (27 page)

‘I’d be much obliged, my lady,’ said the runner.

Johnny, Lady Elizabeth and I dismounted from the carriage and waited on the pavement while Lord Francis supervised the officer, who began checking under the seats.

‘Nothing,’ the runner said at length when he had exhausted all possibilities. ‘Though, if you don’t mind, my lord, I’d like to question your black servant.’

‘My servant? What has he to do with it?’ said Lord Francis imperiously. ‘Haven’t you wasted enough of our time today, my man?’

The runner looked awkward. ‘It’s just that my informant saw a black boy here last night and followed the same boy here this morning.’

‘Are you sure it is the same boy? Gustavus did indeed go on an errand for me but I can swear that
he was with me last night. Your informant must be wrong.’

‘True, he might,’ said the runner, scratching his chin. ‘And you say this boy, Gustavus, was with you last night?’

‘Yes, wasn’t that so, Jenkins?’ Lord Francis called over to the stable boy.

‘Yes, my lord,’ lied Jenkins cheerfully.

‘In that case, I must apologise for intruding. Ladies.’ The runner gave us a bow and held the carriage door open.

‘Not at all, sir,’ said Lady Elizabeth graciously. ‘You were just doing your duty.’ Constable Lennox glowed with pride and bowed again.

As I got in, I felt the runner’s gaze fix on me. I could tell he found something about me familiar.

‘We’d better get out of here,’ I whispered urgently to Lord Francis, ‘before he remembers where he saw me.’

Lord Francis nodded and thumped the roof of the carriage.

‘Drive on!’ he called.

The carriage surged into motion, throwing us
back into our well-padded seats. Looking out of the window as we turned out of Grosvenor Square, I saw the runner suddenly clap his hand to his forehead and start off in pursuit. But even Bow Street runners could not outstrip a carriage pulled by four stallions. He was soon left behind.

‘That was close,’ I said slumping back with relief. ‘He remembered me . . . but too late.’

‘And as for the countess here . . . he didn’t have a clue,’ said Lord Francis, turning to Johnny. ‘But may I say, countess, you do look quite ravishing this morning?’

The countess gave the young lord a hearty thump for his impertinence as Lady Elizabeth and I dissolved into laughter.

The carriage took us through the narrow streets of the city to the docks beyond the Tower of London. The sky was iron grey behind the white turrets of the fortress, a sign that more snow was on its way. As I watched, a raven launched itself from the battlements of the White Tower and circled over the roofs of red brick buildings crowded up against the outer walls. Disturbed by some unseen menace, a flock of gulls abandoned their scavenging on the muddy shoreline, spiralled up, and then headed eastwards over Traitor’s Gate. After the brief pleasure at our escape, a grim mood stole over me: even the birds sensed the threat that hung over us like an executioner’s axe.

As we left the Tower behind and rattled through Wapping, Lord Francis leant over his sister to point out Johnny’s ship moored in the stretch of water known as the Pool.

‘There she is: the fastest little merchant vessel
in the business!’ Lord Francis said cheerfully. ‘Or so Jenkins’s second cousin swears. He’s a customs man so he should know.’

The ship was hard to spot, being but three masts amid a forest. Like the most intricate Brussels lace, the rigging stretched from stem to stern on each boat. From this distance it looked as if some gigantic kitten had got in the wool bag and made a hopeless tangle. It was hard to imagine how any vessel could escape that knot.

‘But even the fastest ship needs a favourable wind,’ said Johnny looking anxiously up at the weather vane on top of St Katherine’s Church. It was stuck resolutely pointing east. ‘Pursuit has been too hot on my heels of late. I’d appreciate a cool west wind to blow me out to the estuary and put some sea miles between me and my enemies.’

‘I may have many gifts, Lord Jonathan,’ said Lord Francis punching his friend in his bodice, ‘but controlling the wind is not one of them.’ Johnny cuffed him back and laughed. I wondered how they could both be so light-hearted in view of the
dangers that surrounded us. My stomach was sick with anxiety.

‘I’ve spoken to the captain,’ continued Lord Francis. ‘He’s an American, a friend of liberty . . . you can trust him not to give you up to Mr Pitt’s bloodhounds. We’ll put you in a lighter and have you on board the
Potomac
in a jiffy.’

The carriage jolted through an icy puddle and turned towards the riverside. Having never been to this part of London before, I craned my head out of the window. The buildings . . . every other one a tavern as far as I could tell . . . were crowded together in a heap as if all London’s leftovers had been dumped here higgledy-piggledy. Even stranger were the faces of the people. Amongst the sailors, I spotted a group of pigtailed Chinese in a tavern window intent on a game played with small white tiles; a curly-haired African dressed in rags shivered by a coil of rope; on a street corner, a turbaned Indian used sinuous hand gestures to negotiate with a fur-hatted Russian who chopped at the air like a woodcutter with an axe. Three smart girls trotted by, their cheeks rouged scarlet,
dressed in brand new red woollen shawls. They held their heads high as they showed off the gifts given them by their sailor sweethearts. The African shuffled out of their way but they paid him no attention.

‘Here’s the landing place,’ said Lord Francis as the carriage slowed. He opened the door and jumped down on to the muddy ground. ‘Wait there, ladies, Pedro and I will look for a boat to carry our cargo.’

Johnny made to get up but I grabbed on to the back of his skirts and pulled him down.

‘Sit still. People are watching,’ I whispered. ‘What’ll the coachman think if he sees you striding off after the boys?’

Reluctantly, Johnny returned to his seat but he could not keep from the window, anxiously watching for any signs of trouble.

‘That’s not very ladylike,’ Lady Elizabeth warned him as she set him the example of how to sit demurely in a carriage, her hands folded in her lap, her back straight.

‘Francis is only a boy!’ muttered Johnny. ‘I feel
responsible. What if something happens to him and Pedro?’

‘He’ll be fine,’ I reassured him. ‘He’s far less likely to run into difficulties if we do as we’re told and stay here.’

Lord Francis and Pedro returned a few minutes later with a burly waterman at their elbow. Even in this frosty weather the boatman’s arms were bare, displaying his muscled limbs honed by many hours of rowing on the tricky tides of the Thames. His grey-flecked hair straggled like limp seaweed down his back.

‘’As the lady any luggage?’ growled the waterman as Lord Francis handed us out of the carriage.

‘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.

‘If you don’t want me to arrest you too, Blackie, I suggest you keep away.’

‘Arrest me?’ I turned to stare up at my captor in astonishment. It was Constable Lennox, the Bow Street runner who had come to Grosvenor Square . . . the same one who had searched Johnny’s office. ‘But what’ve I done?’

‘You know best, miss. I’m arresting you on suspicion of theft.’

‘Theft? What theft?’

‘Oh, don’t come over the innocent with me,
young woman. We know you are the leader of a gang of thieves preying on the theatregoers. I have my informant . . . your accomplice . . . already under lock and key. He’s told us all about it. He’s been very cooperative.’