The Diamond of Drury Lane (22 page)

A friend? All my eye! That was nonsense. I recognised that inkwell: it was the one from Jonas’s desk in the lawyer’s office where he
worked. I’d seen it hundreds of times when I’d passed by his window. Jonas was now fingering his pocket watch nervously.

‘Perhaps we could come to some arrangement, Mr Vaughan,’ he pleaded, placing his watch on the counter.

I did not see the conclusion to this transaction for Mr Vaughan’s assistant, a pale youth with a high forehead like the dome of St Paul’s, glided out of the backroom.

‘Yes, miss, can I help you?’ he asked, spying me waiting on the hard bench.

Jonas turned round and his eyes widened with consternation. I could tell that the presence of someone who knew him was most unwelcome. Come to think of it, I’d prefer not to be seen by anyone I knew either. I hurried over to the vacant cubicle and pushed the package of jewels under the grille.

‘How much can you offer me for these?’ I asked in a low voice.

With a bored expression, the assistant unfolded the handkerchief. The boredom stopped there: on
to the counter fell a jumble of glittering gemstones and gold chains. His eyes lit up.

‘Are these real, miss?’

‘Of course.’

Giving me a sceptical look, he screwed a jeweller’s eyeglass into his socket and began to examine each piece. One by one he gave a little nod and put them reverently aside. Finally, he put down the eyeglass and gave me a searching stare as if willing me to reveal where I had come by such riches.

‘Mr Vaughan, Mr Vaughan, I need your advice on something!’ he called to his employer.

Mr Vaughan was still arguing with Jonas Miller.

‘A moment, sir,’ he told Jonas and moved across to the patch of grille in front of me.

‘All real?’ he asked his assistance.

‘The genuine article, sir.’

Mr Vaughan pawed the jewels lovingly. I could see he hungered to have them in his possession, if only for a short time, but he was worried how I came by them.

‘I’m here on behalf of a lady,’ I explained as he
surveyed me. ‘I’m her confidential agent in this transaction.’

‘Hmm. I can offer you five pounds for them,’ he said.

As an opening bid it was laughable. We both knew it.

‘Fifty,’ I said firmly.

He smiled. ‘What do you take me for, miss? A charity?’

‘Then I’ll take my jewels elsewhere.’

‘Thirty,’ he snapped.

‘Forty-five’

‘Forty.’

‘Done.’ Forty was not a bad amount. Far more than any of my friends could hope to earn in a year. But the sum was still far short of the true value of the jewels: if Lady Elizabeth failed to redeem them, Mr Vaughan would make a handsome profit.

Mr Vaughan drew out his cashbox and counted out a weighty sack of guineas. He pushed a paper receipt under the grille.

‘Tell your “lady” that she has six months to
redeem them from me. After that time, I’m at liberty to sell them on.’

‘I understand.’

I pocketed the bag of gold and receipt and turned to go. Jonas Miller was standing at the door waiting for me.

‘Here, Cat, lend us some of that, will you?’ he asked with what he evidently thought was an ingratiating smile on his face. ‘It’s all up with me if you don’t help.’

I shook my head. ‘Sorry, it’s not my money. I can’t lend it to you.’

His smile vanished. ‘They weren’t your jewels neither, were they, Cat? Have you been a naughty girl?’ He took a step towards me. ‘I wager that you wouldn’t want someone to tell the Bow Street runners about that!’

‘It’s none of your business,’ I said angrily, pushing past him. ‘Just because you filch from your employer doesn’t mean to say everyone else does.’

I slammed the door behind me and ran as fast as I could back to the theatre. Jonas’s threats did not bother me . . . I knew he was a creeper and a
cheat. Lady Elizabeth could be summoned in my defence if he did go blabbing, but if Jonas was going to make trouble with the magistrate’s men, it made it more important than ever to get Johnny out of Drury Lane as quickly as possible.

‘You did what?’

Johnny was pounding to and fro on the hearthrug, the bag of coins glittering on the table between us. As my reader may guess, it wasn’t going well.

‘I told you. I happened to mention to Lady Elizabeth that you needed help and . . . ’

‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’ he cut across me. ‘You’ve humiliated me, Cat. You and your friends, acting as if you can snatch me from the frying pan, but instead you’re just dropping me into the fire! Did it not occur to you that I might be quite capable of making my own arrangements? I’ve lost everything, choosing the path I’ve taken . . . my family, my rank, even the woman I love . . . but I thought I had my self-respect intact!’

He wasn’t going to pull the wool over my eyes
with this bluster; he needed our help.

‘So, Johnny, what plans had you made?’ I asked coolly.

‘I was going to America,’ he said, stopping to slump dejectedly on the mantelpiece.

‘With the diamond?’ I asked.

He gave a bitter smile. ‘That’s the plan.’

‘And how were you to afford it? Unless Mr Sheridan cashes in this diamond . . . which I doubt he’d do even for you . . . you’ll need money for your ticket. He doesn’t have any from what I’ve heard.’

‘No,’ conceded Johnny, ‘Sheridan is short on ready money, that’s true.’

‘And you, do you have any?’

‘Only several hundred thousands . . . but all in my father’s pocket, I’m afraid.’ He sighed. ‘I thought perhaps Marchmont might help.’

‘You’re all abroad there, Johnny; he won’t. I know their sort: penny-pinching lice-hunters who wouldn’t cross the road to help their grandmother. They’re only happy so long as they stand to gain themselves.’

‘You’re probably right, Cat.’ Johnny looked
defeated, depressed by the weight of anxiety that had descended on him since he was first charged with treason. He was just beginning to find out what the most of us already knew: what it was like to have no money.

‘So,’ I said, gesturing to the guineas I had brought back with me, ‘why not take this?’

‘Because it’s hers, of course!’ I must have looked puzzled, for he continued, ‘You’re too young to understand, Cat, about . . . about love. How could I look her in the face again if I take advantage of her in this way?’

I couldn’t believe the man: he was being a downright fool, too scrupulous for his own good.

‘Believe me, she’d prefer to look you in the face as you wave goodbye from a deck of ship, holding a ticket that she’s paid for, than watch you go blue in the face as the noose tightens. When you die of a hempen fever, it’ll be no comfort to her then to know that you owe her nothing.’

He shook his head, still unconvinced. Though many years my senior, he was no better than an infant, completely oblivious to the hard truth of his
situation. He made me feel so much older and wiser than him. He couldn’t afford to indulge his romantic notions of honour and pride. If he did, he’d die. I tried another tack.

‘You know, Johnny, I think it’s you who doesn’t understand love. Love is not forced; it gives without expecting anything in return. It drops like the gentle rain from heaven . . . ’

‘Upon the place beneath,’ said Johnny, finishing the quotation I had adapted for the occasion. ‘I know, I know.’

‘So why can’t you allow her to give you this? You’re denying her the right to put her love into action if you spurn it.’

‘But . . . ’

‘I’m certain you’d give everything in your power to help someone you love. You’re not treating her as your equal if you reject her assistance.’

I had finally found an argument that hit home.

‘My equal?’ he said.

‘Yes, your equal. You mustn’t treat her like some china doll that you admire but are afraid to allow off the shelf. She’s a sensible person: she
knows what she’s doing. Anyway, it’s too late: I’ve pawned the jewels and Lord Francis is sorting out your passage. You’re outvoted on this, four to one.’

Johnny laughed. ‘I regret I taught you about democracy, Cat. It’s come back to haunt me.’

‘You won’t regret it when you reach New York. Have you thought what you might do when you get there?’

Johnny sat down beside me, signalling that he had given in to the inevitable and would let us help him.

‘I thought I’d start a community, a place where men and women can live together, dividing their time between honest physical labour and intellectual pursuits . . . an ideal republic.’

‘It sounds a load of moonshine to me. What do you know about hard work? Do you know how long it takes to scrub a floor or clean a shirt, let alone plough a field?’

Johnny looked awkward: he knew he was on dubious ground when he, the nobleman, talked to me, the commoner, about the simple life. ‘No, but I can dream.’

‘Carry on dreaming,’ I said briskly. Clearly, someone had to look after him or he was heading for a fall. ‘But in the meantime why don’t you plan for something more substantial than that? Do something you know you know well, like drawing, for example. There must be opportunities for an artist like you even in so uncivilised a place as America.’

‘Well, I do have a contact who has set up a newspaper in Philadelphia.’ He laughed. ‘Listen to me. Taking career advice from a . . . how old are you?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘From a young lady then,’ he said with a wink, pocketing the guineas.

That afternoon Mrs Reid sent me to dust the offices. I had just finished Mr Kemble’s and had made a start on Mr Sheridan’s when the owner came in with a gentleman I did not recognise. They did not see me for I was crouched behind the desk . . . if the truth be known, wondering if I could find the infamous diamond and take a peek at it before it went to America with Johnny. From Mr
Sheridan’s tone, I could tell that he was trying to get his companion away from the theatre as quickly as possible.

‘Look, Ranworth, why not come to the club and talk about it?’

Ranworth? I peered over the desk and saw the back of a white-haired, portly gentleman dressed in a claret-coloured jacket and shiny black boots. That must be Johnny’s father. Thank goodness Johnny was locked in his room for the afternoon checking over the proofs of his latest cartoon. He had better stay there. Someone had to warn him. But the men were standing between me and the door.

‘Is there really no news of my son?’ said the Earl of Ranworth, refusing to budge. I had the impression Mr Sheridan had been avoiding answering his questions and so the earl had come to the theatre to corner him. ‘I’m ashamed of the pup, I admit, but I do have the feelings of the father. I would like to know that he is alive and well. These wanted posters everywhere make my blood run cold! Just imagine what a scandal there’d be if they knew who Captain Sparkler really was!’

‘Quite so,’ said Mr Sheridan, patting the old man’s arm. ‘But they won’t find out, will they? Who would suspect such a thing? I’m sure the young rascal has come to no harm.’

‘And Salter, you say, has drawn a blank in Bristol?’

‘Completely. I’ve asked him to enquire at Plymouth and Portsmouth. I expect news very soon.’

So Mr Salter was safe and still on his wild goose chase, I noted.

The Earl of Ranworth took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. With the weary movements of a man exhausted by worry, he slumped into the chair facing the desk. Seeing there was no shifting the man, Mr Sheridan came to the far side to take a seat.

He stopped, finding me at his feet. ‘Cat! What on earth are you doing here?’

The earl jumped up from his seat, a look of consternation on his face.

‘Dusting, sir,’ I said, holding up my cloth as evidence.

‘Hmm,’ Mr Sheridan said sceptically. ‘You always seem to be cropping up in the most inconvenient places, don’t you?’

There was a bold knock on the open door. We all looked round. In the corridor stood a man wearing a blue coat with brass buttons and a leather hat, armed with a cutlass, pistol and truncheon: unmistakeably a Bow Street runner.

‘Sorry to trouble you, sir,’ he said deferentially to Mr Sheridan, ‘but I’m following up a report that there may be a wanted man on the premises.’

The Earl of Ranworth looked up abruptly and gave Mr Sheridan an astonished stare. He was no fool. At least for him, the penny seemed to have dropped. Mr Sheridan gave him a quelling look.

‘Indeed, Constable . . .?’ Mr Sheridan said lightly.

‘Lennox, sir.’

‘Constable Lennox. And what is this to me?’

‘Well, sir,’ said the runner awkwardly, ‘the old man on the door said I had to ask your permission before I can carry out a thorough search.’

‘You have no warrant from the magistrate then?’

‘No.’ The runner coughed. ‘I, er, I thought the report, an anonymous letter, was not sufficient grounds to disturb him.’

I bet the letter came from the greasy paw of Marzi-pain Marchmont! I called him as many colourful names as I could think of under my breath.

Mr Sheridan strode across the room. ‘But you thought it grounds enough to make havoc in my theatre?’

‘I intended nothing of the sort, sir! I . . . ’

‘You are already interrupting the work of my maid here. Run along, Cat; I’m sure there is something
very important
you should be doing.’ Mr Sheridan shooed me to the door. As he knew I would, I sprinted as fast as I could to Johnny’s office. Ignoring the sign, I burst in upon him, the surprise making him spill ink across the picture he was working on.

‘For heaven’s sake, Cat, look what you’ve done!’ he exclaimed in exasperation.

‘Forget that!’ I said, stuffing a cap on his head and hauling him from the table. ‘A constable’s here . . . so’s your father.’

‘My father brought the runners for me?’ he said incredulously, getting quite the wrong end of the stick.

‘No, you fool, they came separately. But you’d better run for it.’

Johnny made a grab for his drawing things.

‘Leave them . . . I’ll deal with that. You can’t get caught with these on you.’

‘Where can I go?’ he asked wildly, pulling his jacket on.

‘Go to the butcher’s in Bow Street. Ask for Syd. Tell him you’re my friend. I’ll send a message when it’s all clear.’