The Diamond of Drury Lane (29 page)

The laughter quickly turned into hiccupping sobs. Billy glowered at me and retreated to his side of the room. He slipped a knife from his boot and began to pick at the bolt on the crumbling brick floor. My hysterical fit stopped as suddenly as it had come as the cold realisation dawned that he would . . . given time . . . be able to work himself free.

Scrape, scrape, rattle went the knife on the manacle.

Neither of us spoke.

* * *

‘Catherine Royal?’

The runner had returned and was standing by the door, a lantern in his hand. I sat up with a start, having dropped off into an uneasy slumber.

‘Yes?’ I said blearily.

‘You’re to come with me.’

I got to my feet eagerly. Billy’s eyes were on me, the knife concealed in the sleeve of his jacket. So had Lady Elizabeth finally arrived? I wondered. I had expected her to be here much sooner, and terrible doubts had begun to undermine my confidence in her, but at least she’d arrived before Billy had had a chance to work himself free of his bonds.

The runner led me back up the narrow stairs and into the office above. But we were not stopping there: he took my arm and led me through a pair of glass-panelled doors and down a corridor carpeted in a rich dark woollen cloth. We were clearly getting closer to the inner sanctum of the magistrate. The runner paused before a door with a polished brass handle and knocked.

‘Come!’ came a man’s deep voice.

Constable Lennox opened the door to reveal a study lit by two high windows overlooking a pleasant garden at the rear of the house. The walls were lined with books; papers lay scattered in comfortable confusion on the desk and every available surface. In contrast to the chilly cellar the room was very warm, thanks to a fire roaring high in the grate, and in other circumstances it would have struck me as pleasant.

Though I took in all these details, my attention was mainly occupied by the people in the room who had all turned to watch me enter. An unfamiliar bewigged elderly gentleman dressed in black with a snowy white stock at his neck sat behind a desk, fingers laced together as he surveyed me. On the edge of a chair in front of him perched Lady Elizabeth. Her face was drained of colour and tear-stained. She looked quite wretched to see me in this state. By her side stood Lord Francis. His face was pale also, but it was the paleness brought on by the effort of suppressing great anger. On the far side of the room, looking
out of the window at the garden, stood Marzi-pain Marchmont. He turned on my entry and gave me a triumphant smile. I now began to have some inkling of what was happening. Next to Marchmont stood the duke. His eyes were directed at me with blazing anger and I felt their force almost as if he had actually lashed out at me. Marchmont whispered something to the duke, who then nodded as if his worst fears had been confirmed.

‘Here’s the prisoner, sir,’ said the constable, standing behind me with his arms folded as if I was some dangerous beast that he was here to guard.

The magistrate cleared his throat. ‘You are Catherine Royal, also known to the criminal fraternity as “The Cat”?’

‘It’s just Cat . . . and that’s to friends, not to criminals,’ I said quickly.

The magistrate surveyed me with disapproval. ‘Answer my questions with yes or no, girl. I don’t want to hear any long speeches from you. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said meekly, my eyes straying to Lady Elizabeth for some clue as to what was happening
here. I had half hoped for profuse apologies and instant release. This did not now appear to be on the cards.

The magistrate turned to the duke and Marchmont.

‘Is this the girl . . . the impostor . . . you saw this morning in your house, your grace?’

The duke gave a curt nod. ‘Yes. I took careful note as the boy here . . .’ he nodded to Marchmont ‘ . . . had warned me only yesterday of the undue influence she seemed to have over my children. And I will swear that those are my daughter’s clothes she is wearing . . . I recognise them. She must have stolen those as well as the jewels.’

‘She didn’t steal them!’ burst out Lord Francis, unable to restrain himself any longer. ‘Father, you are a fool to listen to the poison that that toad’s been whispering in your ear! Lizzie gave them to her as we’ve told you already ten thousand times, sir!’

‘Silence!’ barked the duke, glaring at his son. ‘I will not have anyone, least of all my own son, call me a fool!’

‘Then stop acting like one!’ snapped Lord Francis unwisely.

‘I warned you,’ said the duke, his voice menacing, ‘before we came here that you are to say no more on this subject. I am shocked . . . shocked and grieved to find out that a son of mine has allowed his sister to fall into the clutches of so artful a creature. I expected better from you. This means school, sir, school!’

‘I don’t care if you send me to school, Father, as long as you listen to the truth for once!’

‘Insolent boy!’ cried the duke, raising his hand as if to box Lord Francis’s ears but at the last moment letting it drop.

Marchmont was grinning, enjoying Lord Francis’ discomfort. I wished I were close enough to slap him.

‘But, Papa,’ said Lady Elizabeth, laying a gentle hand on her father’s sleeve, ‘it is true . . . I did give her those things.’

The duke patted his daughter’s arm tenderly.

‘I know you’re just saying this in a misguided attempt to help the girl, Lizzie. You would not
willingly have pawned the jewels your mother and I gave you on your coming out . . . I know how dear they are to you. What earthly reason could you have to do this? You want for nothing, need nothing. I’ve always seen to that.’

Lady Elizabeth turned agonised eyes to me. I could guess what she was thinking: if she mentioned Johnny now, before the magistrate, then he would be joining me in the holding cells with little or no chance of escape. Who knows what the law would make of our attempt to help a wanted man? We were all bound to silence until his ship sailed.

‘Papa, you’ve always been very generous to me, but I didn’t want to tell you that . . . that . . .’ Lady Elizabeth floundered.

‘That she needed money to pay my gambling debts,’ said Lord Francis quickly.

The duke wheeled round to his son.

‘Gambling debts? This is the first I’ve heard of debts! When did this happen?’

‘At the boxing last Sunday . . . the match between the Bow Street Butcher and the Camden Crusher,’
he said, the details rolling fluently from his tongue.

The duke flushed red, realising that his son’s illness had been feigned. He had escaped a morally improving dose of church for a surfeit of pleasure by the ring.

‘And how did you get to a boxing match, sir? Who took you?’ he asked coldly.

‘Pedro, the African violinist, took me. Cat was against it and didn’t want me with them.’

‘This girl went to a boxing match?’ said the duke, looking at me incredulously. I suppose it did seem very unlikely, dressed as I was in lace and silk with my hair in ribbons. ‘Did you, girl? Is my son telling the truth?’

I nodded as it seemed I must if the gambling story were to be corroborated.

‘She was dressed as a boy, of course,’ said Lord Francis, wrongly thinking that this would make it more excusable in his father’s eyes.

‘Dressed as a boy?’ The duke’s blue eyes blazed beneath his beetling white brows.

I nodded again.

‘And I suppose she trapped you into gambling,
didn’t she?’ said the duke to his son.

‘No, no, that was entirely my fault. She was against that as well. Later, Lizzie offered to help me out by pawning the jewels. Cat volunteered to take them to the broker.’

‘Hmm.’ The duke looked from his son to me. ‘It would be just like Lizzie to let you impose on her, Francis. You should be heartily ashamed of yourself for abusing your sister’s trust.’

Lord Francis hung his head, hoping this reprimand was a sign that his father was swallowing the story.

‘But you didn’t see a penny of it, did you, you young fool?’ Lord Francis opened his mouth to protest but the duke silenced him with a warning finger. ‘Admit it: you were let down. You chose your agent badly, didn’t you? The girl went off with the money and gave it to that Shepherd boy.’

‘A very bad character that,’ interjected the magistrate. ‘He was caught with the whole forty pounds on him, your grace. The girl had the pawnbroker’s ticket in her pocket when we picked her up. It seems an open and shut case of theft by
deception . . . possibly extortion as well when we add in the clothes.’ He peered down his nose at me as if I was something unsavoury the dog had dug up. ‘That dress must be worth ten pounds at least, I’d say. Faced with such a breathtakingly audacious crime, I don’t think I can even take into account the tender age of the offender. I doubt I’ll recommend mercy when she comes for committal.’

Marchmont appeared delighted by the news.

‘And, sir, if I may add,’ he said, driving a further nail into my coffin, ‘I have cause to think she has been consorting with criminals of an even worse kind . . . traitors, no less . . . protecting them, no doubt in exchange for money.’

We had to get him off the subject of Johnny. I could find no words to speak in my own defence as the realisation hit me that neither the duke nor the magistrate believed in my good character and both were determined to see me punished for sins I had not committed. I was going nowhere but back to the holding cell; from there to the dock; from the dock to . . . I did not even want to think about that.

‘But, Papa, she’s not like that! Mr Marchmont
is wrong. You don’t understand,’ pleaded Lady Elizabeth.

‘Ah, Lizzie, Lizzie!’ said the duke with a sad shake of his head. ‘Perhaps this whole experience will be a good lesson for you. You’ve been brought up so narrowly by your mother and me that you were not prepared when you came across your first experience of the depravity of men’s hearts. You saw an innocent-looking girl needing your help; I see a blood-sucking leech who has latched on to you and has taken advantage of your unsuspecting nature. If young Marchmont here had not alerted me to the danger, who knows what other liberties she would have taken?’

His insults were too much.

‘I’m not a leech!’ I protested. ‘You can have the dress back . . . I don’t care. I never stole that money. It was taken from me before I could give it back to Lady Elizabeth.’

‘I warned you, young woman,’ said the magistrate portentously, ‘save your speeches for the trial. I only allowed you up here on the request of the duke so that he could confront his children with
your crimes. I think we’ve heard quite enough. You can take her back down.’

The runner put a heavy hand on my shoulder.

‘Cat!’ exclaimed Lady Elizabeth, breaking free of her father and dashing across to me to grab my wrist. ‘I swear it’ll be all right. I’ll make sure it is.’

‘Don’t touch her!’ barked the duke. ‘You don’t know what kind of pests and diseases she might be harbouring. I don’t want to lose my precious rose to a gaol-fever.’ He stepped between Lady Elizabeth and me so that my head butted against his embroidered waistcoat.

Lord Francis scrambled roughly past Marchmont and round the desk to intercept me at the door.

‘Is there anything you need, Cat? Other than to get out of here, of course?’ he asked with an attempt at a brave smile.

My voice broke into a sob as the runner began to drag me away. I tried to school my lips to respond in kind but my heart was breaking.

‘Ask Pedro to bring some of my things from the theatre . . . if they’ll let him,’ I said in a strangled
voice. ‘But get me out of here quickly please! I’m in a cell with Billy Shepherd and I don’t think . . . I don’t think I’m going to last long.’

‘Dammit, Cat, we’ll get you out . . . I promise you! Even if it’s the last thing I do!’ called out Lord Francis as I was led away to my cell.

Reader, I can safely say that my first night in gaol was the worst experience of my life so far. The green silk dress no longer felt luxuriously soft against my skin; it had become a torment, eating into me with the acid touch of shame. I wanted to rip it off and would have done if I had had something else to put on. I did not dare sleep a wink for, though Billy gave up on working on his chains around midnight and was snoring loudly stretched out on his bench, I was afraid that if I dropped off to sleep, I would wake to find his knife at my throat . . . or not wake at all. Added to this, I was cold, hungry and just plain uncomfortable. I sat for many hours, hugging my knees, willing myself to stay alert, listening to the sound of the carriages and wagons rumbling past outside, the scratch of tiny clawed feet rooting in the straw. Somewhere in the darkness a steady drip, drip, drip marked the passing moments.

I found myself wondering if I would ever see the light of day again. Just how firmly set against me was the duke? Would his children be believed once Johnny sailed and they could tell the whole truth, or would he think this just another invention to save my neck? And even if by some happy chance I was freed, what then? As Billy said, unless I was released without a stain on my character, no respectable place would want me back. Mr Sheridan would perhaps believe my story, but even he might be persuaded to doubt me. After all, my conduct over the past few days, eavesdropping and popping up where he least wanted me to be, would hardly endear me to him. Mr Sheridan had not felt able to trust me with the secret of the diamond. I would understand if he now preferred to see the back of me.