Cat Among the Pigeons (22 page)

The hush was so complete that I began to notice even the smallest movements. For example, I knew the exact moment that Miss Miller senior noticed my presence from the sharp intake of breath. Miss Prudence gave away her consternation by the clasping and unclasping of her hands. In a flutter, Miss Fortitude dropped her handkerchief. I knew what they were thinking: Drury Lane had invaded the Quaker Meeting House and they were desperate that no one else should notice.

An elderly man stood up. ‘I feel moved by the Spirit to speak,' he said in a sonorous voice. ‘I sense that some of my sisters are oppressed in spirit and need to be reminded to cast their cares on the Lord.'

‘Amen,' intoned all present, except me. I was intending to cast my cares on the Miss Millers.

The meeting relapsed into silence. To be honest with you, Reader, it was torture for me. I
am not in the habit of sitting five seconds in company without speaking, let alone half an hour. My mind was racing with so many things – my anxiety for Pedro, my fear that the Miss Millers would turn me away, my narrow escape from Old Jean. I couldn't wait for the meeting to end. The minutes crawled by. To this day, I still do not know what signalled the end of the worship, but suddenly everyone was on their feet, greeting each other with good wishes for the morning ahead. As a stranger, I was surrounded by people warmly welcoming me to the congregation. Only the Miss Millers did not approach. They were standing in a huddle, conferring as to what they should do. I decided to grab the bull by the horns.

‘Miss Miller,' I said loudly, curtseying to the sisters, ‘I'm so pleased to see you again.'

‘Child, dost thou know our dear sisters in Christ?' asked the elderly man who had spoken in the meeting.

‘Indeed, I do, Mr –?'

‘Brother Andrew, child.'

‘I came all this way to see them, Brother Andrew,' I confided.

Miss Miller senior, seeing me talking to one of the meeting house elders, bustled over.

‘Sister Patience, dost thou know this child?' he asked, laying a fatherly hand on my shoulders. He glanced down at my bare, muddy feet. ‘She seems in some need.'

‘Indeed, I do, Brother Andrew. My sisters and I were just going to invite her to our house to refresh herself. Wilt thou come, Sister Catherine?'

‘Thank you.' I felt a great sense of relief – my guess that the Miss Millers would not fail to help someone in distress had been right.

‘Ah, then thou shalt be blessed,' Brother Andrew declared, raising his eyes to heaven, ‘for some of us have entertained angels unawares, thou knows it well.'

‘I'm sorry but I'm not an angel,' I said quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. I was probably the least angelic girl he'd ever meet.

‘Angels come in all guises, Sister Catherine,' he said with a smile that felt like summer sunshine on that cold day. ‘Go with the sisters and take your rest.'

SCENE 3 – SILENCE IS GOLDEN

I followed the Miss Millers outside and trailed after them as they made their way back to their cottage. This was a pretty, rustic building with a thatched roof, whitewashed walls and lattice windows. A hedge of holly arched over the gate, looking very festive with its bright berries. Miss Miller opened the front door and waited as we all filed past her. She looked around to check no neighbours were watching, shut the door and turned to me, hands on her hips.

‘Well, this is a surprise. May I enquire what thou dost here?'

I laced my hands together, scrutinizing each sister in turn. Miss Miller was the most formidable – her expression alert, her movements vigorous. Miss Prudence was the most excitable: her eyes bright. Miss Fortitude was the most timorous – she looked plain scared. All of them looked honest – all of them trustworthy. This was
essential for I was going to have to put my faith in them if I was going to tell them the truth.

‘I've been having a rather extraordinary few weeks since we last met,' I confessed. ‘May I sit down and I'll tell you what's happened? All I ask is, at the end, you tell me if I can stay for a while.'

I took a deep breath and plunged into my tale.

‘In all my life, I've never heard anything like it!' said Miss Miller when I'd finished.

‘You theatre types certainly lead interesting lives,' said Miss Prudence, hugging herself with excitement. ‘I wish I'd seen you punch that bully!'

‘Prudence!' rapped out Miss Miller severely. ‘Remember, we never approve of violence.'

Miss Fortitude got up without a word and filled the kettle.

‘What dost thou, sister?' asked Miss Miller.

‘I'm preparing a bath for our guest,' she replied meekly.

‘But we haven't yet decided if she is to stay!' protested her elder.

Miss Fortitude drew herself up to her full five feet and faced her sister. ‘Of course she stays. Our life is dedicated to helping those in distress. She has suffered because of the persecution of wicked men. Thou durst not turn her away.'

Miss Miller and Miss Prudence both looked shocked to hear their timid sister rebel, but then the elder regained her composure.

‘Sister Catherine, look what thou hast done! Thou hast been under our roof but an instant and already Drury Lane begins to work on my sisters.' My stomach clenched in a knot of panic: was Miss Miller about to throw me out? Then her stern face relaxed into a smile as she turned to her youngest sister. ‘But well said, Fortitude. I have always thought thou art too compliant – thou dost what is right. But let us first use the water for tea, then a bath. Our sister has passed a comfortless night and is in more need of breakfast than cleanliness.'

‘But what will we tell our brothers and sisters?' asked Miss Prudence. ‘Her connection
to the theatre will be most difficult for us to explain.'

‘Then we say nothing on the subject. Indeed, my conscience is clear on this point for we are duty bound to keep silent. Sister Catherine's origins must not be broadcast to the whole congregation – that would put her at risk,' said Miss Miller.

Her sisters were very relieved by this comfortable doctrine.

‘You mean, silence is golden?' I asked archly.

‘That's precisely what I mean,' smiled Miss Miller.

This pronouncement opened the gates on a flood of kindness from the sisters. Under their gentle ministrations, I was fed, washed and clothed. It was a particular relief to have a proper bath in front of the kitchen fire as I'd not had one for many months.

‘No shoes!' tutted Miss Prudence as she tied one of her aprons over the too-big dress I had been given. They were all small women, but
even so their clothes swamped me.

‘I'll go to Mrs Jones. She has a brood of children: we should be able to borrow some clothes the right size for Sister Catherine,' said Miss Miller, putting on her bonnet. ‘I will get some milk while I'm there. Young people need more milk than us oldsters.'

Miss Miller sallied out with Miss Fortitude, leaving me alone with Miss Prudence. She took a comb and began to tackle my hair.

‘I always wanted long red hair like you had,' she confided in me. Her own white locks peeped out from under her cap – she really was very pretty with her heart-shaped face and periwinkle blue eyes. She must have been stunning as a girl. ‘It shows that thou dost not suffer from the sin of vanity when thou sacrificed thy hair to a greater cause.'

‘Oh, I'm vain enough,' I confessed, ‘but I don't think I've much to be vain about. Now, Lizzie, Lady Elizabeth, that's who I think of as being beautiful.'

Miss Prudence smiled and tucked my hair behind my ears.

‘Promise you won't tell?' she asked me conspiratorially.

‘Of course,' I replied, wondering what secret she was about to reveal.

She moved to her workbag and pulled out a length of green ribbon. ‘I can't resist pretty things. I have lots and lots of them hidden away.'

‘Why don't you wear them in your cap? You'd look lovely.'

She fastened the ribbon in my hair. ‘We don't approve of such vanities. We like things to be plain, simple and serviceable.'

‘But the world won't come to an end if you wear just a little one,' I coaxed her. ‘Please show me your collection. I can't be the only one wearing ribbons.'

With great pride, Miss Prudence laid out her rainbow of silks and satins. I picked out a blue one and tied it around her white cap.

‘There! That matches your eyes.'

Miss Prudence giggled and patted her head nervously. ‘I feel very wicked,' she admitted.

‘I'm sure God likes you to feel that sort of wicked as it doesn't harm anyone.'

This idea delighted her. ‘Sister Catherine, I think thou art in the right. One ribbon will not bring the meeting house down about our ears.'

Miss Prudence and I spent a happy hour chatting about the theatre until her two sisters returned in triumph. They bore a can of milk and a pair of shoes only one size too big.

‘Mrs Jones had heard of thy escape already,' said Miss Miller, pouring me a large glass of milk. Her eyes slid to her sister's cap but she made no comment. ‘Her husband carried thee here.'

‘Elias! He was very kind,' I said, taking a sip. The milk tasted so fresh and creamy, unlike the thin stuff I had in town, which was watered down and mixed with flour. ‘Is he a Quaker too?'

Miss Prudence laughed. ‘No, he is one of those Methodistical fellows – fine folk, if a little too noisy for our taste. And fie, Sister Catherine,
if thou stayest among us, thou must not call us Quakers. We are the Society of Friends.'

I blushed. ‘I'm sorry, I was told you were called Quakers.'

‘That's what some call us,' nodded Miss Miller, picking up her knitting and making herself comfortable in her chair, ‘because, when the Spirit moves, we have been known to quiver and shake in the presence of our Maker. But it also can be taken to mean our desire to rock the foundations of injustice and bring the house of slavery crashing to the ground. We work to make God's kingdom come on earth and slavery has no part in that heavenly society where all shall be friends.'

This sounded all very well, but, in my opinion, there was a flaw in her view of the world.

‘I don't think I can be friends with men like Kingston Hawkins,' I said.

‘Even him, Sister Catherine. He also is a child of his Maker though he has left the path of truth. One day the lion shall lie with the lamb. Thou must pray for him.'

This seemed a very tall order. ‘I'm not sure I can,' I replied. ‘I think he's still at the stage where he'll eat the lamb if he so much as catches a glimpse of a shake of its tail.'

Miss Miller smiled and let the matter drop.

Time passed slowly as I waited to hear news of Pedro. It was difficult to contain my impatience but I knew that I could be of no help until we had a sign that he was being moved to the port. In the meanwhile, I was faced with a new challenge: behaving myself. I had never lived in such a sober, industrious household with regular mealtimes, prayers and early to bed. No one had ever expected me to act like a polite young lady before. I found it quite a struggle to fit in, not least since I had been playing a boy for the past few weeks.

‘Sister Catherine, a lady does not sit with her knees apart in that rude fashion,' rapped out Miss Miller as I lolled in a chair during the evening Bible reading.

I sat up straight and put my hands in my lap. I really didn't want to offend my kind hosts. Boredom took over again and I began twiddling my thumbs absent-mindedly. A basket of sewing was dumped in my lap.

‘The Devil makes work for idle hands,' said Miss Fortitude sweetly.

Whistling, running, jumping, laughing too boisterously – all were out. I had to school myself to sit quietly, keep my back straight and my deportment correct. Miss Miller also said I was to keep my thoughts godly, but she agreed that this might be a step beyond my capabilities for the present.

I had started by liking the Miss Millers for their kindness, but as the days passed, I grew to admire them too. I had imagined that they were quiet, retiring sorts, but I was proved wrong. They were running an empire every bit as big as Billy Shepherd's, though with a far different purpose. Miss Miller corresponded with Quakers in every corner of the country and even abroad
as she spread the word about the abolition movement. The cottage was a hive of political activity. The post boy came to the gate every day bearing letters. He and I were soon on first name terms. From what he told me, I was surprised the Miss Millers had any money left, for so much went paying the carrier's charges.

Their lives had so much more purpose than my own shiftless existence. If only they would allow themselves a little more fun . . .