Cat Among the Pigeons (6 page)

‘Ah, the orphan,' said the lady, turning to her companions with a grave nod of her head. ‘That explains it. Well, Sister Catherine, Brother Pedro, please join us.' She waved to two footstools near her skirts. ‘I am Miss Miller; this is my sister, Miss Prudence Miller.' The second lady bobbed her head. ‘And this is my youngest sister, Miss Fortitude Miller.' The third lady gave us a shy nod. ‘We are here on behalf of the brethren from Clapham. But we are all brothers and sisters before the Lord, are we not?'

‘I . . . er . . . yes, I suppose so,' I agreed, glancing at Pedro to see what he was making of all this.

The door now opened again and let in a gaggle of men and women, most of them dressed
in similarly sombre colours. Miss Miller began to introduce everyone, but there was so much brother this and sister that – I couldn't keep up. Lizzie came to our rescue, fluttering into the room in a beautiful blue gown, a tropical bird among the sparrows.

‘So sorry to keep you waiting,' she said to her expectant guests. Turning to Pedro and me, she added, ‘Sorry, dinner overran as it so often does when Mama's here. She'll be here in a minute. Have you met everyone?'

The visitors seated themselves in a circle, leaving Pedro and me stranded on footstools in the centre. Lizzie took a chair just behind us. Joseph and another footman came in with trays of refreshments. He tipped me a wink as he offered me a cup.

‘Thank you all for coming,' said Lizzie, rising to her feet. ‘Papa sends his apologies – he has business in the House tonight. He said we should start without him.'

Miss Miller gave an important little cough
and took out a sheaf of paper. ‘It falls to me then to read out the minutes of the last meeting for your approval.'

She was halfway through a tedious recital of progress on collecting signatures for petitions when the door was flung open and the duchess glided into the room, resplendent in lemon yellow and diamonds.

‘Good evening, everyone,' she boomed, nodding to acknowledge the men, who had risen on her entrance. ‘Done the dull stuff yet, eh? Can we hear from the boy now?' She swooped down on me and planted a scented kiss on my cheek. ‘I'm especially pleased to see you again, my dear. Don't forget to stay behind to keep me abreast of the gossip from Drury Lane!'

Miss Fortitude Miller gave a little gasp.

‘Your grace, we had not quite finished reading through the minutes,' said Miss Miller senior primly.

‘Oh, you can cut all that. We all approve them, don't we?' Those present meekly mumbled
their agreement. ‘Splendid. Then let's hear the boy's story.' She took her place in the armchair that had been reserved for her and looked expectantly at Pedro.

Pedro appealed to Lizzie. ‘Story? I didn't know I had to speak. I thought these people were going to help me.'

Lizzie blushed. ‘They are, but they want to hear from you first.'

Pedro looked across at me a shade desperately. An intensely private person, I knew he hated talking about his past but there didn't seem anything for it. I gave a tiny shrug. He got up, clasped his hands behind his back, and began to speak, staring into middle distance.

‘I was about five years old when my family were sold into slavery – '

‘Oh, the poor little lamb!' moaned Miss Prudence Miller, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing her eyes. The gentlemen in the back row were shaking their heads sadly.

Pedro looked confused by this early interruption.
He coughed and then continued.

‘We were separated before being put on board the ship. I never saw my mother and sisters again.'

‘Oh, the fiends!' cried Miss Fortitude Miller. The ladies either side of the duchess murmured their agreement. One had begun to take notes.

A hot flush spread up my face. This was terrible. I knew they meant well, but they were treating Pedro's story like some kind of sentimental novel. Didn't they understand that the boy before them had really lived through all this? I glanced at Lizzie. She looked at me helplessly.

Pedro laboured on. He had just reached the part where Kingston Hawkins spotted his musical talent when the door to the library opened again. Two gentlemen came in. Pedro stopped speaking. The first was a tall man with high, gaunt cheekbones, small shrewd eyes, a long nose and prominent chin. He moved like a daddy-long-legs, all knees and elbows. The
second was a real surprise: a stocky, middle-aged African, soberly but smartly dressed. He bore a gold ring on a finger of his right hand. Pedro's eyes were now locked on the African visitor.

‘Ladies, gentlemen,' said the gaunt man. ‘I apologize for our tardiness.'

‘Mr Sharp, Mr Equiano, welcome,' said the duchess. ‘Do take a chair. We were just hearing Pedro's story.'

‘No doubt it is the same dismal tale that many of our African brothers have to tell,' said Mr Sharp. ‘I think we already know the salient points, your grace.'

Mr Equiano took a seat by the duchess and turned to Pedro.

‘Come, Pedro, sit by me,' he said in a deep, rich-toned voice. ‘I think you've sung for your supper enough times before tonight.'

Pedro smiled with relief and bolted for the chair next to his new champion. Watching Mr Equiano, I leant over to Lizzie.

‘Who is he?' I whispered.

‘Mr Equiano? He's quite something, isn't he? He was once a slave but he managed to buy his freedom. He's one of the most travelled people I've ever met. You should hear him talk about the icebergs of the Arctic Circle! Now he's settled in London, married an English lady, and devoted himself to freeing his fellow Africans. He assists Mr Sharp – that's the other gentleman over by the fireplace. Mr Sharp's a lawyer – a very brave man: he's rescued other slaves before now.'

Mr Sharp coughed, drawing the meeting to attention.

‘We are here to decide what we can do for Pedro,' said Mr Sharp. ‘I think most of us know that the law states that no one can be removed from British soil against their will.' Mr Equiano patted Pedro on the shoulder. ‘I regret to say, however, it is less clear as to whether the institution of slavery can exist here or no.'

‘There is no slavery in Christ!' called out one man from the back.

‘Of course, my friend,' continued Mr
Sharp, ‘we all agree on that in this room. We believe that the very air of this island is inimical to slavery – one foot on British soil and a slave becomes a free man – but no doubt Mr Hawkins will dispute that.'

‘And he'd only be saying what many people think, Granville,' added Mr Equiano with the bitterness of experience.

Mr Sharp nodded an acknowledgement. ‘However, I think we have been handed an opportunity. Hawkins' threats against Pedro are just what we need to show the public how cruel and absurd the system of slavery is. We must make Pedro's case famous and bring scorn upon Hawkins for his attempt to take the boy away against his will.'

‘Hear, hear, Brother!' trilled Miss Fortitude Miller.

‘You are correct as usual, Granville,' said Mr Equiano. ‘But how can we do it? It takes days to write pamphlets and get them to the right people.
The Times
or one of the other papers might run a
story, if Mr Wilberforce asked them, but we haven't got much time. I expect Hawkins is planning to come down hard and fast.'

The abolitionists sat looking at each other, lost for inspiration. How silly when the answer was staring them in the face! Mr Kemble had seen it at once. I couldn't endure this Quakerish silence any longer.

‘I know,' I piped up from my lowly seat on the footstool. Thirty pairs of eyes turned to me.

‘Yes, sugar, what do you know?' asked Mr Equiano with a lovely bright smile.

‘Pedro's debut as Ariel. The play's a gift – almost every line he has will speak to his case. You can't watch
The Tempest
and not want Ariel to go free: it's bound to bring almost everyone on to Pedro's side.' I stood up, feeling at too much of a disadvantage on the floor. ‘All you need do is run off some flyers explaining the threat to him, hand them out to the audience in advance, and the theatre will do the rest. There won't be a man or woman in town who doesn't know
Pedro's story by Saturday morning.'

‘What a scandalous idea!' exclaimed Miss Miller. ‘The theatre's no place for the boy's case to be heard. It's full of loose women and drunken men!'

I flushed with anger and the duchess bridled. ‘Are you, ma'am, inferring that all females who appear on stage are immoral?' she demanded.

Miss Miller realized her error. She was in the home of the singer formerly known as the Bristol Nightingale, now the Duchess of Avon. But the Quaker was evidently a woman of strong opinions and she could not bring herself to back down. ‘No offence was meant to present company, but your grace must allow that the theatre is not regarded as entirely above reproach by most people.'

‘You mean by silly narrow-minded killjoys like yourself!' boomed the duchess.

‘Mother!' implored Lizzie.

‘I think Miss Royal's idea is a fine one,' continued the duchess. ‘Despite being half your
height and a quarter of your age, she's got more sense in her little finger than you have in your entire body. It's not the respectable parsons and their wives we want to persuade, it's Jack and Jill public. They don't read learned tracts, but they sure as eggs are eggs go to the play,' she finished, glaring at Miss Miller as if considering her a new-laid specimen that she was about to scramble.

Hiding a smile, Mr Equiano cleared his throat. The duchess made way for him with a regal nod of her head.

‘Though I would not have put the matter quite in the terms your grace employs, I agree that Miss Royal is right. However, we must ensure the crowd takes the matter in the way we wish. It's more than possible that, once Hawkins knows Pedro is to take the stage as advertised, he'll plant his cronies in the audience to protest at the abuse of his so-called “property rights”. We must have our people there too.'

‘What! Us, go to the theatre!' exclaimed Miss Miller senior. Her sisters looked positively faint at the idea.

‘Everyone,' confirmed Mr Equiano, giving me a sly grin. I liked him very much: he clearly had a wicked sense of humour. ‘Surely the principle of freedom of the individual outweighs any qualms about the frivolity of the theatre?'

The three Miss Millers exchanged looks, nodded, and gritted their teeth.

‘All right,' agreed Miss Miller senior. ‘We'll do it – for the cause and for Brother Pedro.'

The duchess gave a snort of derision which Lizzie tried to disguise with a coughing fit of her own. She too was struggling not to laugh.

‘Then that's settled,' said Mr Sharp, beaming at us all. ‘Equiano and I will see to the flyers and purchase the tickets.' He cracked his knuckles as if readying himself for business.

‘You'd better hurry,' I chipped in, ‘the performance's bound to sell out.'

He nodded. ‘Understood. I'll send someone
for them immediately. Then we'll meet at Drury Lane an hour before the doors open.'

The meeting was declared over and the guests got up to go.

‘Oh my!' I heard Miss Prudence exclaiming. ‘Whatever will the brethren say when they hear about this?'

‘Say?' whispered Miss Miller. ‘Why, nothing if thou sayest nothing to them. Remember: silence is golden.'

Her two sisters gravely nodded their heads and scurried out of the door before they found themselves engaged in any further frivolities.

SCENE 3 – A GENTLEMEN'S CLUB

‘Cat! Cat! Where are you, you little devil? Always underfoot when least wanted, but never there when I need you!' Mr Salter, the prompt and box office manager, was shouting for me backstage. I was up in the flies with Pedro, inspecting the flying rig for his first entrance that night. All we could see of Mr Salter was the top of his curly white head. I wondered whether to keep quiet and stay hidden. But tempting though it would be to remain in the warm, there was the little matter of earning my keep at the theatre. Mrs Reid had made it clear that morning that darning was not my forte, so errand-running it would have to be.

‘Up here, sir!' I called.

Mr Salter turned to stare up at the gantry and bellowed, ‘Get down here at the double. I've got a big order of tickets to be delivered for tonight – a gentleman at Brook's is waiting for them.'

I looked across at Pedro. ‘Mr Sharp, do you think?'

He nodded. ‘Shall I come too?'

I knew he really wanted to see Mr Equiano, his new hero. I couldn't blame him. On the other hand, Pedro had a big night tonight: it probably was not a good idea to have him chasing across town as a messenger, especially not with the fog that had settled since yesterday. The damp would be a disaster for his voice. We also had to consider what might happen if we met any of Hawkins' men out on the streets – there was no time to ask Syd to be our escort.