The Diamond of Drury Lane by Julia Golding Read Free Book Online Page B

king.’
    Reuben looked about him nervously. ‘Ssh!’ he hissed. ‘Someone might hear you! They’ve gotpeople out looking for troublemakers. You know you could be carted off to the Tower for insulting the king? Not to mention being hanged, drawn and quartered for treason.’
    ‘They wouldn’t dare,’ bragged Jonas, though I noticed he had dropped his voice despite his bold words. ‘They’re too scared of us . . . afraid we’ll do to them what the Frenchies have done to their king, making him come at their beck and call. And we might.’ Jonas tried to swell impressively, but to my eye he just looked a bullfrog, croaking out empty threats.
    He was wasting his breath. The mob would never treat King George like the French had their Louis. And as for putting him on the dung heap, that was impossible! Britain without a king was as inconceivable as London without its theatres. Hadn’t we tried it with Cromwell and decided we rather liked royalty after all? It was just a shame Jonas’s concern for the underclasses did not stretch to those under him, I thought, turning my attention to the more interesting events on the stage. The orchestra filed in. It had gone six-thirty:the performance was starting at last.
    I had a long wait to see both Pedro and the balloon as I first had to sit through
The Haunted Tower
, a dark Gothic opera that I did not rate much higher than the productions of Mr Salter’s pen, but at least the audience seemed to like it. Mr Kemble made sure there was plenty of fake blood and screaming to keep them happy.
    A door opened behind me in the fifth act and I had to scramble out of my chair to make way for Mr Sheridan. He was accompanied by a gentleman and two young people, a boy and a girl a few years older than me, both finely dressed. As I ducked out of the way, I caught a glimpse of the sky blue silk of the girl’s lace-edged gown and felt a pang of envy. I had never owned anything so beautiful in my entire life.
    ‘Keeping my seat warm for me, were you, Cat?’ joked Mr Sheridan.
    ‘Yes, sir.’ I bobbed a curtsey, knowing better than to presume upon his kindness in the presence of outsiders. The boy was staring at me with undisguised curiosity as if I was somethingintriguing in a cage in the zoological garden.
    ‘Run along then,’ Mr Sheridan said, shooing me away. ‘Make room for Lord Francis and Lady Elizabeth.’
    Not needing to be told twice, I quit the box. The rich masters had come to throw out the servant. With no revolution here to change the old ways in my favour, I would have to find another vantage point from which to watch Pedro.
    Sneaking downstairs, I crept through the door into the Pit. Respectable girls did not usually come down here, so I grabbed a pile of theatre bills from Sally Hubbard, the doorkeeper, and stood by the entrance, pretending to be there to sell them.
    Things were not going well for me if I was to get my wish of seeing Pedro and the balloon. It was now so crowded (standing room only) that I could barely see the stage, being several feet shorter than the men surrounding me. One portly gentleman standing at the very back noticed my predicament as I hopped from foot to foot. He offered his assistance in a most gentlemanlike manner and lifted me up on to a pillar by the entrance where Icould hang on by the candle bracket. I now had a superb view over everyone’s heads to the stage. I smiled my thanks to him and he tipped his hat most courteously to me.
    At last the curtain rose. The stage was empty. On realising this, the men in the Pit began to mutter angrily to each other. They had been promised a spectacle such as they had never seen before in the theatre and now it looked as though they had been duped. I smiled to myself, knowing they were about to witness something that would rival the feats of the most daring rope-walkers at Bartholomew Fair.
    The orchestra struck up an oriental tune, evoking the exotic East, the land of moguls and tigers, diamonds and