‘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.
‘Don’t you think you’d better stay here in case you’re wanted, Pedro? If it is them, I’ll ask them to come to the Green Room before the performance.’