He smiled with slight apprehension, knowing me fully capable of acting outrageously. ‘I trust you would not abuse our hospitality and do anything too scandalous. Take a well-deserved rest, Cat. Read. Study Latin if you must. You’re supposed to be having a holiday.’
‘No, Frank, gentlemen have holidays; ladies just have extended periods of vacancy.’
Frank cast an exasperated look at me, then turned to Pedro who was helping himself to a hearty breakfast from the sideboard. ‘What shall we do with her?’
Pedro shrugged, piling three bacon rashers alongside a poached egg. ‘Can’t we take her with us?’
‘Not you as well! You both know that’d cause a scandal.’
This was true: my position in the Boxton household was strange enough already. An orphan brought up in the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, I had had the good fortune of making some unusually well-bred friends. When made homeless by the closure of the theatre, I had been invited to live among them while I sorted out my future. The invitation had stretched to several months. Pedro, just back from Italy where he had been on tour with his master, Signor Angelini, had returned to find me domiciled with one of the first families in the land; me, who had been the lowliest maid-of-all-work, now not even having to empty my own chamberpot!
‘Act like a proper lady just for today, Cat,’ Frank appealed to me, taking my hand. ‘Some of my family have particular views about behaviour suited to your sex.’
‘Not your mother, surely?’ I protested.
He shook his head. ‘No, she would probably tell you to put your boots on and take a gun with you. No, I was thinking of Cousin William. He’s come up from Bristol especially for the shoot and to be introduced to my friends. I don’t want him to meet you for the first time and get the wrong idea. I want him to like you; I want you to like him.’
Frank’s cousin, William Dixon, had arrived late the night before. I knew Frank had been looking forward to this visit most among all the other company expected at Boxton for Christmas. He had described William with great affection, recounting many tales of previous holidays spent roaming the estate with them both getting into hilarious scrapes. According to Frank, over the last few years William had sobered as he had taken over his father’s shipping business in Bristol and been deluged with new responsibilities, but I sensed that Frank still felt a little in awe of the glamorous older man.
On the strength of this description, I was strangely eager to meet him too.
‘All right,’ I conceded grumpily. ‘I’ll behave.’
‘I’ll stay with you if you like,’ offered Pedro.
‘No, no, you go. I’ll be fine.’ Given that Pedro was a former slave, it was important that the other guests realized that he was in the household by invitation, not as a servant. Staying behind to entertain me would undermine his status. ‘Perhaps your mother will give me another singing lesson when she rises,’ I suggested to Frank, trying to make the best of it.
Frank grimaced. ‘You know her. She won’t leave her bedroom till well after noon.’
‘Then I’ll find your tutor and badger him to translate a passage of Virgil with me.’
‘Sorry, he’s going on the shoot too.’
I sighed. ‘In that case, I’ll write to Lizzie and Johnny and tell them what a scintillating time I’m having.’
Frank chuckled. ‘You do that. Send them my love, won’t you?’
‘Frank, you really should write to your sister yourself.’
‘I know, but you’re so much better at that kind of thing, Cat. It’s one of the female accomplishments that you possess in abundance.’
‘Meaning I’m sadly lacking in the others?’
‘Well, you could pass the time improving your embroidery – or painting a screen.’
I poked Frank in the ribs, making him spill his devilled kidneys on his lap.
‘All right, all right: I surrender!’ He held his hands up. ‘And I promise I’ll take you riding this afternoon when we get back.’
So there I was, marooned in the morning room, waiting for someone to rescue me. I couldn’t remember being bored ever before. Life at Drury Lane had been so busy; something was always happening, what with the bustle of rehearsals, the noise of set construction, the daily ebb and flow of the audience as regular as the tides. And, of course, the excitement of each performance. I desperately missed watching Shakespeare and Sheridan acted out on stage. Despite having the library at Boxton at my disposal, the printed page was no substitute for a play. It was a madness worthy of Bedlam to expect anyone to be satisfied with Shakespeare from a book.
I was interrupted in my thoughts by the arrival of the post. Joseph, my favourite footman, brought me a letter on a silver plate.
‘This just came with the carrier, miss,’ he said solemnly.
This was a rare event: a letter for me. Thanking him, I turned the envelope over with interest as I didn’t recognize the handwriting. After breaking the seal, I unfolded the cheap notepaper:
Bow Street, 1 December
Dear Miss Cat,
I apologize for taking the liberty of writing to you, but our Syd always said you were a true friend, so I hope you don’t mind. As you know, our boy was expected back in October at the latest from his boxing tour but we’ve had no word from him or his manager. His father and I are going almost out of our wits wondering what to do. One of Syd’s boys suggested we write to you and ask you to beg that young lord of yours if he can make enquiries on our behalf. The last news we had was that Syd was in Bristol. They tell me that this is not far from you so I hope it won’t inconvenience you to ask around for us.
Yours in hope,
Mrs Joanna Fletcher