The Diamond of Drury Lane Read Free

his Prime Minister; the actors and actresses the Royal Family. The different departments in the theatre are like the various ministries of government, providing costumes, scenery, music and dance to keep the Royal Family in fine form. You could call me the mail coach, running messages about the kingdom. Johnny says I am more like the oppressed masses doing the jobs no one else wants for no wages. He told me to write down that he is the Archbishop of Canterbury as, in his role as prompt, he administers the word to those in need. I wasn’t sure if this was blasphemous or not but he instructed me not to be so lily-livered and put it down in any case.
    This brings me to Johnny. Or Mr Jonathan Smith as I suppose I should call him if I am to make a proper job of the introduction. I first met him the day after the riot. He was waiting outside Mr Kemble’s office early the next morning when I came down from the Sparrow’s Nest with a pile ofwashing. He was kicking his heels in the corridor and whistling ‘Rule, Britannia’, just as Mr Sheridan had the night before, with the difference that his rendition was far more tuneful. He did not see me, perhaps because I only come up to his chest, so he managed to trip me up as I passed.
    ‘Clothead!’ I squealed at him as the washing tumbled on to the floor with me on top of it. ‘Fool!’ (You see that I was brought up in the politest society and know how to introduce myself to a gentleman in the most agreeable way.)
    Johnny almost fell over himself in his attempt to right his wrong. He hauled me up and began to load me down with the clothes, practically burying me under Miss Stageldoir’s smelly stockings.
    ‘I am so sorry, I did not see you there, Miss . . .?’
    I sniffed disdainfully, then regretted this immediately as it brought a rather overwhelming whiff of feet to my nostrils. ‘Miss Catherine Royal,’ I said with dignity.
    ‘Miss Catherine Royal,’ said Johnny, making a low bow, his eyes gleaming mischievously as he squinted up at me. ‘Will Miss Royal ever forgiveher humble servant?’ He remained bent over, his face contorted, half-laughing, half-pleading.
    I had to smile. ‘Of course,’ I said, trying to curtsey to show him that I too could be refined if I tried. Unfortunately, my bob sent the clothes tumbling back to the ground. We bent down together to pick them up. ‘But you’d better call me Cat because no one will understand you if you call me Miss Royal.’
    ‘Your wish is my command,’ said Johnny, like the genie out of the Arabian Nights.
    I took an instant liking to him: a tall youth with long black hair tied behind in a blue ribbon. His eyes were so brown they were almost black and seemed to dance with laughter. He was also very handsome. I guessed that the girls backstage would all be swooning over him before too long.
    ‘And who are you?’ I asked when he did not introduce himself.
    ‘Mr Jonathan . . .’ he hesitated for a moment, ‘Smith . . . at your service. Though you can call me Johnny.’ He gave me a wink.
    ‘Well, Johnny, what are you doing here? MrKemble doesn’t usually get in this early.’
    He fortunately found my impertinent curiosity amusing. He laughed. ‘Oh, I have an appointment. You’re looking at the new prompt.’ He stood up and gave another bow, this time as if to an imaginary audience.
    ‘Oh good!’ I exclaimed, thinking how angry Mr Salter would be. ‘I’m so pleased they’ve appointed you.’
    Johnny gave me a queer look. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Thank you for your vote of confidence. From what Sheridan . . . Mr Sheridan . . . told me, I have to secure your blessing if I am to succeed behind the scenes.’
    This made me wonder. It was strange to think that someone as important as Mr Sheridan had thought to mention me to Johnny.
    ‘I’d better get these to the carrier. I’ll see you later,’ I said, a little embarrassed as I clasped the washing tightly to my chest.
    ‘See you later, Catkin.’
    I could