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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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜You’d better hurry,’ I chipped in, ‘the performance’s bound to sell out.’
    He nodded. ‘Understood. I’ll send someonefor 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.
    â€˜Oh my!’ I heard Miss Prudence exclaiming. ‘Whatever will the brethren say when they hear about this?’
    â€˜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
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Cat! If you don’t get down here now, I’ll skin you!’ shouted Mr Salter.
    â€˜Coming!’ I grabbed hold of the nearest rope and slid down it, much to Mr Salter’s horror.
    â€˜You could have used the stairs, you littlehoyden,’ he said, handing me a thick sheaf of tickets. ‘Now get yourself off to Brook’s, the gentlemen’s club in St James. Do you know it?’ I nodded. ‘Just ask at the door. They’re expecting a messenger from Drury Lane. Make sure you get a receipt.’
    Outside, the day did not seem to have dawned even though it was near midday. Fog, mixed with the smoke of thousands of coal fires, had brewed a spell for invisibility. Hackney cabs rattled down Drury Lane blind to everything but the feeble will-o’-the-wisp lamps of the carriage in front. Woe betide anyone who dared to cross without taking due care! The jarveys would probably just ride over you in this weather and not worry too much about the bump under their wheels. I stuck to the pavement, weaving my way through the crowds. On the corner of Long Acre, a gaggle of gullible country bumpkins had clustered around a card sharp as he waved a pack of cards under their noses.
    â€˜Pick a card,