Read Online The Diamond of Drury Lane by Julia Golding - Free Book Online
Authors: Julia Golding
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towards me in a flourish like a conjuror producing a white rabbit from a hat.
I blushed at the introduction and curtsied.
‘So, Miss . . .?’ began Lady Elizabeth tentatively.
‘Miss Catherine Royal,’ I supplied, thinking it the moment to use my full title.
‘Miss Royal, what do you do at the theatre?’ she asked.
‘Do you sing?’ asked Lord Francis eagerly. ‘Do you play?’
I hesitated. Message-runner did not sound very impressive faced with the cream of English society who expected me to dazzle them as Pedro had done.
‘She writes,’ said Pedro quickly. ‘Oh yes, the first production of her pen will soon be on all good bookstands . . . a story of mystery and intrigue from a child prodigy. She is the bookseller’s dream, a gift to the journals!’
I gaped. Fortunately no one noticed as they were now discussing my forthcoming work eagerly.
‘Well, I am impressed!’ exclaimed Lady Elizabeth. ‘Will it be full of banditti and haunted castles?’
‘Or highwaymen and thief-catchers?’ asked Lord Francis.
They both turned expectantly to me. I could not help smiling at the absurd tale Pedro had spun, but I was not going to let the theatre . . . or myself . . . down in front of them. I would prove that I was worthy of their respect.
‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ I said with a superior air. ‘It is set here, in Drury Lane, and will go from the lowest ranks of society to the highest, from the gangs and barrow boys to the baronets and beauties. My themes will be . . .’ (I cast round for some suitably Shakespearean language to impress them, not having in truth a clue what I was talking about) ‘the wickedness of treason, the sting of revenge and the noble disinterestedness of love, all set behind the scenes.’
‘Excellent!’ said Lord Francis, clapping hishands with enthusiasm. ‘And what’s it to be called?’
I went blank for a moment, floundering round for a title appropriate to the medley of themes I had just described.
‘
The Diamond of Drury Lane
,’ Pedro extemporised quickly.
I vowed to kick him later for his recklessness. I had much rather he had not mentioned the diamond. Neither of us seemed to be doing very well in keeping Mr Sheridan’s secret. If Pedro had his way, it would be splashed all over the bookstalls and magazines.
‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Lady Elizabeth, addressing herself to me. ‘Perhaps you and Mr Hawkins would accept an engagement to entertain a gathering of our friends next Friday . . . if you can be spared from your other duties, that is?’
‘What kind of engagement?’ I asked hesitantly.
‘Mr Hawkins to play, of course, and you to read us a chapter of your most interesting work.’
‘Capital idea,’ said Lord Francis.
‘Yes, we will,’ answered Pedro before I could think up an excuse.
‘Then we will expect you around six,’ said Lady Elizabeth, making a note in a small notebook with a tiny pencil that she had taken from her reticule.
‘But . . .’ I began.
Pedro interrupted, stepping on my toes to stop me saying any more. ‘What Miss Royal means to say is, “Thank you, but where exactly should we come?”’
‘Grosvenor Square,’ said Lord Francis, stifling a yawn as if the very thought of home was wearisome to him. ‘South side. You can’t miss it.’
Grosvenor Square! This was sounding more and more daunting. Grosvenor Square was the most desirable address in the West End. Only the very best families lived there. If you did not have some kind of title, you need not even think of presuming to pollute this hallowed turf with your presence. The families even had their own private garden square in the centre . . . a rare luxury in the crammed streets of London . . . which was barricaded from the riffraff by railings. I remember once, when an errand took me into that part of town, how I stood gazing longinglyinto the forbidden garden, watching the rich children playing on the unsullied green lawn . . . that was before I was
I blushed at the introduction and curtsied.
‘So, Miss . . .?’ began Lady Elizabeth tentatively.
‘Miss Catherine Royal,’ I supplied, thinking it the moment to use my full title.
‘Miss Royal, what do you do at the theatre?’ she asked.
‘Do you sing?’ asked Lord Francis eagerly. ‘Do you play?’
I hesitated. Message-runner did not sound very impressive faced with the cream of English society who expected me to dazzle them as Pedro had done.
‘She writes,’ said Pedro quickly. ‘Oh yes, the first production of her pen will soon be on all good bookstands . . . a story of mystery and intrigue from a child prodigy. She is the bookseller’s dream, a gift to the journals!’
I gaped. Fortunately no one noticed as they were now discussing my forthcoming work eagerly.
‘Well, I am impressed!’ exclaimed Lady Elizabeth. ‘Will it be full of banditti and haunted castles?’
‘Or highwaymen and thief-catchers?’ asked Lord Francis.
They both turned expectantly to me. I could not help smiling at the absurd tale Pedro had spun, but I was not going to let the theatre . . . or myself . . . down in front of them. I would prove that I was worthy of their respect.
‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ I said with a superior air. ‘It is set here, in Drury Lane, and will go from the lowest ranks of society to the highest, from the gangs and barrow boys to the baronets and beauties. My themes will be . . .’ (I cast round for some suitably Shakespearean language to impress them, not having in truth a clue what I was talking about) ‘the wickedness of treason, the sting of revenge and the noble disinterestedness of love, all set behind the scenes.’
‘Excellent!’ said Lord Francis, clapping hishands with enthusiasm. ‘And what’s it to be called?’
I went blank for a moment, floundering round for a title appropriate to the medley of themes I had just described.
‘
The Diamond of Drury Lane
,’ Pedro extemporised quickly.
I vowed to kick him later for his recklessness. I had much rather he had not mentioned the diamond. Neither of us seemed to be doing very well in keeping Mr Sheridan’s secret. If Pedro had his way, it would be splashed all over the bookstalls and magazines.
‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Lady Elizabeth, addressing herself to me. ‘Perhaps you and Mr Hawkins would accept an engagement to entertain a gathering of our friends next Friday . . . if you can be spared from your other duties, that is?’
‘What kind of engagement?’ I asked hesitantly.
‘Mr Hawkins to play, of course, and you to read us a chapter of your most interesting work.’
‘Capital idea,’ said Lord Francis.
‘Yes, we will,’ answered Pedro before I could think up an excuse.
‘Then we will expect you around six,’ said Lady Elizabeth, making a note in a small notebook with a tiny pencil that she had taken from her reticule.
‘But . . .’ I began.
Pedro interrupted, stepping on my toes to stop me saying any more. ‘What Miss Royal means to say is, “Thank you, but where exactly should we come?”’
‘Grosvenor Square,’ said Lord Francis, stifling a yawn as if the very thought of home was wearisome to him. ‘South side. You can’t miss it.’
Grosvenor Square! This was sounding more and more daunting. Grosvenor Square was the most desirable address in the West End. Only the very best families lived there. If you did not have some kind of title, you need not even think of presuming to pollute this hallowed turf with your presence. The families even had their own private garden square in the centre . . . a rare luxury in the crammed streets of London . . . which was barricaded from the riffraff by railings. I remember once, when an errand took me into that part of town, how I stood gazing longinglyinto the forbidden garden, watching the rich children playing on the unsullied green lawn . . . that was before I was
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