too was on my way. What was the world beyond the city like? I couldnât wait to see. The familiar landmarks fell away surprisingly quickly as we crossed the Thames and travelled on into Kent. Except for one short stay in the village of Clapham, I had never spent so much time in the countryside. All that open space made me feel nervous.
Frank was watching me with an amused expression. We were alone in the carriage, as Madame Beaufort had elected to travel with her girls to seed in the story of my trial with the troupe. She hoped the tale would be in full flower by the time we reached Paris before any awkward questions were raised as to why a protégée of Mr Sheridan should take it into her head to travel at his expense. She was representing it as the pay-off for making me homeless â which in a way it was.
âBeautiful, isnât it, Cat?â Frank said teasingly as we passed through a field where the hay was entwined with splashes of red and blue wild flowers like paint spilled by a overenthusiastic set decorator. Butterflies danced above, tiny winged ballerinas in multicoloured gowns.
âItâs . . . er . . . itâs . . .â I couldnât find the words. I wanted to say that it was âemptyâ, âstrangeâ, âfrighteningâ, but I knew from my reading of poetry that I should be saying things like âarcadianâ, âpastoralâ and âpeacefulâ. For me, the silence was deafening.
âYou donât like it, do you?â
I didnât want him to find me so unrefined as not to be able to appreciate nature. âItâs very . . . green.â
âTrue . . . honest and true, just like you,â he laughed. âIâm so pleased you didnât come out with any of that tired old poetic stuff. Yes, the countryside is green, undeniably green.â He offered me a chicken leg from the hamper stowed under his seat. âYou must let me show you Boxton one day. Itâs very green too, but thereâs loads to do â riding, hunting, fishing, walking.â
âFrank, can you really see me on a horse?â I asked, wrinkling my nose.
âI can see you excelling at anything you turn your hand to, Cat, horse riding included,â he replied loyally.
âI didnât excel at looking after myself, did I?â The bleak mood settled on me again as I remembered the humiliation of my time at Mr Tweadleâs.
Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose. âWhy didnât you tell us, Cat? I thought you knew you could ask us to do anything for you. Any of us would.â
âI thought I had to make my own way.â I staredat my hands, still coarse after weeks of scrubbing and peeling.
âBut why? None of us do. Lizzie and I â we have our parents. Sydâs got his family, his manager, and his boys around him. Pedro has Signor Angelini looking out for him. Why should you be on your own?â
How could he understand what it was like to be me?
âI always have been, Frank. On my own, I mean. Ever since I can remember, my place in the world has been precarious, bound up with Drury Lane. When that went, I felt as if I too no longer existed.â
âBut youâre far more than a theatre, Cat. Donât you see that?â
âThank you, Frank. Iâm trying to.â
âWe all think highly of you â and not just your friends. Lord, Cat, even Billy Shepherd compliments you by thinking you worth his attention.â
His comment took me back to Billyâs collection and the empty cushion. I wondered if I should tell Frank about the deal I had made. It would be goodto share the burden with someone â and he was as good as inviting me to rely on him.
âThereâs something you should know about me and Billy Shepherd, Frank,â I began awkwardly.
Frank threw his chicken bone out of the window. âOh, yes? Donât tell me youâre engaged?â he joked.
âNot exactly .
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