The Amorous Nightingale (16 page)

    'What
did you do, Peter?' said Christopher.

    'I
ran all the way to my uncle's house in Carter Lane, sir. I knew that Mary had
called on him earlier in the day because he's been very ill. I wondered if she
might still be there.' He shook his head. 'But she wasn't. Mary left hours
before.'

    'I
can vouch for that,' added Jonathan. 'I was in Carter Lane myself this morning
and I spoke to Peter's sister as she was leaving her uncle's house. We're old
friends, sir. The Hibbert family used to live in my ward.'

    'Let
me hear it from Peter,' said Christopher gently.

    'I
was more worried than ever, Mr Redmayne, so I went back to the house. Mr Trigg
was there. He's the coachman.

    When
I asked him where my sister was, he told me she'd gone away suddenly with Mrs
Gow and that I wasn't to fret about her. But I do fret, sir,' said the boy,
kneading his fingers. 'And I'm not sure that Mr Trigg was honest with me. He
had these bruises all over his face and a bandage around his head.'

    Christopher
chuckled. 'That doesn't mean he was lying to you,' he said easily. 'As it
happens, I've spoken to Mr Trigg myself and I accept his word. He's in the best
position to know where your sister is, after all. Jacob!' he called. The
servant was in the room instantly. 'This is Peter Hibbert. He looks very hungry
to me. Take him into the kitchen while I talk to Mr Bale in private. Feed him
well.'

    Understanding
the situation, Jacob whisked the boy off before the latter could protest. The
kitchen door was shut firmly behind them. Christopher's relaxed manner
evaporated at once. He lowered his voice to talk to Jonathan.

    'The
boy's fears are all too real,' he admitted, 'but he mustn't know that. We don't
want him to spread the alarm or have his uncle and aunt getting anxious. Peter
must think that his sister has gone out of London with Mrs Gow for a short
while. Even though the plain truth is that she was most likely abducted from
the house this afternoon.'

    'Is
that what the coachman said, sir?'

    'He
had no doubts about it.'

    'Then
the life of an innocent girl may be in danger.'

    'Two
lives are at risk here, Mr Bale,' corrected Christopher. 'I won't waste time
arguing which of the ladies is the more innocent or guilty. Both need immediate
help. The manner of their kidnap shows how bold and uncompromising the men who
snatched them really are. They gave the coachman a sound thrashing.'

    'I've
changed my mind,' said Jonathan, getting up suddenly from his seat. 'I'm sorry
that I had to refuse your invitation earlier on but matters are different now.
I knew the Hibbert family well. I watched Mary and Peter grow up. Their father,
Daniel, was a fine man and a good neighbour to us.' He thrust out his jaw. 'If
his daughter is in the slightest danger, I'll help to rescue her.'

    'That
offer is music to my ears.'

    'Just
tell me what to do, Mr Redmayne.'

    'The
first thing is to calm young Peter down.'

    'Leave
that to me, sir.'

    'It's
a happy accident that you actually know one of the victims. You may be able to
tell me things about her which supplement what I've already heard from Trigg.'
He looked down at the table. 'Talking of whom, there's something you can do for
me right now, Mr Bale.'

    'What's
that, sir?'

    'Take
a look at this map. It's rather crude, I fear, but I'm an architect and not a
cartographer. Come over here - what do you see?'

    Jonathan
was impressed. 'A map of London, sir,' he said with a wheeze of admiration. 'As
neat and tidy as you could wish. But that's London to the life, no question.
You've moved one or two of the roads about by mistake and Fleet Street bends a
trifle more than you've allowed. Otherwise, as far as I can judge, it's more or
less accurate.'

    'St
James's Square would be up here in the corner somewhere,' said Christopher,
marking the place with a cross. 'Now, if you had to drive a coach during the
day from there to the Palace of Westminster, which route would you take?'

    'The
most direct one with the best roads.'

    'And
that would be?'

    'Straight
down to Charing Cross here,' said Jonathan, pointing with his finger, 'then
south along King Street.'

    'That
was my feeling. Yet Harriet Gow was abducted when her coach was stopped in this
narrow lane off the Strand - right here.' His own finger jabbed down. 'If Trigg
was taking her to the Palace, why did he go by such a peculiar route?'

    'Did
he mean to call in at Drury Lane on the way?' suggested Jonathan. 'Perhaps she
had business at The Theatre Royal.'

    'The
coachman assures me that she didn't. His mistress had an assignation with
someone though he refuses to tell me with whom. Given the circumstances, I
naturally assumed that it was with His Majesty.'

    'I've
no comment to make on that, sir.'

    'He
and Mrs Gow have been very close of late.'

    'Please
keep me ignorant of such detail.'

    'But
it's critical, Mr Bale. You agree with me that there's only one sensible way to
travel from St James's Square to Westminster. That leaves us with two
alternatives.'

    'Does
it?'

    'The
coachman may have misled me.'

    'Or?'

    Christopher
looked up from his rudimentary map of London.

    'Mrs
Gow had a rendezvous with someone else entirely.'

    Night
brought a few concessions for Mary Hibbert. She was given a candle and provided
with food and water. The man who untied her was wearing a mask but she did not
have the courage to look up at him. Grateful to have some source of light in
the dark cellar, she picked at the bread and cheese. Her captor waited until
she had finished then he pointed to the truckle bed in the corner. When he went
out, the door was locked behind him with an air of finality. Mary shuddered.
During the previous night, she had slept in a fourposter at the house near St
James's Square. Now she was reduced to a filthy mattress in a dank prison. The
scuffling of the rat made her resolve not to lie down anywhere.

    Huddled
into the chair, she sat in the tiny circle of light and prayed that her ordeal
would soon be over. No relief came, not even the cheering sound of a song from
her mistress. It would be a long, lonely, unforgiving night for Mary Hibbert.
Her wrists were chafed by her bonds, her whole body aching from its confinement
in the chair. Her prospects were bleak. Trapped in her cellar, unable to reach
the woman whom she served, unaware of the identity or purpose of her captors,
uncertain of her future, she was more despondent than ever.

    Eager
to make full use of daylight, Lodowick Corrigan arrived on site with his men
shortly after dawn. Under the builder's supervision, posts were hammered into
the ground to mark out the different areas of the property and materials were
unloaded from carts before being stacked carefully in designated places. By the
time that Christopher Redmayne rode up, workmen were already starting to dig
the foundations. Overnight rain had left the earth soft and pliable. The picks
sank deep and true. Pleased by the flurry of activity, Christopher was
frustrated that he would be unable to stay in order to watch progress. Corrigan
ambled over to him with an ingratiating smile.

    'You're
late, sir,' he commented drily.

    'I
had things to do, Mr Corrigan.'

    'We
like an early start.'

    'So I
see. You've certainly brought sufficient men.'

    'The
best I could muster.'

    'They
seem to know their jobs,' said Christopher with approval. 'That's not always
the case, alas. With so much building going on in London, there's a desperate
shortage of trained men. Fresh labour has had to be brought in from outside the
city. Some of the newcomers are very raw and inexperienced.'

    'I
only employ men who know their trade,' boasted Corrigan. 'I'll not have anyone
blundering around on one of my sites. If they work for me, they know the rules.
I'm a hard taskmaster but I pay well.'

    'It's
a clear enough message.'

    Corrigan
unrolled a drawing and Christopher dismounted to take a closer look at his own
draughtsmanship again. The builder had a dozen or more questions ready, all
delivered in a tone of studied politeness but each one framed in terms that
implied criticism. Corrigan was flexing his muscles, trying to secure minor
changes to the overall plan in order to establish a pattern of amendment.
Christopher resisted each suggestion with a mixture of reason and firmness,
aware that even one concession to the builder would be viewed as a sign of
weakness on his part. Unable to make any headway, Corrigan became more blunt.

    'Some
alterations will have to be made, sir,' he warned.

    'Why?'

    'Because
that's what always happens.'

    'Is
it?'

    'Problems
arise, a client demands changes, the faults of an untried architect are
exposed. I've seen it all before, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Have
you ever encountered a builder who was unable to take simple instructions? He
would be the biggest handicap of all.'

    Christopher's
remark was all the more effective for being delivered in a pleasant voice.
Corrigan tensed but said nothing. Rolling up the drawing, he went off to
relieve his anger by berating some of his men with unnecessary relish.
Christopher was grateful to have shaken him off but a new problem now presented
itself. As a coach rolled up, the face of Jasper Hartwell beamed out at him.
Attired with his usual flamboyance and almost buried beneath the ginger
periwig, his client beckoned his architect across.

    'Isn't
this exciting?' he said with a childlike grin.

    'Yes,
Mr Hartwell. The first day is always rather special.'

    'I'd
not miss it for the world. And you, I daresay, will be here from dawn until
dusk to watch your house take shape.'

    'Alas,
no,' confessed Christopher.

    Hartwell
was shocked. 'No? Why ever not?'

    'Other
business calls me away, sir.'

    'But
you're employed to supervise the construction of my new home. I can't have you
deserting your post, Mr Redmayne.'

    'That's
not what I'm doing, I promise you. But further work is needed on my designs,
small adjustments, subtle refinements. I can hardly do that here in the midst
of all this frenetic activity. Besides,' he said, indicating the site, 'there
is very little to see in the early stages. An architect is far better employed
improving his design than by watching a group of muscular men dig a large hole
in the ground.'

    'There's
some truth in that, I suppose.'

    'Take
my word for it, Mr Hartwell. I'll not be far away. From time to time, I'll ride
over here to check that everything is in order. Your house will not be
neglected. It occupies my full attention.'

    'And
so it must, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Count
on me, sir.'

    'I
do. I look upon you as a true friend.'

    The
voluminous wig prevented him from putting his head through the window of the coach
so he crooked his finger to pull Christopher nearer to him. Making sure that
they could not be overheard, he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

    'I've
decided to take your advice,' he said.

    'My
advice?'

    'With
regard to a certain lady. I touched on the matter when we dined at the Dog and
Partridge yesterday.'

    'Ah,
yes,' said Christopher, amazed that the man could remember anything about the
occasion in view of the amount he had eaten and drunk. 'I trust that you got
home safely.'

    'I awoke
from dreams of pure delight, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Dreams?'

    'Of
her. Of my angel. Of Harriet.'