The Amorous Nightingale (20 page)

    'And
you say that Harriet Gow vacated the role?'

    'She
is indisposed.'

    'Do
you know why, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Sickness
was mentioned.'

    'Then
it can be ruled out immediately,' said the other sagely. 'No actress would
yield up as telling a role as Aspatia unless she were on the point of expiry.
There's more behind this. Harriet Gow would never let an ambitious creature
like Abigail supplant her, even for one afternoon, if it could possibly be
avoided.'

    'I
take it that you admire the lady's work, Sir William?'

    'Harriet?
She is to Abigail as gold is to base metal. Let me be quite candid. Harriet Gow
is the one member of Killigrew's company I'd happily lure away to join The
Duke's Men.'

    'Not
Michael Mohun or Charles Hart?'

    'I
have their equal in Better ton and Harris.'

    'What
about Miss Saunders?'

    'Tom
Killigrew is welcome to the lady. She causes more trouble than she's worth. In short,
her aspirations greatly outrun her talents and that cruel fact never improves
the temperament of an actress.'

    'You
sound bitter, Sir William.'

    'Wise
after the event, Mr Redmayne, that's all.'

    The visit
had established one thing to Christopher's satisfaction. Sir William D'Avenant
was so patently surprised at the news about Harriet Gow that he could not in
any way be involved in her abduction. Nor was he working with Abigail Saunders
to further the career of a young woman who had, according to Henry Redmayne,
been the old man's mistress. Whatever their true relationship had been in the
past, it had left the theatre manager with harsh memories.

    D'Avenant
scratched at the remnants of his nose and regarded his visitor with growing
suspicion. He flung a sudden question at him.

    'What's
your game, sir?' he demanded.

    'My
game?'

    'Yes,
Mr Redmayne. Why are you here?'

    'I
came to see you, Sir William.'

    'To
exchange tittle-tattle about actresses? No,' said the other with a cynical
laugh. 'I think not. There's a darker purpose behind this visit, isn't there?
Who sent you?'

    'Nobody.'

    'Tom
Killigrew?'

    'I
came on my own account.'

    'For
what purpose?'

    'The
pleasure of meeting you, Sir William.'

    'Pah!'

    'It's
the truth.'

    'Don't
talk to me of truth!' snarled the other, hauling himself to his feet. 'I'm old
enough to remember a time when it hardly existed. When one thing was said but
another meant. When we were all engaged in bare-faced lies of some sort in
order to save our own skin.' He loomed over Christopher. 'I only agreed to see
you because I know your brother, Henry, a disreputable character, to be sure,
but he has a certain louche charm and he patronises my theatre without trying
to tear it apart as some of those drunken gallants do. His name got you in
through my door but I've yet to hear a reason why I shouldn't turn you straight
out again.'

    'Then
perhaps I should declare my hand,' said Christopher, smiling apologetically as
he groped in his mind for an excuse to cover his arrival. 'You're far too
perceptive to be misled, Sir William. The fact is that my visit here is
connected with my profession.'

    'That
of a spy, perhaps?'

    'Not
exactly, though a certain amount of listening, watching and gathering
intelligence is required so I have something of the spy about me. I'm an
architect, Sir William. I live by my talents.'

    'Why
trouble me with your company?'

    'Because
I heard a whisper that you plan to build a new theatre.'

    'You've
sharp ears, Mr Redmayne.'

    'In
my profession, I need them,' said Christopher. 'I've a particular fascination
with theatre architecture and came to offer my services.'

    'I'd
look for more experience than you have to offer.'

    'Enthusiasm
can sometimes outweigh experience.'

    'Sometimes,'
conceded the other, looking at him with curiosity. 'An architect, you say? What
have you designed, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Domestic
buildings, for the most part.'

    'For
whom?'

    'The
last was for Lord Staines. The project on which I'm currently employed is a
house I've designed for Mr Jasper Hartwell.'

    'Hartwell?
That lunatic fop in the ginger wig?'

    'He's
a good client, sir.'

    'And
a rich fool into the bargain. That's the best kind of client you can have.
Well, you must have earned your spurs if someone like Lord Staines sees fit to
offer you a commission, and Jasper Hartwell would never live in a cheap house.
You have definite credit, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Enough
to interest you, Sir William?'

    'Tell
me what you know about the design of a theatre.'

    'I've
visited Mr Killigrew's playhouse and your own, of course, in Portugal Street
where you converted Lisle's Tennis Court into a theatre.'

    'Successfully,
do you think?'

    'Yes,
Sir William. You showed great invention. Your use of scenery was quite
brilliant. That's what forced Mr Killigrew to build his new theatre near Drury
Lane. His own converted tennis court in Vere Street could never match The Duke's
Playhouse.'

    Christopher
expatiated on the architectural merits of all three buildings but he had
criticism as well as praise. He took care to mention that he had seen several
plays performed in France and learned much from their presentation. Convinced
that his visitor's interest was real, D'Avenant was soon caught up in a heady
discussion of his own plans, showing a deep knowledge of theatrical
practicalities and a commendable grasp of architectural principles. In the
course of their debate, he also introduced a fund of anecdotes about actors and
actresses with whom he had worked in his long career. Christopher was
entranced. Valuable new facts were emerging every minute.

    'I am
known as a master of adaptation,' said D'Avenant proudly. 'For one thing, I
have the right to adapt the plays of my godfather, the revered William
Shakespeare, a name that will always live on our stages. But, in a sense, Mr
Redmayne, my whole life has been one interminable act of adaptation.
Circumstances forced me to change time and again. I had to adapt or perish.
Take the Commonwealth,' he went on, resuming his seat. 'Theatres were closed
down, actors thrown out of work. But I found a way around the rules. Plays
might be forbidden but there was no decree against opera. Adaptation came to my
aid once again. I took a play called
The Siege of Rhodes
and, by the
addition of music and song, turned it into an opera. Since I had no theatre, I
adapted this very house for performance.'

    'Your
name is a by-word for ingenuity, Sir William.'

    'So
it should be. It's what sets me apart from that grubbing little charlatan, Tom
Killigrew. That and the fact that I write plays of true wit whereas he can only
manage comedies so scurrilous that even the most degenerate minds are offended
by them. Enough of him!' he said derisively. 'The point is this, Mr Redmayne.
After all those years of adaptation, I wish to create something wholly
original, a theatre that is neither a converted tennis court nor a riding
school, but an auditorium conceived solely and exclusively for dramatic
entertainment, embodying all that I have learned about that elusive art.'

    'Have
you chosen a site?'

    'It
will be in Dorset Garden.'

    'What
about an architect?'

    'You
see him before you.'

    'Someone
will have to execute the designs on your behalf.'

    'He's
already engaged.'

    'Does
he require an assistant?' said Christopher hopefully, now fired with a desire
to be somehow involved. 'I learn quickly.'

    'Restrict
yourself to grand houses, Mr Redmayne. That's where profit lies for an
architect. My new theatre may take years to build and I have to confront one
hideous truth.'

    'What's
that, Sir William?'

    'I
may not even live to see it open.'

    He
rose slowly to his feet and Christopher followed suit. Moving sluggishly, his
host conducted him across the room. Christopher opened the door then turned to
face him again.

    'Thank
you so much for suffering my company, Sir William.'

    'You've
a lively mind. That's always welcome.'

    'I
enjoyed hearing about your new theatre.'

    'You
had useful ideas of your own on the subject.'

    'It
was a privilege to share your vision.'

    'Yet
that's not why you came.'

    Christopher
was caught unawares. His expression betrayed him.

    'I'll
trespass on your time no longer,' he murmured.

    'Give
the lady my warmest regards.'

    'Lady?'

    'Harriet
Gow. That's who you really came to talk about, isn't it? I could see it in your
eyes.' His face crinkled into a tired smile. 'Stick to architecture, my friend.
You're too honest to be a spy.'

    Christopher
was lost for words. A servant appeared in the hall.

    'Please
show Mr Redmayne out,' ordered D'Avenant crisply.

    'Yes,
Sir William,' said the man.

    'Oh,
and Gregory…'

    The
servant paused. 'Sir William?'

    'Make
sure that you don't let him into the house again.'

    Jonathan
Bale soon found the exact spot. The brickwork of the house had been deeply
scored where the coach had scraped against it. The hasp that Trigg had been
repairing was only one of the casualties on the vehicle. Jonathan ran a finger
along the shallow grooves that had been gouged out of the brick. The impact
must have been hard. He looked up and down the narrow lane, wondering yet again
why such a route had been taken and seeing how perfect a place it had been for
an ambush. Standing in the middle of the little thoroughfare, he tried to
reconstruct in his mind exactly how it happened but his cogitations were
interrupted by a sound from above. He glanced up quickly. The figure darted
swiftly away from the upper window but not before the constable had caught
sight of the man. Jonathan was being watched. He sensed that it was a hostile
surveillance.

    'There
must be something we can do, Mrs Gow,' said Mary Hibbert.

    'If
only there were!' sighed her mistress.

    'Have
you tried to reason with them?'

    'How
can I when I'm not even allowed to speak?'

    'What
have they said to you?'

    'Very
little, Mary. When I asked a question, the man warned me to hold my tongue. I
didn't argue with that raised fist of his. When the woman brings my food, she
never says a single word.'

    Mary
was alerted. 'There's a woman here as well?'

    'Yes,
she's been keeping an eye on me.'

    'All
I've seen is one man. He wears a mask.'

    'So
does the woman. Her face is completely covered.'

    'How
many other people are here?'

    'None,
as far as I know.'

    'Then
we may have a chance.'

    Mary crossed
to the window. They were still alone together in the bedchamber. Reunited with
Harriet Gow, Mary had recovered some of her willpower and all of her obligation
to serve her mistress. She looked down at the garden below. It was empty. Open
fields stretched beyond it to the horizon. The other woman joined her.