The Amorous Nightingale (21 page)

    'It's
too long a drop, Mary,' she said.

    'There
may be a way around that.'

    'No,
it's far too dangerous.'

    'It's
no more dangerous than staying here, Mrs Gow. They locked me in a dark cellar.
It was horrifying. I'm not going to spend another night in there. I could hear
a rat scampering about.'

    'At
least I've been spared that.'

    'You're
the person they need to look after,' argued Mary. 'That's why you have a proper
bed and a woman to see to your needs. I'm glad of that. But I'm only a servant.
They don't need to bother with me.' She stared through the window again. 'I've
got nothing to lose.'

    'What
if they catch you?' 'I'll take that chance.'

    'But
what will you do, Mary?'

    'Run
as fast as I can to fetch help.'

    'But
we could be miles from anywhere.'

    'Anything
is better than staying here, Mrs Gow. I'm not asking you to come with me.
You're safe enough here. They're treating you quite well because they know they
have to. My case is different.'

    'I'd
much rather you stayed. You're such a comfort.'

    'How
long will they let us be together?'

    Harriet
Gow pondered. A woman of independent spirit, she found it galling to be
deprived of her liberty. She was desperate to escape but she had grave doubts
about the plan suggested by her maidservant. Getting down into the garden
involved sufficient danger in itself. The chances of discovery seemed high.
Even if Mary did get clear, she would be pursued as soon as her absence was
noted. Harriet shuddered when she thought of the possible repercussions. She
reached out to enfold her companion in protective arms, but Mary Hibbert was
decisive.

    'I'm
going to try, Mrs Gow. It's our only hope.'

    'But
you could get hurt.'

    'I'm
not afraid.'

    But
Mary was trembling with fear and excitement. Feeling obscurely responsible for
the predicament in which they found themselves, she wanted to do all that she
could to get them out of it. She was young, fit and resolute. All she needed
was a modicum of good fortune.

    'It
will work,' she promised.

    'Will
it?'

    'It
has to, Mrs Gow. Or we've no hope.'

    'Somebody
may come for us.'

    'Who?
Nobody even knows where we are.'

    Harriet
Gow nodded sadly. It was true. Her kidnappers had been swift, efficient and
merciless. They would have covered their tracks.

    Mary
Hibbert held out her hands to her.

    'Give
me your blessing,' she said. 'Please, Mrs Gow.'

    'I'll
give you more than that,' replied the other, taking the brooch from her dress
to hand it over. 'Have this as a keepsake, Mary. It may bring you luck.'

    She
kissed the girl impulsively. Mary pinned the brooch to her own dress. The two
of them were soon knotting the bedsheets together.

    Christopher
Redmayne found time in a busy day to ride back to the site in order to assess
progress. Neither Jasper Hartwell nor Lodowick Corrigan was there, though the
bustling commitment with which the men were working suggested that the vigilant
builder was not too far away. Satisfied that all was well, Christopher
continued his round of calls before ending up in Fleet Street. It was early
evening and he had arranged to meet up with Jonathan Bale outside the Lamb and
Flag. A clock chimed, a distant bell boomed and the constable walked into view,
arriving exactly on time.

    Christopher
dismounted from his horse to trade a greeting.

    'What
sort of a day have you had, Mr Bale?'

    'Tiring.'

    'Yet
productive, I hope?'

    'To
some degree. What of you, sir?'

    'Oh,
I think I can claim to have made some headway. I've been looking more closely
at some of the names on my brother's list. Sir William D'Avenant was the
first.'

    'Is
he implicated in any way?'

    'No,
no, Mr Bale, I'm certain of that. But he taught me things about the theatrical
way of life that shed much new light. It was well worth passing the time of day
with him.'

    He
told the constable about his visit to D'Avenant's home, Rutland House, and his
subsequent calls on some of the actors identified by his brother as possible
sources of information. Jonathan was a good listener, absorbing salient detail
and requesting clarification from time to time. He could see how assiduous
Christopher had been and that pleased him.

    When
he finally paused, the architect pursed his lips in concentration.

    'I
still believe we must look to the theatre,' he said at length. 'That was
Harriet Gow's world and that's where the clues that may save her will probably
lie.'

    'Then
you must uncover them without me, sir,' warned the other. 'I'd be lost in that
swamp. You and your brother must wade through it.'

    'That's
what Henry's doing at this precise moment. Watching a performance at The
Theatre Royal.'

    'The
theatre!'

    'Yes,
Mr Bale.'

    'I'm
shocked to hear it.'

    'Why?'

    'Attending
a play at a time like this!'

    'It's
not only for the purposes of recreation,' Christopher pointed out. 'Henry can
do valuable work simply by keeping his ears open. Each to his own. My brother
wallows in his swamp, I interview some of the possible suspects and you pursue
your own lines of enquiry.'

    'I
try to, Mr Redmayne.'

    'What
did you find out?'

    'That
a certain coachman will never win prizes for civility.'

    'Ah,
you met the redoubtable Mr Trigg, I see.'

    'He
was a quarrelsome man, sir. I had to press him hard to get anything of value
out of him. But it paid off eventually.'

    'What
did he tell you?'

    Jonathan
described the encounter and passed on the detailed account he had been given of
the ambush. Christopher listened intently, noting slight variations from the
earlier versions given by the coachman.

    'Would
you employ a brute like that?' he asked.

    'No,
sir.'

    'Why
not?'

    'Because
I wouldn't trust him.'

    'Mrs
Gow appears to do so.'

    'He
seemed to glory in that fact.' 'Where was he taking her when the coach was
attacked?'

    'That
was the one thing even I couldn't prise out of him, sir. Not for want of
trying. It was like talking to a brick wall. What Mr Trigg did insist on was
that they'd not been heading for the Palace of Westminster.'

    'I
wonder.'

    'What
do you mean?'

    'I
had a second look at that map of mine, Mr Bale. It does seem odd that the coach
would come into the Strand if it were going towards King Street, but there are
other ways of reaching the Palace than by the obvious route.'

    'I
don't follow, sir.'

    'The
river. What better way to slip unnoticed into the royal apartments than by
arriving in a boat? A woman could easily be smuggled inside to meet His
Majesty.'

    'It
still doesn't answer our objection, Mr Bale. Had the coachman been driving
towards one of the wharves, he'd most likely have come into the Strand from
Charing Cross.'

    'Not
necessarily.'

    'I
took a close look at that lane, sir. I found the exact spot where the ambush
occurred. There's barely room for a coach to get through. Mr Trigg must have
had a very good reason to choose that route.'

    'Do you
have any idea what it might be?'

    'I
could hazard a guess.'

    'Well?'

    'We're
searching for a destination that doesn't exist, sir, whether it be the Palace
or somewhere in the Strand. Put yourself in the position of the coachman. Only
one thing could take you down that lane.'

    'What
is it?'

    'Think
hard.'

    Christopher
snapped his fingers. 'The need to call at one of the houses there.'

    'Exactly.'

    'That's
where Mrs Gow must have been going for her rendezvous. Instead of passing
through
the lane, they were planning to stop there. That raises the question of whom
she was going to see.' Christopher thought hard.

    'Impossible
to be sure.'

    'Quite
so,' Christopher agreed.

    'But
I did my best to find out,' said Jonathan, reaching into his pocket to take out
a grubby piece of paper. 'I didn't want to draw attention to myself by knocking
on doors so I went into the tavern at the top end of the lane - the Red Lion.
The innkeeper was a talkative man. He gave me the names of some of the local
people who frequent his tavern.' He handed the list to Christopher. 'I think
you'll find the one at the top the most interesting.'

    'Why?'

    'See
for yourself, Mr Redmayne.'

    Christopher
looked at the shaky handwriting then gaped.

    'Bartholomew
Gow!'

    Henry
Redmayne stayed at the theatre long after the performance of
The Maid's
Tragedy
ended. It had been only a qualified success. Incensed at the
absence of Harriet Gow, some of the more obstreperous elements in the audience
had stamped their feet in protest and barracked the actors. A few scuffles had
broken out and Aspatia's first entrance went almost unnoticed. Abigail Saunders
did not lose heart and her perseverance slowly won over the bulk of the
spectators even though her tender pleas had to be delivered in a strident voice
in order to be heard above the din. Much of the essence of the play survived
and the company was given a rousing ovation at its conclusion.

    After
carousing with his friends, Henry had to remind himself that he was there on
serious business; he made his way to the dressing room bearing the gift he had
already bought from a flower girl. He was one of a number of admirers who
jostled their way towards Abigail Saunders but persistence and combative elbows
soon got him close to the actress. He presented the basket of flowers to her
with a flourish and was rewarded with a proffered hand. Henry lingered over his
kiss.

    'You
were divine, Miss Saunders!' he cooed.

    'Thank
you, Mr Redmayne.'

    'The
whole audience was enraptured.'

    'I
fought hard to earn their attention, sir.'

    'You
had mine from the moment you set foot on the stage. I could sing your praises
all night, Miss Saunders. Sup with me and I will.'

    'Unhappily,
I already have an engagement.'

    'Will
you dine with me tomorrow, then?'

    'I
have another rehearsal to attend, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Then
I'll batter at your defences until they crumble,' he said with a broad grin.
'Crumble, they must. I'm resolved on it.'

    A brittle
laugh. 'I admire tenacity in a man.'

    'And
I admire quality in a woman,' he countered. 'It was on display out there on
stage and it made me swoon with wonder. The pity of it is that your mentor was
not there to appreciate it as well.'

    'My
mentor?'

    'The
man who inspired you.'

    'And
who might that be?' she asked.

    'Why,
Sir William D'Avenant.'

    It
was not the most tactful remark to make to the actress at such a moment. Her
smile froze, her teeth clenched and his basket of flowers was tossed uncaringly
aside. Abigail Saunders gave him a withering stare before turning her back on
him.