The Amorous Nightingale (37 page)

    While
their visitor was in the house, Sarah Bale made no comment on the rumpled condition
in which her husband returned home. As soon as Christopher Redmayne left,
however, she was able to take a closer look at Jonathan. She clicked her tongue
in mock disapproval.

    'Look
at the state of you!' she chided.

    'What
do you mean, Sarah?'

    'Your
coat's dirty, your sleeve's torn, there's a bruise on your cheek and - yes,'
she said, inspecting a stain on his shoulder, 'this looks like blood to me.'

    'It's
not mine, I assure you.'

    'Where've
you been, Jonathan?'

    'Making
an arrest.'

    'Well,
that sleeve will have to be mended before I can send you out again. And I'll
want to brush some of that filth off. What will the neighbours say if you're
seen abroad like that?' Anxiety took over. 'Do you have any other bruises?'

    'One or
two on my arms, that's all.'

    'Do
be careful, Jonathan.'

    'I
always am.'

    'I
want my husband coming back to me in one piece.'

    'The
man resisted arrest: I had to subdue him. He's in a far worse condition than
me, Sarah.' He took off his coat. 'But I was going to change in any case. I
have to go out again.'

    'So
soon?'

    'I'm
afraid so.'

    'What
about the children? I'm just going to put them to bed.'

    'I'll
read to them before I go.'

    'Good,'
she said, taking his coat and bustling off.

    Jonathan
went upstairs to his sons' bedchamber and took out the old clothes that he wore
when he worked as a shipwright. They still fitted. He smiled as pleasant
memories of his earlier life flooded back. He had loved his trade. It brought
him happy times and good friends. It also gave him the muscles and the stamina
which made him such a formidable opponent in a brawl. He slipped a dagger into
his belt and made sure that it could not be seen. When he went into the next
room, Oliver and Richard were already tucked up together in bed, delighted that
their father would be reading to them. Oliver stared at his bruise.

    'What've
you done to your face?' he asked.

    'I
bumped into something, Oliver.'

    'Does
it hurt?' said Richard, intrigued by the injury.

    'Not
any more.'

    'What
did you bump into, Father?'

    'Never
you mind, Richard.' Jonathan picked up the family Bible, the one book in the
house. 'Now, what shall I read this evening?'

    'Could
we have some more about Samson?' said Richard.

    'Yes,'
agreed Oliver. 'He was a big, strong man. Mr Redmayne told us about him. He
said that Samson was betrayed by a woman.'

    'She
cut off his hair.'

    'Mother
would never betray you, would she?' said the older boy. 'She'd never cut off
your hair or you'd look funny.'

    The
two boys giggled. Jonathan quietened them down then read them a passage from
the Book of Judges. They listened carefully. When he had finished, he said prayers
with them, gave each a kiss on the forehead then stole out of the room. Sarah
was already using a needle and thread expertly on the torn sleeve of his coat.
She looked at his apparel and smiled.

    'Just
like the old days.'

    'Not
quite, Sarah.'

    'Will
you be late back?'

    'I
don't know.'

    'Whenever
it is, I'll wait up for you.'

    'Thank
you, my love.'

    After
giving her a valedictory kiss, he left the house and trudged off in the
direction of Thames Street. It was early evening and still light. He walked
parallel to the river, inhaling the familiar smells that drifted up from the
waterfront and listening to the familiar sounds. The street was busy and he
collected a number of waves or greetings while he was still in Baynard's Castle
Ward. Once he moved into Queenhithe Ward, he was outside his own territory and
took on a welcome anonymity. Passers-by hardly gave him a second look.

    The
Hope and Anchor was at the far end of Thames Street, well beyond London Bridge.
It looked smaller than he remembered it and had acquired an almost ramshackle
appearance. The one thing Jonathan had prised out of his attacker had been the
man's name. Smeek would be at home in the Hope and Anchor, he decided. It was
his natural habitat. The man bore all the marks of a sailor. Smeek was a tough,
gritty, uncouth, fearless man who could look after himself in the roughest
company and that was what the tavern offered him.

    It
was echoing with noise and bursting with bodies when Jonathan let himself in. A
group of drunken sailors was singing a coarse song at one of the tables. Others
were yelling threats at each other. Prostitutes mingled with potential
customers, distributing the occasional kiss by way of blandishment. There was a
stink of tobacco smoke and a thick fug had settled on the room. As he looked
around, Jonathan could not suppress a smile at the thought of Christopher
Redmayne visiting the tavern. He would be as completely and ridiculously out of
place as the constable would be in a box at The Theatre Royal.

    Jonathan
bought a drink, shouldered his way to a corner and bided his time. It was
important to blend into his surroundings. To accost the innkeeper at once and
pepper him with questions would only arouse the man's suspicion. The constable
had to be more casual in his enquiries. He fell in with a couple of sailors
whose ship had just arrived from Holland. They were full of boasts about their
exploits among Dutch women. Jonathan forced himself to listen. When he saw that
the innkeeper was on his own, he offered to buy his companions some ale and
squeezed his way to the counter.

    The
innkeeper was a rotund man in his fifties with an ugly face made even more
unsightly by a broken nose and a half- closed eye. As the man filled three
tankards for Jonathan, the latter leaned in close.

    'I
was hoping to see some old friends in here,' he said.

    'Oh?'
replied the other. 'And who might they be?'

    'One's
called Smeek. We sailed together years ago. He told me that they came in here
sometimes. Is that true?'

    'It
might be.'

    'He
and Ben were always together. Boon companions.'

    'How
well do you know them?' asked the innkeeper warily.

    'Haven't
seen either for a long time. That's why I thought I'd drop in at the Hope and Anchor
- in case they'd been around lately. It's the kind of place they'd like,
especially Ben. Nice and lively.' He paid for the drinks and bought one for the
innkeeper himself. 'Have you seen any sign of either of them?'

    'They
were in here yesterday, as it happens.'

    'Oh?'

    'Throwing
a bit of money around.'

    'That
sounds like them,' said Jonathan with a chuckle.

    'Smeek
might come back,' explained the other, deciding to take his customer on trust,
'but you won't see Ben Froggatt in here for a while, that's for sure.'

    'Why
not?'

    'He
came off worst in a fight. Right outside my back door.'

    'Ben
Froggatt? He could handle himself in a brawl. I'd like to see the man who could
get the better of him.' Jonathan took a sip of his ale. 'Was Ben hurt very
badly?'

    'He
must be. I'm told he's taken to his bed.'

    'Poor
old Ben,' said Jonathan, expressing a sympathy that was masking a deep hatred.
'I must call on him and try to cheer him up. Do you know where he lodges?'

    'No,'
said the innkeeper. 'But I think that Lucy might.'

    'Lucy?'

    The
man nodded in the direction of a tall, angular woman with a heavily powdered
face and a loud giggle. Sharing a drink with a grey-haired man, she fondled his
arm with an easy familiarity.

    The
innkeeper gave a lop-sided grin of appreciation.

    'Ben
has taste,' he grunted. 'Lucy's his favourite.'

    'I
haven't the slightest clue where you could find Martin Eldridge.'

    'Where
would he go if he wanted to lie low?' asked Christopher.

    'Who
cares?'

    'Please,
Mr Killigrew. I need your help.'

    'The
only person I'm interested in finding is Harriet Gow,' said the manager,
banging on the table. 'Harriet is the one you should be after, not a damnable
actor who's too lazy to learn his craft properly.'

    'Martin
Eldridge might
lead
me to Mrs Gow.'

    'What
gave you that idea?'

    'He's
involved in some way,' said Christopher firmly. 'I know it. He was so evasive
when I talked to him. He was hiding something.'

    'Well,
it wasn't his talent because he doesn't have any.'

    Hoping
for good news from his visitor, Thomas Killigrew was downcast when Christopher
admitted that they still had no clear idea where the missing actress could be.
The enquiry about Martin Eldridge only served to enrage the irascible manager.

    'You
shouldn't have let him trick you like that, Mr Redmayne.'

    'I
know.'

    'He's
a cunning devil, Martin. I wouldn't trust him for a second.'

    'But
some people do. His landlady told me how many friends he has. They are always
calling at his lodging in Shoreditch. What I want from you is the name of those
friends,' explained Christopher. 'My guess is that he'll stay with one of them
in order to hide from me.'

    'Then
you'll never find him.'

    'Why
not?'

    'Because
it would take you weeks to get round all of Martin's friends. There are scores
of them. Mostly women, of course, because a man with that silvery tongue and
those good looks is bound to make the best of them. Martin Eldridge could charm
the clothes off a countess. Yes,' he said enviously, 'and he could probably
charm some money out of her into the bargain. That would be typical of him. He
gives all his best performances in the bedchamber. If only he could act that
well on stage!'

    'I
thought he was well cast as Lysippus.'

    'He
did rouse himself for
The Maid's Tragedy
,' confessed Killigrew, 'but
only because Harriet Gow was in the play. For her sake, Martin always made an
effort. When she was not in a cast, he'd simply walk through his part. Forget
him, Mr Redmayne. He's not your man.'

    'Then
why did he take to his heels?'

    'Perhaps
you said something to upset him.'

    'I'm
serious, Mr Killigrew.'

    'And
so am I, sir,' retorted the manager. 'Harriet's been gone for days now. The
company is getting nervous. My patrons are starting to turn nasty. They
disrupted the performance this afternoon. That lean-witted booby Jasper
Hartwell even had the audacity to storm in here and threaten to sue me unless I
brought her back instantly. He said he wanted to hear his nightingale sing
again.'

    'Mr
Hartwell has an obsession, I'm afraid.'

    'So
do I, Mr Redmayne. And my obsession is more immediate than his. Not to put too
fine a point on it, Harriet Gow is my bread and butter. She sets food on my table.
Without her, my takings will plummet.'

    'Then
help me to find her.'

    'You'll
not do that by means of Martin Eldridge. He adored Harriet. She's probably the
only woman he ever really cared for. What would he stand to gain by her
abduction?'

    'I
don't know.'

    'Nothing!'

    'I
wonder.'

    'Look
elsewhere, sir.'

    'Such
as?'