The Amorous Nightingale (8 page)

    When
he had gazed his fill, Christopher nudged his horse forward. He was still
suffering from the effects of the monstrous dinner. Having helped to carry
Jasper Hartwell out to the latter's coach, he had walked back to Fetter Lane,
collected his mount, given Jacob some idea of his movements then set off to
examine once again the site of the new house. It was only a few minutes' ride
from the church. Occupying a corner, the site ran to the best part of an acre
and offered a series of interesting challenges to both architect and builder.
Christopher believed that he had met those challenges with some flair.
Fortunately, his client agreed with him. Reaching the plot of land, he
dismounted in order to walk over every part of the site while it was still
virgin territory. Before long, he mused, a splendid new house and garden would
rise up to take their place among the exclusive residences all around them.

    Swelling
with pride, Christopher was also assailed by doubts. It was one thing to create
a series of remarkable drawings for a client but quite another to translate
them into reality. Did he have the correct proportions, the ideal materials,
the most suitable style? Had he made best use of the corner site? More to the
point, could he control a difficult builder? Before he could even begin to
answer the questions, he was diverted by the clatter of a horse's hooves and by
a yell of brotherly rage.

    'Christopher!
Damnation, man! Where have you
been
?'

    Henry
Redmayne arrived at a canter, reined in his horse and leaped to the ground.
Face perspiring beneath his wig, he lurched across to Christopher and pointed
an accusing finger.

    'It
has taken me an age to find you.'

    'I've
not been hiding from you, Henry.'

    'When
I called at your house, that lame-brained servant of yours told me that you
were dining with Jasper Hartwell, though he had no idea where. It was
maddening!'

    'Jacob
is not lame-brained,' said Christopher loyally. 'He is the shrewdest servant I
know. Do not blame him. When I left with my client, I had no idea where we were
going.'

    'No!'
wailed Henry. 'That meant I had to work my way through Jasper's favourite
haunts one by one. By the time I finally reached the Dog and Partridge, the pair
of you had left so I returned once more to Fetter Lane. The ancient fool who
looks after you at least gave me some idea of where you might be, although he
could not supply the exact location of the site. The net result is that I have
been charging around Westminster in search of you and getting more flustered by
the minute.'

    'Was
it so important to find me?'

    'Important
and imperative.'

    'Why?'
asked the other. 'What has happened?'

    'I
received a royal summons.'

    Christopher
smiled. 'A promotion at last? A well-deserved reward for your years of service
at the Navy Office? Ennoblement, even? Tell me, Henry - are congratulations in
order?'

    'No!'
growled his brother.

    'I am
sorry to hear it.'

    'Though
I should perhaps be congratulated on tracking you down. It has taken me hours
and, as you see, vexed me beyond measure.'

    Henry's
appearance bore out the description. He was panting with exasperation. His face
was white with anger, his eyes bulging with resentment. The long, largely
unproductive search had left him hot and dishevelled. His wig was awry and his
hat clinging on at a perilous angle. The apparel over which he took such care
was smudged and wrinkled. A self- appointed man of fashion was, for once,
unkempt. It irked him.

    'Look
at the state of me,' he complained.

    'It's
hardly my fault.'

    'Of
course it's your fault, Christopher! But for you, there would have been no
urgency, no madcap ride around London.'

    'But
you were the person who received the royal summons.'

    'I
thought
I was,' said Henry darkly.

    'What
do you mean?'

    'I
was not even ushered into His Majesty's presence. After sustaining a vicious
wound at the hands of my barber, I went to the Palace in great haste, only to
be met by Will Chiffinch.'

    'Chiffinch?'

    'Page
of the Bedchamber.'

    'I
thought I had heard the name before.'

    'Anyone
who wishes to get close to His Majesty is acquainted with Will Chiffinch. He is
far more than a Closet- Keeper. He is the King's friend and trusted confidant,
his pimp, pander and procurer-general. Chiffinch is also employed on the most
secret and delicate business such as raising money for the royal purse or
supplying information of a highly sensitive nature.'

    'Then
why did this Mr Chiffinch send for you?'

    'In
order that I could be dispatched to find my brother.'

    Christopher
was astonished. 'Me?'

    'How
many brothers do I possess?'

    'But
I have never even met this Will Chiffinch.'

    'He
controls the door to His Majesty. That is what makes this all so humiliating. I
am hauled off to the Palace to be told that the royal summons is really
intended for you and that my sole contribution is to hunt you down at once. In
short,' said Henry, stamping a peevish foot, 'I am reduced to the status of a
servant, a messenger, an intercessory. Why not approach you directly? Why
involve me at all?'

    'Did
you not ask that?'

    'I
was not permitted to ask anything, Christopher. Besides, getting a straight
answer out of Will Chiffinch is like trying to tattoo a bubble in pitch
darkness with your hands tied behind your back. He is a master of evasion.
Truth and he parted company such a long time ago that they no longer have
anything in common.' He wiped the sweat from his face with a large
handkerchief. 'The upshot of it all is this: now that I've located you, I must
take you to the Palace of Westminster for a vital meeting.'

    'With
whom?'

    'I
was not told.'

    'Why
should I be summoned to the Palace?'

    'I am
beyond caring. All I know is that I must deliver you there with all due speed.'
He hauled himself up into the saddle. 'Mount up, Christopher. This farce has
gone on long enough. Come with me before I expire on the spot. It is so unkind,
so cruel. They do me wrong to send me on such a mean embassy.'

    'Is
that what it is?' wondered the other. 'A mean embassy?'

    Henry
straightened his hat and adjusted his coat.

    'There's
only one way to find out,' he said balefully.

    A servant
conducted them through the labyrinthine interior of the Palace before handing
them over to the Page of the Bedchamber. William Chiffinch was waiting for
them. A tall, spare, dignified man in sober attire, he was quite elderly yet
having a sprightliness that belied his years. There was something strangely
nondescript about Chiffinch, an elusive quality which made it somehow
impossible to remember the exact configuration of his features once you turned
away from him. He was a walking paradox, an impressive figure who was yet
almost invisible, a wielder of power who evinced no sense of his real
influence. Introduced to the man by his brother, Christopher was struck by the
dark, watchful, worldly eyes, taking everything in yet yielding nothing in
return. He felt that he had been judged and found wanting.

    'I am
to take you into His Majesty's presence,' said Chiffinch.

    'Not
before time,' snapped Henry irritably.

    'The invitation
does not embrace you, Mr Redmayne. It is your brother who is in demand here.
You were a convenient go-between.'

    Henry
was mortified. 'A go-between! A man in my position being used as a convenient
go-between? This is intolerable.'

    'On
the contrary sir, you have rendered a useful service.'

    'Is
that what you call it!'

    'Lower
your voice, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Then
do not give me cause to raise it, Mr Chiffinch. All that I ask for is a modicum
of respect. Of simple human decency. Treat me as I have every right to be
treated.'

    'I
may be forced to do just that,' said Chiffinch smoothly.

    Henry
blustered afresh. Christopher intervened swiftly.

    'Calm
down,' he said, patting his brother's arm. 'I am sure that a happy compromise
can be reached here.' He turned to the other man. 'Mr Chiffinch, I am very
sensible of the honour visited upon me, but it is only fair to draw attention
to the crucial role played by Henry in getting me here in the first place.
Where I go, my brother goes with me. If you acquaint His Majesty with that
fact, I think that he may be ready to indulge us. Both of us are at his
service.'

    Chiffinch
gave him a searching stare before letting himself out through a door.
Christopher could not decide if he had surprised or annoyed the man. Henry had
no doubts on the subject.

    'You
have just stepped on some significant toes, Christopher.'

    'Have
I?'

    'It's
not the way to endear yourself to Will Chiffinch.'

    'I
can live without his good opinion.'

    'Not
if you wish to befriend His Majesty.'

    'I
had to speak up for my brother,' said Christopher. 'You've been shabbily
treated, Henry. I'll not stand by and let that happen.'

    'Thank
you.'

    'We
are in this together or not at all.'

    'Bold
words! You may live to regret them.'

    'I
think not.'

    Chiffinch
rejoined them to pass on a curt command.

    'His
Majesty will see you now -
both
of you.'

    Christopher
allowed himself a quiet grin and Henry basked in what he saw as a substantial
triumph. Both of them followed Chiffinch into the Drawing Room. Having escorted
them to the centre of the ornate carpet, the Page backed away so silently that
it was impossible to tell if he had left the room or was lurking in one of its
many recesses. Neither Christopher nor his brother dared to look round. Their
gaze was fixed on the tall, immaculately dressed figure who sat opposite them.
Framed in the high window, King Charles was staring dejectedly at a ruby ring
on his left hand and ignoring the spaniels who were clambering all over him.
One of them was perched on his shoulder, nibbling at the outer edge of his
periwig and arousing the yapping jealousy of the other dogs.

    The
visitors waited until the royal head finally turned in their direction. Henry gave
an extravagant bow but Christopher inclined his back with more restraint.
Charles raised a morose eyebrow.

    'You
have come at last,' he observed.

    'I
had some difficulty finding my brother, Your Majesty,' said Henry
apologetically. 'But I stuck to my task.'

    'Good.'

    'We
are here at your command.'

    'Henry.'

    'Your
Majesty?'

    'Be
quiet, please.'

    'Oh,
well, yes, naturally, if that's what-'

    'Completely
quiet,' insisted the King, quelling him with a stare before turning his attention
to Christopher. 'We have met before, Mr Redmayne. You rendered sterling service
on that occasion.'

    'As
did my brother,' reminded Christopher.

    'He
is of no account here. You are, sir. That is why I sent for you, by means of a
go-between.' Henry winced at the insult but wisely held his peace. 'Do you
recall what I said at our last meeting?'

    'I
believe that I do, Your Majesty.'

    'Well?'

    'You
were pleased with the way that I'd been able to render you some assistance and
you were kind enough to say that you might call upon me again one day.'

    'That
day has arrived, Mr Redmayne.'