The Ladder Dancer (12 page)

‘The girl was trying to flatter you. She was entranced by your performance!’

Behind Nightingale’s back, Kate stuck her tongue out again. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to make you mad. I liked it. I really did.’ Nightingale swung round on her; she put on an expression of angelic innocence. ‘I like that high bit. The fiddle bit. I play the fiddle.’

He snorted in derision. ‘You? Where did a slut like you learn to play the violin?’

‘George Allen learned me.’

‘Who?’

‘He’s a local fiddler,’ I said.

‘I can play you any tune you like,’ she said proudly. ‘Get me a fiddle and I’ll show you.’

He stared at her for a long moment then swung round. ‘Patterson. The concert band’s instruments must be kept here?’

‘You want her to play?’ I asked, startled by his abrupt change of mood.

‘Devil take it. A violin, man!’

I hesitated, but there seemed no point in arguing. Let Kate have her moment of triumph; Nightingale would forget her soon enough. I unlocked the cupboard and picked out a violin. I resined the bow, flicked fingers across the strings to make sure the instrument was in tune, and handed it to Kate. She smirked at me, put the violin against her shoulder, wriggled to get herself comfortable, and played, flawlessly, the tune Nightingale had been singing.

I itched to take hold of her and make her straighten her back, to show her how to hold the bow properly in order to produce a fuller, more pleasant tone. Nightingale just stared, watched her antics as she dipped and wove and bobbed about. And a slow knowing smile formed on his lips.

‘She’ll play in the concert,’ he said.

‘Yes, yes!’ Kate shrieked. ‘I’ll play anything you like. I can play dance tunes too—’

Nightingale put his hand on her arm as she started to play again. Under his smiling gaze, she began to glow and blush, even to drop her gaze bashfully. God, but he knew how to handle women! ‘We’ll have to do something about those clothes.’

‘I don’t think this is wise,’ I said.

Nightingale turned with a calculating look; behind his back, Kate smirked. Nightingale took me aside. ‘My dear Patterson, there’s nothing to worry about. The ladies and gentlemen adore novelties; they’ll idolize her.’

‘And what happens when the novelty wears off?’

‘My dear fellow,’ Nightingale said emolliently, ‘trust me. I know how to handle these matters.’ And he swung back to Kate. ‘
Now
we’ll see what else you can play.’

He started sorting through a huge pile of music on the harpsichord stool.

‘See.’ Kate poked me in the ribs with her bow. ‘Told you I’d get to play the fiddle. And,’ she added, ‘it’s none of
your
doing. Which means you’ll get no more help from me over the baby.’

Sixteen

Amity is one of the pleasures of life, if conducted in a restrained manner.

[
A Gentleman’s Companion
, April 1734]

I was in a rage as I went up the street the few yards to Hugh’s lodgings above the clockmaker’s. Down the alley to the side entrance that gives directly on to a flight of stairs. Up past the door to Hugh’s dancing school, up again, past the lodgings of the snobbish widow who always frowns on me. Up another flight, to Hugh’s lodgings in the attic.

I was a yard from the door when I heard the sneezing. I knocked cautiously. A voice full of cold called, ‘Cub in.’

Hugh was lying on his bed under the slope of the roof, a blanket tucked around him, although he was plainly fully dressed apart from his coat and shoes. His nose was extraordinarily red, his black hair down around his shoulders and his eyes dark-circled.

His left arm was in a sling.

‘Hugh!’ I stopped aghast. ‘What the devil happened to you?’

‘Fell,’ he said thickly. ‘Into a lake.’ His gaze settled on what I held in my hands. ‘Oh, thank God. Brandy!’

I’d called in at a tavern on my way up Westgate and bought the best they had to offer. Looking at Hugh’s face, I wished I’d done more.

‘When did you last eat?’

He groaned. ‘Don’t mention food. Just pour a glass of that stuff. A large glass.’

He dragged himself into a sitting position against the pillows, sneezed again. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and took the brandy from me. I sat down on the only chair in the room, as far from him as I could get. He gulped down the brandy, sneezed. ‘Never agree to musical parties on barges, Charles.’

I broke out laughing. ‘You were never dancing on a barge!’

‘No, playing the fiddle. Damn it, Charles! It rained every last moment from beginning to end. And the boards got sodden and someone bumped into me, and I went flying, fiddle and all. Smashed the fiddle but don’t worry, it was borrowed. Hit my arm.’ Another sneeze. ‘Heard it crack.’

‘You got it set properly?’ I said alarmed.

‘Fellow who owned the barge was some sort of society physician. Set it for free. Said he felt guilty. Only good thing about it.’

I poured him more brandy as he pulled the blankets around him. He said plaintively, ‘I was never so glad to get home.’ He gave me a sly look and sniffed mightily. ‘How’s Mrs Patterson?’

‘Very hale and hearty.’

‘And married life?’ He winked.

‘Very happy, thank you,’ I said primly. ‘In fact, everything’s fine except—’

He raised an eyebrow.

I gritted my teeth, but it was a relief to speak to someone about it. ‘The money,’ I admitted.

Hugh frowned. ‘You’re wealthy. What’s the problem?’

‘I didn’t earn it.’

He sighed melodramatically. ‘Charles! Why is nothing ever simple for you? Nothing wrong with marrying money; it’s not illegal.’

I said glumly, ‘I don’t have the least idea what to do with it.’

Hugh grinned. ‘You
save
it, Charles! Invest it with some coal-owner: Heron or Ord or Jenison. They give you four and a half per cent interest and you have a nest egg for when your fingers are too stiff to play the harpsichord and you forget every tune you ever knew.’

‘I never earnt above sixty pounds in any year,’ I said, ‘and now the accounts are for never less than two or three hundred. Hugh, you’ve no idea how much income we have a year!’

‘I can guess. Six hundred? Eight hundred?’

‘More like a thousand,’ I said gloomily.

Hugh whistled.

‘Armstrong keeps presenting us with bills for huge amounts to be spent on draining land in Norfolk or building a barn in Northumberland. How am I to know whether that’s money well spent or not?’

‘Ask your wife.’

I hesitated. ‘I’m not interested,’ I confessed.

He grinned and sneezed again, tried to wipe his nose with the back of the hand that held the brandy. ‘Let her get on with it, Charles. Just sign the papers and get back to your compositions.’

‘I haven’t set pen to paper for months. And now I’m tangled with the arrangements for the winter concerts.’ Which reminded me of the disastrous rehearsal from which I’d just come. ‘I’ve just been at the Assembly Rooms with the new soloist.’

‘Who is it? Anyone I know?’

‘Richard Nightingale.’

‘Who?’

‘He’s a ladder dancer.’

‘Charles, no! Not the fellow who imitates violins and flageolets!’

‘That’s the one.’

‘I saw him in London two years back. Charles, he’s dreadful!’ Hugh groaned. ‘I’m all for a little novelty but the man has no taste!’

‘You don’t need to tell me,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve just heard him.’

‘And,’ he prompted.

‘And?’

‘What else, Charles?’ He said patiently, ‘I know when you’re keeping something from me.’

‘You’re as bad as Esther.’

‘Sensible woman your wife.’

I sighed. ‘I’ve been wondering if I should take on another apprentice. Well,’ I corrected myself, ‘it’s been suggested I take on another apprentice.’

‘Do it,’ he recommended. ‘It’ll give you more money. Match your wife’s income with your own. Not that you need to, but if it makes you feel better—’

‘Her name,’ I said, ‘is Kate.’

‘Whose name?’

‘The girl who wants to become my apprentice.’

He stared. ‘A
girl
! What do her parents say?’

‘Her father is notable by his absence. Her “ma” is usually so drunk on gin I don’t believe she knows what any of her children are doing.’

He squinted at me, shook his head. ‘You’re not making sense.’ He held up a hand as I started again. ‘Don’t bother. My head’s so thick with cold I can’t deal with anything more complicated than a piss. You can’t take her on, though.’

‘No.’

‘You know what people will think.’

‘Yes.’

‘And your wife wouldn’t like it one bit.’

‘I do know all this, Hugh.’

‘And she couldn’t perform in public anyway. Not a woman. Not the thing at all. Not modest.’

‘No.’

‘Only one kind of woman performs in public.’

‘Yes.’

‘The available kind.’

‘I know.’

‘So you wouldn’t get any money from her anyway.’

‘Hugh,’ I said wearily. ‘Drink your brandy.’

He squinted at me. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’ His face lit up. He struggled to pull himself up against the pillows, sneezed. ‘Not another murder, Charles! Damn it, I knew a visit from you would cheer me up. What happened?’

‘This is serious, Hugh!’

‘Of course it is.’ He briefly assumed a pious look then broke out in smiles again. ‘Charles, I’ve spent four days in a coach being bounced about in utter agony and then twelve hours in my own bed with only my own company. Tell me about the murder, damn it!’

I told him what I’d seen on the Key: the drunken woman and the baby, the horseman, the sailors valiantly rescuing the woman, and the child being lost. Hugh questioned me minutely on the rider, what he was wearing, the quality of his clothes, of the horse.

‘He was a gentleman, Hugh; that was no livery stable horse.’ Then I thought of myself and the new coats under construction at the tailors. ‘Or at least a man with the money to dress and ride as a gentleman.’

Hugh was silent, considering the facts, tugging one-handedly at the blankets that threatened to slip to the floor. ‘
CR
,’ he said, thoughtfully.

‘On a bag thrown over his saddle.’

‘Pretentious.’

‘Some people are.’

He turned his head to look at me. ‘You’ve someone in mind. Tell me, Charles.’

‘Cuthbert Ridley.’

He frowned. ‘Isn’t that the youngest boy? I thought he’d been sent in disgrace to London.’

‘In disgrace?’

He grinned. ‘I used to teach the daughters before they married. Got all the gossip from the kitchen maid.’

Which was precisely what I’d have expected of Hugh. ‘Which was?’

‘He did nasty things to the cats.’

‘I like cats,’ I said.

‘But when he transferred his attentions to the expensive hunting dogs, that’s when the trouble really began. Particularly when he blamed it on the stable boys.’

‘They believed the stable boys before him?’

‘The steward saw it all. The old steward, who’s been fifty years with the family man and boy, and never uttered a harsh word against anyone.’ He stifled a sneeze. ‘But you can’t
prove
this was murder, Charles.’

‘I know what I saw.’

‘And especially you can’t prove Cuthbert Ridley is the only man in town with the initials
CR
.’

‘He admits to being there.’

‘The devil he does!’

I related my conversation with Ridley; Hugh’s lips curled with distaste. But at the end of it all, he still shook his head.

‘It’s not proof, Charles. Nowhere near proof. He could have been doing exactly as he said.’ He sighed. ‘And it’s not always the nasty people who do nasty things. What are you going to do?’

‘Brood.’

‘And then?’

‘We’re dining at the Jenisons’ tonight. With Richard Nightingale.’

‘I mean, what are you going to do about Ridley?’

‘Heron will be at the dinner. I’ll try and manage a few private words. See if he knows more than he’s said. Other than that—’ I looked up at his red face, tensed for another sneeze. ‘It was foggy, Hugh. Visibility was erratic and most people were keeping to the safety of the buildings, not wanting to fall into the river. Only the sailors and I were in any real position to see what happened and the sailors were busy with work on board. There can be no other witnesses; all I have is that bag with the initials, and the grey horse.’

‘You could try the livery stables, see if you can find the horse there. Or the inns.’

‘It’ll be at his mother’s home, well out of my reach.’

Hugh frowned. ‘There’s something not quite right here. He galloped off across the bridge? Heading south?’

‘As far as I can tell.’

‘But if he was heading for his mother’s house, he would have turned west.’

‘He may simply have wanted to get away as fast as he could.’ I got up, put the remains of the brandy on the table next to his bed, within easy reach. ‘I must go. Esther will be fretting we’ll be late for dinner. I have an uncomfortable feeling, Hugh, this is one death that’ll go unpunished.’

Seventeen

The intercourse of friends, and a few hours spent in sober conversation, is highly beneficial to society.

[
A Gentleman’s Companion
, February 1734]

I told Esther about Nightingale’s adoption of Kate as we walked up to the Jenisons’ house in the thickening dusk. The hem of Esther’s gown rustled gently against the ground; I’d offered to send for a chair to convey her without dirtying her petticoats, but she’d refused and I was glad. I loved quiet moments like this, just the two of us, arm in arm, close enough to feel each other’s warmth.

Esther was horrified. ‘One cannot blame the girl,’ she said. ‘Of course she will seize any opportunity that comes her way. But Nightingale’s behaviour is reprehensible!’