The Amorous Nightingale cr-2

by Edward Marston

  'Might?'

  'It will work. Without doubt.'

  'It hasn't worked so far.'

  'No more impudence!' yelled Armadale, rounding on him with such rage that the coachman backed away and cowered. 'Don't you dare say another word, you miserable cur. It's not your place to criticise me. Remember who you are, Trigg, and what you were when I first took you on. You owe everything to me.'

  'It's true, Sir Godfrey.'

  'Then follow your orders and keep your mouth shut.' Trigg gave a penitent nod. 'That's all you have to do, is that clear?'

  'Yes, Sir Godfrey.'

  'Leave the decisions to me,' insisted Armadale. 'I spent months planning this kidnap and it's cost me a lot of money. Four men were hired, not to mention Oscott's wife. And there were many other items of expenditure. I'm not going to have all my careful work ruined by a hot-headed coachman who has to settle a grudge.'

  There was a long pause. Trigg stood with his head down.

  'Sir Godfrey?' he asked meekly.

  'What now, man?'

  'They will pay the ransom, won't they?'

  'Of course!' said the other with confidence.

  'But if they don't… what will you do to Mrs Gow?'

  Sir Godfrey Armadale took up his stance in front of the fireplace.

  'Get my revenge another way,' he said quietly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was not the ideal way to hold a conversation. Jonathan Bale was too preoccupied with staying in the saddle to hear everything that his companion was saying. An indifferent horseman, he clamped his knees too tightly against the animal and held the reins as if clinging to the edge of a precipice. He and Christopher Redmayne were riding towards Clerkenwell at a steady trot. In the interests of speed, Christopher had borrowed a horse for the constable from his brother. Henry Redmayne's bay mare was far too mettlesome for Jonathan. He feared that his mount would bolt at any moment. Amused at his discomfort, Christopher rode beside him with practised ease.

  'Try to relax, Mr Bale. Let the horse do the work.'

  'I prefer to travel on foot.'

  'We must make best use of the last of the light,' said Christopher. 'And I think it's very important to speak to Mr Gow. That became clear after my conversation with Martin Eldridge.'

  'The other Bartholomew Gow.'

  There was a note of censure in his voice. As they left the house in Bedford Street, Christopher had told him about his reunion with the actor, confiding details that he did not wish to reveal in front of his brother. Jonathan had been shocked at Martin Eldridge's confession. It gave him no pleasure to learn that his assumption about the house in Greer Lane had been correct. The realisation that Harriet Gow, still a married woman, had a series of assignations with one man while involved at the same time in a dalliance with the King and, it was not impossible, with some of her other admirers as well, had offended his Puritan sensibilities deeply.

  'It would not happen in my ward,' he asserted.

  'What?'

  'Using a house for immoral purposes like that. The magistrate would be informed. Action would be taken against the owner.'

  'There's no law against inviting people into one's home, Mr Bale. Who are we to say what they get up to when they are left alone in a room? As for secret assignations,' Christopher pointed out, 'I'll wager they take place every bit as often in Baynard's Castle Ward as elsewhere.'

  'Money changed hands in this case. That's the crucial point.'

  'Can you prove it?'

  'Why else would that woman provide the use of rooms?'

  'You can ask her,' said Christopher, 'because you'll need to go back to Greer Lane before this business is over. My guess is that money changed hands for a more sinister purpose. That coach was ambushed right on her doorstep. The likelihood is that she was on the premises at the time and paid to look the other way. That's of far more interest to me than whether or not she assists the course of true love.'

  'It's hardly true love!' protested Jonathan.

  'It was in the case of Martin Eldridge. He worshipped Mrs Gow. I could see that. And she must have loved him to take such a risk.'

  The bay mare gave a sudden lunge forward and caught Jonathan unawares. Rocking in the saddle, he tightened his grip on the reins.

  'Go to Clerkenwell on your own, sir,' he advised.

  'Why?'

  'I'm not enjoying this ride.'

  'But I need you to guide me, Mr Bale.'

  'I could give you directions instead.'

  'Why bother?' said Christopher. 'We need to go together. It's time we combined our forces instead of acting independently. Besides, you've already met Mr Gow. He trusts you.' He grinned as Jonathan's mare tossed its head mutinously. 'Rather more than you trust that horse.' 'I'm not sure what else we can learn from Mr Gow.'

  'You think the visit is a waste of time?'

  'No, Mr Redmayne,' said Jonathan. 'I just feel that we might be better employed searching for that house in Richmond.'

  'In the dark? We'd never reach there by nightfall, especially if you insisted on travelling on foot. I'm as anxious as you to find that house, believe me, but we need more guidance.'

  'Your brother mentioned Sir Godfrey Armadale.'

  'Yes,' said Christopher, 'and it's a name I've heard in connection with Mrs Gow before.'

  'Then the house may belong to him.'

  'Let's not jump to over-hasty conclusions. I have it on good authority that Sir Godfrey Armadale is no longer living anywhere near London. He's moved back to the West Country.'

  'Who told you that?'

  'Roland Trigg.'

  'And how would he know?'

  'He used to be Sir Godfrey's coachman.'

  As soon as he said it, Christopher realised that it was too great a coincidence to ignore. Jonathan reached the same verdict. Both jerked the reins to bring their horses to a sudden halt while their eyes had a silent conversation.

  Carrying a sack, Roland Trigg let himself into the house with the key entrusted to him by Harriet, but he did not move about with the deferential tread of a servant this time. Pounding up the stairs, he went into her bedchamber and looked around for booty. Light was fading now but sufficient came in through the windows to save him from needing a candle. In any case, he had other plans for the silver candelabra. They were the first items to be placed in the sack. He crossed to the table on which an ornate mirror was set. It was here that Harriet Gow so often sat, but no beauty was reflected in the glass now. The big, bruised, sweating face of Roland Trigg could be seen as he scoured the table.

  Most of the jewellery was in the largest of the boxes. He feasted his eyes on the contents, emitting a laugh of joy as he guessed at the value. A second box followed the first into the sack then he found a third, a small, velvet-covered box, hidden away behind a pile of books. Opening it with curiosity, he let out a wheeze of surprise when he saw the ring that lay inside. Encrusted with diamonds, the large ruby sparkled with fire. Trigg held it on the palm of his hand to examine it. The ring was quite priceless. He suspected that it was a gift from the King himself. That gave it additional value in his eyes. The little box went into the sack, followed by the other items he scooped up.

  Trigg worked quickly. He had somewhere to go.

  'Why have you come to me?' said Bartholomew Gow irritably. 'I told Constable Bale all that I knew.'

  'Yes,' said Christopher. 'He was struck by your honesty.'

  'Why bother me again?'

  'Because we thought you might actually be interested to know if your wife had been found and released yet.'

  'Has she?' asked Gow with delayed eagerness.

  'Unfortunately not.'

  'Where is Harriet?'

  'I'm hoping that you might be able to tell us, Mr Gow.'

  'How would I know?'

  The estranged husband was disconcerted when two visitors called at that time of the evening. Forced to invite them into the shabby little house, he was determined to send them on their way as soon as poss
ible. Since there were only two seats in the room, Jonathan Bale remained standing. Christopher took the chair opposite his host. Sensing his reluctance to help, he tried to impress upon him the gravity of the situation.

  'Mrs Gow is in serious danger, sir.'

  'It's not my doing.'

  'Don't you care?' he chided. 'Does your wife's safety merit no more than an afterthought? Mr Bale may have told you about the abduction but there are other crimes involved here.'

  'There are,' agreed Jonathan, signalled into the conversation. 'Mr Redmayne's own brother was viciously assaulted and an even worse fate was visited on Mary Hibbert.'

  'Mary?' said Gow. 'Harriet's maid?'

  'She'll not be able to serve your wife any more, sir.'

  'Why not?'

  'She was beaten to death.'

  Gow paled. 'She was murdered?'

  'Now you see what we're up against, sir.'

  'But why? Who could want to kill a girl like Mary Hibbert?'

  'Their names are Smeek and Froggatt,' said Christopher, taking over again. 'Thanks to Mr Bale, both of them are in Newgate, awaiting trial. But they're only hired villains. We still don't know the name of the man who paid them to kidnap your wife.'

  He gave Bartholomew Gow a few moments to absorb the new information. It made him thoughtful and uneasy. He looked at his two visitors with a degree of welcome.

  'How can I help?' he offered.

  'By giving us some names,' said Christopher.

  'Names?'

  'Yes, Mr Gow. We've been compiling lists of your wife's friends and enemies. To be honest, we weren't quite sure which category you fell into yourself. Perhaps neither.'

  'I want Harriet to be saved,' affirmed Gow.

  'Then we're working to the same end. The names we have were all suggested by people at the theatre. We wondered if you might add one or two more to the list. I know this must be embarrassing for you,' said Christopher delicately, 'and I apologise for that. What I can promise you is that Constable Bale and I will be very discreet.'

  'It's too late in the day for discretion,' said the other wearily. 'Why try to hide it? Everyone knows that I'm the cuckolded husband of a famous actress. You want me to identify my wife's lovers, is that it?'

  Jonathan shifted his feet, fearing what he was about to hear.

  'I understand,' said Christopher, 'that some of her admirers gave her gifts and that she built up quite a collection.'

  'That's right. I was part of it once.'

  'I've told Mr Redmayne about your situation,' said Jonathan.

  'I was squeezed dry and cast aside,' returned Gow. 'I couldn't afford to keep Harriet in the style she came to prefer so I was pushed out. Things went from bad to worse after that. I made some unwise investments, lost most of what little money I had, and am now reduced to living in this pig sty. It's demoralising.'

  'What's your legal situation?' asked Christopher.

  'I'm still trying to find out. My lawyer, Obadiah Shann, assures me that I can make a claim against Harriet but he's yet to explain how. I thought a wife was supposed to be part of a husband's chattels. Not mine. I was the chattel in that marriage. When she started to develop her collection, she tossed me out altogether.'

  'Tell us about this collection,' encouraged Christopher.

  'It began with small gifts. Baskets of flowers and so on. Then we were invited out together to dine but that didn't last,' he said ruefully. 'Harriet preferred to dine alone with her admirers. After that, the gifts became much more expensive. Sir Roger Mulberry gave her a necklace that must have cost all of two hundred pounds. Lord Clayborne gave her jewellery worth even more. And so her collection built until she had one of the most lavish gifts of all.'

  'What was that, Mr Gow?'

  'Somewhere in which to display it.'

  'The house near St James's Square?'

  'That came with royal compliments,' said Gow. 'How could a man of my means compete with all that? Harriet had already worked her way through most of my money. I couldn't buy her costly rings or fine clothes or a palatial house. And I certainly couldn't afford to buy her a coach.'

  'A coach, sir?' said Jonathan, ears alerted.

  'It was something she'd always wanted. Harriet pined for her own coach so that she could travel wherever she wanted. It was a gift that she cherished. He must have been besotted with her to spend that kind of money on her.'

  'Who?' asked Christopher.

  'Sir Godfrey Armadale.'

  'He was one of your wife's admirers?'

  'Among the most ardent,' explained the other. 'But Harriet only teased him. Sir Godfrey never got the rewards he was after from her. That's why his name probably won't appear on any of your lists. When she had what she wanted, Harriet discarded him.'

  'Yet she kept the coach?'

  'Oh, yes. And the coachman he'd provided.'

  'Roland Trigg?'

  'That's the fellow.'

  Christopher did not need to exchange a glance with Jonathan.

  'Surly beggar,' continued Gow. 'I had a few scuffles with him. When I tried to call at the house, Harriet told him to move me on. Trigg enjoyed doing that. He was her coachman and her bodyguard.'

  'I suspect that he was something else besides,' said Christopher, standing to leave. 'Come, Mr Bale. I think we should pay a visit to Rider Street. Trigg has some explaining to do.' He paused at the door. 'One final thing, Mr Gow.'

  'Yes?'

  'Abigail Saunders met you in Locket's recently.'

  'I remember, Mr Redmayne. I was dining with my lawyer. He was paying or I'd have been eating in a more modest establishment.'

  'Miss Saunders was much taken with a remark you made.'

  'What was that?'

  'You told her that she might have an opportunity to replace your wife because Mrs Gow was going to be indisposed for a while. Do you recall saying that?'

  'Yes. But I was only passing on what I'd just heard.'

  'From whom?'

  'Trigg,' said the other. 'I called at the house that morning but he sent me packing in no uncertain terms. And he warned me not to come back because Harriet would be going away for a while.' 'Going away?'

  'That's all he said, Mr Redmayne.'

  Christopher and Jonathan left at speed. The visit to Clerkenwell had delivered far more than they had dared to hope. As they headed off to their next destination, Jonathan was even starting to enjoy the ride.

  Henry Redmayne was caught offguard for the second time. Wielded by his father, the cudgels were only verbal but they hurt just as much. The Dean of Gloucester strode without warning into the room to find his elder son, wide awake, sitting up in bed with a goblet of wine in his hand.

  'Saints preserve us!' exclaimed the old man.

  'Father!' said Henry, choking on his wine.

  'I expected to find you fast asleep.'

  'I expected that you'd be closeted with the Archbishop.'

  'Indeed, I was,' explained the other, 'but I was worried about you and decided to make one last call before I retired. And what do I find, Henry? You are sitting up in bed with a smile on your face, consuming a goblet of wine.'

  'A cordial, Father,' lied Henry, swallowing the dregs before his visitor could examine them more closely. 'A cordial prescribed by the physician to ease the pain.'

  'What about the sleeping draught? That was supposed to have been prescribed by your physician as well.'

  'Its effect somehow wore off.'

  'You've been deceiving me, sir!' snapped his father.

  'Why would I do that?'

  'For some dark purpose that I intend to root out.'

  'There is no dark purpose,' argued Henry. 'I've never had a dark purpose in my entire life. Ask Christopher. I'm the most opaque of men.'

  'You pretended to be weaker than you really are in order to evade my enquiries about what actually happened to you. That is an act of gross deception. I feel betrayed, Henry.'

  'You've no need, Father.'

  'Thank goodness I had
the impulse to call back here!'

  'How was it that my servant didn't warn me of your arrival?'

  'Because I ordered him not to,' explained the other. 'I wanted to steal upon you unannounced. In the event, it was a revelation.'

  'That's not what I'd call it,' said Henry to himself, vowing to dismiss the servant who had allowed the parental assault on him. 'The truth is that I do feel slightly better, though my ribs still hurt whenever I breathe in. But my brain is still clouded.'

  'With too much drink, probably.'

  'Father!' he protested.

  But he could not head off another sermon from the county of Gloucestershire. Delivered with blistering force, it left Henry stunned. He was not simply castigated for trying to deceive his father. All his other perceived or alleged faults were used to beat him into total submission. Henry was too cowed to defend himself. When the punishment had been delivered, Algernon Redmayne remembered his other son.

  'Where is Christopher?' he said.

  'Busy with his own affairs.'

  'His place is here, beside you.'

  'Oh, he's been very attentive,' said Henry, glad to shift the parental gaze away from himself. 'As it happens, Christopher was here earlier this evening with Constable Bale.'

  'A constable? Why was he here? To arrest you?'

  'No, Father. To bring me the glad tidings that the two men who attacked me were now in custody.'

  'That is the first piece of good news I have heard since I entered this house. Was this constable instrumental in the arrests?'

  'He overpowered both men.'

  'Then I would like to speak to him. Having questioned the two villains, he will be able to give me more details of the assault than the victim is prepared to divulge.'

  'My memory is still uncertain.'

  'Then let me jog it for you, Henry.'

  'It is not in the mood to be jogged,' said the patient, recoiling as his father bent over him with an interrogatory glare. 'I feel drowsy again. Wait until morning, please. I may then be more coherent.'

  Algernon Redmayne's face was a mask of determination.