The Amorous Nightingale

by Edward Marston

  'Henry?' he said quietly. 'Can you hear me?'

  'Yes,' came a faint whisper.

  'Does it hurt you to talk?'

  'A little.'

  'What happened?'

  Henry needed a few moments to gather his thoughts. Christopher felt a surge of remorse as he saw the extent of the wounds. Without his fine clothes and resplendent wig, his brother looked old, disfigured and positively decrepit. Words came out with painful slowness. Henry was patently suffering.

  'I went to The King's House,' he said hoarsely, 'to see Abigail Saunders and to pick up what information I could. She acted well but she is no Harriet Gow.' A fit of coughing delayed him. 'When I came out into Drury Lane,' he continued, 'I was strolling along when I was set on by two bullies with cudgels.'

  'Did you get a good look at them?'

  'No, Christopher.'

  'You'd never seen them before?'

  'I don't think so.'

  'Can you tell me anything about them?'

  'Not really.'

  'What did they say?'

  'Nothing.'

  'They just knocked you to the ground?'

  'And kicked me in the ribs.' He rested a palm gingerly on his chest. 'I thought I was done for. I thought the rogues would kick me to death.'

  'Were there no witnesses?'

  'I've no idea. I was more or less unconscious.'

  'Who found you?'

  'Someone who was passing. He probably saved my life.'

  'How did you get back here?'

  'They carried me to the theatre. Tom Killigrew brought me home in his carriage.' A ghost of a laugh. 'I'm surprised he recognised me. I was covered in blood when they found me. Still, I suppose he's used to such a sight,' he croaked on reflection. 'There are often nasty brawls at his theatre. Broken heads and bleeding wounds are common enough.'

  'I'm so sorry about this, Henry.'

  'It couldn't be helped.'

  'But it could. I should've been there with you. Or made sure that you had someone by your side. I did tell you to go armed.'

  'What use are a sword and dagger when you've no time to draw them? They were too quick, too strong. They could have finished me.'

  'No, Henry. This was only a warning.'

  'Warning?'

  'To me and to Mr Bale.'

  'But they were probably just bullies, out for a fight.'

  'Oh, no.'

  'I got in their way by accident.'

  'It was all planned.'

  'Or I was the random victim of robbers.'

  'There was nothing random about this.'

  'They were looking for easy pickings.'

  'Was your purse taken?'

  'My purse?' He rummaged in his memory. 'I don't think so.'

  'What about your rings?'

  'They weren't touched either.'

  'That proves it,' decided Christopher. 'They weren't after your valuables. You were singled out, Henry. Watched and jumped on at the right moment. It's all because of this investigation we've been dragged into. You should've had no part in it. I was wrong to involve you.'

  'But I wanted to do my share.'

  Another fit of coughing brought fresh pain to Henry. His brother waited until it passed then he adjusted the pillows for him. His heart welled up with sympathy. He and his brother were far too different in character and divergent in their interests to be really close, but adversity revealed his true feelings for Henry. Christopher wanted to reach out and cradle him. He also wanted to wreak vengeance on his behalf.

  'We'll find them, Henry. I promise you that.'

  'Be careful, brother.'

  'Only cowards attack an undefended man.'

  'I was off guard for once. Thinking about her.'

  'Who?'

  'Abigail Saunders.'

  'Why?'

  'She knows something, Christopher - I could feel it. She knows that Harriet Gow will not be back for some time and she's making the most of it. Abigail is too sure of herself.'

  'What did she tell you?'

  'Very little, unfortunately. I made the mistake of bringing Sir William D'Avenant's name into the conversation and after that, she wouldn't even speak to me. It cannot be pleasant for her to be associated with a gentleman who once suffered from such a visible disease.'

  'She and Sir William are no longer close. That was something I gathered when I visited him at Rutland House. They parted on harsh terms. Sir William can be exonerated, Henry. He's not tied up in the conspiracy - that much I did establish.'

  'And Abigail?'

  'We'll need to take a closer look at her.'

  'Go stealthily. She has barbarous friends.'

  'You think that she instigated the assault?' said Christopher gently.

  'Put it this way. One minute, I upset her. The next minute, I'm being cudgelled to the ground by those two men. And that was after I'd told her how much I'd admired her performance,' Henry joked miserably. 'If I'd dared to criticise it, she'd probably have had me cut into thin strips and fed to passing dogs in the street.'

  'We don't know that Abigail Saunders is in any way caught up in this, Henry, so let's proceed with caution. Treat her as innocent until we have some evidence of guilt.' Christopher grew pensive. 'What is clear is that you were set on in order to send a message to us.'

  'Why?'

  'They know.'

  'About what?'

  'The fact that we're on their tail.'

  'You may be, Christopher, but I have other priorities now.'

  He managed a thin smile but the effort made him wince. His brother felt the pain with him. As he gazed down at the wounded man, he vowed that he would bring his attackers to justice. Pulled reluctantly into a search for a missing actress, he now had a personal score to settle. It made him burn with righteous anger. Every blow that his brother had taken had to be repaid in kind. The message needed a reply.

  Henry dozed quietly off to sleep. It was ironic. No day passed without a hundred routine complaints from him. He would abuse his barber, terrorise his servants and protest loudly at everything his tailors did for him. Henry Redmayne was the sort of man who would have a tantrum if he got mud on a new shoe and plunge into hysteria if any garment of his became torn. Outrage was his natural element. Yet he had not raised the merest complaint against his savage beating. There was no whimpering, no reproach, no accusation. Christopher was touched by his stoicism. It was a new side to his brother.

  Henry's eyes opened again. Sudden fear showed.

  'Are you still there?' he asked.

  'Yes, Henry.'

  'I just had a frightening thought.'

  'What's that?'

  'For the first time in my life, I actually want Father to be here.' He drew in his breath sharply. 'I must be delirious.'

  Harriet Gow was suffering a discomfort that bordered on agony. It was several hours since the departure of Mary Hibbert but she still had no idea if the girl had escaped or been recaptured. The descent from the window had been effected without setback. Harriet had hauled the sheets into the room again, quickly untied them and put them back on the bed. When she returned to the window, there was no sign of Mary. The brave young fugitive was either crouched in the bushes or making her way surreptitiously to a part of the garden where she could climb over the wall. Harriet wanted her back again, fearing for the girl's safety and blaming herself for agreeing to help in an escape bid that she was convinced would be doomed.

  When the woman arrived with a tray of food, she was startled to see only one occupant in the room. The man was called at once and he conducted a more thorough search. Crossing to the window, he flung it open and glared out before racing from the room. The woman and the tray of food disappeared as well and the door was firmly locked. Part of her punishment had already been inflicted on Harriet. She was being deprived of her meal. They knew she must have condoned and assisted the flight of her maidservant. It would lead to privations.

  The hours rolled by but no word came. Harriet shifted rapidly between hope a
nd despair, believing that Mary had made good her escape then resigning herself to the thought that the girl had been tracked down. Racked by uncertainty, she paced the room, went obsessively to the window or hurled herself down on the bed. None of it brought relief. When evening shadows began to dapple the garden, her fears reached a new pitch of intensity. Where was Mary? Which direction had she taken? How far had she got? What possible chance did she have of outrunning the pursuit?

  Night was falling when the door eventually opened. The woman entered and Harriet ran to her in the gloom, reaching out her hands.

  'What's happened?' she begged. 'Is there any news?'

  All she got by way of a reply was a hard slap across the face. Harriet staggered back in pain. The woman grabbed her and the man came in to help. Face still stinging, she offered no fight as they hauled her down the staircase then took her down the flight of steps that led off the hall. Harriet was pitched headfirst into the cellar. When the door slammed shut behind her, she was in total darkness. Mary Hibbert was not coming back; Harriet had replaced her in the evil-smelling cellar. Did that mean the maidservant had escaped or been taken somewhere else? Why would they not tell her? It was dispiriting. She groped her way to the chair, curled up in it and tried to pray. But the words would simply not come. She wondered if anyone was there to hear them.

  It was late before Jonathan Bale was finally able to seek the refuge of his home and close the front door on another taxing day. Taking part in a search with Christopher Redmayne did not release him from routine duties in Baynard's Castle Ward and he had to cope with a number of incidents before he could retire from the streets. The last - a dispute between three different families over some stolen fish - was only resolved when the constable identified a stray dog as the real thief, leaving the aggrieved victims to patch up their differences with their neighbours and promise that they would not resort to false and over-hasty accusation again. By the time that he left them, all three families were engaged in vigorous reconciliation, united by a common desire to destroy the culprit.

  'Where is the animal now?' asked Sarah Bale.

  'Scavenging somewhere else.'

  'There are too many stray dogs in the streets.'

  'Stray cats, too,' said her husband. 'Not to mention gulls, pigeons and other birds with an eye for a tasty piece of fish. They were unwise to leave it in the kitchen like that with the door wide open.'

  'As long as you solved the crime, Jonathan.'

  'I wish they were all as easy as that, my love.'

  A simple meal with his wife revived him. He listened to the rich crop of gossip she had harvested during her day and threw in amused comments along the way. Too late to read to his sons, he wanted to know how well they had behaved themselves.

  'Oliver was quiet for once,' said Sarah.

  'That's unusual.'

  'I was afraid that he might be sickening for something but he seems healthy enough. He ate all his food.'

  'So he should.'

  'Richard was noisy enough for the two of them.'

  'He's a growing boy full of noise and mischief.'

  'Is that how you were at his age?'

  'I don't know, Sarah,' he said, diverted by the thought. 'It was such a long time ago. I suppose I must've been. There were four of us children, always squabbling. My father beat me a lot, I remember that.'

  'You, a naughty child?' she teased. 'Never!'

  'It's true.'

  'Did you cause trouble, tell lies?'

  'Probably.'

  'What turned you into such a pillar of honesty?'

  'Marriage to a certain Miss Sarah Teague.'

  'You blame me, do you?'

  'No,' he said with a grin. 'I thank you, my love.'

  They talked on for half an hour or more before it was time to climb the stairs to bed. After the exigencies of the day, it was a relief to be able to chat about domestic concerns but Jonathan was never entirely freed from thoughts about the kidnap. His mind kept returning to it time and again but he did not confide in Sarah. He might entertain her with the tale of the purloined fish but the abduction of two women was another matter, especially as his wife knew one of the victims. Tired from her own exertions, Sarah was the first to get into bed. Her husband was not allowed to join her. The clatter of hooves took him to the window. What he saw there made him snatch up the candle and hurry out of the room.

  Jonathan opened the front door before Christopher Redmayne could knock on it. The constable had never had a coach at his doorstep before. It loomed menacingly out of the darkness.

  'A thousand apologies, Mr Bale,' said his visitor, 'but I'm afraid I have to disturb you. There have been developments.'

  'Of what nature, sir?'

  'It grieves me to report the first of them. My brother, Henry, was attacked and beaten outside The Theatre Royal today.'

  Jonathan stiffened. 'Not seriously hurt, I hope?'

  'He'll be in bed for a week or more.'

  'Does he know who the attackers were, Mr Redmayne?'

  'They cudgelled him to the ground before he so much as got a glimpse of them. But I fancy I've seen their handiwork before. So have you, Mr Bale.'

  'On the face of a coachman, perhaps?'

  'Yes.'

  'But why assault your brother?'

  'To send a warning to us.'

  'They know we are after them?'

  'Alas, yes.'

  'How, sir?'

  'I can't say.' He glanced over his shoulder at the coach. 'But the other development is this. When I got back to my house, a messenger was waiting. We're bidden to the Palace.'

  'Now?' said Jonathan in disbelief.

  'As a matter of urgency.'

  'But I was just about to retire to bed.'

  'I, too, hoped to be asleep by now.'

  'You go, Mr Redmayne. On your own.'

  'The letter insists that I take you.'

  'Me?'

  'You're mentioned by name.'

  'I've no call to go off to the Palace of Westminster at this hour.'

  'A royal summons can't be denied.'

  'No, no,' said Jonathan evasively. 'It's a mistake. They don't really need me. You can answer for both of us, Mr Redmayne. Find out what this is all about then report to me in the morning.'

  'I daren't go without you, Mr Bale.'

  'You must.'

  'The letter was unequivocal.'

  'Explain that you represent the two of us.' 'No excuse will be accepted.'

  'It's unfair to call on me like this, sir,' complained Jonathan. 'I can't just go off into the night. What will I tell my wife?'

  'What you always tell her at such times. You're a constable. Duty calls. Mrs Bale will understand.'

  'How do I explain this coach?'

  'Convincingly. I'm sure you can do that.'

  'No,' said Jonathan, making a last attempt to wriggle out of the commitment. 'You know my feelings about the Palace, Mr Redmayne, and those who live in it. I'd rather not set foot in the place, if you don't mind. I did so once before and it left me feeling corrupted.'

  'Prepare to be corrupted afresh,' warned Christopher with a grin. 'You'll not only enter those portals, you'll arrive there in a coach sent at the King's command. That'll be an experience for you.'

  'My blood curdles at the very thought.'

  'Are you so easily offended?'

  'To the marrow.'

  'Then there's an easy solution here, I suspect. If you balk at the notion of travelling inside with me, I'll ask the coachman to let you sit beside him instead. And if that still troubles your conscience, carry a link and run alongside the vehicle.'

  'You mock me, sir.'

  'My brother was beaten senseless, Mr Bale,' said Christopher seriously. 'Looking at his bruises left me in no mood for mockery. We've been summoned to the Palace because something very important has occurred and the sooner we find out what it is, the better. So please,' he ordered, 'let's have no more delay. Make your excuses to your wife and come with me.'
/>   Jonathan hesitated. He grasped at one last straw.

  'The city gates are closed. The coach will not be allowed through.'

  'Nobody will dare to obstruct this coach, Mr Bale.'

  The ride to Westminster was an uncomfortable one for him but it did give Jonathan Bale the opportunity to voice some of his concerns. As the vehicle rocked and scrunched its way along, he confided his thoughts to Christopher Redmayne in the half-dark of its interior.

  'I've been wondering about that house, sir,' he said.

  'What house?'

  'The one belonging to Mrs Gow. It must have been expensive.'

  'Very expensive,' said Christopher. 'Be certain of that. I've friends who live in the area and I know how much they paid for the privilege. There are no cheap properties around St James's Square. Everything is at a premium.'

  'Can Mrs Gow afford such a residence?'

  'Presumably.'

  'With a coach and coachman to go with it?'

  'She's a lady who enjoys living in style.'

  'But who supports that style?' said Jonathan thoughtfully. 'Mrs Gow could hardly do so on her income from the theatre. Actresses may be well paid but not to that degree, surely?'

  'Go on.'

  'That brings us to her husband. Since they appear to live quite separate lives, it's unlikely that he's footing the bill. So who is?'

  'You obviously have a view on the subject, Mr Bale.'

  'It's only a suggestion, sir, but I think we should at least consider it.'

  There was a long silence. Jonathan was slightly embarrassed by what he was about to say and needed time to work up to it. He prefaced his remarks with a sincere apology.

  'If I malign the lady, I'm deeply sorry because I don't intend to cast aspersions on her. But when I think of that fine house, one suspicion does cross my mind.'

  'Some anonymous benefactor maintains her in it?'

  'That, too, is possible,' he conceded. 'From what you tell me, there seem to be a number of "benefactors" in Mrs Gow's life. We're on our way to meet one of them now, and others lurk on every side. Mrs Gow doesn't seem unduly concerned about her marital vows.'

  'So what's your suspicion?'

  'A fleeting thought, no more.'