The Amorous Nightingale (17 page)

    'I
see.'

    'I
don't think that you do,' said the other, reaching out to grasp him by the
shoulder. 'Your counsel inspired me, my friend. I fell asleep a disappointed
man and woke a happy one. You were so right. Why should I wallow in despair
when I can reach for Elysium?'

    'Elysium?'

    'In
essence, it stands right here before us.' Hartwell giggled as he pointed a
forefinger. 'Until I confided in you, I was ready to give up all hope but you
stiffened my resolve. I love her, I want her, I need her, I
deserve
her,
Mr Redmayne. More than any man alive. If obstacles lie in my way, they can be
removed. Mrs Gow may be married but she and her husband have been living apart
for so long that it will not be difficult to put them asunder by legal means.
If all else fails, Bartholomew Gow can be bought off and sent packing.'

    Christopher
was disturbed that Harriet Gow's name had come into the conversation and
appalled that he was being identified as the person who had given Jasper
Hartwell such ludicrous advice. The chances of her ever taking his proposal
seriously were so remote as to be non-existent, yet that did not deter the
single-minded lover.

    'As for
this dalliance with His Majesty,' said Hartwell dismissively, 'it is of no
account. Harriet will soon tire of him and he'll be off after fresh conquests.
None of that worries me. I'll not see her as the discarded mistress of a King
but as the woman who has finally discovered a man worthy of her. Me!' Another
giggle slipped out. 'Am I not the most fortunate of mortals? I've everything a
beautiful woman could want, Mr Redmayne. Wealth, position, influence, taste and
the handsomest face in the whole world. Harriet and I were fashioned expressly
for each other. And the house you've designed will be our Elysium, our place of
perfect bliss. Thank you for making it all possible.'

    'I
hadn't realised that that's what I'd done, Mr Hartwell.'

    'You've
given me a new mission in life.'

    'Have
I?'

    'Marriage
to my adorable Harriet. Then I'll bring her home in my arms. You've not just
designed a magnificent new house, Mr Redmayne. You've created a gilded cage for
my amorous nightingale.'

    'Quite
by accident, sir.'

    'No
matter for that. All things proceed to wondrous consummation. I'll court the
lady in earnest and begin this very afternoon.'

    'How?'
asked Christopher.

    'At
the theatre, of course. Harriet is to perform once more in
The Maid's
Tragedy.
I'll be there to woo her from my box then I'll lay siege to her
dressing room until she agrees to see me.'

    'That
may be rather difficult,' cautioned the other.

    'Difficult?'

    'Mrs
Gow will not be appearing today.'

    Hartwell's
face crumpled. 'Why ever not?'

    'I
fear that she's indisposed.'

    'But
I've banked all on seeing her this afternoon.'

    'You'll
have to be patient, Mr Hartwell. It so happens that my brother, Henry, was at the
theatre yesterday, talking to the manager. Mr Killigrew gave him to understand
that sickness was obliging Mrs Gow to withdraw from today's performance.'

    'Sickness?
The poor darling is ill?'

    'According
to the manager.'

    Panic
set in. 'I must go to her,' he declared. 'Nurse her. Tend her.'

    'That's
the last thing you must do, sir,' said Christopher, anxious to calm him down.
'What the lady most needs is rest from the hurly-burly of life in the theatre.
The stage is an exciting place but it makes enormous demands on those who grace
it with their talents. In any case,' he added, 'Mrs Gow is no longer in London.
She had taken herself off to an unknown address to recuperate.'

    'This
is dreadful news!'

    'I'm
sorry to be the bearer of such tidings.'

    'Not
at all. I'm glad to hear them so early in the day. If my angel is sick, I want
to be at her bedside. Tom Killigrew will know where she is. I'll to him to get
the full details.'

    'But
the lady wishes to be left alone.'

    'She'll
want to see me,' said Hartwell, sitting back in his seat. 'I'll have privileged
access to her. I'm not just one more lusty hound in the pack that bays at her
heels. Harriet Gow is going to be my wife.'

    He
shouted a command to his coachman and the vehicle moved off. Christopher was
covered in dismay. Not only was he being accused of having given advice that
would never have issued from his lips, he was having to conduct a search for a
woman who now had a crazed admirer on her trail. Jasper Hartwell's intervention
could be ruinous. It would certainly hamper Christopher's own investigations.
What concerned him more than that was the fact that it might also put the life
of Harriet Gow in danger. Christopher was still trying to assimilate the new
development when he became aware of Lodowick Corrigan at his shoulder.

    'Was
that Mr Hartwell?' asked the builder.

    'Yes.'

    'What
did he say?'

    'That
he was pleased to see that work had started.'

    'Why
didn't you call me over?'

    'He
preferred to talk to his architect.'

    'But
I wanted to raise a few points with him.'

    'Raise
them with
me,
Mr Corrigan,' said Christopher, meaningfully. 'I'm the
only point of contact between builder and client. Remember that and there'll be
no friction between us. Forget it, however,' he stressed as he mounted his
horse, 'and I fear that we may fall out. A sensible man like you would not wish
that to happen, I'm sure.'

    Before
the builder could reply, Christopher rode off at a brisk trot.

    Abigail
Saunders was a revelation. When he rehearsed her that morning in the role of
Aspatia, the most that Killigrew dared to hope for was a competent replacement
for Harriet Gow. But the actress excelled herself. She knew the role well and
exploited it to the full. Voice, movement and gesture could not be faulted. It
was only the song which exposed her limitations. Abigail Saunders had a high,
reedy voice that could offer only sweetness. It lacked the poignancy that
Harriet Gow could achieve, the ability to fill the theatre with a sadness that
was almost tangible. Killigrew did not complain. Though his patrons would be
disgruntled at the loss of their favourite, they would be given a more than
able actress in her stead. Pert, pretty and confident, Abigail Saunders was seizing
her opportunity with the zeal of one who had waited for it for a long time.

    When
the rehearsal ended, it was not only Killigrew who showered her with praise.
The other actors on stage were quick to flatter her as well. Stepping into the
breach, she was saving a play in which they now had a far greater chance to
shine, liberated, as they were, from the dominance of Harriet Gow and the
lasting impact of her song. None of them spared a thought for their missing
colleague. All that concerned them now was the afternoon's performance. For
making it possible, Abigail Saunders deserved their thanks and their approval.

    One
other person had watched the rehearsal with interest. When it was over, he put
his gloved hands together in token applause. Killigrew broke away from his
company to accost the intruder.

    'Whatever
are you doing here, Henry?' he demanded.

    'Witnessing
a miracle, Tom.'

    'Abigail
surpassed herself.'

    'So I
saw. It was almost as if she knew this chance was coming.'

    'What
are you implying?'

    'Nothing.'

    'Then
why do you have that look in your eye again?'

    'Sheer
fatigue, I do assure you.'

    Henry
Redmayne had been forced to rise much earlier than was his custom in order to
get to The Theatre Royal that morning. The visit had been worthwhile. It had
certainly forced him to revalue Abigail Saunders as an actress. In the scene
where Aspatia, disguised as her own brother, provoked the man who betrayed her
into fighting a duel, Henry was so moved that he had been jerked fully awake at
last. The whole experience left him with a new interest in the young woman who
had replaced the absent Harriet Gow.

    'No
word from her, I suppose?' fished Henry.

    'None,'
said Killigrew. 'Harriet has gone to ground.'

    'You make
her sound like an animal.'

    'She's
an actress, Henry, and they are invariably one part human and three parts
animal. If you worked with them as often as I do, you'd realise what vain and
silly creatures even the best of them are. Actors are even worse,' he moaned.

    'Rampant
stallions. Did you know that I'm obliged to keep a woman at twenty shillings a
week in order to satisfy eight of the young men in the house? Theatre
management is a constant trial, sir. It's turned me pimp.'

    'Harriet
Gow is of a different order, surely?'

    'Don't
believe it.'

    'She
has such breeding and refinement.'

    'A
whore can pass for a nun on stage,' said Killigrew with a grim chuckle. 'That
is the wonder of it. Harriet is neither whore nor nun but she is more akin to
the former trade.'

    'That's
a scandalous thing to say!'

    'I
speak as I find, Henry. I love the lady to distraction but this is not the
first time she's been wayward. Occasional disappearances have happened before.'

    'Indeed?'

    'She
does it to vex me, I swear, or to remind me just how important she is to my
company. Sick, indeed! I do not believe a word of that letter she sent. Harriet
is the healthiest woman I know. She simply wanted a few days away from the
theatre.'

    'Why?'

    'Why
else? The pursuit of pleasure. A man of your proclivities must surely have
guessed that. Sickness is the cloak behind which she hides but I know the truth
of it. Harriet Gow is either lolling somewhere in a rich man's bed or sailing
down the Thames in the royal barge.'

    A
deep sigh. 'I wish that you were right, Tom.'

    'You've
evidence to contradict me?'

    'No,
no,' said Henry, quick to extricate himself. 'I accept your word for it. Nobody
knows the lady as well as you. I've only worshipped her from afar. Along with
all the others.'

    'Like
that arrant fool, Jasper Hartwell.'

    'Jasper?
How is he involved here?'

    'He
was hammering on my door first thing this morning, begging me to tell him where
Harriet was. When I was unable to do so, he first thrust money at me then
threatened me with his sword. I tell you, Henry, it was all I could do to get
rid of the dolt.' Killigrew threw both hands in the air. 'How did he
know
that Harriet was unable to play today? Has someone been issuing handbills to that
effect?'

    'I'm
more worried about the passion that he showed.'

    'Oh,
that was real enough.'

    'Jasper
Hartwell? Aroused?'

    'To
full pitch. Harriet has certainly lit a fire in his breeches.'

    'They're
never doused, Tom,' said the other with a grimace. 'But they usually smoulder
for some fair, fat wench in red taffeta. Jasper is a man who has to pay
outrageously for his pleasures for no woman would oblige him out of love or
curiosity.'

    'Keep
him away from me, that's all I ask.'

    'I'll
look into it.'

    'And
tell me why you're lurking in my theatre.'

    'To
pay my respects, of course.'

    'To
me, you lying dog?'

    'No,
Tom. To the new star in your little firmament. Miss Abigail Saunders. Excuse me
while I have a word with the lady.'

    Killigrew
was about to protest but two of the actors suddenly pounced on him to demand
their wages and an artist needed instruction about the scenery he was hired to
paint. Henry dodged the manager and made his way to the dressing rooms at the
rear of the building. He soon found the one occupied by Abigail Saunders. A tap
on the door brought a short, dumpy, dark-haired woman into view.