The Amorous Nightingale (18 page)

    'My
name is Henry Redmayne,' he said in his grandest manner. 'A close friend of Tom
Killigrew and a connoisseur of the theatre. I was privileged to watch the
rehearsal just now and I just wished to add my congratulations to Miss
Saunders.'

    'Thank
you, sir,' said the woman gruffly. 'I'll pass them on.'

    'No,
Barbara,' called a voice. 'Invite Mr Redmayne in.'

    The
maid stood reluctantly aside so that Henry could stride into the dressing room.
Sweeping off his hat, he executed a low bow. Abigail Saunders watched him in
her mirror.

    'Your
performance was a delight, Miss Saunders,' he said.

    'Thank
you, kind sir.'

    'It
will carry all before it.'

    'That
is what I intend.'

    She
rose from her chair and turned to appraise him. His voice had led her to expect
a younger and more handsome man but her smile shielded her disappointment from
him. Her life had been an endless series of Henry Redmaynes. She talked their
language.

    'Will
you be at the performance this afternoon, sir?'

    'Nothing
would prevent me from missing it.'

    'Pray,
visit me in my dressing room afterwards.'

    'I'll
do so with a basket of flowers,' he said gallantly.

    'Have
you seen the play before?'

    'Only
once. It is a powerful drama and no mistake.'

    'You
watched Mrs Gow in the role, then.'

    'Possibly,
Miss Saunders. I've quite forgotten. You have made the part so completely your
own, I can't imagine any other actress even daring to take it on.'

    'You
flatter me, sir.'

    'I
welcome a rising talent.'

    He
gave another bow and was rewarded with an outstretched hand. Taking it by the
fingertips, he bestowed a light kiss before releasing it again. Abigail flirted
mischievously with her eyes.

    'All
you've needed is your place in the sun,' he remarked.

    'It's
come at last, Mr Redmayne.'

    'I hope
that this is only the start.'

    'Oh,
it will be,' she said with quiet determination.

    'You
sound very certain of that.'

    'I
am, sir. Nobody likes to profit from the misfortune of others but that is the
guiding principle of theatrical life. As one person falls by the wayside,
another must take her place. I'm deeply upset, of course, that dear Harriet is
indisposed but I know how much she would hate a play to be cancelled because of
her.' She spread her arms and spun around on her toes. 'So here I am. Keeping
the theatre open this afternoon when it might otherwise have been closed.'

    'Tom
Killigrew was overjoyed with you.'

    'So
he will be when he sees my full range.'

    'Full
range?'

    'Yes,
Mr Redmayne. Aspatia is only one of the roles in which I'll dazzle the patrons.
There'll be many others.' She turned back to the mirror to examine her hair.
'After all, Harriet Gow may be indisposed for quite some time.'

    Mary
Hibbert slept fitfully until the sound of a key in the lock brought her rudely
awake. The cellar was cold, damp and hostile. Since the candle had burned
itself out, the room was plunged into darkness, robbing her of any idea of
time. When the door opened, therefore, she was surprised how much natural light
flooded in. It made her eyes blink. Mary was taken out to use the privy, an
embarrassing business when a man in a mask is guarding the door but a necessary
one all the same. Hauled back down to the cellar, she was given more food and
water. Breakfast over, she was guided back up the steps, across the hall and up
the wide staircase. Mary began to shiver uncontrollably. Was she going to be
ravished by her mute companion?

    When
they paused outside a room, she tried to break free but he was far too strong,
subduing her with ease and taking liberties with his hands that confirmed her
worst fears. Mary felt as if she were being suffocated. She began to swoon. A
door was opened and she was thrust roughly through it alone. Tumbling to the
floor, she heard the door being locked behind her and quailed. Then she heard
something else.

    'Mary!'

    Harriet
Gow came running across the room to help her up.

    'Have
they brought you here as well?'

    'Yes,
Mrs Gow.'

    Mary
burst into tears, not knowing whether to be relieved at the sight of her
mistress or frightened by the dire straits in which they found themselves.
Rising from her feet, she flung herself into her employer's arms, each clinging
tight and drawing comfort from the other. Harriet eventually took her maidservant
by the shoulders.

    'This
is all my fault,' she admitted.

    'No,
no, Mrs Gow. Don't say that.'

    'They've
dragged you down with me, Mary.'

    'I
don't blame you, honestly. I'm just so glad to see you again.'

    There
was no gladness in her eyes. As she looked at Harriet Gow, she did not see the
poised and graceful woman with whom she spent her days so happily. Her mistress
was flushed and unkempt, her dress torn and her shoes discarded. Hair that was
so lovingly brushed as a rule now hung in long, uneven strands. All of her
jewellery had been removed. Her composure had also vanished. There was a hunted
look about her.

    'Where
are we, Mrs Gow?' asked Mary, looking around.

    'I've
no idea.'

    'Have
they hurt you? Did they…'

    'No,
Mary. Nobody has touched me. Yet, that is.'

    'They
locked me in a cellar all night.'

    'How
dreadful!' She hugged the girl to her. 'My plight is little better but at least
I have a comfortable bed and a garden I can look out on. Where exactly it is, I
don't know. We were ambushed near the Strand. While they fought with Roland,
someone put a hood over my head and pushed me into another coach. It seemed to
travel for an age before we got here. All I know is that we're out in the
country somewhere. It's no use calling for help. We're quite isolated.'

    'I
heard you sing, Mrs Gow.'

    'What?'

    'That's
what kept me going. I heard your voice drifting down to the cellar and knew
that you were here as well. It helped. I hate it that this has happened to you,
but at least we're together now.'

    'Yes,
child.'

    They
exchanged a kiss and held each other tighter than ever.

    'Mrs
Gow,' said Mary at length.

    'Yes?'

    'Who
are they?'

    'I'm
not sure.'

    'What
do they want?'

    'They
haven't told me.'

    'Do
you have no idea who they might be?'

    'No,
Mary.'

    'Why
are they
doing
this to us?'

    By
way of an answer, Harriet Gow eased her across to the little sofa and sat beside
her on it. Letting the girl nestle into her, she stroked Mary's hair softly and
tried to reassure them both in the only way that came to mind. She began to
sing.

    Jonathan
Bale made up for lost time. Having committed himself to the search for the
missing women, he began early next day by calling on the house in Carter Lane,
ostensibly to reassure Mary Hibbert's relatives that she was safe but also to
find out how much they knew about her life and movements. Having gleaned some
interesting new details, he left the city by Ludgate and began the long walk
towards St James's Palace. It gave him time to marshal his thoughts. Impelled
by a desire to rescue Mary Hibbert, he was troubled by memories of the earlier
meeting with her when, he now felt, his principles had got the better of his
civility. Sarah Bale's comment had been apt: the girl was still young. Jonathan
should have made more allowance for the fact.

    He
was also assailed by guilt about his attitude towards Harriet Gow. Personal
interest had drawn him into the investigation but it was as important to find
the actress he had never met as the maidservant he had known for years. Both
lives were threatened. Both women deserved help. Jonathan chided himself for
letting his conscience get in the way of his compassion. While he was worrying
about his moral standards, a gifted actress was being held to ransom by brutal
men. It had taken the kidnap of Mary Hibbert to bring him to his senses and he
was keen to make amends. His stride lengthened purposefully.

    St
James's Square was still at a very early stage of its growth. Situated in
fields to the north-east of St James's Palace, it was taking shape on land
which had been leased by the King to one of his most trusted friends, Henry
Jermyn, the enterprising Earl of St Albans, who, among other services to the
nation, was credited with negotiating the marriage of Charles II. Plots of land
around the square were let on building leases and snapped up by astute
speculators. Large, well-appointed houses began to rise on all sides, their
value increased by their proximity to St James's Palace. It was an area of high
profit and aristocratic tone, the sort of suburban development that was
anathema to a Puritan constable still shackled by notions of integrity and
nostalgia for the Commonwealth.

    When
he finally reached his destination, therefore, he winced at the sight of the
exclusive houses of the rich and titled, at the leafy parkland that surrounded
it and at the extraordinary sense of space. Even since it was rebuilt,
Baynard's Castle Ward was still a warren of cluttered streets and modest
dwellings. St James's Square was a world apart, a frank display of wealth, a
haven of Royalist sympathy, a dazzling manifestation of the true spirit of the
Restoration. Jonathan fervently hoped that his business would not detain him
too long in such an uncongenial part of the capital.

    Harriet
Gow's abode was at the end of a row of neat houses near the west end of the
square. Smaller than most of the new residences that were being erected, they
nevertheless rose to three storeys, had matching facades and boasted long
walled gardens to the rear. Jonathan rang the front doorbell but got no
response. Hearing a banging noise at the back of the property, he went under
the archway that separated it from its neighbour and strolled down to the
stable. Roland Trigg was inside, coat off and sleeves rolled up to reveal thick
forearms. Using a hammer with the skill of a blacksmith, he was trying to beat
a strip of iron back into shape on an anvil.

    Jonathan
sized him up quickly then stepped into his field of vision. The hammer
immediately stopped swinging. Trigg straightened up and greeted the visitor
with a defensive stare, wondering why a constable had come calling on him. The
heavy implement dangled from his hand.

    'Do you
want someone?' he asked levelly.

    'Are
you Mr Roland Trigg, sir?'

    'I
could be.'

    'Coachman
to Mrs Gow?'

    'Who
are you?'

    'My
name is Jonathan Bale. I've been asked to help Mr Redmayne in a case of abduction.
He's authorised me to talk to you.'

    'Yes,
yes, of course,' said Trigg, setting the hammer aside and relaxing slightly.
'I've said I'll help all I can, Mr Bale. Is there any news? Have you picked up
the trail?'

    'Not
as yet, I'm afraid.'

    'They
want hanging for what they did!'

    'Their
days may well end on the gallows,' said Jonathan evenly. He looked down at the
strip of metal. 'Doing some repairs?'

    'The
coach got damaged during the ambush when it was forced against the wall of a house.
I want it as good as new by the time Mrs Gow comes back.' He hesitated. 'She is
coming back, isn't she?'

    'We've
every reason to believe so. Now, Mr Trigg,' said Jonathan, taking a step
closer. 'I'd like you to tell me exactly what happened.'