The Amorous Nightingale (35 page)

    'Unhappily,
I'm not able to remain at his bedside for a week,' said the Dean of Gloucester,
'though I would willingly do so if it would be of any practical help to him.
I'm just grateful that his dear mother never lived to see him in such dire
straits. It would have broken her heart.' He addressed the physician with lofty
condescension. 'When will Henry's mind clear enough for him to tell me the full
details of the assault?'

    'Your
guess is as good as mine, sir.'

    'A
day? Two?'

    'I've
known cases where memory has been affected much longer,' explained the
physician. 'We are not talking about a happy experience here but one that
brought untold pain. The mind is a strange organ. It sometimes blocks out
unpleasant recollections in order to spare a victim having to relive the agony.
Be patient with him.'

    'I
am
patient, man! I'm his father.'

    'Don't
expect too much too soon.'

    'What
are you telling me?' asked the other sharply.

    'Mr
Redmayne must not be harried. It will only add to his distress and may even
delay recovery. The simple truth is,' he concluded, 'that your son may never
fully regain his memories of the assault.'

    Pretending
to be asleep, Henry Redmayne heard every word and he could not stop himself
responding to the physician's welcome words. His eyes remained firmly shut but
his face gave him away. The Dean of Gloucester stared down at it with mild exasperation.

    'Good
heavens!' he declared. 'He's
grinning
at us!'

    Smeek
was sullen and uncooperative. Taken before a magistrate by Jonathan Bale, he
was charged with felonious assault on a constable and held in custody, pending
further charges that might well include kidnap and murder. Jonathan waited
until they reached the gaol before he resumed his interrogation. Two hefty
turnkeys went into the gloomy cell with the constable but Smeek was not
intimidated. His years at sea had toughened him against all eventualities.

    'Who
hired you?' demanded Jonathan.

    'I
don't know.'

    'Someone
paid your wages.'

    'Did
they?' asked Smeek with a defiant smirk.

    'What
was his name?'

    'I
don't know.'

    'Why
did he set you on to me?'

    'Nobody
set me on to you.'

    'Then
why did you attack me?'

    'Because
I didn't like the look of you.'

    The
prisoner gave another smirk. Bleeding had been stemmed from the wound on his
skull but his coat was still stained with blood. Smeek's temples were pounding.
He vowed to be as obstructive as he could when questioned by the man who had
given him the headache.

    'Do
you know what will happen to you?' said Jonathan.

    'Who
cares?'

    'You
should. Gaol can break most men.'

    'I've
never found one that broke me,' boasted the other.

    'You'll
only be held here until the trial. Kidnap is a more serious offence than
assault. Doesn't that worry you?'

    'No.'

    'It
should.'

    'Nothing
worries me, Mr Bale.'

    'Not
even the thought that you'll be tried for murder?'

    'Murder?'
There was a first note of alarm in his voice.

    'A
girl called Mary Hibbert was beaten to death,' said Jonathan. 'I viewed the
body so I know exactly the kind of monsters they were. Mary Hibbert was a
friend of mine and I have a personal interest in bringing these monsters to
justice. The men who killed her will hang.'

    'I
wasn't involved.' 'Are you sure?'

    'I
swear it!'

    'Yes,'
said the other with heavy sarcasm, 'and you'll swear that you didn't attack a
man called Roland Trigg. Nor one called Henry Redmayne, to say nothing of
myself. It wasn't you, was it? Your cudgel has a life of its own. It did all
that damage by itself.'

    'I
did not kill the girl!' protested Smeek.

    'We'll
prove that you did.'

    'No!
I'll answer for what I did, but not for someone else's crime.'

    'You
were involved. That's enough for me.'

    'Not
in the murder, Mr Bale. You must believe me. I went after the girl, I admit,'
he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, 'but only to track her
down. That was our orders: to catch Mary Hibbert and take her back to the
house. But she fought agin us. That upset Ben. He tried to quieten her down.'

    'I
saw how she was quietened down,' said Jonathan grimly.

    'Not
by me!' insisted the other. 'I hardly touched her.'

    'Then
who did?'

    Smeek
clammed up. He sensed that he had already said too much.

    'Who
did?' repeated Jonathan, stepping right up to him. 'You called him Ben, didn't
you? Ben who? Tell me the name of the man who beat Mary Hibbert to death. Ben
who
?'

    The
prisoner regained some of his bravado. He folded his arms and leaned his back
against the wall of the cell. He taunted Jonathan.

    'Don't
ask me, Mr Bale,' he said innocently. 'I swear that I don't know anyone by that
name. Do you, sir?'

    The
house was smaller than the first one in which she had been confined. Harriet
Gow wondered why they had transferred her. The new prison was also situated in
open countryside. When she peered through the cracks in the shutters of the
bedchamber, she could see nothing but a herd of sheep grazing in the fields.
Her two guards were marginally kinder to her. The man and the woman still wore
masks and still refused to answer her queries but they were less brusque with
her. Harriet was handled with a little more respect. It was as if they had been
reprimanded and told to treat her differently. She could see that they resented
the order.

    Mary
Hibbert's fate still dominated her mind. Fearing the worst, she found it
impossible to rest, still less to sleep. She kept thinking about her
maidservant, remembering how willing and dependable she was, how proud to work
for a renowned actress. Those days seemed to have gone for ever. Harriet knew
in her heart that Mary Hibbert would never serve her again. Guilt stirred once
more. It was only because of her that the girl had been thrown into jeopardy in
the first place. Had she remained in her former employment, she would be alive
and well.

    When
the door was unlocked, the woman brought in some food on a tray. Her husband
remained in the doorway to make sure that the prisoner did not make a run for
the exit. Harriet crossed over to the man.

    'How
long will I be kept here?' she asked.

    'Until
the ransom is paid,' he said coldly.

    'And
what if it isn't?'

    He
waited until his wife left the room before he answered.

    'Then
you won't leave here alive, Mrs Gow.'

    Christopher
Redmayne was forced to cool his heels at the house in Addle Street before
Jonathan Bale returned. The constable was pleased to see him for once and
grateful that it was far too early for him to have taken over the daily reading
from the Bible to the two boys. When Sarah had taken them out of the parlour,
Jonathan was left alone to exchange news with his guest. The constable came as
near to expressing real excitement as he could manage.

    'I
caught him, Mr Redmayne,' he said with pride.

    'Who?'

    'One
of the villains who wielded a cudgel. He tried to use it on me but I got the
better of him near Paternoster Row. The fellow is in custody and will not
trouble us again.'

    'Tell
me all,' urged Christopher.

    He
was thrilled to hear of the arrest, though his great delight was lessened by
the fact that the prisoner had failed to confess or provide them with the names
of his accomplices.

    'One
thing I know,' boomed Jonathan, recalling his visit to Clerkenwell. 'Those
accomplices did not include Bartholomew Gow.'

    'You
found him?'

    'Eventually.'

    'And?'

    'It
was rather a sad tale, Mr Redmayne.'

    Christopher
listened to the comprehensive recital of facts, admiring Jonathan's methodical
approach but wishing that he could be more succinct. At length, one suspect was
eliminated from their enquiries.

    'How
odd!' he commented. 'The landlord of that inn was so certain that Mr Gow lived
in Greer Lane.'

    'So
was the woman at that house,' said Jonathan. 'She assured me that he'd lodged
there until quite recently. I still believe that he only used her premises on
occasion but the fact remains that he denied even knowing where Greer Lane
was.'

    'Did
you believe him, Mr Bale?'

    'Implicitly.'

    'Then
I trust your judgement.'

    'Thank
you, sir,' said Jonathan, settling back into his chair. 'What of your own
investigations in Shoreditch? Have you made progress?'

    'Unhappily,
no.'

    'Why
not?'

    'I
was badly hampered,' said Christopher. 'Before I could leave my house, I was
cornered by Mr Hartwell, my client, a man with a legitimate claim on my time.
And as he left, Mr Trigg arrived to ask how we were getting on and to pass on
some rather startling news. And then, worst of all, when I was least ready for
him, my father chose that moment to arrive from Gloucester to pay a call on
me.'

    'You
mentioned startling news.'

    'Yes,
from the coachman.'

    'What
did he say?'

    'You
were not the only one to meet a man with a cudgel.'

    Christopher's
account was swift and concise. Jonathan's eyebrows lifted with interest when he
heard that the other probable killer of Mary Hibbert had been brought out into
the open.

    'Why
didn't Mr Trigg get help to arrest the villain?'

    'He
was more interested in revenge.'

    'The
man he assaulted must have been the accomplice to the rogue who attacked me.
I'll wager he answers to the name of Ben. What was the tavern where this
happened?'

    'The
Hope and Anchor.'

    'Then
we may be in luck, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Why?'

    'I
know it well from my days as a shipwright. The place is not unused to brawls
but it's not often that someone is beaten senseless on its doorstep. Someone
will know who the victim was. I'll ask around.'

    'Let
me come with you,' volunteered Christopher.

    'I'd
rather go alone, sir. No disrespect,' he said, looking at his visitor's smart
apparel, 'but you would not exactly blend in with the patrons of the Hope and
Anchor. Seafaring men can be suspicious of outsiders and that's what you are.
I'll go myself tonight, though not in the office of a constable. I'll find out
what I can about the beating that Mr Trigg claims that he handed out.'

    'I'm
sure that he wasn't lying. He was so gleeful.'

    'I
don't see any occasion for glee.'

    'Nor
do I,' admitted Christopher. 'My visit to Shoreditch was not as productive as
your sojourn in Clerkenwell.'

    'Did
you meet Jeremy Vye?'

    'Yes,
and your friend was most helpful. He picked out the right house for me and even
warned me about Blackie.' 'Blackie?'

    'Mrs
Lingard's dog.'

    Christopher
launched into a second attenuated account. The details of his adventures in Old
Street kept his host entranced. Christopher did not spare himself from blame.