The Amorous Nightingale (42 page)

    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.

    'I would
appreciate some coherence
now,'
he said.

    They
arrived at Harriet Gow's house in Rider Street as night was starting to wrap a
blanket of darkness around it. No candles burned within. Christopher Redmayne
dismounted to knock at the door but there was no reply. Getting down from his
own horse, Jonathan Bale led it down the side of the building to the stable.
Both doors had been left wide open as if by a sudden departure. There was no
sign of coach or horses.

    'Trigg's
got away!' said Jonathan in disgust.

    'Only
because he realised that the net was closing in on him. By the look of it, he
cleared off while he still could.'

    'He
should be in Newgate with Smeek and Froggatt.'

    'Oh,
I agree,' said Christopher. 'He's the key figure. Our helpful coachman was
helping someone else all the time. No wonder the villains knew who was on their
tail. And no wonder Trigg could be so certain that Mary Hibbert was abducted.
He was party to the kidnap. We were well and truly hoodwinked, Mr Bale. That
beating he took made me think that Roland Trigg was a hapless victim.'

    'That
was the intention, sir,' said Jonathan. 'But I suspect that the kidnap didn't
quite go to plan. Trigg was supposed to have been overpowered without being
seriously hurt, but someone was too zealous with his cudgel.'

    'Ben
Froggatt, most likely.'

    'That's
why Trigg attacked him - to get his own back for a beating he shouldn't have
taken. He didn't chance upon Froggatt in the Hope and Anchor at all. It was
their regular meeting place: he knew they'd be there.' He gave a grim chuckle.
'Do you know what I'd like to do when I catch up with him?'

    'What?'

    'Throw
him into a cell with Froggatt.'

    'What
a friendly conversation that might provoke!' Christopher reviewed the evidence.
'At least we now know why he wouldn't tell us where the coach was headed when
it was ambushed. It was in Greer Lane by design - at a time when Mrs Gow would
normally expect to visit Martin Eldridge.'

    'Posing
as her husband.'

    'But
he wasn't there. Mrs Gow didn't know that, of course. She didn't send Trigg to
call off the arrangement with Mr Eldridge. She believed that she was on her way
to meet him. Whereas, in fact,' he said with a grudging admiration, 'an ambush
had been cunningly arranged. Trigg made sure that Mr Eldridge was out of the
way then pretended to defend Mrs Gow when the coach was attacked. I blame
myself for not suspecting Trigg earlier,' he confessed. 'I should've listened
to Jacob.'

    'Jacob?'

    'My
servant. In all the years I've known him, he's never uttered a crude word, yet
Roland Trigg had him bawling obscenities like a drunken mariner. Jacob knew,'
said Christopher. 'It's like a dog whose fur stands up instinctively when a
plausible stranger walks into a house. I should have listened to Jacob's bark.'

    'We
were both taken in.'

    'But
we're on the right track now. That's obvious.'

    'What
do we do next, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Nothing
until first light, I'm afraid. My initial thought was that we should leave for
Richmond at dawn.'

    'I'll
be ready, sir. Even though I dread the ride.'

    'What
I dread is following a false trail,' said Christopher. 'Trigg has laid quite a
few for us in the past few days. I thought the name of Sir Godfrey Armadale
might be significant until he assured me that the man had moved away to Devon.
That was all a ruse.'

    'I
think we'll find Sir Godfrey in Richmond.'

    'Along
with Mrs Gow, if we're lucky.'

    'If
your brother will loan me the horse, I'll be ready at dawn.'

    'Not
so fast, Mr Bale,' warned Christopher. 'We don't want to go galloping around
Richmond until we have more precise directions as to where Sir Godfrey lives.'

    'How
will you get those directions?'

    Christopher
pondered until a face popped into his mind.

    'From
a friend,' he said.

    'Will
he help us, sir?'

    'Nobody
has a better reason to do so.'

    Lodowick
Corrigan shifted easily from obsequiousness to resentment in a matter of
minutes. He was standing near the site of the new house as he unloaded his
complaints into the ear of his employer, buried, as it was, beneath the surging
ginger wig. There was an aggressive subservience in the builder's manner.

    'It's
not right, Mr Hartwell,' he said with a scowl. 'I've never known an architect
who was so lax before. I don't expect him to be here every second of the day,
of course, but it's in these very early stages that I need to turn to him for
advice. Mr Redmayne should be here.'

    'I've
taxed him on the subject, Mr Corrigan.'

    'Perhaps
it's time to do more than that.'

    'More?'

    'There
are plenty of other architects in London, sir.'

    'Replace
him altogether?' said Hartwell, shocked. 'That would be going too far. His
designs are exemplary and he's the pleasantest fellow you could wish to meet.
You find him so, I'm sure.'

    'Why,
yes,' muttered the other. 'He's a personable young man, but is he fit for a
project as large and testing as this? Mr Redmayne should be here, sir. I ask
again - where is he?'

    Still
inside his coach, Jasper Hartwell looked over Corrigan's shoulder. A horseman
was riding towards the site at a canter.

    'Bless
my soul!' cried Hartwell. 'I believe that he's coming.'

    Corrigan
turned round in disbelief and gritted his teeth when he saw Christopher
Redmayne approaching. The newcomer gave both of them a cheery wave. Reining in
his horse, he stayed in the saddle so that he could look down at the
argumentative builder.

    'Do
you have any problems, Mr Corrigan?' he said.

    'Not exactly,
sir.'

    'Can't
you manage without me?'

    'Of
course,' retorted the other.

    Christopher
was curt. 'Then why don't you do so?' he said. 'I need to have a private word
with Mr Hartwell. If you require any advice after that, I'll be happy to give
it to you.'

    'None
will be needed.'

    Lodowick
Corrigan moved away to bellow at some of his workmen. Christopher turned to
Hartwell and touched his hat in apology.

    'I'm
sorry I've not been here as much as I would have liked,' he said seriously,
'but that situation will change today.'

    'It
must change, Mr Redmayne. I've had complaints.'

    'I
could read them in Mr Corrigan's face.'

    'He
needs you on site.'

    'He
certainly does,' said Christopher, recalling an earlier exchange with the builder.
'He needs me to watch over him. Very closely. I have every confidence that I'll
be able to do so when I get back.'

    'From
where? You're not deserting us
again
?'

    'Not
exactly, Mr Hartwell. I'll be acting on your behalf in a matter that's not unconnected
with your new house.'

    'My
nightingale?' said the other, quivering with excitement.

    'Yes,
sir.'

    'Where
is she?'

    'Not
far away, Mr Hartwell.'

    'Take
me to her at once! I'll propose on the spot.'

    'That
would be far too precipitous,' said Christopher. 'Wait until the lady is back
in London. As for her whereabouts, the truth is that I'm not entirely sure of
them but I know someone who does. What I require from you is a little help to
find the gentleman.'