The Amorous Nightingale

    '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.'