The Amorous Nightingale

    Christopher called on him at Rutland House, his sumptuous home in Aldersgate, a place where he could not only enjoy the fruits of his success but where, on occasion, he had staged some of his theatrical events. D'Avenant was in his early sixties but looked at least a decade older. The vestigial nose, unfit to support spectacles, bore testimony to the goatish instincts of younger days and there were other indications in the gaunt face with its ugly blotches on leathery skin of an acquaintance with syphilis. Christopher found it hard to believe that such an elderly lecher could enjoy the favours of an attractive young woman.

    'What is your estimate of Miss Saunders?' he asked.

    'As an actress or as a person?'

    'Both.'

    'Abigail can decorate a stage nicely,' said the other, flicking a speck of dust from his sleeve, 'but she will never be more than a diverting piece of scenery.'

    'Mr Killigrew disagrees with you, Sir William.'

    'That goes without saying.'

    'He's chosen Miss Saunders to take over a role vacated by Mrs Harriet Gow.' D'Avenant sat up with interest. 'She'll be seen this afternoon as Aspatia in The Maid's Tragedy.'

    'Indeed?'

    'Mr Killigrew has the highest hopes of her.'

    'More fool him!'

    'His judgement is usually sound.'

    'Abigail has been promoted beyond her mean abilities.'

    'That's not what my brother says,' said Christopher. 'He was at the theatre this morning and saw Miss Saunders in rehearsal. She left a profound impression on Henry. He could talk of nothing else when we met at a coffee-house a little while ago.'

    'And you say that Harriet Gow vacated the role?'

    'She is indisposed.'

    'Do you know why, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Sickness was mentioned.'

    'Then it can be ruled out immediately,' said the other sagely. 'No actress would yield up as telling a role as Aspatia unless she were on the point of expiry. There's more behind this. Harriet Gow would never let an ambitious creature like Abigail supplant her, even for one afternoon, if it could possibly be avoided.'

    'I take it that you admire the lady's work, Sir William?'

    'Harriet? She is to Abigail as gold is to base metal. Let me be quite candid. Harriet Gow is the one member of Killigrew's company I'd happily lure away to join The Duke's Men.'

    'Not Michael Mohun or Charles Hart?'

    'I have their equal in Better ton and Harris.'

    'What about Miss Saunders?'

    'Tom Killigrew is welcome to the lady. She causes more trouble than she's worth. In short, her aspirations greatly outrun her talents and that cruel fact never improves the temperament of an actress.'

    'You sound bitter, Sir William.'

    'Wise after the event, Mr Redmayne, that's all.'

    The visit had established one thing to Christopher's satisfaction. Sir William D'Avenant was so patently surprised at the news about Harriet Gow that he could not in any way be involved in her abduction. Nor was he working with Abigail Saunders to further the career of a young woman who had, according to Henry Redmayne, been the old man's mistress. Whatever their true relationship had been in the past, it had left the theatre manager with harsh memories.

    D'Avenant scratched at the remnants of his nose and regarded his visitor with growing suspicion. He flung a sudden question at him.

    'What's your game, sir?' he demanded.

    'My game?'

    'Yes, Mr Redmayne. Why are you here?'

    'I came to see you, Sir William.'

    'To exchange tittle-tattle about actresses? No,' said the other with a cynical laugh. 'I think not. There's a darker purpose behind this visit, isn't there? Who sent you?'

    'Nobody.'

    'Tom Killigrew?'

    'I came on my own account.'

    'For what purpose?'

    'The pleasure of meeting you, Sir William.'

    'Pah!'

    'It's the truth.'

    'Don't talk to me of truth!' snarled the other, hauling himself to his feet. 'I'm old enough to remember a time when it hardly existed. When one thing was said but another meant. When we were all engaged in bare-faced lies of some sort in order to save our own skin.' He loomed over Christopher. 'I only agreed to see you because I know your brother, Henry, a disreputable character, to be sure, but he has a certain louche charm and he patronises my theatre without trying to tear it apart as some of those drunken gallants do. His name got you in through my door but I've yet to hear a reason why I shouldn't turn you straight out again.'

    'Then perhaps I should declare my hand,' said Christopher, smiling apologetically as he groped in his mind for an excuse to cover his arrival. 'You're far too perceptive to be misled, Sir William. The fact is that my visit here is connected with my profession.'

    'That of a spy, perhaps?'

    'Not exactly, though a certain amount of listening, watching and gathering intelligence is required so I have something of the spy about me. I'm an architect, Sir William. I live by my talents.'

    'Why trouble me with your company?'

    'Because I heard a whisper that you plan to build a new theatre.'

    'You've sharp ears, Mr Redmayne.'

    'In my profession, I need them,' said Christopher. 'I've a particular fascination with theatre architecture and came to offer my services.'

    'I'd look for more experience than you have to offer.'

    'Enthusiasm can sometimes outweigh experience.'

    'Sometimes,' conceded the other, looking at him with curiosity. 'An architect, you say? What have you designed, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Domestic buildings, for the most part.'

    'For whom?'

    'The last was for Lord Staines. The project on which I'm currently employed is a house I've designed for Mr Jasper Hartwell.'

    'Hartwell? That lunatic fop in the ginger wig?'

    'He's a good client, sir.'

    'And a rich fool into the bargain. That's the best kind of client you can have. Well, you must have earned your spurs if someone like Lord Staines sees fit to offer you a commission, and Jasper Hartwell would never live in a cheap house. You have definite credit, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Enough to interest you, Sir William?'

    'Tell me what you know about the design of a theatre.'

    'I've visited Mr Killigrew's playhouse and your own, of course, in Portugal Street where you converted Lisle's Tennis Court into a theatre.'

    'Successfully, do you think?'

    'Yes, Sir William. You showed great invention. Your use of scenery was quite brilliant. That's what forced Mr Killigrew to build his new theatre near Drury Lane. His own converted tennis court in Vere Street could never match The Duke's Playhouse.'

    Christopher expatiated on the architectural merits of all three buildings but he had criticism as well as praise. He took care to mention that he had seen several plays performed in France and learned much from their presentation. Convinced that his visitor's interest was real, D'Avenant was soon caught up in a heady discussion of his own plans, showing a deep knowledge of theatrical practicalities and a commendable grasp of architectural principles. In the course of their debate, he also introduced a fund of anecdotes about actors and actresses with whom he had worked in his long career. Christopher was entranced. Valuable new facts were emerging every minute.