The Amorous Nightingale

    'You were divine, Miss Saunders!' he cooed.

    'Thank you, Mr Redmayne.'

    'The whole audience was enraptured.'

    'I fought hard to earn their attention, sir.'

    'You had mine from the moment you set foot on the stage. I could sing your praises all night, Miss Saunders. Sup with me and I will.'

    'Unhappily, I already have an engagement.'

    'Will you dine with me tomorrow, then?'

    'I have another rehearsal to attend, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Then I'll batter at your defences until they crumble,' he said with a broad grin. 'Crumble, they must. I'm resolved on it.'

    A brittle laugh. 'I admire tenacity in a man.'

    'And I admire quality in a woman,' he countered. 'It was on display out there on stage and it made me swoon with wonder. The pity of it is that your mentor was not there to appreciate it as well.'

    'My mentor?'

    'The man who inspired you.'

    'And who might that be?' she asked.

    'Why, Sir William D'Avenant.'

    It was not the most tactful remark to make to the actress at such a moment. Her smile froze, her teeth clenched and his basket of flowers was tossed uncaringly aside. Abigail Saunders gave him a withering stare before turning her back on him.

    'Goodbye, Mr Redmayne.'

    Henry gabbled his apologies but the damage was irreparable. Ignoring him, she lapped up the flattery of all the other men who had crowded into her dressing room. Henry found himself slowly edged out of the room altogether. His attempt at befriending the actress had been hopelessly bungled. He would never get close enough to question her indirectly about Harriet Gow's disappearance now. Nor could he expect any kind of dalliance by way of compensation. Abigail Saunders had effectively rejected him on the spot.

    There was worse to come. Rolling out of the theatre, Henry followed a group of playgoers who were tottering towards a nearby tavern. He needed some revelry to atone for his disappointment. A vision of his brother came before his eyes. Christopher would be angry that he had thrown away all chance of wheedling information out of the woman who stood to gain most from Harriet Gow's indisposition. Henry needed more alcohol before he could face his brother's censure. Licking his lips, he hastened after the others.

    He did not get very far. As he walked past a sidestreet, two brawny men came out to grab him by the arms. Henry was given no time to call for help, still less to offer any resistance. Dragged into a doorway in the sidestreet, he was cudgelled viciously to the ground then kicked hard in the ribs by his two attackers. They were swift and proficient. When their work was done, they flitted nimbly away into the shadows, leaving Henry Redmayne in a groaning heap on the ground, lying helplessly in a pool of blood.

Chapter Nine

    The summons was answered immediately. As soon as Christopher Redmayne heard the grim tidings, he mounted his horse and kicked it into a gallop, using the hectic journey to torment himself with guilt and arriving at the house in Bedford Street in a state of agitation. When he ran up to the bedchamber, he was shocked to see the condition that his brother was in. Henry seemed barely alive. His face was covered with bruises and lacerations, his head swathed in white linen. Traces of blood showed on the bedsheets. More bandaging had been wound tightly around the exposed chest. His bare arms were listless, his eyes scarcely flickering. He could manage no word of welcome.

    The one consolation was that a physician was in attendance. The injuries were beyond the competence of a mere apothecary or surgeon and Christopher was glad to discover that a trained physician had been called in. Old and wizened, the man looked up with a half-smile.

    'Are you his brother, sir?' he said.

    'Christopher Redmayne,' replied the other.

    'I've done all I can for him, Mr Redmayne.'

    'How is he?'

    'Very weak. He lost a lot of blood.'

    'But he'll recover?'

    'Oh yes, given time and careful nursing. Your brother is tougher than he looks, sir. He'll pull through, I've no doubts on that score.'

    Christopher followed him to the door, asking for more detail of the injuries and seeking more reassurance. When the physician withdrew, the visitor rushed back to his brother's bedside and knelt anxiously beside it. He put a gentle hand on the patient's shoulder.

    'Henry?' he said quietly. 'Can you hear me?'

    'Yes,' came a faint whisper.

    'Does it hurt you to talk?'

    'A little.'

    'What happened?'

    Henry needed a few moments to gather his thoughts. Christopher felt a surge of remorse as he saw the extent of the wounds. Without his fine clothes and resplendent wig, his brother looked old, disfigured and positively decrepit. Words came out with painful slowness. Henry was patently suffering.

    'I went to The King's House,' he said hoarsely, 'to see Abigail Saunders and to pick up what information I could. She acted well but she is no Harriet Gow.' A fit of coughing delayed him. 'When I came out into Drury Lane,' he continued, 'I was strolling along when I was set on by two bullies with cudgels.'

    'Did you get a good look at them?'

    'No, Christopher.'

    'You'd never seen them before?'

    'I don't think so.'

    'Can you tell me anything about them?'

    'Not really.'

    'What did they say?'

    'Nothing.'

    'They just knocked you to the ground?'

    'And kicked me in the ribs.' He rested a palm gingerly on his chest. 'I thought I was done for. I thought the rogues would kick me to death.'

    'Were there no witnesses?'

    'I've no idea. I was more or less unconscious.'

    'Who found you?'

    'Someone who was passing. He probably saved my life.'

    'How did you get back here?'

    'They carried me to the theatre. Tom Killigrew brought me home in his carriage.' A ghost of a laugh. 'I'm surprised he recognised me. I was covered in blood when they found me. Still, I suppose he's used to such a sight,' he croaked on reflection. 'There are often nasty brawls at his theatre. Broken heads and bleeding wounds are common enough.'

    'I'm so sorry about this, Henry.'

    'It couldn't be helped.'

    'But it could. I should've been there with you. Or made sure that you had someone by your side. I did tell you to go armed.'

    'What use are a sword and dagger when you've no time to draw them? They were too quick, too strong. They could have finished me.'

    'No, Henry. This was only a warning.'

    'Warning?'

    'To me and to Mr Bale.'

    'But they were probably just bullies, out for a fight.'

    'Oh, no.'

    'I got in their way by accident.'

    'It was all planned.'

    'Or I was the random victim of robbers.'

    'There was nothing random about this.'

    'They were looking for easy pickings.'

    'Was your purse taken?'