The Amorous Nightingale

    'He was asking too many uncomfortable questions.'

    'Someone has to.'

    'But why him? What's his interest in Harriet Gow? He's only an architect. I know that his brother was cudgelled outside the theatre but is that really enough to make him abandon his work to take up this case?' Eldridge was baffled. 'Who is Christopher Redmayne?'

    'He could be our salvation, sir.'

    'In what way?'

    'Mr Redmayne is a dedicated man. Whatever his reasons for getting involved, I admire him. He's our only hope,' Trigg stressed, clenching his teeth. 'Christopher Redmayne is the one person who may get to Mrs Gow in time to save her.'

    His second meeting of the day with Jonathan Bale had been productive and reassuring. One man was in custody and a second might be found by means of enquiries at the Hope and Anchor. Christopher was still smarting at the way he had let Martin Eldridge escape his clutches and he was determined to make amends for his error. Finding the fugitive actor was his main priority but he first decided to return home in case any important messages had been left for him. He rode into Fetter Lane with some trepidation, fearing that he might be caught again by an irate client, a truculent coachman or an inconvenient parent but there were no coaches outside his house. He allowed himself to relax until he noticed Jacob emerging from the front door.

    'I saw you through the window,' explained the servant. 'Thank goodness you've come back!'

    'Why?'

    'Your visitor has been waiting the best part of an hour.'

    'It's not Mr Hartwell again?'

    'No, Mr Redmayne. Nor that foul-mouthed Mr Trigg.'

    'My father, then?' said Christopher, bracing himself against what might turn out to be the worst of the three. 'Who is it, Jacob?'

    'The gentleman wouldn't give his name.'

    'Yet you let him into my house?'

    'He has an air of such authority about him, sir.'

    'We'll see about that,' said Christopher, dropping from the saddle and handing the reins to Jacob. 'Tether him. I'll be leaving again soon.'

    He went purposefully into the house to confront his anonymous guest but stopped dead when he saw who it was.

    'Mr Chiffinch!'

    William Chiffinch rose from his chair and gave a faint nod.

    'I'm glad you've come back at last,' he said.

    'It's only a brief visit. We have picked up the scent this time.'

    'Then you should have had the grace to send us a report to that effect. His Majesty is in a state of continuous anguish. Tell me something that can at least allay his anxiety.'

    'I'll try, Mr Chiffinch.'

    Christopher told him in outline what had transpired since their last encounter. Chiffinch showed a flicker of approval when he heard of the arrest of Jonathan Bale's attacker, but the flight of Martin Eldridge only gained a look of scorn. He seemed faintly disappointed by the vindication of Bartholomew Gow.

    'So the husband may be cleared of involvement?'

    'According to Mr Bale.'

    'It seems that the worthy constable has been appreciably more successful than you in his work,' said Chiffinch, letting his eyebrow issue a muted reprimand. 'What do you intend to do about it, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Redeem myself by finding Mrs Gow.'

    'That's not an option that will remain open for long, I fear.'

    'Why not?'

    'I come here with grim tidings. His Majesty was most insistent that you heard the news at once. That's why I took the unusual step of arriving on your doorstep in person.'

    'I guessed that your mission must be important.'

    'Very important, Mr Redmayne.' Taking a letter from inside his coat, he handed it over. 'That came to the Palace this afternoon.'

    'From the kidnappers?'

    'Read it for yourself.'

    When Christopher did, he blenched. An already fraught situation had taken on a new and more menacing turn. He held up the letter.

    'They may be trying to bluff us, Mr Chiffinch.'

    'Was the murder of Mary Hibbert an act of bluff? No, sir. We have to take them at their word. You have less than twenty-four hours to unmask and capture the villains. They could not have put it more bluntly,' Chiffinch said, taking the missive back. 'If the ransom is not paid by sunset tomorrow, Harriet Gow will be executed.'

Chapter Thirteen

    While their visitor was in the house, Sarah Bale made no comment on the rumpled condition in which her husband returned home. As soon as Christopher Redmayne left, however, she was able to take a closer look at Jonathan. She clicked her tongue in mock disapproval.

    'Look at the state of you!' she chided.

    'What do you mean, Sarah?'

    'Your coat's dirty, your sleeve's torn, there's a bruise on your cheek and - yes,' she said, inspecting a stain on his shoulder, 'this looks like blood to me.'

    'It's not mine, I assure you.'

    'Where've you been, Jonathan?'

    'Making an arrest.'

    'Well, that sleeve will have to be mended before I can send you out again. And I'll want to brush some of that filth off. What will the neighbours say if you're seen abroad like that?' Anxiety took over. 'Do you have any other bruises?'

    'One or two on my arms, that's all.'

    'Do be careful, Jonathan.'

    'I always am.'

    'I want my husband coming back to me in one piece.'

    'The man resisted arrest: I had to subdue him. He's in a far worse condition than me, Sarah.' He took off his coat. 'But I was going to change in any case. I have to go out again.'

    'So soon?'

    'I'm afraid so.'

    'What about the children? I'm just going to put them to bed.'

    'I'll read to them before I go.'

    'Good,' she said, taking his coat and bustling off.

    Jonathan went upstairs to his sons' bedchamber and took out the old clothes that he wore when he worked as a shipwright. They still fitted. He smiled as pleasant memories of his earlier life flooded back. He had loved his trade. It brought him happy times and good friends. It also gave him the muscles and the stamina which made him such a formidable opponent in a brawl. He slipped a dagger into his belt and made sure that it could not be seen. When he went into the next room, Oliver and Richard were already tucked up together in bed, delighted that their father would be reading to them. Oliver stared at his bruise.

    'What've you done to your face?' he asked.

    'I bumped into something, Oliver.'

    'Does it hurt?' said Richard, intrigued by the injury.

    'Not any more.'

    'What did you bump into, Father?'

    'Never you mind, Richard.' Jonathan picked up the family Bible, the one book in the house. 'Now, what shall I read this evening?'

    'Could we have some more about Samson?' said Richard.

    'Yes,' agreed Oliver. 'He was a big, strong man. Mr Redmayne told us about him. He said that Samson was betrayed by a woman.'

    'She cut off his hair.'

    'Mother would never betray you, would she?' said the older boy. 'She'd never cut off your hair or you'd look funny.'

    The two boys giggled. Jonathan quietened them down then read them a passage from the Book of Judges. They listened carefully. When he had finished, he said prayers with them, gave each a kiss on the forehead then stole out of the room. Sarah was already using a needle and thread expertly on the torn sleeve of his coat. She looked at his apparel and smiled.