The Amorous Nightingale

    'That's enough!' decreed Armadale, stamping a foot. 'Stop this ridiculous boasting. What's done is done and there's no use worrying about it. There's certainly no point in allotting blame all over the place. If we hold steady, the plan might still work.'

    'Might?'

    'It will work. Without doubt.'

    'It hasn't worked so far.'

    'No more impudence!' yelled Armadale, rounding on him with such rage that the coachman backed away and cowered. 'Don't you dare say another word, you miserable cur. It's not your place to criticise me. Remember who you are, Trigg, and what you were when I first took you on. You owe everything to me.'

    'It's true, Sir Godfrey.'

    'Then follow your orders and keep your mouth shut.' Trigg gave a penitent nod. 'That's all you have to do, is that clear?'

    'Yes, Sir Godfrey.'

    'Leave the decisions to me,' insisted Armadale. 'I spent months planning this kidnap and it's cost me a lot of money. Four men were hired, not to mention Oscott's wife. And there were many other items of expenditure. I'm not going to have all my careful work ruined by a hot-headed coachman who has to settle a grudge.'

    There was a long pause. Trigg stood with his head down.

    'Sir Godfrey?' he asked meekly.

    'What now, man?'

    'They will pay the ransom, won't they?'

    'Of course!' said the other with confidence.

    'But if they don't… what will you do to Mrs Gow?'

    Sir Godfrey Armadale took up his stance in front of the fireplace.

    'Get my revenge another way,' he said quietly.

Chapter Fourteen

    It was not the ideal way to hold a conversation. Jonathan Bale was too preoccupied with staying in the saddle to hear everything that his companion was saying. An indifferent horseman, he clamped his knees too tightly against the animal and held the reins as if clinging to the edge of a precipice. He and Christopher Redmayne were riding towards Clerkenwell at a steady trot. In the interests of speed, Christopher had borrowed a horse for the constable from his brother. Henry Redmayne's bay mare was far too mettlesome for Jonathan. He feared that his mount would bolt at any moment. Amused at his discomfort, Christopher rode beside him with practised ease.

    'Try to relax, Mr Bale. Let the horse do the work.'

    'I prefer to travel on foot.'

    'We must make best use of the last of the light,' said Christopher. 'And I think it's very important to speak to Mr Gow. That became clear after my conversation with Martin Eldridge.'

    'The other Bartholomew Gow.'

    There was a note of censure in his voice. As they left the house in Bedford Street, Christopher had told him about his reunion with the actor, confiding details that he did not wish to reveal in front of his brother. Jonathan had been shocked at Martin Eldridge's confession. It gave him no pleasure to learn that his assumption about the house in Greer Lane had been correct. The realisation that Harriet Gow, still a married woman, had a series of assignations with one man while involved at the same time in a dalliance with the King and, it was not impossible, with some of her other admirers as well, had offended his Puritan sensibilities deeply.

    'It would not happen in my ward,' he asserted.

    'What?'

    'Using a house for immoral purposes like that. The magistrate would be informed. Action would be taken against the owner.'

    'There's no law against inviting people into one's home, Mr Bale. Who are we to say what they get up to when they are left alone in a room? As for secret assignations,' Christopher pointed out, 'I'll wager they take place every bit as often in Baynard's Castle Ward as elsewhere.'

    'Money changed hands in this case. That's the crucial point.'

    'Can you prove it?'

    'Why else would that woman provide the use of rooms?'

    'You can ask her,' said Christopher, 'because you'll need to go back to Greer Lane before this business is over. My guess is that money changed hands for a more sinister purpose. That coach was ambushed right on her doorstep. The likelihood is that she was on the premises at the time and paid to look the other way. That's of far more interest to me than whether or not she assists the course of true love.'

    'It's hardly true love!' protested Jonathan.

    'It was in the case of Martin Eldridge. He worshipped Mrs Gow. I could see that. And she must have loved him to take such a risk.'

    The bay mare gave a sudden lunge forward and caught Jonathan unawares. Rocking in the saddle, he tightened his grip on the reins.

    'Go to Clerkenwell on your own, sir,' he advised.

    'Why?'

    'I'm not enjoying this ride.'

    'But I need you to guide me, Mr Bale.'

    'I could give you directions instead.'

    'Why bother?' said Christopher. 'We need to go together. It's time we combined our forces instead of acting independently. Besides, you've already met Mr Gow. He trusts you.' He grinned as Jonathan's mare tossed its head mutinously. 'Rather more than you trust that horse.' 'I'm not sure what else we can learn from Mr Gow.'

    'You think the visit is a waste of time?'

    'No, Mr Redmayne,' said Jonathan. 'I just feel that we might be better employed searching for that house in Richmond.'

    'In the dark? We'd never reach there by nightfall, especially if you insisted on travelling on foot. I'm as anxious as you to find that house, believe me, but we need more guidance.'

    'Your brother mentioned Sir Godfrey Armadale.'

    'Yes,' said Christopher, 'and it's a name I've heard in connection with Mrs Gow before.'

    'Then the house may belong to him.'

    'Let's not jump to over-hasty conclusions. I have it on good authority that Sir Godfrey Armadale is no longer living anywhere near London. He's moved back to the West Country.'

    'Who told you that?'

    'Roland Trigg.'

    'And how would he know?'

    'He used to be Sir Godfrey's coachman.'

    As soon as he said it, Christopher realised that it was too great a coincidence to ignore. Jonathan reached the same verdict. Both jerked the reins to bring their horses to a sudden halt while their eyes had a silent conversation.

    Carrying a sack, Roland Trigg let himself into the house with the key entrusted to him by Harriet, but he did not move about with the deferential tread of a servant this time. Pounding up the stairs, he went into her bedchamber and looked around for booty. Light was fading now but sufficient came in through the windows to save him from needing a candle. In any case, he had other plans for the silver candelabra. They were the first items to be placed in the sack. He crossed to the table on which an ornate mirror was set. It was here that Harriet Gow so often sat, but no beauty was reflected in the glass now. The big, bruised, sweating face of Roland Trigg could be seen as he scoured the table.

    Most of the jewellery was in the largest of the boxes. He feasted his eyes on the contents, emitting a laugh of joy as he guessed at the value. A second box followed the first into the sack then he found a third, a small, velvet-covered box, hidden away behind a pile of books. Opening it with curiosity, he let out a wheeze of surprise when he saw the ring that lay inside. Encrusted with diamonds, the large ruby sparkled with fire. Trigg held it on the palm of his hand to examine it. The ring was quite priceless. He suspected that it was a gift from the King himself. That gave it additional value in his eyes. The little box went into the sack, followed by the other items he scooped up.