The Amorous Nightingale

    'How will you get those directions?'

    Christopher pondered until a face popped into his mind.

    'From a friend,' he said.

    'Will he help us, sir?'

    'Nobody has a better reason to do so.'

    Lodowick Corrigan shifted easily from obsequiousness to resentment in a matter of minutes. He was standing near the site of the new house as he unloaded his complaints into the ear of his employer, buried, as it was, beneath the surging ginger wig. There was an aggressive subservience in the builder's manner.

    'It's not right, Mr Hartwell,' he said with a scowl. 'I've never known an architect who was so lax before. I don't expect him to be here every second of the day, of course, but it's in these very early stages that I need to turn to him for advice. Mr Redmayne should be here.'

    'I've taxed him on the subject, Mr Corrigan.'

    'Perhaps it's time to do more than that.'

    'More?'

    'There are plenty of other architects in London, sir.'

    'Replace him altogether?' said Hartwell, shocked. 'That would be going too far. His designs are exemplary and he's the pleasantest fellow you could wish to meet. You find him so, I'm sure.'

    'Why, yes,' muttered the other. 'He's a personable young man, but is he fit for a project as large and testing as this? Mr Redmayne should be here, sir. I ask again - where is he?'

    Still inside his coach, Jasper Hartwell looked over Corrigan's shoulder. A horseman was riding towards the site at a canter.

    'Bless my soul!' cried Hartwell. 'I believe that he's coming.'

    Corrigan turned round in disbelief and gritted his teeth when he saw Christopher Redmayne approaching. The newcomer gave both of them a cheery wave. Reining in his horse, he stayed in the saddle so that he could look down at the argumentative builder.

    'Do you have any problems, Mr Corrigan?' he said.

    'Not exactly, sir.'

    'Can't you manage without me?'

    'Of course,' retorted the other.

    Christopher was curt. 'Then why don't you do so?' he said. 'I need to have a private word with Mr Hartwell. If you require any advice after that, I'll be happy to give it to you.'

    'None will be needed.'

    Lodowick Corrigan moved away to bellow at some of his workmen. Christopher turned to Hartwell and touched his hat in apology.

    'I'm sorry I've not been here as much as I would have liked,' he said seriously, 'but that situation will change today.'

    'It must change, Mr Redmayne. I've had complaints.'

    'I could read them in Mr Corrigan's face.'

    'He needs you on site.'

    'He certainly does,' said Christopher, recalling an earlier exchange with the builder. 'He needs me to watch over him. Very closely. I have every confidence that I'll be able to do so when I get back.'

    'From where? You're not deserting us again?'

    'Not exactly, Mr Hartwell. I'll be acting on your behalf in a matter that's not unconnected with your new house.'

    'My nightingale?' said the other, quivering with excitement.

    'Yes, sir.'

    'Where is she?'

    'Not far away, Mr Hartwell.'

    'Take me to her at once! I'll propose on the spot.'

    'That would be far too precipitous,' said Christopher. 'Wait until the lady is back in London. As for her whereabouts, the truth is that I'm not entirely sure of them but I know someone who does. What I require from you is a little help to find the gentleman.'

    'Gentleman?' Hartwell bridled. 'Not a rival for her hand?'

    'I think not.'

    'Who is the fellow?'

    'Sir Godfrey Armadale.'

    'Sir Godfrey?' said the other, scornfully. 'The filthy-fingered Mr Corrigan is more of a gentleman than Sir Godfrey Armadale. He's the most frightful character I've ever come across in my life and I wouldn't let him within a mile of my nightingale.'

    'Do you know where he lives?' asked Christopher.

    'Why should it matter?'

    'Because I understand that he has information that could lead me to Mrs Gow. An architect should attend to every aspect of the house, Mr Hartwell,' he reasoned. 'That's why I'm so keen to assist you in your goal. I cannot imagine that anyone could better decorate the interior of your new abode than Mrs Gow.'

    'Build the house around her.'

    'I will, sir.'

    'Find her, Mr Redmayne!'

    'First, tell me how I can locate Sir Godfrey Armadale. Is it true that he has a house in Richmond?'

    'He has properties all over the place. Including one in Devon.'

    'I heard a rumour that he was going back to the West Country.'

    'Not when he can carouse the nights away in London,' said Hartwell, trying to flick away a wasp. 'His main house is in Kew. A positively grotesque edifice, from what I hear. And not to be compared with my own wonderful new abode. That's where you'll find Sir Godfrey. At home in Armadale Manor.'

    The wasp tried to take up residence in the wig, throwing Hartwell into a state of frenzied agitation. By the time he finally evicted the insect, he was too late to ask how Sir

    Godfrey Armadale might assist the search for a missing actress. Christopher Redmayne had already galloped away.

    Roland Trigg was given a poor welcome when he arrived at the house. Sir Godfrey Armadale came bursting out of the door to confront him. He was dressed to ride and an ostler was saddling his horse. Sir Godfrey hit the side of the coach with his whip.

    'What the devil are you doing here, man?' he yelled.

    'I had nowhere else to go, Sir Godfrey.'

    'All you had to do was to remain where you were. That was the plan, you idiot. You were ordered to stay where you were until Harriet Gow was released. Then, because you felt you'd let her down badly by letting her get abducted, you would resign from her service. I devised it all so carefully,' he roared. 'By the time Mrs Gow worked out that you'd actually been an accomplice to the kidnappers, you'd have been well away, spending your share of the ransom. Instead of which, you make your escape and give the game away.'

    'They were closing in on me, Sir Godfrey.'

    'Who were?'

    'Mr Redmayne and that constable.'

    'They had no proof !'

    'They had Ben Froggatt. He'd have pointed the finger at me out of spite. I'm lucky they didn't get me.'

    'I'm beginning to wish they had,' said Armadale harshly.

    'You don't really mean that.'

    'Don't I?'

    'Smeek and Froggatt may not know your name, Sir Godfrey,' warned Trigg. 'Neither does Arthur Oscott. But I do, don't I?'

    'Are you threatening me?' howled Armadale, drawing his sword.

    'No, no. I'm just pointing something out.'

    'What is it?'

    'We need each other, Sir Godfrey.'

    Armadale made an effort to curb his anger. Putting his sword back into its sheath, he used the whip to beckon the coachman down from his seat. Trigg was unkempt and unshaven. Armadale could smell straw.

    'When did you leave?'

    'Just as it was getting dark.'

    'Where did you spend the night?'

    'At a tavern along the way,' explained Trigg. 'All the beds were taken so I slept in the stables. Don't worry, sir. Very few people saw me. I arrived and left in darkness.'

    'The coach might have been noticed.'