The Amorous Nightingale

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?'

'My purse?' He rummaged in his memory. 'I don't think so.'

'What about your rings?'

'They weren't touched either.'

'That proves it,' decided Christopher. 'They weren't after your valuables. You were singled out, Henry. Watched and jumped on at the right moment. It's all because of this investigation we've been dragged into. You should've had no part in it. I was wrong to involve you.'

'But I wanted to do my share.'

Another fit of coughing brought fresh pain to Henry. His brother waited until it passed then he adjusted the pillows for him. His heart welled up with sympathy. He and his brother were far too different in character and divergent in their interests to be really close, but adversity revealed his true feelings for Henry. Christopher wanted to reach out and cradle him. He also wanted to wreak vengeance on his behalf.

'We'll find them, Henry. I promise you that.'

'Be careful, brother.'

'Only cowards attack an undefended man.'

'I was off guard for once. Thinking about her.'

'Who?'

'Abigail Saunders.'

'Why?'

'She knows something, Christopher - I could feel it. She knows that Harriet Gow will not be back for some time and she's making the most of it. Abigail is too sure of herself.'

'What did she tell you?'

'Very little, unfortunately. I made the mistake of bringing Sir William D'Avenant's name into the conversation and after that, she wouldn't even speak to me. It cannot be pleasant for her to be associated with a gentleman who once suffered from such a visible disease.'

'She and Sir William are no longer close. That was something I gathered when I visited him at Rutland House. They parted on harsh terms. Sir William can be exonerated, Henry. He's not tied up in the conspiracy - that much I did establish.'

'And Abigail?'

'We'll need to take a closer look at her.'

'Go stealthily. She has barbarous friends.'

'You think that she instigated the assault?' said Christopher gently.

'Put it this way. One minute, I upset her. The next minute, I'm being cudgelled to the ground by those two men. And that was after I'd told her how much I'd admired her performance,' Henry joked miserably. 'If I'd dared to criticise it, she'd probably have had me cut into thin strips and fed to passing dogs in the street.'

'We don't know that Abigail Saunders is in any way caught up in this, Henry, so let's proceed with caution. Treat her as innocent until we have some evidence of guilt.' Christopher grew pensive. 'What is clear is that you were set on in order to send a message to us.'

'Why?'

'They know.'

'About what?'

'The fact that we're on their tail.'

'You may be, Christopher, but I have other priorities now.'

He managed a thin smile but the effort made him wince. His brother felt the pain with him. As he gazed down at the wounded man, he vowed that he would bring his attackers to justice. Pulled reluctantly into a search for a missing actress, he now had a personal score to settle. It made him burn with righteous anger. Every blow that his brother had taken had to be repaid in kind. The message needed a reply.

Henry dozed quietly off to sleep. It was ironic. No day passed without a hundred routine complaints from him. He would abuse his barber, terrorise his servants and protest loudly at everything his tailors did for him. Henry Redmayne was the sort of man who would have a tantrum if he got mud on a new shoe and plunge into hysteria if any garment of his became torn. Outrage was his natural element. Yet he had not raised the merest complaint against his savage beating. There was no whimpering, no reproach, no accusation. Christopher was touched by his stoicism. It was a new side to his brother.

Henry's eyes opened again. Sudden fear showed.

'Are you still there?' he asked.

'Yes, Henry.'

'I just had a frightening thought.'

'What's that?'

'For the first time in my life, I actually want Father to be here.' He drew in his breath sharply. 'I must be delirious.'

Harriet Gow was suffering a discomfort that bordered on agony. It was several hours since the departure of Mary Hibbert but she still had no idea if the girl had escaped or been recaptured. The descent from the window had been effected without setback. Harriet had hauled the sheets into the room again, quickly untied them and put them back on the bed. When she returned to the window, there was no sign of Mary. The brave young fugitive was either crouched in the bushes or making her way surreptitiously to a part of the garden where she could climb over the wall. Harriet wanted her back again, fearing for the girl's safety and blaming herself for agreeing to help in an escape bid that she was convinced would be doomed.

When the woman arrived with a tray of food, she was startled to see only one occupant in the room. The man was called at once and he conducted a more thorough search. Crossing to the window, he flung it open and glared out before racing from the room. The woman and the tray of food disappeared as well and the door was firmly locked. Part of her punishment had already been inflicted on Harriet. She was being deprived of her meal. They knew she must have condoned and assisted the flight of her maidservant. It would lead to privations.

The hours rolled by but no word came. Harriet shifted rapidly between hope and despair, believing that Mary had made good her escape then resigning herself to the thought that the girl had been tracked down. Racked by uncertainty, she paced the room, went obsessively to the window or hurled herself down on the bed. None of it brought relief. When evening shadows began to dapple the garden, her fears reached a new pitch of intensity. Where was Mary? Which direction had she taken? How far had she got? What possible chance did she have of outrunning the pursuit?

Night was falling when the door eventually opened. The woman entered and Harriet ran to her in the gloom, reaching out her hands.

'What's happened?' she begged. 'Is there any news?'

All she got by way of a reply was a hard slap across the face. Harriet staggered back in pain. The woman grabbed her and the man came in to help. Face still stinging, she offered no fight as they hauled her down the staircase then took her down the flight of steps that led off the hall. Harriet was pitched headfirst into the cellar. When the door slammed shut behind her, she was in total darkness. Mary Hibbert was not coming back; Harriet had replaced her in the evil-smelling cellar. Did that mean the maidservant had escaped or been taken somewhere else? Why would they not tell her? It was dispiriting. She groped her way to the chair, curled up in it and tried to pray. But the words would simply not come. She wondered if anyone was there to hear them.

It was late before Jonathan Bale was finally able to seek the refuge of his home and close the front door on another taxing day. Taking part in a search with Christopher Redmayne did not release him from routine duties in Baynard's Castle Ward and he had to cope with a number of incidents before he could retire from the streets. The last - a dispute between three different families over some stolen fish - was only resolved when the constable identified a stray dog as the real thief, leaving the aggrieved victims to patch up their differences with their neighbours and promise that they would not resort to false and over-hasty accusation again. By the time that he left them, all three families were engaged in vigorous reconciliation, united by a common desire to destroy the culprit.

'Where is the animal now?' asked Sarah Bale.

'Scavenging somewhere else.'

'There are too many stray dogs in the streets.'

'Stray cats, too,' said her husband. 'Not to mention gulls, pigeons and other birds with an eye for a tasty piece of fish. They were unwise to leave it in the kitchen like that with the door wide open.'

'As long as you solved the crime, Jonathan.'

'I wish they were all as easy as that, my love.'

A simple meal with his wife revived him. He listened to the rich crop of gossip she had harvested during her day and threw in amused comments along the way. Too late to read to his sons, he wanted to know how well they had behaved themselves.

'Oliver was quiet for once,' said Sarah.

'That's unusual.'

'I was afraid that he might be sickening for something but he seems healthy enough. He ate all his food.'

'So he should.'

'Richard was noisy enough for the two of them.'

'He's a growing boy full of noise and mischief.'

'Is that how you were at his age?'

'I don't know, Sarah,' he said, diverted by the thought. 'It was such a long time ago. I suppose I must've been. There were four of us children, always squabbling. My father beat me a lot, I remember that.'

'You, a naughty child?' she teased. 'Never!'

'It's true.'

'Did you cause trouble, tell lies?'

'Probably.'

'What turned you into such a pillar of honesty?'

'Marriage to a certain Miss Sarah Teague.'

'You blame me, do you?'

'No,' he said with a grin. 'I thank you, my love.'

They talked on for half an hour or more before it was time to climb the stairs to bed. After the exigencies of the day, it was a relief to be able to chat about domestic concerns but Jonathan was never entirely freed from thoughts about the kidnap. His mind kept returning to it time and again but he did not confide in Sarah. He might entertain her with the tale of the purloined fish but the abduction of two women was another matter, especially as his wife knew one of the victims. Tired from her own exertions, Sarah was the first to get into bed. Her husband was not allowed to join her. The clatter of hooves took him to the window. What he saw there made him snatch up the candle and hurry out of the room.

Jonathan opened the front door before Christopher Redmayne could knock on it. The constable had never had a coach at his doorstep before. It loomed menacingly out of the darkness.

'A thousand apologies, Mr Bale,' said his visitor, 'but I'm afraid I have to disturb you. There have been developments.'

'Of what nature, sir?'

'It grieves me to report the first of them. My brother, Henry, was attacked and beaten outside The Theatre Royal today.'

Jonathan stiffened. 'Not seriously hurt, I hope?'

'He'll be in bed for a week or more.'

'Does he know who the attackers were, Mr Redmayne?'

'They cudgelled him to the ground before he so much as got a glimpse of them. But I fancy I've seen their handiwork before. So have you, Mr Bale.'

'On the face of a coachman, perhaps?'

'Yes.'

'But why assault your brother?'

'To send a warning to us.'

'They know we are after them?'

'Alas, yes.'

'How, sir?'

'I can't say.' He glanced over his shoulder at the coach. 'But the other development is this. When I got back to my house, a messenger was waiting. We're bidden to the Palace.'

'Now?' said Jonathan in disbelief.

'As a matter of urgency.'

'But I was just about to retire to bed.'

'I, too, hoped to be asleep by now.'

'You go, Mr Redmayne. On your own.'

'The letter insists that I take you.'

'Me?'

'You're mentioned by name.'

'I've no call to go off to the Palace of Westminster at this hour.'

'A royal summons can't be denied.'

'No, no,' said Jonathan evasively. 'It's a mistake. They don't really need me. You can answer for both of us, Mr Redmayne. Find out what this is all about then report to me in the morning.'

'I daren't go without you, Mr Bale.'

'You must.'

'The letter was unequivocal.'

'Explain that you represent the two of us.' 'No excuse will be accepted.'

'It's unfair to call on me like this, sir,' complained Jonathan. 'I can't just go off into the night. What will I tell my wife?'

'What you always tell her at such times. You're a constable. Duty calls. Mrs Bale will understand.'

'How do I explain this coach?'

'Convincingly. I'm sure you can do that.'

'No,' said Jonathan, making a last attempt to wriggle out of the commitment. 'You know my feelings about the Palace, Mr Redmayne, and those who live in it. I'd rather not set foot in the place, if you don't mind. I did so once before and it left me feeling corrupted.'

'Prepare to be corrupted afresh,' warned Christopher with a grin. 'You'll not only enter those portals, you'll arrive there in a coach sent at the King's command. That'll be an experience for you.'

'My blood curdles at the very thought.'

'Are you so easily offended?'

'To the marrow.'

'Then there's an easy solution here, I suspect. If you balk at the notion of travelling inside with me, I'll ask the coachman to let you sit beside him instead. And if that still troubles your conscience, carry a link and run alongside the vehicle.'

'You mock me, sir.'

'My brother was beaten senseless, Mr Bale,' said Christopher seriously. 'Looking at his bruises left me in no mood for mockery. We've been summoned to the Palace because something very important has occurred and the sooner we find out what it is, the better. So please,' he ordered, 'let's have no more delay. Make your excuses to your wife and come with me.'

Jonathan hesitated. He grasped at one last straw.

'The city gates are closed. The coach will not be allowed through.'

'Nobody will dare to obstruct this coach, Mr Bale.'

The ride to Westminster was an uncomfortable one for him but it did give Jonathan Bale the opportunity to voice some of his concerns. As the vehicle rocked and scrunched its way along, he confided his thoughts to Christopher Redmayne in the half-dark of its interior.

'I've been wondering about that house, sir,' he said.

'What house?'

'The one belonging to Mrs Gow. It must have been expensive.'

'Very expensive,' said Christopher. 'Be certain of that. I've friends who live in the area and I know how much they paid for the privilege. There are no cheap properties around St James's Square. Everything is at a premium.'

'Can Mrs Gow afford such a residence?'

'Presumably.'

'With a coach and coachman to go with it?'

'She's a lady who enjoys living in style.'

'But who supports that style?' said Jonathan thoughtfully. 'Mrs Gow could hardly do so on her income from the theatre. Actresses may be well paid but not to that degree, surely?'

'Go on.'

'That brings us to her husband. Since they appear to live quite separate lives, it's unlikely that he's footing the bill. So who is?'

'You obviously have a view on the subject, Mr Bale.'

'It's only a suggestion, sir, but I think we should at least consider it.'

There was a long silence. Jonathan was slightly embarrassed by what he was about to say and needed time to work up to it. He prefaced his remarks with a sincere apology.

'If I malign the lady, I'm deeply sorry because I don't intend to cast aspersions on her. But when I think of that fine house, one suspicion does cross my mind.'

'Some anonymous benefactor maintains her in it?'

'That, too, is possible,' he conceded. 'From what you tell me, there seem to be a number of "benefactors" in Mrs Gow's life. We're on our way to meet one of them now, and others lurk on every side. Mrs Gow doesn't seem unduly concerned about her marital vows.'

'So what's your suspicion?'

'A fleeting thought, no more.'

'Well?'

'Could it be that Mrs Gow was not really abducted at all, sir?'

'Of course she was!'

'I wonder.'

'You heard the coachman.'

'Oh, Mr Trigg believes that she was kidnapped. He bears the bruises to prove it. But what if the lady devised the whole scheme herself? What if she sacrificed her coachman to achieve her end?'

'And that is?'

'To secure money, sir. Money to sustain her in the style that she prefers. We only know of the ransom note to His Majesty. Suppose that some of her other "benefactors" have received demands for lesser amounts? If only a few of them were frightened into paying, Mrs Gow would make a handsome profit on the scheme.' He sensed Christopher's disapproval. 'I know it's unjust to hold someone I've never met in such low esteem, but she wouldn't be the first woman to attempt such a cunning trick.'

'You're forgetting two things, Mr Bale.'

'Am I?'

'It's not just Harriet Gow's disappearance that we investigate. There's your erstwhile friend, Mary Hibbert, as well. Unless you think that she's in on this conspiracy?'

'No, sir. I'd absolve her of any duplicity.'

'Then why was she snatched from the house?'

'Can we be sure that she was, sir?'

'Roland Trigg had no doubts.'

'I have a few about him.'

'Then there was Peter Hibbert.'

'He was a frightened boy, thrown into a panic. I can see how it must have looked to Peter and to Mr Trigg, but the open door of a house is not conclusive evidence of a kidnap.'

'Granted. But it's part of a distinct pattern.'

'Is it?'

'You remarked a moment ago how grand the house was. Would anyone be careless enough to leave such a property unlocked and at the mercy of any passer-by?'

'No, Mr Redmayne.'

'The other factor you overlook concerns my brother.'

'I knew nothing of his plight when I first had these thoughts.'

'Well, you do now, so ask yourself a question. If this is all a game concocted by a grasping woman to squeeze money out of her lovers, why does she need to have a blameless individual like Henry battered to the ground?' Anger showed through. 'Another trick to convince us? That would be taking verisimilitude too far!'

'My suspicions are obviously unfounded.'

'I think they are, Mr Bale.'

'Pretend I never put them into words.'

'Very well. They annoy me greatly.'

'The truth is that I've never encountered a lady like Mrs Gow before, sir. You can guess at my views on the theatre. I revile it, hence I'm bound to have prejudices against anyone who works in such a place. Unjust ones, I daresay, but nonetheless real.'

'You were right to tell me.'

'I withdraw all that I said.'

'No need.'

'I was too quick to think the worst of her.'

'Harriet Gow is no saint,' Christopher admitted with a sigh. 'That's what makes this case so baffling. Most people are content to find one person to love them. Mrs Gow obviously enjoys having several admirers at her feet. In fact, the more we delve into her private life, the greater their number seems to be. Without knowing it, Mr Hartwell may have coined the perfect name for her.'

'Mr Hartwell, sir?'

'Jasper Hartwell,' explained Christopher. 'The man for whom I've designed a house. If only I had the time to watch it being built! He, too, has more than a passing interest in Harriet Gow and his description may turn out to be the most apt.'

'What was it?'

'He called her a nightingale.'

'A nightingale?'

'An amorous nightingale.'

Harriet Gow had never felt less amorous in her entire life. Locked in a dark cellar, deprived of the comforts she had enjoyed before, shorn of the company of the one person who had restored her spirits, she was now quite desolate. Uncertainty about Mary Hibbert continued to plague her. The later it got, the more fearsome her imaginings. Recriminations scalded their way through her mind. It was too long a time. If Mary had managed to get away to raise the alarm, help would surely have arrived by now. But none came. None might ever come. Wrapping her arms tightly around her body, she sat in the chair and wondered who could be inflicting such torture on her and to what end.

Did someone really hate her so much? Who could it be? As she addressed herself to the problem yet again, the same names flitted past. The men who bore them might have cause to resent her, but would they subject her to such pain and indignity? Harriet could not accept it. Accustomed to being loved and desired, she could not believe that anyone could detest her enough to abduct and imprison her. what was the next stage in her humiliation? How soon would it come?

In a vain attempt to cheer herself up, she tried to concentrate on happier times, on the charmed life she led, on her status as Harriet Gow, actress and singer, on her recurring triumphs in the theatre and her effortless conquests outside it, on her reputation. She was the mistress of a King, his unsurpassed favourite. She was at the height of her powers in the theatre. Such memories only served to throw her present situation into relief. Instead of lying in the luxury of the royal bed, she was sharing a cellar with the stink of damp and the scrabbling of a rat. Had she risen so high to be hurled down so low?

Snatching at her memories, she clung to the moment when she had been feted as Aspatia, the forlorn lover in The Maid's Tragedy. The thunderous applause still echoed in her ears. She had won the hearts of her audience. Her plaintive lament had ensnared a King and enchanted scores of other men. Yet her beautiful voice was meaningless now. This was something which brought the most anguish. Harriet Gow, the theatre's own nightingale, had a horrid fear that she would never be able to sing again.

William Chiffinch's lodging was close to the Privy Stairs, the usual mode of access for ladies on clandestine excursions to the Palace. Meeting them as they alighted from their boat, Chiffinch could conduct them discreetly into the building and along to His Majesty's apartments, next to which his own were conveniently set. Speed of entry and secrecy of movement were assured. When opportunity presented itself, Chiffinch was not above making use of the route for his own purposes. A man so dedicated to the King was bound to ape him in some ways.

He was not lurking near the Privy Stairs now. When the coach at last arrived, he intercepted it at the Palace Gate and took charge of its occupants. Accompanied by two servants with torches, the three men walked past the Banqueting Hall and briskly on towards the Chapel. Unhappy at being back on what he felt was polluted ground, Jonathan maintained a sullen silence. He left it to Christopher to tender their joint apologies.

'You're unconscionably late, sirs,' said Chiffinch sharply.

'We were delayed.'

'That much is obvious, Mr Redmayne.'

'The cause may not be,' said Christopher. 'My brother, Henry, was the victim of a violent assault today. When the message arrived at my house, I was away in Bedford Street.'

'That's no excuse, sir.' Chiffinch was unmoved by the mention of the attack on Henry Redmayne. 'You should have made more haste.'

'Mr Bale took some persuading to come.'

'Indeed?'

'But, as you see, he is here. As am I, Mr Chiffinch. We're sorry for any delay but it could not be helped. I do hope that His Majesty will forgive us.'

'His Majesty is in no position to do so.'

'Why not?'

'He is not here at present.'

'But the letter was signed by him.'

'At my request.'

'We haven't been brought here to see His Majesty, then?'

'You were summoned,' said the other. 'That was enough.'

Reaching the Chapel, they shed the two servants and stepped into an anteroom that was lit by candles and perfumed with frankincense. Jonathan was ill at ease. Chiffinch scrutinised him for a moment.

'So you are Constable Bale,' he said at length.

'Yes, sir.'

'And you have misgivings about coming here?'

'Several, sir.'

'Don't waste my time by telling me what they are, Mr Bale, for they would bore me to distraction. They are, in any case, irrelevant.' He inhaled deeply and tried to bring his guest to heel. 'You're here at my behest. I serve the interests of His Majesty. They are paramount here.'

'I disagree,' said Jonathan.

'It is not a permitted option.'

'I'd have thought the safety of two women came before all else, Mr Chiffinch. With respect, that's what brought me here tonight. Not the interests of His Majesty.'

'Those interests are bound up with the abduction.'

'That's a private matter, sir.'

'Is he always so quarrelsome?' asked Chiffinch, turning to his other visitor. 'I wonder that you managed to get him into the coach.'

'It took some doing,' said Christopher with an affectionate glance at Jonathan. 'Mr Bale has a poor memory. He has to be reminded who sits on the throne of England.'

'I've no need to be told that!' retorted Jonathan mutinously.

'I spoke in jest.'

'It was out of place,' reprimanded Chiffinch. 'Indeed, bandying words like this is somewhat unseemly in the circumstances. I'm sure you've realised that only an event of some magnitude would oblige me to bring the two of you here like this. We have heard from the kidnappers.'

'So did my brother.'

'I'm sorry to learn of his beating, Mr Redmayne. Please convey my sympathy to him - though I cannot imagine why they should single out a man who is not engaged in this investigation beyond the status of a go-between.' An eyebrow rose enquiringly. 'Unless, of course, he'd been promoted against my instructions to a higher position?'

'He was attacked. That is all that concerns me.'

'Quite rightly. You're his brother. However,' he said, looking from one man to the other, 'we're not here to listen to a report on Henry Redmayne's condition, distressing as it may be. Something even more disturbing confronts us. A message has been sent.'

'May we read it?' said Christopher.

'It did not come in the form of words, I'm afraid. Their calligraphy was rather more vivid this time. Follow me, gentlemen.'

He crossed to a door, opened it gently then led them through into a small chamber. Even on a warm night, the place felt chill. There was a stone slab in the middle of the room. Lying on top of it, covered in a shroud, was a dead body. Candles had been set at the head and foot of the corpse. Herbs had been scattered to sweeten the atmosphere. A compassionate Jesus Christ gazed down sadly from His cross on the wall.

'The body was delivered at the Privy Stairs,' said Chiffinch.

'It came here by boat?' asked Christopher.

'So we assume.'

'Did nobody see it arrive?'

'We've yet to locate a witness.'

Jonathan stared at the slab. 'Is it Mrs Gow?'

'No, thank heaven!'

'Then who?'

'We don't rightly know, Mr Bale. That's why I sent for you and Mr Redmayne. I hoped that you might throw some light on her identity.'

Jonathan exchanged a worried look with Christopher.

'Her?' he repeated.

'It's the body of a young woman.'

Chiffinch was too squeamish a man to view the corpse himself. Taking the edge of the shroud fastidiously in his fingers, he drew it back to expose the head of the victim. Christopher was shocked to see such an attractive young woman on a slab in a morgue but he had no inkling who she might be. Jonathan recognised her immediately.

'Mary Hibbert!' he gasped.

'Are you sure?' said Chiffinch.

'No doubt about it, poor girl.' He bent anxiously over the body. 'What did they do to her?'

'Her neck was broken,' explained the other, not daring to look down. 'That's why the head is at such an unnatural angle and why… those other features present themselves.' He twitched the shroud back over the girl and wiped his hand on his thigh. 'It's a small consolation, I know, but the physician who examined her assured me that she would have died almost instantly. There'd have been little suffering.'

Jonathan was roused. 'Mary Hibbert ends up on a slab and you tell me there was little suffering?' he said with vehemence. 'Look at her, Mr Chiffinch. The girl was murdered. Did you see a smile on her face?'

'Perhaps we should discuss this outside,' suggested Christopher.

'I was about to say the same thing,' said Chiffinch gratefully, taking them back into the anteroom before shutting the door behind him. 'I didn't mean to offend you by my remark, Mr Bale. I merely passed on what the physician told me. I was as stunned as you when I first saw the unfortunate creature. It was an appalling sight.'

'She was such a lovely girl,' said Jonathan.

'Maidservant to Mrs Gow,' explained his companion to Chiffinch. 'We had some indication that she might have been abducted yesterday from her house but we never anticipated this.'

Jonathan shook his head. 'How could anyone do such a thing?'

'It's one more crime to add to their account.'

'A harmless child like that.'

'Did you know her well?' asked Chiffinch.

Christopher took over again. 'The Hibbert family used to live in Constable Bale's ward. They were neighbours of his. He'd seen Mary and her brother, Peter, grow up. They were friends. I met the boy myself. He was proud of his sister. She'd done extremely well for herself to secure a position with Mrs Gow.'

'Too well,' said Jonathan, bitterly. 'Look where it got her.'

'It's a tragedy,' agreed Christopher.

'Peter will have to be told.'

'That's out of the question,' said Chiffinch.

'You can't keep this from them, sir. Not from her relatives. They've a right to know what happened to Mary.'

'In time, perhaps.'

'No, at the earliest opportunity.'

'Discretion must be our watchword, Mr Bale. If we voice this abroad, we only endanger the whole investigation. The ransom note insisted on total secrecy. This regrettable event stresses that point.'

'Regrettable event!' said Jonathan, rounding on him. 'Mary Hibbert has been brutally murdered, sir. That fact may not trouble your mind overmuch but her brother will be shattered.

So will her uncle and aunt. They'll see it as more than a cause for regret, I can tell you.'

'Calm down, Mr Bale, I pray you.'

'Then show some more respect for the dead.'

'We must temper respect with expediency.'

'I agree with Mr Bale,' said Christopher. 'The girl's family deserve to know the worst. It's a cruelty to keep it from them.'

'A necessary one.'

'No, Mr Chiffinch. The body should be released.'

'It must be,' affirmed Jonathan. 'I see your objection, sir, but it can be answered. The true facts must not be leaked out. Nor need they be. Peter can be told that his sister met with an unlucky accident. I'll pass on the same tidings to Mary's uncle and aunt. It will spare them some of the anguish but it will also enable the girl to have a decent burial.'

'I support Mr Bale to the hilt,' said Christopher.

'We won't be denied.'

Chiffinch was nonplussed for once. He had not expected to meet such united opposition. Skilled in the issue of orders, he was used to obedience. He was less adept at coping with blank refusal. He eyed Jonathan with an amalgam of irritation and interest.

'Could you really persuade them that the girl died by accident?' he said. 'Can you soften the truth so effectively?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Jonathan. 'My work has often required me to break bad news to relatives. I'll find the right words.'

'Trust him, Mr Chiffinch,' urged Christopher.

'It looks as if I may have to,' said the other with slight asperity. He reached a decision. 'Very well, Mr Bale. Take charge of the arrangements. Tell me where the body is to be sent and it will be released.'

'Thank you, sir.'

Chiffinch saw an advantage. 'It will at least solve the problem of what we should do with it,' he said with relief. 'We could hardly keep it here indefinitely. Exercise prudence, that's all I ask, Mr Bale. Be politic in what you say.'

A brief nod. 'May I spend a little time with Mary, sir?'

'You want to go in there again?' asked a shocked Chiffinch.

'Please, sir. Alone.'

'That is more than I would care to do.'

'Mary Hibbert was a friend, Mr Chiffinch. I'd like to pay my respects. I'd also like to take a closer look at her injuries. You may be repelled by death but I've looked upon it many times in my walk of life. There may be signs I can pick up, little clues that could have eluded your physician.' He moved towards the door. 'May I have your permission?'

But he did not wait for it to be granted. Letting himself into the morgue, he closed the door silently behind him. Chiffinch gave a slight grimace and looked across at Christopher.

'Mr Bale is a strange man,' he remarked.

'You won't find a more honest or reliable fellow.'

'A touch of deference might improve his character.'

'Try telling him that,' suggested Christopher with a smile.

'He seems to think he's a law unto himself.'

'Oh, he is. Without question.'

'Be that as it may,' said Chiffinch sternly, 'I am glad of a moment alone with you. Unlike the constable, you appreciate His Majesty's deep personal interest in this matter. He's displeased, Mr Redmayne. Progress in such a short time was too much to expect, but he did want a report from you. Yet we heard not a word.'

'I was too preoccupied with the search.'

'A maidservant abducted, a brother attacked. These are not minor matters. We should have been informed of them. What else have you been keeping from us?'

'Nothing of note.'

'Where has your investigation led you?'

Christopher gave him a brief account of progress so far, omitting any reference to Jonathan's earlier refusal to help and instead praising the constable for his readiness. He listed the names that Henry had collected during his researches at the theatre and mentioned the curious fact Jonathan had unearthed in the Red Lion. William Chiffinch was intrigued.

'Bartholomew Gow?' 'Apparently he lives somewhere in the lane.'

'Why should his wife be going to see him?' asked the other. 'The two of them have parted. It's against nature. Ladies like Harriet Gow do not have assignations with discarded husbands.'

'We have no proof that she did on this occasion.'

'But it's a worrying coincidence.'

'That's why we mean to look into it.'

'Her coach is ambushed close to Mr Gow's house? That can surely be no accident, Mr Redmayne. Find the man.'

'We mean to, sir.'

'And send a report to me when you do.'

Christopher nodded. Jonathan Bale came out of the room, face ashen and head lowered. Whatever he had learned during his vigil, he was keeping to himself. Chiffinch did not press him. Escorting the two men out, he handed them over to the waiting servants whose torches lit their way back to the coach. It was only when the vehicle was well clear of the Palace that Jonathan broke his silence.

'I'm ashamed of myself, Mr Redmayne,' he admitted.

'Ashamed?'

'Of those suspicions I had. Mrs Gow is a true victim, I concede that now. An unscrupulous woman might try to trick money out of the men in her life but she would never go to these lengths.' A deep sigh escaped him. 'Mary Hibbert loved working for Mrs Gow. It shone out of her. And it was obvious that her mistress treated her well. She would never be party to what happened to the girl.'

'The same fate may befall Harriet Gow if we don't find her soon.'

'We'll find her,' vowed Jonathan, 'and the men who killed Mary Hibbert. I've a word or two to say to them on her behalf.'

'So have I,' said Christopher, gritting his teeth. 'They're the same villains who attacked my brother, remember.'

'Callous rogues, sir. Far too fond of those cudgels.'

'What do you mean?'

'You didn't see Mary's body, sir,' said Jonathan quietly. 'I did. I felt dreadful, having to look at her lying naked on that slab. But it had to be done. The physician was lying, Mr Redmayne.'

'What do you mean?'

'Mary suffered a great deal. Her whole body was covered in bruises where she'd been cudgelled unmercifully. I think she was beaten to death. My guess is that they only broke her neck afterwards. These men are animals,' he said with rancour. 'They didn't just murder the girl. They enjoyed it.'