The Amorous Nightingale

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.

Trigg worked quickly. He had somewhere to go.

'Why have you come to me?' said Bartholomew Gow irritably. 'I told Constable Bale all that I knew.'

'Yes,' said Christopher. 'He was struck by your honesty.'

'Why bother me again?'

'Because we thought you might actually be interested to know if your wife had been found and released yet.'

'Has she?' asked Gow with delayed eagerness.

'Unfortunately not.'

'Where is Harriet?'

'I'm hoping that you might be able to tell us, Mr Gow.'

'How would I know?'

The estranged husband was disconcerted when two visitors called at that time of the evening. Forced to invite them into the shabby little house, he was determined to send them on their way as soon as possible. Since there were only two seats in the room, Jonathan Bale remained standing. Christopher took the chair opposite his host. Sensing his reluctance to help, he tried to impress upon him the gravity of the situation.

'Mrs Gow is in serious danger, sir.'

'It's not my doing.'

'Don't you care?' he chided. 'Does your wife's safety merit no more than an afterthought? Mr Bale may have told you about the abduction but there are other crimes involved here.'

'There are,' agreed Jonathan, signalled into the conversation. 'Mr Redmayne's own brother was viciously assaulted and an even worse fate was visited on Mary Hibbert.'

'Mary?' said Gow. 'Harriet's maid?'

'She'll not be able to serve your wife any more, sir.'

'Why not?'

'She was beaten to death.'

Gow paled. 'She was murdered?'

'Now you see what we're up against, sir.'

'But why? Who could want to kill a girl like Mary Hibbert?'

'Their names are Smeek and Froggatt,' said Christopher, taking over again. 'Thanks to Mr Bale, both of them are in Newgate, awaiting trial. But they're only hired villains. We still don't know the name of the man who paid them to kidnap your wife.'

He gave Bartholomew Gow a few moments to absorb the new information. It made him thoughtful and uneasy. He looked at his two visitors with a degree of welcome.

'How can I help?' he offered.

'By giving us some names,' said Christopher.

'Names?'

'Yes, Mr Gow. We've been compiling lists of your wife's friends and enemies. To be honest, we weren't quite sure which category you fell into yourself. Perhaps neither.'

'I want Harriet to be saved,' affirmed Gow.

'Then we're working to the same end. The names we have were all suggested by people at the theatre. We wondered if you might add one or two more to the list. I know this must be embarrassing for you,' said Christopher delicately, 'and I apologise for that. What I can promise you is that Constable Bale and I will be very discreet.'

'It's too late in the day for discretion,' said the other wearily. 'Why try to hide it? Everyone knows that I'm the cuckolded husband of a famous actress. You want me to identify my wife's lovers, is that it?'

Jonathan shifted his feet, fearing what he was about to hear.

'I understand,' said Christopher, 'that some of her admirers gave her gifts and that she built up quite a collection.'

'That's right. I was part of it once.'

'I've told Mr Redmayne about your situation,' said Jonathan.

'I was squeezed dry and cast aside,' returned Gow. 'I couldn't afford to keep Harriet in the style she came to prefer so I was pushed out. Things went from bad to worse after that. I made some unwise investments, lost most of what little money I had, and am now reduced to living in this pig sty. It's demoralising.'

'What's your legal situation?' asked Christopher.

'I'm still trying to find out. My lawyer, Obadiah Shann, assures me that I can make a claim against Harriet but he's yet to explain how. I thought a wife was supposed to be part of a husband's chattels. Not mine. I was the chattel in that marriage. When she started to develop her collection, she tossed me out altogether.'

'Tell us about this collection,' encouraged Christopher.

'It began with small gifts. Baskets of flowers and so on. Then we were invited out together to dine but that didn't last,' he said ruefully. 'Harriet preferred to dine alone with her admirers. After that, the gifts became much more expensive. Sir Roger Mulberry gave her a necklace that must have cost all of two hundred pounds. Lord Clayborne gave her jewellery worth even more. And so her collection built until she had one of the most lavish gifts of all.'

'What was that, Mr Gow?'

'Somewhere in which to display it.'

'The house near St James's Square?'

'That came with royal compliments,' said Gow. 'How could a man of my means compete with all that? Harriet had already worked her way through most of my money. I couldn't buy her costly rings or fine clothes or a palatial house. And I certainly couldn't afford to buy her a coach.'

'A coach, sir?' said Jonathan, ears alerted.

'It was something she'd always wanted. Harriet pined for her own coach so that she could travel wherever she wanted. It was a gift that she cherished. He must have been besotted with her to spend that kind of money on her.'

'Who?' asked Christopher.

'Sir Godfrey Armadale.'

'He was one of your wife's admirers?'

'Among the most ardent,' explained the other. 'But Harriet only teased him. Sir Godfrey never got the rewards he was after from her. That's why his name probably won't appear on any of your lists. When she had what she wanted, Harriet discarded him.'

'Yet she kept the coach?'

'Oh, yes. And the coachman he'd provided.'

'Roland Trigg?'

'That's the fellow.'

Christopher did not need to exchange a glance with Jonathan.

'Surly beggar,' continued Gow. 'I had a few scuffles with him. When I tried to call at the house, Harriet told him to move me on. Trigg enjoyed doing that. He was her coachman and her bodyguard.'

'I suspect that he was something else besides,' said Christopher, standing to leave. 'Come, Mr Bale. I think we should pay a visit to Rider Street. Trigg has some explaining to do.' He paused at the door. 'One final thing, Mr Gow.'

'Yes?'

'Abigail Saunders met you in Locket's recently.'

'I remember, Mr Redmayne. I was dining with my lawyer. He was paying or I'd have been eating in a more modest establishment.'

'Miss Saunders was much taken with a remark you made.'

'What was that?'

'You told her that she might have an opportunity to replace your wife because Mrs Gow was going to be indisposed for a while. Do you recall saying that?'

'Yes. But I was only passing on what I'd just heard.'

'From whom?'

'Trigg,' said the other. 'I called at the house that morning but he sent me packing in no uncertain terms. And he warned me not to come back because Harriet would be going away for a while.' 'Going away?'

'That's all he said, Mr Redmayne.'

Christopher and Jonathan left at speed. The visit to Clerkenwell had delivered far more than they had dared to hope. As they headed off to their next destination, Jonathan was even starting to enjoy the ride.

Henry Redmayne was caught offguard for the second time. Wielded by his father, the cudgels were only verbal but they hurt just as much. The Dean of Gloucester strode without warning into the room to find his elder son, wide awake, sitting up in bed with a goblet of wine in his hand.

'Saints preserve us!' exclaimed the old man.

'Father!' said Henry, choking on his wine.

'I expected to find you fast asleep.'

'I expected that you'd be closeted with the Archbishop.'

'Indeed, I was,' explained the other, 'but I was worried about you and decided to make one last call before I retired. And what do I find, Henry? You are sitting up in bed with a smile on your face, consuming a goblet of wine.'

'A cordial, Father,' lied Henry, swallowing the dregs before his visitor could examine them more closely. 'A cordial prescribed by the physician to ease the pain.'

'What about the sleeping draught? That was supposed to have been prescribed by your physician as well.'

'Its effect somehow wore off.'

'You've been deceiving me, sir!' snapped his father.

'Why would I do that?'

'For some dark purpose that I intend to root out.'

'There is no dark purpose,' argued Henry. 'I've never had a dark purpose in my entire life. Ask Christopher. I'm the most opaque of men.'

'You pretended to be weaker than you really are in order to evade my enquiries about what actually happened to you. That is an act of gross deception. I feel betrayed, Henry.'

'You've no need, Father.'

'Thank goodness I had the impulse to call back here!'

'How was it that my servant didn't warn me of your arrival?'

'Because I ordered him not to,' explained the other. 'I wanted to steal upon you unannounced. In the event, it was a revelation.'

'That's not what I'd call it,' said Henry to himself, vowing to dismiss the servant who had allowed the parental assault on him. 'The truth is that I do feel slightly better, though my ribs still hurt whenever I breathe in. But my brain is still clouded.'

'With too much drink, probably.'

'Father!' he protested.

But he could not head off another sermon from the county of Gloucestershire. Delivered with blistering force, it left Henry stunned. He was not simply castigated for trying to deceive his father. All his other perceived or alleged faults were used to beat him into total submission. Henry was too cowed to defend himself. When the punishment had been delivered, Algernon Redmayne remembered his other son.

'Where is Christopher?' he said.

'Busy with his own affairs.'

'His place is here, beside you.'

'Oh, he's been very attentive,' said Henry, glad to shift the parental gaze away from himself. 'As it happens, Christopher was here earlier this evening with Constable Bale.'

'A constable? Why was he here? To arrest you?'

'No, Father. To bring me the glad tidings that the two men who attacked me were now in custody.'

'That is the first piece of good news I have heard since I entered this house. Was this constable instrumental in the arrests?'

'He overpowered both men.'

'Then I would like to speak to him. Having questioned the two villains, he will be able to give me more details of the assault than the victim is prepared to divulge.'

'My memory is still uncertain.'

'Then let me jog it for you, Henry.'

'It is not in the mood to be jogged,' said the patient, recoiling as his father bent over him with an interrogatory glare. 'I feel drowsy again. Wait until morning, please. I may then be more coherent.'

Algernon Redmayne's face was a mask of determination.

'I would appreciate some coherence now,' he said.

They arrived at Harriet Gow's house in Rider Street as night was starting to wrap a blanket of darkness around it. No candles burned within. Christopher Redmayne dismounted to knock at the door but there was no reply. Getting down from his own horse, Jonathan Bale led it down the side of the building to the stable. Both doors had been left wide open as if by a sudden departure. There was no sign of coach or horses.

'Trigg's got away!' said Jonathan in disgust.

'Only because he realised that the net was closing in on him. By the look of it, he cleared off while he still could.'

'He should be in Newgate with Smeek and Froggatt.'

'Oh, I agree,' said Christopher. 'He's the key figure. Our helpful coachman was helping someone else all the time. No wonder the villains knew who was on their tail. And no wonder Trigg could be so certain that Mary Hibbert was abducted. He was party to the kidnap. We were well and truly hoodwinked, Mr Bale. That beating he took made me think that Roland Trigg was a hapless victim.'

'That was the intention, sir,' said Jonathan. 'But I suspect that the kidnap didn't quite go to plan. Trigg was supposed to have been overpowered without being seriously hurt, but someone was too zealous with his cudgel.'

'Ben Froggatt, most likely.'

'That's why Trigg attacked him - to get his own back for a beating he shouldn't have taken. He didn't chance upon Froggatt in the Hope and Anchor at all. It was their regular meeting place: he knew they'd be there.' He gave a grim chuckle. 'Do you know what I'd like to do when I catch up with him?'

'What?'

'Throw him into a cell with Froggatt.'

'What a friendly conversation that might provoke!' Christopher reviewed the evidence. 'At least we now know why he wouldn't tell us where the coach was headed when it was ambushed. It was in Greer Lane by design - at a time when Mrs Gow would normally expect to visit Martin Eldridge.'

'Posing as her husband.'

'But he wasn't there. Mrs Gow didn't know that, of course. She didn't send Trigg to call off the arrangement with Mr Eldridge. She believed that she was on her way to meet him. Whereas, in fact,' he said with a grudging admiration, 'an ambush had been cunningly arranged. Trigg made sure that Mr Eldridge was out of the way then pretended to defend Mrs Gow when the coach was attacked. I blame myself for not suspecting Trigg earlier,' he confessed. 'I should've listened to Jacob.'

'Jacob?'

'My servant. In all the years I've known him, he's never uttered a crude word, yet Roland Trigg had him bawling obscenities like a drunken mariner. Jacob knew,' said Christopher. 'It's like a dog whose fur stands up instinctively when a plausible stranger walks into a house. I should have listened to Jacob's bark.'

'We were both taken in.'

'But we're on the right track now. That's obvious.'

'What do we do next, Mr Redmayne?'

'Nothing until first light, I'm afraid. My initial thought was that we should leave for Richmond at dawn.'

'I'll be ready, sir. Even though I dread the ride.'

'What I dread is following a false trail,' said Christopher. 'Trigg has laid quite a few for us in the past few days. I thought the name of Sir Godfrey Armadale might be significant until he assured me that the man had moved away to Devon. That was all a ruse.'

'I think we'll find Sir Godfrey in Richmond.'

'Along with Mrs Gow, if we're lucky.'

'If your brother will loan me the horse, I'll be ready at dawn.'

'Not so fast, Mr Bale,' warned Christopher. 'We don't want to go galloping around Richmond until we have more precise directions as to where Sir Godfrey lives.'

'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.'

Trigg grinned. 'I thought you'd like it back, Sir Godfrey.'

A reluctant smile flitted across Armadale's face.

'I do,' he conceded. 'I've waited too long to get it.'

'There's something inside for you as well,' said the coachman, opening the door. 'Go on, Sir Godfrey. Take that sack out.'

'Why?'

'Look inside it.'

Armadale prodded the sack with his whip then lifted it out of the coach to set it on the ground. When he opened it to peer inside, he was dumbstruck. Trigg enjoyed seeing the expression of amazement on his face. He smirked energetically.

'Well, Sir Godfrey?'

'Perhaps you're not as stupid as you look.'

'I felt that Mrs Gow owed it to us.'

The change of horses made all the difference. Christopher Redmayne rode the high-spirited bay mare from his brother's stable and gave his own horse to Jonathan Bale. The constable was far happier sitting astride a more obedient animal with a comfortable gait. Though the long ride tested his buttocks, he willingly endured the twinges of pain. Stopping at a tavern near Kew, they were given directions to Armadale Manor. It was less than a mile away. As soon as it came into view, Christopher saw what his client had meant about its grotesque aspect. Even from a distance, Armadale Manor was ugly.

Built out of sandstone almost a century earlier, it had none of the symmetry and beauty of a typical Elizabethan country mansion. A new wing had been added with hideous brickwork whose bright colour clashed with the gentle red hue of the facade. The upper part of the house had been restored by a slipshod builder who had made little effort to make his work blend in harmoniously. Other features of the house were even more unsightly. The architectural values that Christopher held most dear seemed to have been flouted.

'Who could live in such a repulsive house?' he asked.

'A repulsive man,' said Jonathan.

'At least we know that this is the right place.'

'How is that, Mr Redmayne?'

Christopher pointed. 'Look at the coach outside the stables. Isn't that the one belonging to Mrs Gow?' he asked. 'Trigg must be here.'

'Then I'll be happy to meet him again.'

Careful not to announce their arrival too soon, they tethered their horses among the trees and proceeded on foot. Jonathan worked his way round to the rear of the house. Christopher waited until his companion was in position before breaking his cover and strolling up the drive to the front door. The sound of the bell brought a servant into view.

'My name is Christopher Redmayne,' announced the visitor, 'and I've come to pay my compliments to Sir Godfrey Armadale.'

'The master is not here at the moment, sir.'

'Oh dear.'

'He rode off a while ago and may not be back for some time.'

'I see,' said Christopher, recognising the man's honesty. 'In that case, I'll not linger, though I may spend a few moments looking around this magnificent pile, if I may. I'm an architect by profession. Armadale Manor is quite unlike anything I've seen before.'

'Do as you wish, sir.'

The man closed the door behind him. Christopher went past the stables and turned down the side of the house. A yell of rage made him break into a trot. When he reached the back of the property, he saw Roland Trigg lying motionless at Jonathan Bale's feet. The constable glanced down at the prone figure.

'He tried to make a run for it. I got in his way.'

'What sort of a night did she have?' asked Sir Godfrey Armadale.

'Unsettled,' said Oscott. 'We could hear her, pacing up and down in the room. She never seemed to stop, Sir Godfrey.'

'She must be exhausted after all this time.'

'So are we.'

'You'll get your reward, Arthur.'

'When?'

'Today. I've told them where and how the ransom is to be paid. It's only a question of collecting it and all our troubles are over.'

'There weren't supposed to be any troubles.'

'I blame you for those.'

Oscott tensed. 'Me, Sir Godfrey?'

'Yes. You chose Smeek and Froggatt. They were the blundering fools who let us down. However,' he said, raising his whip to silence the protest he saw forming on the other's lips, 'we must put that behind us. I don't bear grudges. Smeek and Froggatt are out of this now. That means a larger share for you and your wife.'

'Oh,' said Oscott, relaxing slightly. 'Thank you, Sir Godfrey. My wife and I are very grateful. We've had to put in more work than we thought. It's been something of a trial.'

'That goes for all of us but we've come through it.'

'When will Mrs Gow be released?'

'When the ransom money is in my hands and not before.'

'She still has no idea who organised the kidnap?'

'No - and she never will,' said Armadale with a complacent grin. 'That's the beauty of it. I get my revenge and make a small fortune into the bargain. Yet nobody will ever know about it.'

The mood of self-congratulation was immediately dispelled. Flinging open the door, Oscott's wife ran into the room in a panic.

'There's a coach coming, Sir Godfrey!' she warned.

'There can't be.'

'See for yourself.'

The two men rushed to the window and looked out. Rolling up the drive and scrunching over the gravel was a coach. Armadale recognised it at once and glared up at the man who was holding the reins.

'It's Trigg!' he yelled. 'What the devil is he doing here?'

He and Oscott rushed out to welcome the coachman but there was a shock in store for them. When the newcomer raised his hat, they saw that it was not Roland Trigg at all but a complete stranger.

Christopher Redmayne beamed down from his high eminence. After a glance at them both, he turned his smile upon the shorter.

'Sir Godfrey Armadale, I presume?'

'Who are you?' growled the other.

'Christopher Redmayne.' Both men reacted with hostility to the name. 'I've come to collect Mrs Gow in her own coach.'

'Where's Trigg?'

'Tied up inside. He's coming back to London with us.'

'You're here on your own?' said Armadale with disbelief, one hand on the hilt of his sword. 'You're very bold, Mr Redmayne.'

'Trigg assured me that there were only the two of you here,' said Christopher easily, 'and that poses no problem to me.'

'What about three men?' Drawing his sword, Armadale turned to Oscott. 'Open the coach and untie Trigg.'

Oscott moved across to the coach and saw Roland Trigg inside, bound and gagged, threshing about wildly. When he opened the door, however, he discovered that the coachman was not the only passenger. Crouched out of sight on his hands and knees, Jonathan Bale now reared up and launched himself at Oscott, knocking the man to the ground before hitting him with a relay of punches. Before Armadale could go to the man's aid, Christopher tore off the coat he had borrowed from Trigg and hurled it into Armadale's face, drawing his own sword at the same time and leaping down to circle his adversary.

'I forgot to mention that Constable Bale was with me as well,' he said, feinting with his rapier. 'He's the man who arrested Smeek and Froggatt. Now it's Arthur Oscott's turn.'

Armadale came at him but Christopher parried his thrusts with skill, dancing back out of range before circling his opponent again. Jonathan pummelled away mercilessly until Oscott groaned in agony and lapsed into unconsciousness. His wife ran to tend him, swearing at the constable then turning her ire on Armadale.

'Shut up!' he snarled. 'I'll deal with you in a minute.'

'I claim pride of place, Sir Godfrey,' said Christopher.

'Come on, then.'

'Though I think that Mr Bale would like a word with you as well. He was a friend of Mary Hibbert. Your men killed her.'

Armadale turned his head towards Jonathan who was moving cautiously towards him with a dagger in his hand. A split second was all it took for Christopher to strike. His blade flashed, its point cut into Armadale's wrist, and the latter dropped his sword with a yelp of pain. Holding his wounded wrist, he darted into the house and tried to close the door after him but Jonathan was too fast, getting a shoulder to the door and forcing it open. When Armadale ran to the stairs, Christopher caught him before he could ascend them, holding the point of his sword between the man's eyes and making it clear that he was ready to use the weapon again. Blood was now dripping freely from his adversary's wrist. There was nowhere he could go. He was trapped.

'Where is Harriet Gow?' demanded Christopher.

'She's not here.'

'Don't lie to me, Sir Godfrey.'

'We moved her this morning.'

'Where is she?'

Christopher was about to jab his swordpoint in order to encourage an answer when it came from above in the most affecting way. The song was as clear and poignant as on the first occasion he had heard it.

'My love was false, but I was firm

From my hour of birth.

Upon my buried body lie

Lightly, gentle earth.'

Christopher looked upwards. The voice was inimitable. Though it was full of sadness, it was also celebrating its release. Harriet Gow was alive. Lowering his sword, Christopher gave a disarming smile.

'I believe that you have a nightingale in the house, Sir Godfrey.'

Devoid of his beloved spaniels for once, Charles II was in a sombre frame of mind, reclining in a chair and toying idly with the purses that lay in his lap. His dark attire suggested that he might be in mourning. After tapping on the door, William Chiffinch entered with the two visitors and brought them across to the King. All three waited until he was ready to look up at them with soulful eyes. Christopher Redmayne bowed from the waist and Jonathan Bale inclined a reluctant head. Coming out of his reverie, the King rose to share a warm smile between them.

'Thank you for coming, gentlemen,' he said, one hand playing with a rogue curl on his periwig. 'I wanted to express my gratitude in person. You have done me a profound service and rescued a dear, dear lady in the process. Such courage deserves a reward.'

'I've already had mine, Your Majesty,' said Jonathan bluntly. 'Apprehending the men who killed Mary Hibbert was my reward.'

'Yes,' said the King. 'A distressing result of this very distressing business. I commend your bravery, Mr Bale.' He held out the purse. 'If you will not take the money for yourself, at least receive it on behalf of the girl's family. It might bring some small measure of relief to them.'

'Indeed it might,' admitted Jonathan, taking the purse from him. 'That's a kind thought, Your Majesty. Thank you for the suggestion.'

'How else could I get you to accept a reward from me?' He turned to Christopher. 'I hope that I meet no resistance from you, Mr Redmayne. Exceptional service deserves payment.'

'Then I gladly accept it, Your Majesty.' Christopher took the purse and gave a small bow of thanks.

'Allow me to add my own congratulations,' said Chiffinch smugly. 'You may have been dilatory in sending reports of your progress but I cannot fault your enterprise. You chose the right men, Your Majesty.'

'I always do, Will. It's my choice of ladies that sometimes lets me down. Not that I have any regrets in this case,' he said quickly, 'even though this incident has brought that phase of my life to a premature end. The lady in question has been saved. That is enough for me.'

'One was saved, Your Majesty,' Jonathan reminded him, 'but another was needlessly lost. Mary Hibbert might still be alive, had you simply paid the ransom in the first place.'

'Mr Bale!' reprimanded Chiffinch.

'His insolence has some foundation,' said the King, taking no offence. 'The girl was a friend - I appreciate his feelings. But there is a question of precedent here, Mr Bale,' he said, meeting the constable's stare. 'A man in my unique position must not give in to such demands. If I was seen to part with money in exchange for the release of a beautiful woman, we would be getting ransom notes by the day. Mrs Gow is, I have to admit, not the only remarkable lady who has attracted my interest. Besides,' he added sternly, 'I wanted the villains caught and punished. Sir Godfrey Armadale and his creatures will all swing from the gallows for daring to issue a demand to me. Their crimes are heinous.'

'Why were they committed, Your Majesty?' asked Christopher.

'Why?'

'I know that Sir Godfrey was embittered because he was rejected by Mrs Gow, but was that motive enough to put her through this ordeal?'

'No, Mr Redmayne, it was not. He had another victim in mind: one with royal blood in his veins. This whole affair has been an ordeal for me as well, as it was intended to be.'

'Did he act out of envy, then?'

'Revenge,' said the King casually. 'Sir Godfrey Armadale has been badgering me for favours ever since I returned to the throne. He's a persistent man, not easily shaken off. When he continued to pester me outrageously, I was forced to ban him from the Court. That upset him, didn't it, Will'

'Yes, Your Majesty,' said Chiffinch. 'Mightily.'

'In abducting Harriet Gow, he was hitting two birds with one stone. A nightingale and an eagle. There was a time when I thought that we might have been two turtle doves,' he mused fondly, 'but that was a cruel illusion. Enough of this or the Palace will turn into an aviary!' He gave them another smile. 'Go with my heartfelt thanks, gentlemen. I will pay you the highest compliment that I can.'

'What's that, Your Majesty?' said Christopher.

'I shall willingly employ both of you again.'

Jonathan blenched. 'Is that necessary, Your Majesty?' he said.

'I hope not, Mr Bale, but it is a comfort to know that I possess, among my subjects, two men of such rare qualities.'

'We're happy to put them at your disposal, Your Majesty,' said Christopher. He looked at Jonathan. 'Aren't we, Mr Bale?'

The nod of agreement was only achieved with great effort.

With a languid smile, the King turned away to signal that the audience was over. Chiffinch waved the visitors towards the door but Christopher was not quite ready to leave. He took a step towards the King.

'I have a favour to ask of you, Your Majesty.'

Charles turned to regard him. 'Ask it, Mr Redmayne.'

'I do so on my brother's behalf,' said Christopher. 'Henry was an enormous help to me at the start of this investigation, but he suffered badly for his involvement. He still lies on a bed of pain.'

'I'm well aware of that,' observed the King solemnly, 'and I was very impressed with your brother's fortitude. I had no idea that Henry Redmayne possessed such a strong backbone beneath that bright attire of his. The favour will be granted. What does it concern?'

Christopher licked his lips nervously before declaring himself.

'The Dean of Gloucester,' he said.

The burial service took place at the parish church where Mary Hibbert had been baptised. Only a small congregation gathered to see her take leave of her earthly existence. Peter Hibbert sat between his uncle and aunt, each supporting the other. Jonathan and Sarah Bale were behind them with a few neighbours. Nothing could alleviate the grief of the family at that moment, but at least they had been spared the full details of the girl's death. Jonathan was glad of that and pleased that he had been able to hand over the purse of money to Peter Hibbert. It was small compensation but, in a sense, it was a ransom paid by the King even if it came too late to obtain the release of a prisoner.

When the coffin was lowered into the ground, tears flowed as mourners bade their last farewells. Jonathan had to put an arm around his wife's shoulders to comfort her. Turning to leave the churchyard, he was moved to see that Christopher Redmayne had also attended the service even though he had not known the victim. But it was another mourner whose presence touched him even more. Harriet Gow stood a little distance from the grave, sobbing quietly and trying to contain her feelings of guilt. Martin Eldridge took her arm and led her gently away.

Henry Redmayne had never known such continuous pain. Trapped in his bed and harangued by his father, he came to believe that he had died and gone to Hell. The Dean of Gloucester might not be dressed as a demon but his words stung like the prongs of a white-hot fork. All that Henry could do was to squirm in agony.

'I am much displeased with you, Henry,' said his father.

'That fact has been burned into me.'

'As my elder son, you should be setting an example. Consider your younger brother. What is Christopher to think when he sees your lewd behaviour? How could he pattern himself on you?'

'With difficulty.'

'Repentance is called for, Henry.'

'Oh, I repent,' said the other with feeling. 'Believe me, Father, I'm awash with repentance. I regret so many things in my past.'

'You misled me.'

'Not deliberately.'

'You did, Henry,' returned the Dean sharply. 'All that you told me about the assault was that it took place in Drury Lane.'

'That was the truth.'

'Yes, but it was not the whole truth, was it? What you carefully omitted to tell me was that Drury Lane is the site of a theatre and that you were leaving the building when you were attacked.'

'I'll not deny it, Father.'

'Why did you enter such a sinful place?'

'Of necessity.'

'Driven by uncontrollable desires?'

'Not exactly,' said Henry, trying to keep him at bay. 'But I wouldn't have gone there of my own volition. You're so right, Father. Corruption breeds inside a theatre. I thank God that I take no pleasure in the sight of young women disporting themselves on the stage or, what is worse, wearing masks so that they may mingle unrecognised among the wilder gentlemen in the audience to excite their passions.'

Algernon Redmayne clutched at the crucifix around his neck.

'Immorality on such a scale? Is that what happens?'

'I didn't stay long enough to find out, Father. My purpose in going was simply to speak to the manager and not to watch the play.'

'Then you didn't lurch drunkenly out into the street from an orgy?'

'If only there'd been one at hand!' said Henry to himself.

'Speak up!'

'Thank the Lord!'

Henry's exclamation was not in response to his father. It was provoked by the arrival of his brother, who tapped on the door and let himself into the bedchamber. Greetings were exchanged. When he had enquired after the patient's condition, Christopher offered something to his father. The Dean of Gloucester looked suspiciously at the missive.

'What is this?' he asked.

'A letter,' said Christopher, handing it to him.

'From whom?'

'Look at the seal.'

'By Heaven!' said his father, glancing down. 'It's from the King.'

'I had an audience with him only this morning.'

'You see, Henry?' said the old man, opening the letter. 'Your brother has been summoned to the Palace. Think of the honour that bestows on the family. Why can't you bring such lustre to the name of Redmayne?' He read the letter slowly then let out a cry of surprise. 'Oh, dear boy,' he apologised, reaching out to touch Henry's arm. 'I've wronged you. Now I see why you concealed so much from me. I have the details here,' he said, raising the letter. 'In the King's own hand.'

Henry caught Christopher's eye and received a reassuring wink.

'What does His Majesty say?' said Henry, tentatively.

'The truth,' replied his father. 'When you were assaulted, you were engaged in secret affairs of state. Your bravery is commended. This is a signal honour, Henry. I take back all that I said about you. Well, most of it, anyway. I misjudged you horribly.'

'His Majesty asked me to pass on his personal thanks, Henry,' said Christopher. 'Without you, we'd never have achieved the result that we did. You were superb. I'll strive to model myself on you.'

'Did you hear that, Father?' said Henry, basking in the praise.

'I heard and I saw,' answered the old man, clutching the letter as if it were the tablet containing the Ten Commandments. 'I must show this to the Archbishop. Royal favour displayed to both my sons! That will send me back to Gloucester a contented man.'

'As long as it sends you back there,' murmured Henry.

There was a flurry of farewells as the Dean took his leave.

'I'd have been here earlier,' explained Christopher, 'but I went to Mary Hibbert's funeral.'

'Had you come any later, it might have been Henry Redmayne's funeral. Father almost talked me to death. Thank you for rescuing me, Christopher. Now, what news?'

'You know the bulk of it. The villains are all in Newgate and a woman in Greer Lane is answering awkward questions about the fact that the man who lodged in her upstairs room was the fourth rogue involved in the ambush. Harriet Gow has her stolen property back, I can at last concentrate on my house and Mr Bale can pound the streets of Baynard's Castle Ward again. He was so kind to Peter Hibbert at the church,' he remembered. 'You'd have thought the lad was his own son. Oh, and one big surprise. Mrs Gow turned up there as well.'

'Quite rightly. Mary Hibbert was in service with her.'

'The real surprise came from her choice of companion.'

'It wasn't her husband, was it?'

'No, Henry,' said his brother, 'but it was a Bartholomew Gow. He goes by the name of Martin Eldridge. I think that this experience has taught our nightingale the hazards of consorting with exalted company. She may be better off with a humble actor.' He gave a sympathetic smile. 'It's going to be a huge disappointment for Jasper Hartwell.'

'Why?'

'He's so infatuated with her that he conceived the absurd notion of somehow dissolving her marriage in order to make her his wife.'

Henry was aghast. 'Jasper Hartwell married to Harriet Gow! That's obscene, Christopher. It's like the Dean of Gloucester marrying the Queen of Sheba. In fact, I'd say that Father probably has more chance of being accepted than the idiotic Jasper ever will.'

'I'm sure that Mrs Gow will let him down lightly.'

'What sane woman would marry a ginger periwig on legs?'

'Don't mock my client. I need him.'

'I know what I need,' said Henry lecherously, 'but how can I have it when I'm in this condition? It's so unfair. I've just survived three hours of Father in homiletic vein. I need someone to cheer me up.'

'The lady will be here in due course, Henry.'

'Lady?'

'Well, you don't think I forgot to mention you, did you?' said Christopher. 'Harriet Gow showered Mr Bale and me with thanks. I didn't want you to miss out on the praise so I told her how you took a dreadful beating on her behalf.'

'And?'

'She insisted on coming to see you this very evening.'

'Harriet Gow?' Henry was glowing. 'Alone in my bedchamber?'

'Just the two of you.'

'Wonder of wonders!'

'Ask her nicely and she might even sing you a lullaby.'

'That would thrill me more than anything else.'

'What would?'

'To listen to my own amorous nightingale.'

A mischievous thought put a broad grin on Christopher's face.

'We could invite Father here to share the experience,' he said.

Henry Redmayne laughed so much that his ribs ached for an hour.