The Amorous Nightingale

Chapter Five

It was an afternoon of mixed fortunes for Jonathan Bale. Though he cleverly apprehended the thief who broke into unoccupied premises in Knightrider Street, he failed to catch the man's accomplice, a nimble youth who got away with appreciable takings. The constable went on to stop a fight between two irate neighbours, adjudicate in a marital dispute over a dead cat and give evidence before the magistrate in three separate cases. When a breathless Abraham Datchett accosted him with the news that a corpse was bobbing about in the river, Jonathan rushed down to the wharf, only to discover that the watchman's failing eyesight had confused a piece of driftwood caught up in some tarpaulin with human remains. There were further examples of success and failure during his patrol of Baynard's Castle Ward. It was a typical day.

When his feet took him close to Addle Hill once more, he slipped home to see his wife and to take some refreshment. Sarah Bale was in the kitchen as he let himself into the house. Bare arms deep in water, she was washing some clothes for regular clients. Among the jobs she took on in order to supplement their finances was that of tubwoman, receiving filthy sheets and returning them with an almost pristine whiteness. It was hard work but Sarah revelled in it, singing to herself as she laboured and building up a steady rhythm in the tub.

Jonathan came up behind her to plant a kiss on her cheek.

'Are you still doing that, my love?' he said.

'It will keep me busy for a couple of hours yet.'

'You take on too much, Sarah.'

'I never refuse good, honest work.'

'You should.'

'We need the money, Jonathan.'

'We'll manage somehow.'

'You always say that.'

'Only because it's the truth.'

She broke off to dry her hands and to appraise her husband.

'You look tired,' she noted.

'It's been a tiring afternoon.'

'Have you called in here to moan about it?'

'I never do that, Sarah, and you know it,' he said solemnly. 'My work is left behind the moment I step through that door. This is my refuge. My place of sanctuary.'

'I wish I could say the same.'

She glanced at the washing with a wry smile. Sarah Bale was a plump woman with a round face that was full of kindness and character. His wife was almost twice the weight she had been when she married him but Jonathan was quite unaware of the transformation that had taken place. The happiness of their union imposed a benign form of blindness on him. Looking at her now, he marvelled yet again at her comely features and her youthful vitality.

Though he resented the amount of work she accepted, Jonathan saw the practical advantages. Apart from bringing a steady trickle of additional money into the home, taking in washing, sewing or doing other chores gave Sarah an insight into the lives of many families in the locality. Most of what she picked up was idle gossip but some of the information was extremely useful to her husband. Jonathan prided himself on the fact that he knew everyone in his parish by name but it was his wife who often provided significant detail about some of the people he nominally protected.

Jonathan poured himself a mug of beer to slake his thirst.

'Whose washing is that?' he asked, indicating the tub.

'Mrs Calcart of Thames Street.'

'When is her baby due?'

'You're behind the times, Jonathan,' she said, poking his ribs with an affectionate finger. 'She brought a lusty son into the world over a fortnight ago. There'll be even more work from Mrs Calcart from now on.'

'That sounds like bad news.'

'Not to me,' she said brightly. Sarah folded her arms and became serious. 'I've been thinking about what you said earlier.'

'Earlier?'

'That meeting you had with Mary Hibbert.'

'Yes,' he admitted, 'it's been preying on my mind as well.'

'Oh? Why?'

'Because I feel I was rather stern with her. Without cause. I tried to be friendly but my words were somehow tinged with disapproval. Why deceive myself?' he asked with a shrug. 'I do disapprove of what she's doing. There's no denying that. But it doesn't give me the right to condemn her.'

'That was my view as well.'

'I'm sorry I spoke out of turn to Mary.'

'She's still very young.'

'Young and vulnerable.'

'You should have been more considerate.'

'Should I?'

'More understanding.'

'About what?'

'Her situation. This position she managed to secure. Most people would think that Mary Hibbert has done very well for herself.'

'I'm not one of them, Sarah.'

'There you go again!' she teased. 'Running the girl down.'

'I'm worried about her, that's all. Deeply worried. Daniel Hibbert was a good friend of mine. Any child of his can call on me for help.'

'But that's not what Mary did.'

'More's the pity!'

'Aren't you forgetting something?' she said quietly. 'When the Plague ravaged the city, she lost two parents in a matter of weeks. Think on that, Jonathan. Yet she never complained or asked for sympathy. Mary and her younger brother kept struggling on. She did all she could to improve herself and her hard work finally paid off. Look what she's achieved. A place in the household of a famous actress.'

He was cynical. 'Famous or infamous?'

'Don't be so harsh.'

'I'm only being honest, Sarah. You think that Mary Hibbert has made something of herself but I shudder at what's happened. Her parents raised her to lead a life full of Christian endeavour, and where has it ended? In the playhouse! That veritable hell-hole. That public sewer called The King's Theatre.'

'Can it really be so bad?'

'Worse than I dare to describe.'

'But you said that Mary had not been corrupted.'

'Not as yet.'

'You told me how friendly and open she still was.'

'That's true,' he conceded. 'She had no airs and graces. Nor did I catch any hint of coarsening. It was a pleasure to talk to her.'

'It's a pity you didn't give her the same pleasure,' chided his wife, putting a gentle hand on his arm. 'You mean well, Jonathan, I know, but your strictures can be a little daunting at times.'

'Someone has to speak out.'

'There are voices enough to do that.'

'Mine will always be one of them.'

'Even when you're talking to an innocent girl? What harm has she done? What crime has she committed?' She watched him carefully. 'I'll warrant that Mary has kept her innocence, hasn't she? Did you find time to notice that about her?'

Jonathan pondered. 'Yes, Sarah,' he said at length. 'I did.'

'And?'

'Mary Hibbert has not been polluted.'

'Then why read her a sermon?'

'I've been feeling guilty about that ever since.'

'So you should.'

'Yet the girl needed to be warned.'

'Against what?'

'The dangers that surround her.'

Sarah gave him a hug. 'You spy dangers everywhere,' she said fondly. 'It comes from being a constable. You may claim that you never bring your work across that threshhold but it's not true. It follows you wherever you go. You're always on duty. You can't help being what you are, Jonathan, and I love you for it.'

'There's some consolation, then,' he said with a smile.

'You're a good man. Too good in some ways.'

'What do you mean?'

'You expect too much. You set standards that others can never meet. Stop trying to control people. They have their own lives to lead, Mary Hibbert among them. Leave her be,' she counselled. 'My guess is that she's under no threat. Not if she's the girl I remember. She has her wits about her.'

'You may be right.'

'I am right. Stop worrying about her.'

'I'll try, Sarah.'

'Have faith in the girl. Mary won't let herself down, I'm sure. Nor will she come to any grief. Just let her go about her own business in her own way,' she said softly. 'No harm will befall her.'

The flowers never ceased to delight her. Mary Hibbert walked among them like a child exploring a magic garden. Harriet Gow never lacked for floral tributes. Baskets of exquisite blooms arrived each day from close friends or anonymous admirers. The house near St James's Square was replete with Nature's beauty and charged with the fragrance of summer. A red rose caught Mary's eye, a flower so rich in hue and so perfect in composition that it took her breath away. She felt a vicarious thrill. No man had ever sent her flowers or even given her a posy. Yet she could take pleasure from the fact that her mistress attracted so much love and devotion. She could share indirectly in the joy of adoration.

It was early evening and Mary had been back in the house for several hours now. She was glad that she had visited her sick uncle even though she collected a severe reproach from her aunt in the process, and, during her chance meeting with Constable Bale, some further disapproval. Mary could understand their attitude towards her and she was relieved that her brother, Peter, did not share it. Her aunt and her former neighbour could never appreciate the privileges of the world in which she now moved whereas Peter simply marvelled at them. Being surrounded by beautiful flowers was only one of those privileges. As she looked around the room with its costly furnishings, she offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

Hearing the sound of a coach, she crossed to the window to see if her mistress was returning but the vehicle rumbled on past the house. Mary was mystified. Mrs Gow should have been back some hours ago. Peter, too, should have arrived by now. Her brother was coming to get some money from her and he was rarely late for such an appointment. Mary had no idea where either of them might be. Mrs Gow's absences were routinely cloaked in euphemism. That was the rule of the house. In this particular case, her departure enabled Mary to pay the overdue visit to Carter Lane to call on an ailing relative. Enjoined to be back at the house by early afternoon, she wondered what had delayed her employer. Her apprehension grew.

She was relieved, therefore, when she heard the bell ring. Her mistress had come at last. Running to the front door, she flung it open with a welcoming smile but the greeting died on her lips. Instead of looking into the lovely face of Harriet Gow, she was staring at a complete stranger, a short, stocky individual in the garb of a coachman. The visitor tipped his hat respectfully.

'Miss Hibbert?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'We need your help, please. Mrs Gow has sprained her ankle and will not alight from the coach until you come. Follow me.'

'Wait!' said Mary guardedly. 'Where's Roland? He always drives Mrs Gow's coach. Why isn't Roland here?'

'He, too, was injured in the accident, Miss Hibbert.'

'What accident?'

'Come with me and your mistress will explain.'

'But I see no coach.'

'It's just around the corner, a mere step away.'

'Why is it there?'

'Please,' he insisted politely. 'You're keeping Mrs Gow waiting.'

Against her better judgement, Mary went with him around the angle of the house to the vehicle that was parked in the next street. She came to a sudden halt. It was not her mistress's coach at all. Before she could protest, her companion grabbed her firmly by the shoulder. A second man, lurking in readiness in a doorway, came up behind her to drop a hood over her head and to push her forward. Mary was hustled swiftly into the coach. Strong arms imprisoned her while a rope was tied tightly around her wrists. She flew into a panic but the hood muffled her screams. Her flailing body was easily subdued by the people who trussed her up. It was terrifying. She heard a whip crack and felt the horses lunge into action. The coach soon picked up speed. As the vehicle rattled noisily along the street, Mary Hibbert continued to yell for help that she knew would never come.

'It is disgraceful! Wholly, utterly and inexcusably disgraceful!'

'Don't take it so personally.'

'How else am I to take it, Christopher? I've never suffered such embarrassment in my entire life. I, Henry Redmayne, a loyal servant to the Crown, a dedicated employee of the Navy Office. I've eaten with the King, drunk with him, gambled with him, walked with him, played tennis with him, watched plays with him, bowed and scraped before him at Court a hundred times and done just about everything else a man can do to curry his favour. Heavens!' he said, waving his arms like the sails of a windmill. 'We're practically on intimate terms. He calls me by name, knows me by reputation. And what does all this add up to in the end?'

'Try to rise above it, Henry.'

'Rejection! Total rejection!'

'That's not how I see it,' argued Christopher.

His brother was inconsolable. 'I know rejection when I feel it,' he howled. 'It's pure agony. You could hear it in His Majesty's voice, sense it in Will Chiffinch's manner. They give me no credit whatsoever. In their estimation, I am the lowest of the low, a messenger, a runner of errands, a base and unconsidered bearer of tidings.'

'You found me,' reminded Christopher. 'That was crucial.'

'Yes,' agreed Henry, 'but as soon as I did that, I was discarded. Cast aside. Abused. Insulted. Shamefully maltreated. Did I get any thanks? Did I earn any respect? No. It was akin to slow torture!'

Christopher let him rail on for another five minutes. Henry was still smarting so much from what he saw as his own humiliation that he could think of nobody else. After their interview at the Palace, they had returned to the house in Bedford Street to examine the situation and work out a plan of action. Henry was in such a state that he had to be given a cordial by one of his servants. Left alone with his brother in the drawing room, Christopher thought it best to let Henry's ire spend itself in a series of impotent protests. Fatigue eventually set in. Henry's voice became a mere croak and his body lost all its animation. He barely had the strength to remove his wig. Rational discussion could at last begin.

'Let us start with the key factor here,' suggested Christopher. 'Mrs Harriet Gow has been kidnapped. I think we should put aside personal concerns and address ourselves solely to that emergency.'

'But that is what I wished to do, Christopher. I revere that woman as much as anybody. I drool over her. It hurts me to think that she is in any kind of danger. Yet am I allowed to come to her aid?'

'Yes, Henry.'

'No. You listened to what Will Chiffinch said. I'm a disregarded bystander here. My opinion counts for nothing. When that hulking coachman told his tale, I was not even allowed to ask him a question. They've gagged me.'

'Remove the gag.'

'I was treated like dirt.'

'In that case, only one remedy will suffice,' said Christopher. 'You must prove them wrong, Henry. You must show that you're worthy of their respect and admiration. And the best way to do that is to help me in this daunting task of finding Harriet Gow.'

'You already have a partner in that enterprise.'

'Do I?'

'Yes. That plodding constable of yours, Mr Jonathan Bale. A stone-faced Puritan, if ever I saw one. He'd arrest a man for simply thinking about pleasure, let alone actually indulging in it.'

'You're being unfair to him. Mr Bale has fine qualities.'

'I've no use for them.'

'Well, I do, Henry. So does His Majesty. That's why he wants Mr Bale involved in this business. We two can achieve much together, but there are things that would be of enormous help to us. Things that only you could do.'

Henry jumped up from his chair. 'So that's all I am, is it?' he complained with renewed bitterness. 'Not even a royal messenger any more - but a constable's lackey!'

'Of course not.'

'My brother leads the search, Mr Bale blunders along in his footsteps, and there am I, ignobly bringing up the rear.'

'Nonsense!' said Christopher, adopting a firmer tone. 'This is a matter of life and death, Henry. Shake off your self-pity just for once and think about someone else. Keep the image of Harriet Gow before your eyes,' he urged, 'imprisoned by enemies. When I ask you to help us, I do so because I know how valuable your contribution will be, every bit as valuable as the one that I or Mr Bale could possibly make. We are equal partners here, all three of us.'

'Oh well, that's different,' said Henry, partially mollified.

'You are quite indispensable.'

'Am I?'

'Yes, Henry. Your assistance is critical. If we are successful, you will reap corresponding rewards. Think how impressed His Majesty will be with you. How much you'll astound Mr Chiffinch. And, most of all, what gratitude Harriet Gow will heap upon you.'

Henry was convinced. 'I'm yours,' he volunteered readily. 'Just tell me what to do.'

'First of all, give me your impression of what we've so far heard.'

'But I could make neither head nor tail of it, Christopher.'

'Go through it again now. Search for the logic.'

'Is there any?' wondered his brother, scratching his head. 'Harriet Gow is abducted. A ransom note is sent to the Palace. Five thousand pounds is demanded for the safe return of the lady.'

'That sounds logical enough.'

'Does it? Then you are not acquainted with the royal finances. They are in a parlous condition. His Majesty does not possess five hundred pounds, let alone five thousand. Every time he wants the most paltry sum, he's forced to go cap in hand to Parliament. There's simply no money to be had, Christopher. The Dutch War has bankrupted us.'

'But hostilities are now at an end.'

'Only because we were forced to sue for peace. Don't remind me of it,' Henry groaned, putting a palm to his brow. 'It was excruciating. But a few short months ago, the Dutch not only broke through our defences in the Medway, they sailed on to Chatham, sank three ships, towed away the Royal Charles, the pride of our Navy, raided Sheppey and destroyed the fort at Sheerness. It was my blackest day at the Navy Office. Crude as his metaphors always are, Sir William Batten was right. The Devil shits Dutchmen. We were well and truly buried in the ordure.'

'Come back to the ransom.'

'There is no way that His Majesty can pay it.'

'Not even when the life of a lady is at stake?'

'Especially then. It's one thing to beg money from Parliament for essential expenditure, but they would turn a deaf ear to any requests concerning one of his mistresses. Besides,' Henry observed, 'the terms of the ransom note were explicit. The transaction is to be kept secret. How can that happen if the House of Commons is involved?'

'I can see His Majesty's dilemma.'

'It is rather more complicated than that.'

'I know. There is the small matter of the Queen.'

'Her Majesty is the least of his worries. Other ladies bulk larger in his life than she does. Lady Castlemaine is the worst of them, as grasping and greedy a woman as ever clambered into the royal bed. A real viper when she is roused. Were it not for the fact that she would be more likely to kill than ransom Harriet Gow, I would not put it past her to be the author of this whole conspiracy.'

'Now we are getting somewhere!'

'Are we?'

'Cui bono: who stands to gain?'

'Lady Castlemaine would certainly gain from the removal of her chief rival, but she is not the only one. His Majesty spreads his favours far and wide. There are a number of ladies who would be heartily glad to have Harriet Gow removed from her pinnacle.'

'Make a list of them, Henry.'

'It may be quite a long one.'

'Every name is important. We'll work our way through them. But there's another area we must explore,' said Christopher, thinking it through as he circled the room. 'Her work at the theatre. Find out who her closest friends were. Ask when and where they last saw Mrs Gow. Sound them out about any potential enemies she may have. Oh, and above all else, speak to the manager.'

'Tom Killigrew?'

'He may give us valuable clues.'

'He'll be too busy tearing out his hair when he hears the news. Harriet Gow fills the theatre for him. Without her, his business will go slack. I don't relish passing on the bad tidings.'

'Then don't do so. Discretion is imperative here. Simply tell Mr Killigrew that Mrs Gow is indisposed. That's all he needs to hear.'

'When hundreds of playgoers are banging on his door, demanding to know why she does not appear on stage? What is the poor man to say? I must tell him something, Christopher.'

'Explain that she has been called away unexpectedly.'

'By the men who kidnapped her?'

'No!' exclaimed Christopher. 'Don't breathe a word on the subject. You read that ransom note. Break silence and you imperil Mrs Gow.'

'I'd hate to do that.'

'Then be ruled by me.'

'As you wish.'

'Start with Mr Killigrew. See what you can learn from him. Then talk to anyone at the theatre who was close to Mrs Gow. Do it carefully, Henry. Go armed and watch your back.'

'Why?'

'Brutal men are involved. You saw what they did to Roland the coachman. He was hired for his strength yet they got the better of him.' He recalled the sight of the battered servant. 'By the way, what did you make of the fellow?'

'I wouldn't care to bump into him on a dark night.'

'Nor I,' admitted Christopher. 'Trigg was a most unprepossessing character. Yet he seemed to be devoted to Mrs Gow and she must have found him satisfactory to put up with that ugly face of his. All that I'll venture is this: I'm grateful that Roland Trigg is on our side in this affair. I sense that he'd make a formidable enemy.'

'We may have enough of those, as it is.'

'Try to think who they might be, Henry. Rack your brains to tease out the names of anyone with a grudge against Harriet

Gow, or a reason to wound His Majesty by abducting her. You know the murky world of London far better than I do. Explore it to the full.'

'I'll do my best. Harriet Gow deserves nothing less.'

'My sentiments entirely.'

'What of you?'

'I'm off to look up an old acquaintance,' said Christopher, moving towards the door. 'Though I fear that he may not be overjoyed to see me again. Mr Jonathan Bale looks upon the Restoration as a form of moral plague. What is a dour Puritan like him going to make of the news that one of the King's mistresses has gone astray?'

'He'll probably raise three cheers.'

'It could be a difficult conversation.'

Christopher heaved a sigh then let himself out of the room.

Crime was no respecter of a constable's leisure time. No sooner had Jonathan started to read to his children from the family Bible that evening than he was summoned by one of the watchmen to deal with a new crisis. A warehouse had been set alight by a disgruntled apprentice. Although the blaze had been speedily controlled and the miscreant detained, a secondary crime was in the offing. Jonathan arrived on the scene in time to stop the owner of the warehouse from inflicting grievous bodily harm on the apprentice, who now cowered in a corner and pleaded for mercy. A combination of good-humoured firmness and diplomacy was needed to rescue the arsonist from the clutches of his former employer. Having hauled the young man in front of a magistrate, Jonathan took him off to be placed in custody. He was free to return home again.

Shadows were lengthening when he finally reached Addle Hill. Wanting to rest after a long day, he felt misgivings when he saw a horse tethered outside his front door. Sarah's greeting only intensified his concern. As he stepped into the house, her face was shining.

'We have a visitor, Jonathan,' she said with excitement.

'Do we?'

'Mr Redmayne.'

'What does he want?' grunted her husband.

'You'll have to ask him when he comes down.'

'Comes down?'

'Yes,' she said cheerily. 'Mr Redmayne very kindly offered to read to the boys. He has such a lovely voice. I could listen to it all day.'

'That's more than I can do!'

Jonathan was about to start up the stairs to interrupt the reading when he saw Christopher descending. The latter's polite wave gained only a brief acknowledgement. Jonathan was suspicious.

'What have you been doing up there, sir?' he asked.

'Reading to them from the Book of Judges,' said Christopher, 'the story of Samson. They seemed to like it at first.'

'At first?'

'It sent them both asleep.' He resorted to a whisper. 'I suggest that we keep our voices down and continue this conversation elsewhere.'

Jonathan gave a signal to his wife then led his guest into the parlour. Sarah went upstairs to check on her children. The constable was embarrassed and' annoyed, uneasy at the thought of entertaining a gentleman in his humble dwelling and irritated at the liberties his visitor had taken while he was there.

'I'll thank you to leave any reading to me,' he said huffily. 'They're my sons and I give them a Bible story every night.'

'So I understand, Mr Bale, and I applaud you for it. But you were called away this evening and both Oliver and Richard were desperate for someone to read to them. I offered my services, Mrs Bale was only too happy to give me her permission. The boys seemed happy, too - until they dozed off towards the end.'

'I don't want it to happen again, Mr Redmayne.'

'Then I'll respect that wish.'

'Thank you, sir.'

Jonathan was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He waved Christopher to a chair then sat opposite him on a low stool. In spite of himself, he was not entirely displeased to see his guest again. He had developed a deep and lasting respect for him as well as a grudging affection. They could never be kindred spirits but an adventure had drawn them together in a way that was bound to forge a bond between them. It was one which put a friendly smile on Christopher's face. The constable's manner was more wary.

'What brings you to my house, Mr Redmayne?' he asked.

'I'll not pretend that it was the pleasure of reading about Samson, though that does have its charms. No, Mr Bale. I come on the most urgent business - at the express request of His Majesty.'

Jonathan quailed. 'His Majesty?'

'Do you recall what he once said to us?'

'How could I ever forget?'

'He said that he might need us again one day.'

'The words were like a hot brand.'

'Then steel yourself for more pain, Mr Bale. The call has come.'

'To you or to me?'

'To both of us. His Majesty was most specific about that.'

Great surprise. 'He remembered who I was?'

'By deed, if not by name.'

'But I'm only a humble constable.'

'I know, Mr Bale. I'm a struggling architect but that doesn't stop His Majesty from selecting the two of us for this assignment. It's a bizarre choice, I grant you, but not without its reason.'

'Reason?'

Christopher leaned forward. 'Before I say anything else, I must impress upon you the importance of secrecy. We are dealing with a very delicate matter here. Nothing must be heard outside these four walls.'

'You can rely on me,' came the brisk reply, 'and nobody will eavesdrop. When my wife comes downstairs, she'll go straight to the kitchen. You can trust Sarah. She understands.' His eyes narrowed. 'Now, sir, what exactly is this very delicate matter?'

'It concerns a lady, Mr Bale. A rather special lady.'

Christopher was succinct. He gave a clear account of the facts without embellishment. The effect on Jonathan was startling. He was, by turns, shocked, alarmed, scornful, interested, almost sympathetic then patently disgusted. One question burst out of him.

'Was the lady alone when she was abducted?' he asked.

'Apart from her coachman, Mr Trigg.'

'There was no one else in the vehicle with her, then?'

'Such as?'

'A maid, a companion.'

'No, Mr Bale. The coachman left us in no doubt about that. Mrs Gow was completely alone. That's what made her such an easy target.'

'I see.' Jonathan relaxed visibly before coming to a quick decision. 'Find someone else, Mr Redmayne. I'm not your man.'

'What are you saying?'

'That I've no wish to be involved. Why should I be? This crime has no relevance to me. It didn't take place in my ward and I can bring no particular skills to the solution of it. Someone else might. Seek him out and press him into service.'

Christopher was aghast. 'You are daring to refuse?'

'On a point of principle.'

'But this assignment comes with a royal command.'

'That's what appals me,' said Jonathan levelly. 'I'm sorry to hear that the lady in question has been kidnapped and I hope that she can be rescued before any harm comes to her, but I've no wish to be part of a scheme which has one obvious purpose.'

'And what's that?'

'Retrieving someone for His Majesty's bed.'

'You put it very bluntly, Mr Bale.'

'Bluntly but honestly.'

Christopher was stung. 'I make no comment whatsoever on the King's motives,' he said quickly, 'but this I can tell you. Harriet Gow's importance does not rest solely on her relationship with His Majesty. She is an actress of supreme talents, adored by all who have seen her perform or heard her sing.' He rose to his feet. 'I had the good fortune to witness her on stage myself and I've never been so moved by the sheer histrionic power. The lady is a genius. Let me nail my colours to the mast,' he said proudly. 'To save Harriet Gow, I'd go to the ends of the earth and endure any hazards. But I'll not succeed on my own. That's why I need your help.'

'It's not at your beck and call.'

'Nor even at His Majesty's?'

'There are other constables in London.'

'But none with your particular abilities, Mr Bale. How can you hold back, man? You're sworn to uphold the law. A dreadful crime has been committed and you're turning your back on the opportunity to bring the villains to justice.' Christopher was almost imploring him. 'Please consider your decision again. You simply must help me.'

'It's out of the question, sir.'

'But why?'

'I told you earlier. It's a point of principle. You may trumpet the lady's virtues but she inhabits a world of vice. Theatre is a symbol of all that's wrong with this city. I'll not subsidise corruption.' He got to his feet, his broad shoulders straightening as he did so. 'Nor will I provide a missing favourite for the King's bed. That's not what I call upholding the law, Mr Redmayne. It's condoning a vile sin in order to solve a crime.'

'The lady is in grave danger!' said Christopher angrily.

Jonathan was unmoved. He crossed the room to open the door.

'Then you'd better try to find her,' he said calmly.