'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 earlie
r 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.'
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