'Henry was right,' he said gallantly. 'You're very beautiful, Miss Saunders.'
She blossomed. 'Thank you, Mr Redmayne,' she said happily. 'No disrespect to your brother but I find your praise more acceptable than his. Henry is too glib and well rehearsed. As an actress, I appreciate a capacity for rehearsal,' she continued, starting to relax. 'As a woman, however, I prefer a spontaneous compliment to a prepared one.' 'You must have plenty of both, Miss Saunders.'
'A woman can never have too many compliments.'
There was a teasing note in her voice. He did not respond to it.
'I believe that you're a friend of Martin Eldridge,' he said.
'Martin? Why, yes. We have a history.'
'History?'
'Not of that kind,' she reprimanded with a mock frown. 'Martin Eldridge and I could never be that close. But we did start out together in the theatre. We had our first parts in a play for The Duke's Men.'
'Is he a good actor?'
'I think so. And he was a staunch supporter of me.'
'Why did he leave the company?'
'Because he fell out with Mr Killigrew.' She looked towards the door. 'That's not too difficult to do, I'm afraid. He's a volatile character at the best of times. Martin upset him and his contract was not renewed.'
'Where might I find him?'
'Why should you want to do so?'
'A personal reason. His name was passed on to me.'
'I've no idea where he lodges presently but he's stayed with friends in Shoreditch before now. Somewhere in Old Street, I think.'
'I don't suppose you'd know the name of those friends?'
'No, Mr Redmayne. Martin has so many.'
'So I'm told. According to Mr Killigrew, he was close to Mrs Gow.'
'Too close, in my view!'
'Why?'
'Harriet did tend to gather young men around her, I'm afraid. We all like to do that to some extent, of course, but she took it to extremes. Martin was one of her attendants, always running errands for her. It was demeaning,' she said irritably. 'I told him so but he wouldn't listen.'
'What other young men did she have in her train?'
'I'm past caring.'
'So you did care at one point?'
'Mr Redmayne,' she retorted, 'I've a life of my own to lead and it gives me little time to pry into the affairs of others. Especially when one of them is Harriet Gow. I'd simply never be able to keep track of all her admirers. Harriet has changed,' she said ruefully. 'She's changed so much. I remember her when she first came into this cruel profession. Harriet was a nice, quiet, friendly girl with a husband she adored. Bartholomew went everywhere with her in those days - until she found him an inconvenience.'
'You sound as if you're sorry for him.'
'No husband should be treated like that. Somehow, he's managed to survive. Indeed, parting from Harriet may turn out to be a blessed release. When I saw him recently, he looked almost happy again.'
His ears pricked up. 'You saw Mr Gow?'
'Less than a week ago.'
'Do you remember where?'
'Of course. At Locket's ordinary in Charing Cross. I was dining there with a friend. Bartholomew Gow was sitting at the next table with his lawyer - a Mr Shann, as I recall. Bartholomew did introduce me. We only exchanged a brief word,' she said, 'but one of his comments made me burn with curiosity. Especially as his prediction turned out to be absolutely true.'
'Prediction?'
'Bartholomew told me that opportunity was at hand, and urged me to be ready for it. Harriet would soon be indisposed, he said, and I'd be asked to replace her if I'd studied her roles.'
'Were those his exact words?'
'More or less.'
'Did he say why his wife would be unavailable?'
'I didn't care,' she said coldly. 'Chances come along so rarely in this profession that you have to seize them with both hands. I'm very grateful to Bartholomew Gow.' She gave a dazzling smile, and added: 'He told me that his wife might be unable to appear on stage again for quite some time.'
Chapter Eleven
Jonathan Bale was a methodical man who liked to do things in correct sequence and at a steady pace. Punctual by nature, he was disconcerted to arrive at Ludgate precisely at noon and see no sign of Christopher Redmayne. Since he had abided by the exact time and place of their agreed meeting, he simply could not understand why the architect was not there as well. It was almost half an hour before the latter appeared on horseback to shower him with profuse apologies. Jonathan waved them away.
'I've no time to waste, standing around for you to come, sir. I could have been off elsewhere, doing something useful.'
'I know, I know, Mr Bale,' said Christopher, dismounting. 'But I got so engrossed in what Abigail Saunders was telling me - she's the actress who has replaced Mrs Gow - that I lost all purchase on time. I've so much to tell you about my visit to the theatre but I want to hear your news first. Where have you been?'
'My day began in Cornhill Ward, talking to Peter Hibbert.'
'Poor lad! How did he take it?'
'Not well, sir.'
Jonathan explained in detail how he had spent the morning. His attempt at tracing Bartholomew Gow had failed, but it had led him to an interesting discovery. It was one which the constable felt a little awkward about passing on. He lowered his voice.
'I knew that there was something odd about that house, sir,' he said darkly. 'The woman who answered the door to me was very evasive. She claimed that there was nobody in the house when that coach was ambushed right on her doorstep, but there's been somebody there the twice I've been to the lane. He's watched me from the upper room.'
'Bartholomew Gow, by any chance?'
'I don't think so. The landlady said that he didn't lodge there any longer but I'm wondering if he ever did live under her roof.'
'That innkeeper told you he did.'
'Only because Mr Gow called into the Red Lion from time to time. But that doesn't prove he was lodging in the lane.'
'I don't understand.'
'Neither did I until I watched the place, sir,' said Jonathan heavily. 'I kept out of sight in a doorway farther up the lane and just waited. A couple of hours, all told.'
'That is devotion to duty.'
'I wanted to be sure.'
'Of what?'
'My suspicions. It was the way that woman behaved. I could see that the last person she wanted outside her door was a constable. She hurried me quickly on my way.'
'But you lingered.'
'It was worth the wait, Mr Redmayne.'
'Why?'
'I saw a number of coaches stop there in all. A woman got out of the first and slipped into the house. A man soon followed her in the second vehicle. He left almost an hour later on his own. Soon after that, a third coach arrived with a man and a woman in it. They were let into the house as well.' He pursed his lips in disapproval. 'And so it went on.'
'What did?' said Christopher innocently. 'The landlady had a series of visitors, that's all. What's so unusual about that?'
'The way they took care not to be seen, sir. Those coaches stopped right outside the house so that the occupants could step straight in through the front door. I was only twenty yards away but I didn't get a proper look at any of them. They made sure of that.'
Christopher understood. 'I begin to see your reasoning, Mr Bale.'
'Mr Gow may never have lodged there.'
'Except for short intervals, that is.' 'Exactly, sir,' said Jonathan, ridding himself of a discovery that obviously disgusted him. 'The house is a place for covert assignations. Tucked away in that lane, it's very private, allowing people to come and go without being seen. It's an address of convenience. In my view, that's why Mr Gow used the premises occasionally. I think he had a rendezvous with a lady.'
'Not his own wife, surely?'
'That's not for me to say.'
'It would explain what her coach was doing in that lane.'
'Mr Trigg refused to comment
on that.'
'He was only trying to save Mrs Gow's blushes, I fancy. On the other hand,' he remembered, 'he was very hostile towards her husband. Trigg more or less accused him of being behind this whole business. It seems unlikely that he'd deliver her into his arms like that.'
'Perhaps he didn't know who was waiting for her inside the house. Mrs Gow never told him. I shouldn't imagine a woman like that confides in her coachman, especially one such as Mr Trigg.'
'Well done, Mr Bale!' congratulated Christopher. 'I think you've stumbled on some valuable evidence. If that coach really was taking her to a tryst with her husband - bizarre as that seems - Mr Gow has to be implicated in the ambush.'
'All we have to do is to find him.'
'I managed to take a big step in that direction. That was why my talk with Abigail Saunders was so useful. She saw Bartholomew Gow less than a week ago.'
'Where?'
'At Locket's ordinary. Do you know the place?'
'Only from the outside, Mr Redmayne. I can't afford to eat there.'
'Mr Gow can. He was dining with his lawyer, apparently. That may be our best way to find him - through his lawyer.'
'Did you get the man's name, sir?'
'Shann. That's what Miss Saunders said and you may be sure she got the name right. Actresses have excellent memories - it's part of their stock-in-trade. The lawyer was called Mr Shann.'
'Let me chase him down,' volunteered Jonathan. 'I visit the courts all the time and I've many friends there. One of them is bound to have heard of a lawyer called Shann. It's not a common name.'
'I embrace your offer,' said Christopher gratefully. 'While you're doing that, I'll get on the trail of Martin Eldridge.'
'Who, sir?'
'A close friend of Mrs Gow's. And an intimate one, according to Mr Killigrew. Nobody in the company knew her as well as Martin Eldridge. He could prove a most helpful witness.'
'Do you have an address for him, sir?'
'Old Street.'
'Then I may be able to help there as well,' said Jonathan, pleased that his contacts were proving so useful. 'I know one of the constables in Shoreditch. Talk to him and he might save your legs a lot of walking. If there's a Mr Eldridge living in Old Street, the chances are that Jeremy Vye will come across him.'
'Thank you. I'll speak to Constable Vye this very afternoon, when I've paid another visit to my brother.'
'How is Mr Redmayne?'
'Still in some pain, I daresay. Several ribs were cracked.'
'Your brother was lucky. I saw what they did to Mary Hibbert.'
'Henry doesn't know about her yet,' said Christopher sombrely. 'I'm not sure that he should; it would only agitate him. He's already made his contribution to this enquiry. Henry deserves a rest.'
The physician held the vessel carefully to his lips and made sure that he drank all of the potion. Henry grimaced at the bitter taste. He mouthed a protest then sank back on the pillow. The old man turned to the servant who was hovering at the bedside.
'He's taking a turn for the worse,' he said softly.
'Yes, sir.'
'See that he has another draught of the medicine this evening.'
'Yes, sir.'
'What he most needs is rest.'
'We'll make sure that Mr Redmayne gets it.'
'Don't rouse him. Let him wake in his own time.'
'Yes, sir.'
'If he seems to dwindle, call me back at once.'
The servant nodded and showed the visitor out. Henry Redmayne heard nothing of their exchange. The potion had been unpleasant to swallow but its effect was immediate. His eyes closed, his body sagged, his mind emptied. He slid gently back into a deep and restorative sleep.
Sitting astride his horse, the man remained hidden under the trees, anxious to watch the departure but equally anxious that there was no chance of his being seen by Harriet Gow. The possibility was remote. When she was brought out of the house by Arthur Oscott and his wife, Harriet was blindfolded and her wrists were tied together. She had to be guided into the waiting coach. While his wife remained inside with the prisoner, Oscott climbed up into the driving seat. The man was satisfied. Everything had gone smoothly. When the coach drew away, he followed it at a safe distance. Harriet Gow was being transferred to some alternative accommodation. Tied up and unable to see, she would be increasingly anxious during the trip. The man escorting the coach had no sympathy for her. He wanted her to suffer. It was all part of his revenge.
Instead of pursuing his investigations in Shoreditch at once, Christopher Redmayne elected to return to Fetter Lane to snatch his first meal of the day, give instructions to Jacob then ride on to Bedford Street to check on his brother's condition. Going home was a serious mistake. Within minutes of his arrival, he had the first of three unexpected and unwanted visitors. Jasper Hartwell was in a frenzy of despair.
Clad in blue and gold, he leaped out of his coach with his ginger periwig swaying so wilfully that it all but parted company with the broad-brimmed hat that was balanced atop it. Christopher caught a glimpse of him through the window, gaining a few vital seconds to prepare his alibi. When Hartwell was conducted into the parlour by Jacob, therefore, the architect was bent studiously over the drawings he had just laid out on the table with such speed. He looked up nonchalantly.
'Why, Mr Hartwell,' he greeted. 'Good day to you, sir.'
'So this is where you are skulking,' complained the other.
'Not skulking, sir. Working on my designs, as you observe. Putting the last few finishing touches to your house.'
'I went to the site but you were nowhere to be seen. Mr Corrigan was deeply upset. There are a number of issues he needs to raise with you, Mr Redmayne.'
'He had an opportunity to do so earlier on,' said Christopher, 'when I rode over to the site to inspect progress not long after dawn. From what I saw, Mr Corrigan can manage very well without me.'
'Your place is in St Martin's.'
'That's exactly where I am, sir. In my mind's eye.'
Jacob suddenly came out of the kitchen with two glasses of wine. Without the slightest hint of gratitude, Hartwell took one of them, drank it down in a series of noisy gulps then handed the glass back to the servant. Jacob withdrew once more. The drink only seemed to intensify the visitor's apprehensions.
'Where is she?' he gasped.
'Who?' asked Christopher.
'Harriet, of course. My future wife.'
'According to report, the lady is unwell.'
'It's a lie, Mr Redmayne. I've spoken twice about her to Tom Killigrew and he didn't give me a satisfactory answer on either occasion. The truth is that he doesn't know where Harriet is. Neither does anyone else in the company. Think on that,' he said with a scandalised yelp. 'Harriet disappears and her own manager has no idea where she is or what drove her to be there. I fear skulduggery.'
'Never, Mr Hartwell.'
'I do. I felt it in my water.'
'An illusion.'
'Something untoward has happened to my beloved.'
'Surely not,' said Christopher, rising to his feet. 'Who could want to hurt such a beautiful woman as Mrs Gow? It's inconceivable.'
'Is it?' countered Hartwell. 'Who would want to hurt such an amiable fellow as your brother? Yet I gather from Killigrew that he was viciously assaulted yesterday outside the theatre. Beauty and affability are no protection against naked villainy. If a harmless man like Henry Redmayne can be picked on by bullies, then Harriet, too, may be marked out as a victim.'
'At whose behest, sir?'
'She has her share of enemies.'
'Do you know who they are?'
'They're too numerous to list, Mr Redmayne. Envy breeds many foes. My worry is that it may not be her enemies who are at work here but mine.' Hartwell plopped down into a chair. 'Sensing that I'm determined to make her my wife, someone has lashed out at me from sheer spite. It could be that husband of hers, of course, or it may just be a rival for her hand, consumed with chagrin because I've made h
er mine.'
'But you haven't, sir,' Christopher reminded him, delicately.
'How can I when she's vanished?'
'Mrs Gow has merely withdrawn. To recuperate.'
'From what?'
'That will become clear in time.'
'But she was a picture of health when I last saw her,' argued the other. 'At the start of the week, Harriet was singing her heart out for me on stage. Where is my nightingale now?'
'Resting, sir. Leave her be.'
'I must find her, Mr Redmayne.'
He went on at length, expressing his love for the missing actress and working himself up into a state of wild-eyed hysteria. Christopher was alive to the paradox. Having been engaged by the King to rescue Harriet Gow, he was now forced to pretend that she was not in any danger. Instead of continuing his search, he was being held back by the swirling infatuation of his client. Jasper Hartwell was luxuriating in his distress. Christopher wondered if the visit might yet have some practical value for him.
'Henry tells me that you're a connoisseur of the theatre,' he interrupted.
'It's my second home,' Jasper agreed.
'Then you'll know all the members of the company.'
'Both at The King's House and at The Duke's Playhouse,' he said proudly.
'I'm only interested in Mr Killigrew's company.'
'So am I since Harriet joined it,' said Hartwell wistfully. 'I can recall the very moment when she first stepped on to that stage. And as for that voice! Heaven has never fashioned such an instrument before.'
'What of the actors around her?'
'I never notice any of them when she is there.'
'Oh, come, sir. You cannot fail to notice men like Michael Mohun or Charles Hart. They're masters of their trade.'
'True. They lend quality and experience to the company.'
'What of Martin Eldridge?'
'A more slender talent,' said Hartwell dismissively. 'He relies too much on his good looks and not enough on his skill as an actor. Eldridge is able but no more than that.'
'Have you ever met him?'
'Of course. Most of them have supped with me at my expense. Actors are hungry people, Mr Redmayne, and they rarely earn enough to be able to turn down a free meal. Actresses, too, of course,' he added with a sigh, 'though Harriet has never accepted my invitation, alas. She is always spirited away from the theatre by someone else.'
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