'Do you want someone?' he asked levelly.
'Are you Mr Roland Trigg, sir?'
'I could be.'
'Coachman to Mrs Gow?'
'Who are you?'
'My name is Jonathan Bale. I've been asked to help Mr Redmayne in a case of abduction. He's authorised me to talk to you.'
'Yes, yes, of course,' said Trigg, setting the hammer aside and relaxing slightly. 'I've said I'll help all I can, Mr Bale. Is there any news? Have you picked up the trail?'
'Not as yet, I'm afraid.'
'They want hanging for what they did!'
'Their days may well end on the gallows,' said Jonathan evenly. He looked down at the strip of metal. 'Doing some repairs?'
'The coach got damaged during the ambush when it was forced against the wall of a house. I want it as good as new by the time Mrs Gow comes back.' He hesitated. 'She is coming back, isn't she?'
'We've every reason to believe so. Now, Mr Trigg,' said Jonathan, taking a step closer. 'I'd like you to tell me exactly what happened.'
'But I've already been through it twice.'
'So Mr Redmayne said, but he also remarked on the differences between the two versions. When you spoke to him at the Palace, it seems you were still suffering from the effects of the beating.'
Trigg glowered. 'My pride was hurt the most.'
'Understandably.'
'Mrs Gow counted on me.'
'Did she?'
'I was her bodyguard.'
'Let's go back to the ambush,' said Jonathan.
'Again?'
'I appreciate how painful it must be for you to recount the facts once more. It can't be avoided, however. Mr Redmayne is a clever young man but he's not as used to gathering evidence from people as I am. I listen to witnesses all day long. I know what to ask, when to press for details, how to spot when someone is holding information back.'
'I held nothing back!' said the other belligerently.
'Nobody's accusing you of doing so.'
'They'd better not.'
'Mr Redmayne made a point of saying how helpful you've been.'
Trigg was appeased. 'I want them caught, Mr Bale,' he said. 'More to the point, I want to be there when it happens. I've got a stake in this, remember.' He pointed to his face. 'I didn't get these bruises by walking into some cobwebs.'
'How did you get them, Mr Trigg?'
'Now you're asking!'
'Tell me in your own words.'
The coachman perched on the anvil and spat into the sawdust. After looking his visitor up and down, he launched into a long account of the ambush, interspersing it with speculation about who his attackers might be and adding a description of his later return to the house.
'I knew it,' he emphasised. 'I knew they took Mary Hibbert as well.'
'That's not what you said to her brother.'
Trigg was checked. 'Who?'
'Peter Hibbert. He called here twice yesterday. Seeing the door wide open the first time, he became alarmed and ran to relatives in Carter Lane, hoping that he might find his sister there. But Mary was nowhere to be found. Peter hurried all the way back here and bumped into you. Or so he says.'
'It's true.'
'The boy had no reason to lie.'
'How did you find out about it?'
'The Hibbert family once lived in my ward, sir. I knew them well. That's why Peter turned to me when he felt his sister was in trouble.'
'He was very upset when he came back here.'
'Yet you did nothing to reassure him.'
'What could I do? Tell him that Mary had been took along with Mrs Gow? How would that have helped?' Trigg hunched his shoulders. 'I thought the best thing was to say as little as possible. So I pretended they'd both gone out of London for a few days.'
'Peter wasn't sure if he should believe you.'
'I wanted to get the lad off my back!'
'You might have done it more gently.'
'He was pestering me.'
'Returning to the ambush,' said Jonathan patiently, 'you've told me the exact point in the lane where you were set upon but you haven't explained what you were doing there in the first place.'
'Making my way to the Strand.'
'Down such a narrow thoroughfare? Surely there are easier ways to travel. And why go to the Strand? Mr Redmayne is firmly under the impression that you were heading for the Palace of Westminster.'
'Then he's quite wrong.'
'You had another destination?'
'We weren't going to the Palace that day.'
'Yet you ended up there.'
'Only because I was sent for, Mr Bale. The ransom note had arrived by then. They knew there'd been an ambush. I was hauled down there to explain what had happened.'
'So Mrs Gow was actually visiting someone in the Strand?'
'I didn't say that.'
'Do you dispute the fact?'
'I've no need.'
'What do you mean?'
'My job is to take Mrs Gow wherever she wishes me to take her. She has a lot of friends so I drive all over London. Well beyond it at times. I never know who she's going to see and I don't care. I simply do what I'm paid for, Mr Bale. That's all I'm saying.'
'Even though you could be hiding evidence?'
'Of what?'
'The motive behind the kidnap.'
'I've told you everything.'
'Except your destination yesterday. Don't you see how important it is for us to know it, Mr Trigg? The person she was on her way to see might be able to help us. Perhaps someone had a grudge against him and used Mrs Gow as a means of revenge. One thing is certain, sir.'
'What's that?'
'You were expected. That ambush was laid in the ideal place.'
'So?'
'You mightn't have known exactly where you were going but someone else did. They knew the time of day you'd be driving down that lane and they knew just how many men it would take to overpower a strapping coachman and abduct a lady. Now,' he said, squaring up to Trigg, 'where were you taking Mrs Gow?'
'To see a friend.'
'Does he have a name?'
'She didn't say.'
'What about an address?'
'I've forgotten it.'
'So you were told?'
'I can't remember.'
Jonathan could not make out if he was dealing with sheer bloody-mindedness or with fierce loyalty to an employer. Either way, the result was the same. Willing to furnish any other information, the coachman was strangely reluctant to disclose the destination of his coach. It was time to try another tack with him.
'You mentioned the name of a suspect, I hear.'
'I mentioned several.'
'This one came as an afterthought. Mr Redmayne paid particular attention to it. He said I was to ask you about Mr Bartholomew Gow.'
Trigg nodded. 'He's tied up in this somewhere.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Because of the way things are between him and his wife.'
'But they don't even live together.'
'Exactly, Mr Bale,' said the other with a faint flicker of lechery. 'How would you feel if a lady like that turned you out of her bed?'
'I'd never have got into it in the first place, I promise you!'
'Then you've never seen Mrs Gow. She's more than beautiful, I can tell you. It's a pleasure to be anywhere near a woman of her type. Mr Gow can't do that any more. He's been deprived. The last time he came to the house, she refused even to see him.'
'Oh?'
'He was very persistent. I had to move him on his way.'
'Is that one of the things you're paid to do, Mr Trigg?'
'Sometimes.'
'Moving her husband on his way?'
'Getting rid of undesirables,' said the coachman with a smirk. 'They buzz around her like flies. Swatting them is my job. But Mr Gow is the main problem. He's sworn to get even with her.'
'Was it a serious threat?'
'Mary Hibbert thought so.'
'What about
his wife?'
'I think she'd gone past listening to him.'
'Why did Mr Gow bother her?'
'Ask him.'
'What was he after?'
'His wife.'
'But she turned him away and that made him angry.'
'Vicious, more like.'
'Wasn't she worried by his threats?'
'Not really, Mr Bale.'
'Why not?'
'I told you,' said the other complacently. 'She's got me.'
'Yes,' agreed Jonathan, annoyed by his manner. 'I'm sure that you protected her well - until you drove down that lane towards the Strand. Even your strong arm was not enough then, was it? They were waiting.' He leaned forward. 'Now who could possibly have known that you'd be taking that exact route?'
'I'm a very busy man, Mr Redmayne. I can only give you a little time.'
'Yes, Sir William.'
'I leave for the theatre within the hour.'
'Then I'll not beat about the bush,' said Christopher. 'I just wondered what you could tell me about Miss Abigail Saunders.'
'Abigail?'
'I understand that she was once a member of your company.'
'Briefly.'
'Why did she leave?'
'By common consent.'
'Miss Saunders is with The King's Men now.'
'That's of no concern to me,' said the other smoothly.
After studying the list provided by his brother, Christopher Redmayne elected to begin with the name at the bottom. Sir William D'Avenant was an eminent man with a lifetime of literary achievement behind him. Yet his career had been even more chequered than that of his rival, Thomas Killigrew. The godson of William Shakespeare, he was rumoured to be the playwright's illegitimate offspring and there were those who had hailed him as Shakespeare's natural heir. Civil war interrupted his promising work as a dramatist. A committed Royalist, he was captured twice but escaped both times. When the Queen sent him to Virginia, his ship was intercepted and D'Avenant was arrested once more. Held in the Tower, he was at least allowed to write and publish poetry. It enabled him to keep his talent in good repair.
Christopher called on him at Rutland House, his sumptuous home in Aldersgate, a place where he could not only enjoy the fruits of his success but where, on occasion, he had staged some of his theatrical events. D'Avenant was in his early sixties but looked at least a decade older. The vestigial nose, unfit to support spectacles, bore testimony to the goatish instincts of younger days and there were other indications in the gaunt face with its ugly blotches on leathery skin of an acquaintance with syphilis. Christopher found it hard to believe that such an elderly lecher could enjoy the favours of an attractive young woman.
'What is your estimate of Miss Saunders?' he asked.
'As an actress or as a person?'
'Both.'
'Abigail can decorate a stage nicely,' said the other, flicking a speck of dust from his sleeve, 'but she will never be more than a diverting piece of scenery.'
'Mr Killigrew disagrees with you, Sir William.'
'That goes without saying.'
'He's chosen Miss Saunders to take over a role vacated by Mrs Harriet Gow.' D'Avenant sat up with interest. 'She'll be seen this afternoon as Aspatia in The Maid's Tragedy.'
'Indeed?'
'Mr Killigrew has the highest hopes of her.'
'More fool him!'
'His judgement is usually sound.'
'Abigail has been promoted beyond her mean abilities.'
'That's not what my brother says,' said Christopher. 'He was at the theatre this morning and saw Miss Saunders in rehearsal. She left a profound impression on Henry. He could talk of nothing else when we met at a coffee-house a little while ago.'
'And you say that Harriet Gow vacated the role?'
'She is indisposed.'
'Do you know why, Mr Redmayne?'
'Sickness was mentioned.'
'Then it can be ruled out immediately,' said the other sagely. 'No actress would yield up as telling a role as Aspatia unless she were on the point of expiry. There's more behind this. Harriet Gow would never let an ambitious creature like Abigail supplant her, even for one afternoon, if it could possibly be avoided.'
'I take it that you admire the lady's work, Sir William?'
'Harriet? She is to Abigail as gold is to base metal. Let me be quite candid. Harriet Gow is the one member of Killigrew's company I'd happily lure away to join The Duke's Men.'
'Not Michael Mohun or Charles Hart?'
'I have their equal in Better ton and Harris.'
'What about Miss Saunders?'
'Tom Killigrew is welcome to the lady. She causes more trouble than she's worth. In short, her aspirations greatly outrun her talents and that cruel fact never improves the temperament of an actress.'
'You sound bitter, Sir William.'
'Wise after the event, Mr Redmayne, that's all.'
The visit had established one thing to Christopher's satisfaction. Sir William D'Avenant was so patently surprised at the news about Harriet Gow that he could not in any way be involved in her abduction. Nor was he working with Abigail Saunders to further the career of a young woman who had, according to Henry Redmayne, been the old man's mistress. Whatever their true relationship had been in the past, it had left the theatre manager with harsh memories.
D'Avenant scratched at the remnants of his nose and regarded his visitor with growing suspicion. He flung a sudden question at him.
'What's your game, sir?' he demanded.
'My game?'
'Yes, Mr Redmayne. Why are you here?'
'I came to see you, Sir William.'
'To exchange tittle-tattle about actresses? No,' said the other with a cynical laugh. 'I think not. There's a darker purpose behind this visit, isn't there? Who sent you?'
'Nobody.'
'Tom Killigrew?'
'I came on my own account.'
'For what purpose?'
'The pleasure of meeting you, Sir William.'
'Pah!'
'It's the truth.'
'Don't talk to me of truth!' snarled the other, hauling himself to his feet. 'I'm old enough to remember a time when it hardly existed. When one thing was said but another meant. When we were all engaged in bare-faced lies of some sort in order to save our own skin.' He loomed over Christopher. 'I only agreed to see you because I know your brother, Henry, a disreputable character, to be sure, but he has a certain louche charm and he patronises my theatre without trying to tear it apart as some of those drunken gallants do. His name got you in through my door but I've yet to hear a reason why I shouldn't turn you straight out again.'
'Then perhaps I should declare my hand,' said Christopher, smiling apologetically as he groped in his mind for an excuse to cover his arrival. 'You're far too perceptive to be misled, Sir William. The fact is that my visit here is connected with my profession.'
'That of a spy, perhaps?'
'Not exactly, though a certain amount of listening, watching and gathering intelligence is required so I have something of the spy about me. I'm an architect, Sir William. I live by my talents.'
'Why trouble me with your company?'
'Because I heard a whisper that you plan to build a new theatre.'
'You've sharp ears, Mr Redmayne.'
'In my profession, I need them,' said Christopher. 'I've a particular fascination with theatre architecture and came to offer my services.'
'I'd look for more experience than you have to offer.'
'Enthusiasm can sometimes outweigh experience.'
'Sometimes,' conceded the other, looking at him with curiosity. 'An architect, you say? What have you designed, Mr Redmayne?'
'Domestic buildings, for the most part.'
'For whom?'
'The last was for Lord Staines. The project on which I'm currently employed is a house I've designed for Mr Jasper Hartwell.'
'Hartwell? That lunatic fop in the ginger wig?'
'He's a good client, sir.'
'And a rich fool into the bargain. That's the best kind of client you can have. Well, you must have earned your spurs if someone like Lord Staines sees fit to offer you a commission, and Jasper Hartwell would never live in a cheap house. You have definite credit, Mr Redmayne.'
'Enough to interest you, Sir William?'
'Tell me what you know about the design of a theatre.'
'I've visited Mr Killigrew's playhouse and your own, of course, in Portugal Street where you converted Lisle's Tennis Court into a theatre.'
'Successfully, do you think?'
'Yes, Sir William. You showed great invention. Your use of scenery was quite brilliant. That's what forced Mr Killigrew to build his new theatre near Drury Lane. His own converted tennis court in Vere Street could never match The Duke's Playhouse.'
Christopher expatiated on the architectural merits of all three buildings but he had criticism as well as praise. He took care to mention that he had seen several plays performed in France and learned much from their presentation. Convinced that his visitor's interest was real, D'Avenant was soon caught up in a heady discussion of his own plans, showing a deep knowledge of theatrical practicalities and a commendable grasp of architectural principles. In the course of their debate, he also introduced a fund of anecdotes about actors and actresses with whom he had worked in his long career. Christopher was entranced. Valuable new facts were emerging every minute.
'I am known as a master of adaptation,' said D'Avenant proudly. 'For one thing, I have the right to adapt the plays of my godfather, the revered William Shakespeare, a name that will always live on our stages. But, in a sense, Mr Redmayne, my whole life has been one interminable act of adaptation. Circumstances forced me to change time and again. I had to adapt or perish. Take the Commonwealth,' he went on, resuming his seat. 'Theatres were closed down, actors thrown out of work. But I found a way around the rules. Plays might be forbidden but there was no decree against opera. Adaptation came to my aid once again. I took a play called The Siege of Rhodes and, by the addition of music and song, turned it into an opera. Since I had no theatre, I adapted this very house for performance.'
'Your name is a by-word for ingenuity, Sir William.'
'So it should be. It's what sets me apart from that grubbing little charlatan, Tom Killigrew. That and the fact that I write plays of true wit whereas he can only manage comedies so scurrilous that even the most degenerate minds are offended by them. Enough of him!' he said derisively. 'The point is this, Mr Redmayne. After all those years of adaptation, I wish to create something wholly original, a theatre that is neither a converted tennis court nor a riding school, but an auditorium conceived solely and exclusively for dramatic entertainment, embodying all that I have learned about that elusive art.'
The Amorous Nightingale Page 12
