The Amorous Nightingale (22 page)

    'Goodbye,
Mr Redmayne.'

    Henry
gabbled his apologies but the damage was irreparable. Ignoring him, she lapped
up the flattery of all the other men who had crowded into her dressing room.
Henry found himself slowly edged out of the room altogether. His attempt at
befriending the actress had been hopelessly bungled. He would never get close
enough to question her indirectly about Harriet Gow's disappearance now. Nor
could he expect any kind of dalliance by way of compensation. Abigail Saunders
had effectively rejected him on the spot.

    There
was worse to come. Rolling out of the theatre, Henry followed a group of
playgoers who were tottering towards a nearby tavern. He needed some revelry to
atone for his disappointment. A vision of his brother came before his eyes.
Christopher would be angry that he had thrown away all chance of wheedling
information out of the woman who stood to gain most from Harriet Gow's
indisposition. Henry needed more alcohol before he could face his brother's
censure. Licking his lips, he hastened after the others.

    He
did not get very far. As he walked past a sidestreet, two brawny men came out
to grab him by the arms. Henry was given no time to call for help, still less
to offer any resistance. Dragged into a doorway in the sidestreet, he was
cudgelled viciously to the ground then kicked hard in the ribs by his two
attackers. They were swift and proficient. When their work was done, they
flitted nimbly away into the shadows, leaving Henry Redmayne in a groaning heap
on the ground, lying helplessly in a pool of blood.

    The
summons was answered immediately. As soon as Christopher Redmayne heard the
grim tidings, he mounted his horse and kicked it into a gallop, using the hectic
journey to torment himself with guilt and arriving at the house in Bedford
Street in a state of agitation. When he ran up to the bedchamber, he was
shocked to see the condition that his brother was in. Henry seemed barely
alive. His face was covered with bruises and lacerations, his head swathed in
white linen. Traces of blood showed on the bedsheets. More bandaging had been
wound tightly around the exposed chest. His bare arms were listless, his eyes
scarcely flickering. He could manage no word of welcome.

    The
one consolation was that a physician was in attendance. The injuries were
beyond the competence of a mere apothecary or surgeon and Christopher was glad
to discover that a trained physician had been called in. Old and wizened, the
man looked up with a half-smile.

    'Are
you his brother, sir?' he said.

    'Christopher
Redmayne,' replied the other.

    'I've
done all I can for him, Mr Redmayne.'

    'How
is he?'

    'Very
weak. He lost a lot of blood.'

    'But
he'll recover?'

    'Oh
yes, given time and careful nursing. Your brother is tougher than he looks,
sir. He'll pull through, I've no doubts on that score.'

    Christopher
followed him to the door, asking for more detail of the injuries and seeking
more reassurance. When the physician withdrew, the visitor rushed back to his
brother's bedside and knelt anxiously beside it. He put a gentle hand on the
patient's shoulder.

    'Henry?'
he said quietly. 'Can you hear me?'

    'Yes,'
came a faint whisper.

    'Does
it hurt you to talk?'

    'A
little.'

    'What
happened?'

    Henry
needed a few moments to gather his thoughts. Christopher felt a surge of
remorse as he saw the extent of the wounds. Without his fine clothes and
resplendent wig, his brother looked old, disfigured and positively decrepit.
Words came out with painful slowness. Henry was patently suffering.

    'I
went to The King's House,' he said hoarsely, 'to see Abigail Saunders and to
pick up what information I could. She acted well but she is no Harriet Gow.' A
fit of coughing delayed him. 'When I came out into Drury Lane,' he continued,
'I was strolling along when I was set on by two bullies with cudgels.'

    'Did
you get a good look at them?'

    'No,
Christopher.'

    'You'd
never seen them before?'

    'I
don't think so.'

    'Can
you tell me
anything
about them?'

    'Not
really.'

    'What
did they say?'

    'Nothing.'

    'They
just knocked you to the ground?'

    'And
kicked me in the ribs.' He rested a palm gingerly on his chest. 'I thought I was
done for. I thought the rogues would kick me to death.'

    'Were
there no witnesses?'

    'I've
no idea. I was more or less unconscious.'

    'Who
found you?'

    'Someone
who was passing. He probably saved my life.'

    'How
did you get back here?'

    'They
carried me to the theatre. Tom Killigrew brought me home in his carriage.' A
ghost of a laugh. 'I'm surprised he recognised me. I was covered in blood when
they found me. Still, I suppose he's used to such a sight,' he croaked on reflection.
'There are often nasty brawls at his theatre. Broken heads and bleeding wounds
are common enough.'

    'I'm
so sorry about this, Henry.'

    'It
couldn't be helped.'

    'But
it could. I should've been there with you. Or made sure that you had someone by
your side. I did tell you to go armed.'

    'What
use are a sword and dagger when you've no time to draw them? They were too
quick, too strong. They could have finished me.'

    'No,
Henry. This was only a warning.'

    'Warning?'

    'To
me and to Mr Bale.'

    'But
they were probably just bullies, out for a fight.'

    'Oh,
no.'

    'I
got in their way by accident.'

    'It
was all planned.'

    'Or I
was the random victim of robbers.'

    'There
was nothing random about this.'

    'They
were looking for easy pickings.'

    'Was
your purse taken?'

    'My
purse?' He rummaged in his memory. 'I don't think so.'

    'What
about your rings?'

    'They
weren't touched either.'

    'That
proves it,' decided Christopher. 'They weren't after your valuables. You were
singled out, Henry. Watched and jumped on at the right moment. It's all because
of this investigation we've been dragged into. You should've had no part in it.
I was wrong to involve you.'

    'But
I wanted to do my share.'

    Another
fit of coughing brought fresh pain to Henry. His brother waited until it passed
then he adjusted the pillows for him. His heart welled up with sympathy. He and
his brother were far too different in character and divergent in their
interests to be really close, but adversity revealed his true feelings for
Henry. Christopher wanted to reach out and cradle him. He also wanted to wreak
vengeance on his behalf.

    'We'll
find them, Henry. I promise you that.'

    'Be
careful, brother.'

    'Only
cowards attack an undefended man.'

    'I
was off guard for once. Thinking about
her.'

    'Who?'

    'Abigail
Saunders.'

    'Why?'

    'She
knows something, Christopher - I could feel it. She knows that Harriet Gow will
not be back for some time and she's making the most of it. Abigail is too sure
of herself.'

    'What
did she tell you?'

    'Very
little, unfortunately. I made the mistake of bringing Sir William D'Avenant's
name into the conversation and after that, she wouldn't even speak to me. It
cannot be pleasant for her to be associated with a gentleman who once suffered
from such a visible disease.'

    'She
and Sir William are no longer close. That was something I gathered when I
visited him at Rutland House. They parted on harsh terms. Sir William can be
exonerated, Henry. He's not tied up in the conspiracy - that much I did
establish.'

    'And
Abigail?'

    'We'll
need to take a closer look at her.'

    'Go
stealthily. She has barbarous friends.'

    'You
think that she instigated the assault?' said Christopher gently.

    'Put
it this way. One minute, I upset her. The next minute, I'm being cudgelled to
the ground by those two men. And that was
after
I'd told her how much
I'd admired her performance,' Henry joked miserably. 'If I'd dared to criticise
it, she'd probably have had me cut into thin strips and fed to passing dogs in
the street.'

    'We
don't know that Abigail Saunders is in any way caught up in this, Henry, so
let's proceed with caution. Treat her as innocent until we have some evidence
of guilt.' Christopher grew pensive. 'What is clear is that you were set on in
order to send a message to us.'

    'Why?'

    'They
know.'

    'About
what?'

    'The
fact that we're on their tail.'

    'You
may be, Christopher, but I have other priorities now.'

    He
managed a thin smile but the effort made him wince. His brother felt the pain
with him. As he gazed down at the wounded man, he vowed that he would bring his
attackers to justice. Pulled reluctantly into a search for a missing actress,
he now had a personal score to settle. It made him burn with righteous anger.
Every blow that his brother had taken had to be repaid in kind. The message
needed a reply.

    Henry
dozed quietly off to sleep. It was ironic. No day passed without a hundred routine
complaints from him. He would abuse his barber, terrorise his servants and
protest loudly at everything his tailors did for him. Henry Redmayne was the
sort of man who would have a tantrum if he got mud on a new shoe and plunge
into hysteria if any garment of his became torn. Outrage was his natural
element. Yet he had not raised the merest complaint against his savage beating.
There was no whimpering, no reproach, no accusation. Christopher was touched by
his stoicism. It was a new side to his brother.

    Henry's
eyes opened again. Sudden fear showed.

    'Are
you still there?' he asked.

    'Yes,
Henry.'

    'I
just had a frightening thought.'

    'What's
that?'

    'For
the first time in my life, I actually want Father to be here.' He drew in his breath
sharply. 'I must be delirious.'

    Harriet
Gow was suffering a discomfort that bordered on agony. It was several hours
since the departure of Mary Hibbert but she still had no idea if the girl had
escaped or been recaptured. The descent from the window had been effected
without setback. Harriet had hauled the sheets into the room again, quickly
untied them and put them back on the bed. When she returned to the window,
there was no sign of Mary. The brave young fugitive was either crouched in the
bushes or making her way surreptitiously to a part of the garden where she
could climb over the wall. Harriet wanted her back again, fearing for the
girl's safety and blaming herself for agreeing to help in an escape bid that
she was convinced would be doomed.

    When
the woman arrived with a tray of food, she was startled to see only one
occupant in the room. The man was called at once and he conducted a more
thorough search. Crossing to the window, he flung it open and glared out before
racing from the room. The woman and the tray of food disappeared as well and
the door was firmly locked. Part of her punishment had already been inflicted
on Harriet. She was being deprived of her meal. They knew she must have
condoned and assisted the flight of her maidservant. It would lead to
privations.