The Amorous Nightingale (27 page)

    'Good
morning, sir.'

    'There's
no room for anything to get past while this cart is here.'

    'They'll
have to wait,' said the other cheerily. 'We must have our beer or I'll lose custom.
I daresay you don't have lanes as narrow as this in your ward. Not since the
fire, that is.'

    'Every
street, lane and alley that was rebuilt had to be wider, sir, by order of
Parliament. It's a sensible precaution. Fire spreads easily when properties are
huddled so closely together.'

    'Then
keep it away from us.'

    The
innkeeper was a short, stout, red-faced man with a bald head that was encircled
by a tonsure of matted grey hair. There was nothing monastic, however, in his
coarse appearance and rough voice.

    'So
what brings you back to the Red Lion?' he said.

    'Something
you told me yesterday.'

    'I
think I told you quite a lot, sir.'

    'You
gave me a list of people who live in the lane.'

    'That
I did, Mr Bale.'

    Jonathan
was surprised. 'You remember my name, then?'

    'A
good memory is an asset in my trade, sir. People like to be recognised. It
makes them feel welcome. I always remember names.'

    'The
one that interests me is Bartholomew Gow.'

    'Ah,
yes. He wasn't a regular patron of my inn but he did come in often enough for
me to get to know him a little.'

    'How
would you describe him?'

    'Pleasant
enough, sir. Kept himself to himself. He always moved on if things became a bit
rowdy. Mr Gow was too much of a gentleman to put up with that.'

    'What
age would you put him at?'

    'Well
below thirty still, I'd say,' replied the man, exploring a hirsute ear with his
little finger. 'Handsome fellow. The tavern wenches were all keen to serve Mr
Gow. He had a way with him, see. My wife remarked on it a few times.' He gave
an understanding chuckle. 'She wouldn't admit it to me, of course, but I think
she misses him.'

    'Misses
him?'

    'He
hasn't been in to see us for weeks.'

    'Why
not?'

    'Who
knows? Maybe he found somewhere more to his taste, sir. The Red Lion can get a
bit lively when drink has flowed. Mr Gow was never at ease when that happened.'

    'Where
exactly does he live?' said Jonathan, glancing back down the lane. 'Do you know
which house?'

    'No,
sir, but it's towards the bottom. That's where the best lodgings are to be
found and I told you he was a gentleman.'

    'Lodgings?
He doesn't own the house, then?'

    'Oh,
no. He had a room, that's all.'

    Jonathan
squeezed every detail he could out of the man before thanking him for his help
and moving off. When he got to the lower end of the lane, he began knocking on
doors systematically in his search for Bartholomew Gow. The fourth house was
owned by a big, fleshy woman in her thirties with a prominent bosom taking
attention away from a podgy face that was pitted by smallpox. She opened the
door with reluctance and was clearly displeased to see a constable standing
there.

    'Good
morning,' said Jonathan politely.

    She
was wary. 'What can I do for you, sir?'

    'I'm
looking for a Mr Bartholomew Gow.'

    'Then
you've come too late. He moved out.'

    'When?'

    'Week
or so ago.'

    'But
he did lodge here?'

    'Yes.'

    'What
sort of man was he?'

    'The
kind that pays his rent. That's all I cared about.' She gave him a basilisk
stare then tried to close the front door.

    'Wait,'
he said, putting out a hand to stop her. 'I need to ask you something. A couple
of days ago, there was an incident right outside your door involving a coach.
It scraped along the front of your house.' He pointed to the marks in the
brickwork. 'Were you in the house at the time?'

    'No,
sir.'

    'Was
anyone else here? Anyone who might have heard the noise and rushed out to see what
was going on?'

    'Nobody,
sir.'

    'What
of your neighbours? Did they see anything?'

    'I
don't think so or they'd have told me.'

    'There
must have been
some
witnesses.'

    'I
wouldn't know,' she said sourly.

    Jonathan
became aware that he was being watched from the upper room. It was the second
time he had been under surveillance from that standpoint. When he stepped back
to look up, he saw a figure move smartly away from the window.

    'Did
Mr Gow have the room at the front?' he wondered.

    'Yes,
sir.'

    'Who
lodges there now?'

    'Another
gentleman.'

    And
she closed the door this time before he could stop her.

    'You've
saved me a journey, Mr Redmayne. I was just about to come calling at your house
in order to see you.'

    'Why?'

    'Because
I wish to get to the bottom of this once and for all.'

    'What
do you mean, Mr Killigrew?'

    'Something
is afoot, sir,' said the manager waspishly. 'A worrying turn of events has
occurred. First of all, I get a letter from Harriet Gow to say that she's
temporarily indisposed. Then your brother, Henry, barges in here with the same
news and does his best to pump me about the members of my company. Word somehow
leaks out about her absence and I'm harried to death by her admirers, that
moonstruck idiot, Jasper Hartwell, among them. Next minute, I find your brother
peering over my shoulder while I'm taking a rehearsal then he springs the
biggest surprise of all by turning up at my theatre, covered in blood.'

    'It
was good of you to convey him back to his home, Mr Killigrew,' said
Christopher. 'That's one of the main reasons I called. To thank you for coming
to Henry's aid and to give you a report on his condition.'

    'How
is he?'

    'Weak
but slowly recovering from his ordeal.'

    'I
thought we'd lost him when he was carried in here. Let me be brutally honest,
sir. There've been times in my life when I could willingly have taken a cudgel
to your brother myself. Henry can irritate so. But I repented my urge when I
saw him lying there,' he said, recalling the gruesome image. 'No man deserves
to be battered to a pulp like that.'

    Thomas
Killigrew was in a peppery mood when Christopher met him at the theatre. His visitor
noted the disparity between this manager and the one with whom he had competed
so strenuously for years. Killigrew had none of the easy charm of Sir William
D'Avenant, the putative son of a humble Oxford innkeeper, who had risen to the
status of a courtier and effortlessly acquired all the skills that went with
it. The puffy Killigrew might have prior claim on the King's friendship but he
lacked the studied grace of the older man.

    'Let's
not waste words, Mr Redmayne,' said the manager. 'I want to know exactly what's
going on.'

    'You
have every right to do so, Mr Killigrew.'

    'Then
please explain.'

    'First,
let me offer an apology,' said Christopher. 'I feel that an unguarded remark of
mine might have led Mr Hartwell to hound you here yesterday. He's developed a
rare passion for Harriet Gow.'

    'Show
me a man who hasn't.'

    'She's
a remarkable woman. I count that performance of hers in
The Maid's Tragedy
as the most moving I've ever seen from an actress.'

    'Abigail
Saunders ran her close.'

    'I'll
come to Miss Saunders in moment.'

    'Your
brother was showing an interest in her.'

    'Henry
is not in a position to show an interest in any woman at the moment,' said
Christopher sadly. 'It's all my fault for employing him to do a job that I was
engaged to do myself.'

    'And
what job was that?'

    Christopher
saw no point in trying to deceive someone as worldly as the manager any longer.
The disappearance of Harriet Gow had a direct effect on his takings at the
theatre. It was in his interests to have her back on stage as soon as possible
so that audiences would flock there again. That could be best achieved,
Christopher judged, by taking the manager into his confidence. It would gain
far more cooperation from Killigrew than Henry Redmayne had been able to secure
by his more roundabout means. Swearing him to secrecy, Christopher gave a terse
account of the situation. Killigrew was shaken to hear that his leading actress
had been abducted and horrified to learn of the death of Mary Hibbert. When he
fitted the attacks on Henry Redmayne and Roland Trigg into the picture, he saw
how serious the predicament was.

    One
thing puzzled the manager. He frowned in wonderment.

    'You're
conducting this search on your
own,
Mr Redmayne?'

    'No,
I'm working in harness with Jonathan Bale, a constable.'

    'An
architect and a mere constable?'

    'We
were able to be of service to His Majesty in the past,' said Christopher
modestly. 'That's why he sent for us. But the principal reason for using two
men in this investigation instead of two hundred is that we will not arouse
attention. At least, that's what I thought until Henry was assaulted. The
ransom note insisted that no attempt be made to rescue Harriet Gow. Because we
disobeyed, Mary Hibbert was killed by way of reprisal.'

    'Doesn't
that frighten you and this constable off?'

    'Quite
the opposite, Mr Killigrew. I feel guilty that anything I may have done somehow
led to the girl's death and Mr Bale is not the kind of man who's ever scared away.
He knew Mary Hibbert as a friend and neighbour. Nothing will stop him tracking
down her killers.'

    'How
can I help?'

    'In
many ways.'

    'Teach
me what they are.'

    'The
main one is to tell us more about Mrs Gow's private life. You must have had
some insight into it. Henry made a start for me. He managed to compile a list
of people who were either close to her or who might be suspect in some way.'

    'Do
you have that list with you?'

    'Of
course,' said Christopher, producing it from his pocket to give it to him.
'Please disregard the last name.'

    'If
only I could!' said Killigrew, looking at it with disgust.

    'I
interviewed Sir William D'Avenant myself. He's not implicated.'

    'He'd
do all he could to seduce Harriet away from me.'

    'Would
he condone violence and murder?'

    'He'd
roast his grandmother on a spit in the middle of a stage if he thought it would
increase his income at the theatre.

    But
no,' conceded the manager, 'not murder. I think the old crow would stop short of
that.'

    'What
of the other names?'

    'Henry
has worked hard. He's got most of Harriet's close friends down here - and her
enemies. In fact, there's only one person he hasn't put down and that's Martin
Eldridge.'

    'A
friend or an enemy, sir?'

    'Oh,
a friend. No shadow of a doubt about that. Indeed, I have my suspicions that
Martin Eldridge may have been elevated beyond the level of friendship by
Harriet. She was deeply upset when I had to terminate his contract,' Killigrew
said, lovingly caressing his moustache. 'She more or less pleaded with me to
give Martin a second chance.'

    'Second
chance?'

    'That's
what Harriet called it. By my reckoning, it would have been more like a sixth
or seventh chance.'