The Ladder Dancer (18 page)

I handed him back the tankard. ‘I’ll go and take a look, see if there’s anything left there.’

‘Leave it till morning,’ he advised. ‘I don’t want you carried in here as well.’

‘I’ll be careful.’

My footsteps were loud in the still night; I came out of the Fleece’s yard on to the Sandhill and stood contemplating the Guildhall across the other side of the open expanse. The owl swooped over my head and was lost in the night. The landlord was right; if the attacker still lingered, I’d be putting myself in danger. And I’d see more in daylight. Yet there was a chance the knife might remain there, overlooked, and I didn’t want to risk a thief coming along and making off with it.

A torch on the façade of the mercer’s shop still burned. I lifted it down and hesitated at the mouth of the alley. The torch cast a bright light, but only over the first few yards.

There was no reason an attacker should have lingered here but I went in cautiously, just in case. The flaring light showed a narrow alley sloping steeply upwards, then turning into a flight of steps climbing the Castle Mound. There was the usual litter – rotten fruit, abandoned fragments of wood, even a rat that skittered away into a blocked-up doorway as I approached.

A small window showed a faint blurring of light, low down, two feet or so from the ground. I bent to peer in. There were curtains, but they didn’t quite meet in the centre, and I saw the flicker of candlelight. Pink clothes on a chair. Nightingale’s room. The Fleece was built into the slope of the Castle Mound; a room that was up a few steps from the level of the inn yard was partially below ground here.

I straightened, walked, torch guttering, to the steps. There was a large dark patch on the cobbles at the foot of the stairs, irregularly shaped. I bent to touch the stain; it was still sticky in places. This looked like the place Nightingale had fallen.

It could have been an ideal place for an ambush, I thought, looking about, particularly at night when there were few people around. The attacker could have hidden in the blocked-up doorway; it was too shallow to be ideal but in the dark it might have served. I wondered what Nightingale had been doing here. He could have been returning to the Fleece, but this was not an obvious way to come, particularly for a stranger to the town.

I searched but there was no knife either in the alley or on the lower reaches of the steps. I went back out on to the street and returned the torch to its holder. Nightingale might have been attacked by thieves, of course. But why should a robber stab four times? That seemed a personal attack. Unless of course Nightingale had struggled and panicked him.

Was I being over-cautious? Was there any doubt about who’d done this? Ridley had attacked Nightingale at the Jenisons’; he’d been sarcastic with his applause at the concert and he’d been at the Fleece early in the evening looking for Nightingale. I’d good reason to believe Ridley had been instrumental in the death of the child on the Key, and I knew him to be capable of violence. His motive for arguing with Nightingale was mysterious but the two men had plainly known each other in London; Nightingale’s refusal to acknowledge Ridley might suggest a previous association that was not entirely respectable. But would Ridley have been foolish enough to attack Nightingale so soon after their public quarrel?

I thought he was stupid enough for any folly.

My eyes were aching. I rubbed them.

And caught, just at the edge of my vision, a flutter. Something bright reflecting the torchlight. A small figure in yellow, darting back into hiding.

Kate.

Twenty-Three

The coffee house should be a place for quiet contemplation and perusal of the day’s news. All too often, however, it is merely a gossip shop.

[
A Gentleman’s Companion
, July 1734]

I snatched a few hours’ uneasy sleep and was already awake when Esther brought me a dish of hot chocolate. She perched on the edge of the bed, in a distractingly thin nightgown, her blonde hair in one long braid over her shoulder.

‘Is he dead?’

I shook my head. ‘Not when I left him at any rate. But Gale doesn’t think he’ll last long.’

‘Robbers?’

‘Unlikely. And unfortunately no one seems to have seen anything.’

‘Have you sent a message to Jenison?’

I yawned. The chocolate was soothing and rich and bitter, and I was sitting in bed with a beautiful woman –
my wife –
dressed in hardly anything at all, smiling at me, resting her hand on my arm, warm and gentle. There was little more, I thought – well, only a
little
more – required to make me feel Paradise really existed.

I dragged my attention back to the matter in hand. ‘I thought it was better to give Jenison the news face to face rather than send a message by the spirits, and I didn’t want to wake him in the middle of the night. I’ll go down to the Fleece to see if Nightingale’s still alive and then go on to Jenison.’

‘I will carry the message,’ she offered. ‘I am going up there now to take Mrs Jenison her cordial. And it will lessen the risk of them finding out by chance before you can reach them. You can join me there.’ She hesitated. ‘There is still no sign of Kate, by the way.’

That glimpse of yellow the previous night, outside the Fleece. Kate had had an argument with Nightingale, had reason to be angry with him. ‘She’ll turn up again,’ I said.

‘I hope so. She needs help, Charles.’

I went out without breakfast. It was late morning when I walked into the Fleece again. The first person I saw was Joseph, the lad who watched overnight, sitting on a chair at the entrance from the yard into the kitchen passageway. He was yawning hugely and rubbing his tousled hair. ‘He’s not dead yet,’ he said and jerked his head at the stairs.

Nightingale was much as I’d seen him the previous night. Propped against the pillows, unnaturally still, unnaturally white. The only change was in his breathing, which sounded even more raw and hoarse. The girl by the bed was mending a petticoat and never looked at Nightingale once in all the time I was there. In a way, I didn’t blame her. What was there for her to do? She was waiting simply for the moment when that husky breathing stopped.

The sound followed me out of the room.

I’d hardly stepped into the street again when a hand took my arm. Heron’s voice said in my ear, ‘We need to talk. Have you eaten?’

We went into Nellie’s coffee house; for once it was relatively quiet. We sat in the window where we could see the fish market across the other side of the Sandhill; I ordered bread and cold meats; Heron declined food but took a dish of coffee.

‘The servants are saying Nightingale has been attacked. Killed.’

‘Attacked, yes. But he’s not dead yet, though Gale thinks it’s just a matter of time.’

‘Do you know what’s happened?’

I told him as much as I knew, excepting my glimpse of Kate. I needed to think more about that. I did tell him I suspected Ridley of some involvement. Heron listened in silence, lean fingers playing with his coffee dish. When I’d finished, he was silent for a moment, then said abruptly, ‘Ridley has disappeared.’

I was not surprised. I cut a chunk of bread and laid meat on top. ‘Do you take that as an admission of guilt?’

He considered. ‘Some people will think so. But he is quite capable of disappearing simply in order to annoy his mother and me.’

‘He’s not at the Old Man?’

‘I sent my manservant to enquire. Ridley was there early last evening and has not been seen since.’ He added dryly, ‘They are eager to find him – he has not paid his bill.’

‘The real problem,’ I said, ‘is that the attack seems to be on the wrong person. Obviously Ridley and Nightingale weren’t on good terms after that incident at the Jenisons’, and Ridley’s behaviour at the concert yesterday hardly improved matters. But surely that would give Nightingale a reason to attack Ridley, not the other way round?’

‘I think Ridley is capable of picking an argument just for the fun of it,’ Heron said.

‘But this was a determined assault, with intent to severely injure, if not to kill.’

‘Nothing would surprise me with Ridley. Does Jenison know of the attack?’

‘Esther’s gone up to tell them, and I promised to follow once I’d established how he is.’

‘There’ll be the devil to pay with the ladies,’ Heron said. ‘They’ll be inconsolable.’ He drank a little, a very little, of his coffee and got up. ‘I have business meetings today – I may have to ride out of town for an hour or two. I have set my servants to look for Ridley but in truth I am growing very tired of his antics. I am more than inclined to let him take his chances.’

I watched him out of the room, pondering on the likelihood of Ridley being the attacker. But as I finished my coffee, my thoughts were on that small figure I’d seen in the darkness of the early morning. Ridley was not the only person who’d disappeared. And not long before Kate had gone, she’d been angry with Nightingale, and determined to confront him.

Someone was tapping on the window. A face peered at me from the street. Hugh. He waved and hurried off. A moment or two later he was banging the coffee house door and calling to one of the girls to bring him ale. He dropped into the chair opposite me with a sigh.

‘Quiet in here, ain’t it? I’ve just seen Heron – he said you were here. Who killed Nightingale?’

I sighed. ‘No one. He’s not dead yet.’ Briefly, I outlined yet again what had happened.

‘Poor devil,’ Hugh said. He was out of breath but otherwise looked fit and healthy. Immaculately dressed as always, that sling giving him a dashing air that made the serving girls glow at him. And, given the paucity of customers, there were four girls occupying their time ogling him.

‘What happened to the cold?’

‘Disappeared,’ he said happily. ‘Woke up this morning, clear nose, no headache. Fit as a fiddle. Must have been all that excitement yesterday.’ Charlotte put a plate of bread and pie in front of him; he grinned at her, shifted the plate awkwardly with his good hand. ‘So who did it?’

I hesitated. ‘It could have been a thief.’

‘Come on, Charles! This isn’t up to your usual standard! You usually have everything sorted out by now. Was he robbed?’

‘No, but that’s not to say it mightn’t have been an
attempted
robbery. The villains could have been disturbed before they got anything.’

He speared a piece of pie with his knife. ‘But you don’t believe so?’

I glanced round to make sure we couldn’t be overheard; the other customers all looked half-asleep. I lowered my voice. ‘Cuthbert Ridley’s disappeared.’

Hugh chewed. ‘Now there’s an unpleasant piece of work. Think he did it?’

‘If Nightingale had been hit over the head with a bottle in a tavern, I’d say yes straight away. But it seems someone lay in wait for him. That’s too calculating for Ridley.’

Hugh gestured with his knife. ‘And?’

We paused while Charlotte brought me more coffee and gave Hugh another admiring glance. He winked at her. ‘And what?’ I said, after she was gone.

‘And what else are you not telling me? Come on, Charles, you have someone else in mind as our possible assassin.’

I sighed, sipped at my fresh dish of coffee. ‘Kate.’

He frowned. ‘Did she not come back to the house then?’

‘No.’

‘But what motive would she have?’ he protested. ‘He was going to take her to London – he was her only chance of leaving her wretched life behind.’

‘No such thing,’ I said. ‘Yesterday, at the concert, he told me he’d no intention of taking her on permanently – she was just a novelty to enliven a concert or two. And she heard what he said, Hugh. That’s why she was so angry afterwards.’

‘But why attack him? Surely she would have tried to change his mind?’

‘Suppose she did, but he wouldn’t listen? She might lash out, do more damage than she anticipated. She’s not a genteelly reared child, Hugh, she’s lived on the streets since she was old enough to walk, and she’s seen a lot more, and is capable of a lot more, than the average child.’

‘Charles,’ Hugh said patiently, waving his knife, ‘Nightingale’s a grown man, taller than you, about my height. Big and burly. The girl’s twelve years old and small for her age. Where were his injuries?’

‘Shoulder and belly.’

‘How would she stab someone twice her height in the shoulder?’

I drained my coffee. ‘What’s behind the Fleece, Hugh?’

‘What’s this – the catechism? There’s nothing behind it except the Castle Mound.’ He stopped, staring.

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘The alley where Nightingale was stabbed runs alongside the Fleece then climbs up the mound in a series of steps up to the castle yard itself. Suppose Nightingale was coming down those steps. Kate comes down after him, and when he gets to the bottom she darts forward and from the vantage point of three or four steps up, she strikes. The steps are very steep, Hugh – it might have been a stretch, but I doubt it was impossible.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘He’d have heard her come up behind him.’

‘Not if he was drunk – and I suspect he would have been
very
drunk.’

‘But still!’

I sighed. ‘She can step through, Hugh.’

He shivered as if he was cold. ‘Charles, you know how much—’

‘You hate the idea? Yes, I do know.’ It puzzled me, that dislike – was Hugh not even curious about how the process worked? ‘Kate could have stepped through from that
other
place and attacked Nightingale from behind.’

‘Could she do that?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I thought it was all very imprecise, that you can’t govern where you go or when.’

‘It is with me,’ I admitted. ‘I’m beginning to think Kate has abilities I don’t.’

‘Oh God,’ he said. ‘A girl like that! Who knows what might happen?’

‘I am trying to keep my eye on her,’ I said dryly. ‘I’m not saying Kate
did
attack Nightingale, just that it isn’t physically impossible.’