Edward Marston - The Amorous Nightingale

'Try to relax, Mr Bale. Let the horse do the work.'

'I prefer to travel on foot.'

'We must make best use of the last of the light,' said Christopher. 'And I think it's very important to speak to Mr Gow. That became clear after my conversation with Martin Eldridge.'

'The other Bartholomew Gow.'

There was a note of censure in his voice. As they left the house in Bedford Street, Christopher had told him about his reunion with the actor, confiding details that he did not wish to reveal in front of his brother. Jonathan had been shocked at Martin Eldridge's confession. It gave him no pleasure to learn that his assumption about the house in Greer Lane had been correct. The realisation that Harriet Gow, still a married woman, had a series of assignations with one man while involved at the same time in a dalliance with the King and, it was not impossible, with some of her other admirers as well, had offended his Puritan sensibilities deeply.

'It would not happen in my ward,' he asserted.

'What?'

'Using a house for immoral purposes like that. The magistrate would be informed. Action would be taken against the owner.'

'There's no law against inviting people into one's home, Mr Bale. Who are we to say what they get up to when they are left alone in a room? As for secret assignations,' Christopher pointed out, 'I'll wager they take place every bit as often in Baynard's Castle Ward as elsewhere.'

'Money changed hands in this case. That's the crucial point.'

'Can you prove it?'

'Why else would that woman provide the use of rooms?'

'You can ask her,' said Christopher, 'because you'll need to go back to Greer Lane before this business is over. My guess is that money changed hands for a more sinister purpose. That coach was ambushed right on her doorstep. The likelihood is that she was on the premises at the time and paid to look the other way. That's of far more interest to me than whether or not she assists the course of true love.'

'It's hardly true love!' protested Jonathan.

'It was in the case of Martin Eldridge. He worshipped Mrs Gow. I could see that. And she must have loved him to take such a risk.'

The bay mare gave a sudden lunge forward and caught Jonathan unawares. Rocking in the saddle, he tightened his grip on the reins.

'Go to Clerkenwell on your own, sir,' he advised.

'Why?'

'I'm not enjoying this ride.'

'But I need you to guide me, Mr Bale.'

'I could give you directions instead.'

'Why bother?' said Christopher. 'We need to go together. It's time we combined our forces instead of acting independently. Besides, you've already met Mr Gow. He trusts you.' He grinned as Jonathan's mare tossed its head mutinously. 'Rather more than you trust that horse.' 'I'm not sure what else we can learn from Mr Gow.'

'You think the visit is a waste of time?'

'No, Mr Redmayne,' said Jonathan. 'I just feel that we might be better employed searching for that house in Richmond.'

'In the dark? We'd never reach there by nightfall, especially if you insisted on travelling on foot. I'm as anxious as you to find that house, believe me, but we need more guidance.'

'Your brother mentioned Sir Godfrey Armadale.'

'Yes,' said Christopher, 'and it's a name I've heard in connection with Mrs Gow before.'

'Then the house may belong to him.'

'Let's not jump to over-hasty conclusions. I have it on good authority that Sir Godfrey Armadale is no longer living anywhere near London. He's moved back to the West Country.'

'Who told you that?'

'Roland Trigg.'

'And how would he know?'

'He used to be Sir Godfrey's coachman.'

As soon as he said it, Christopher realised that it was too great a coincidence to ignore. Jonathan reached the same verdict. Both jerked the reins to bring their horses to a sudden halt while their eyes had a silent conversation.

Carrying a sack, Roland Trigg let himself into the house with the key entrusted to him by Harriet, but he did not move about with the deferential tread of a servant this time. Pounding up the stairs, he went into her bedchamber and looked around for booty. Light was fading now but sufficient came in through the windows to save him from needing a candle. In any case, he had other plans for the silver candelabra. They were the first items to be placed in the sack. He crossed to the table on which an ornate mirror was set. It was here that Harriet Gow so often sat, but no beauty was reflected in the glass now. The big, bruised, sweating face of Roland Trigg could be seen as he scoured the table.

Most of the jewellery was in the largest of the boxes. He feasted his eyes on the contents, emitting a laugh of joy as he guessed at the value. A second box followed the first into the sack then he found a third, a small, velvet-covered box, hidden away behind a pile of books. Opening it with curiosity, he let out a wheeze of surprise when he saw the ring that lay inside. Encrusted with diamonds, the large ruby sparkled with fire. Trigg held it on the palm of his hand to examine it. The ring was quite priceless. He suspected that it was a gift from the King himself. That gave it additional value in his eyes. The little box went into the sack, followed by the other items he scooped up.

Trigg worked quickly. He had somewhere to go.

'Why have you come to me?' said Bartholomew Gow irritably. 'I told Constable Bale all that I knew.'

'Yes,' said Christopher. 'He was struck by your honesty.'

'Why bother me again?'

'Because we thought you might actually be interested to know if your wife had been found and released yet.'

'Has she?' asked Gow with delayed eagerness.

'Unfortunately not.'

'Where is Harriet?'

'I'm hoping that you might be able to tell us, Mr Gow.'

'How would I know?'

The estranged husband was disconcerted when two visitors called at that time of the evening. Forced to invite them into the shabby little house, he was determined to send them on their way as soon as possible. Since there were only two seats in the room, Jonathan Bale remained standing. Christopher took the chair opposite his host. Sensing his reluctance to help, he tried to impress upon him the gravity of the situation.

'Mrs Gow is in serious danger, sir.'

'It's not my doing.'

'Don't you care?' he chided. 'Does your wife's safety merit no more than an afterthought? Mr Bale may have told you about the abduction but there are other crimes involved here.'

'There are,' agreed Jonathan, signalled into the conversation. 'Mr Redmayne's own brother was viciously assaulted and an even worse fate was visited on Mary Hibbert.'

'Mary?' said Gow. 'Harriet's maid?'

'She'll not be able to serve your wife any more, sir.'

'Why not?'

'She was beaten to death.'

Gow paled. 'She was murdered?'

'Now you see what we're up against, sir.'

'But why? Who could want to kill a girl like Mary Hibbert?'

'Their names are Smeek and Froggatt,' said Christopher, taking over again. 'Thanks to Mr Bale, both of them are in Newgate, awaiting trial. But they're only hired villains. We still don't know the name of the man who paid them to kidnap your wife.'

He gave Bartholomew Gow a few moments to absorb the new information. It made him thoughtful and uneasy. He looked at his two visitors with a degree of welcome.

'How can I help?' he offered.

'By giving us some names,' said Christopher.

'Names?'

'Yes, Mr Gow. We've been compiling lists of your wife's friends and enemies. To be honest, we weren't quite sure which category you fell into yourself. Perhaps neither.'

'I want Harriet to be saved,' affirmed Gow.

'Then we're working to the same end. The names we have were all suggested by people at the theatre. We wondered if you might add one or two more to the list. I know this must be embarrassing for you,' said Christopher delicately, 'and I apologise for that. What I can promise you is that Constable Bale and I will be very discreet.'