'There you go again!' she teased. 'Running the girl down.'
'I'm worried about her, that's all. Deeply worried. Daniel Hibbert was a good friend of mine. Any child of his can call on me for help.'
'But that's not what Mary did.'
'More's the pity!'
'Aren't you forgetting something?' she said quietly. 'When the Plague ravaged the city, she lost two parents in a matter of weeks. Think on that, Jonathan. Yet she never complained or asked for sympathy. Mary and her younger brother kept struggling on. She did all she could to improve herself and her hard work finally paid off. Look what she's achieved. A place in the household of a famous actress.'
He was cynical. 'Famous or infamous?'
'Don't be so harsh.'
'I'm only being honest, Sarah. You think that Mary Hibbert has made something of herself but I shudder at what's happened. Her parents raised her to lead a life full of Christian endeavour, and where has it ended? In the playhouse! That veritable hell-hole. That public sewer called The King's Theatre.'
'Can it really be so bad?'
'Worse than I dare to describe.'
'But you said that Mary had not been corrupted.'
'Not as yet.'
'You told me how friendly and open she still was.'
'That's true,' he conceded. 'She had no airs and graces. Nor did I catch any hint of coarsening. It was a pleasure to talk to her.'
'It's a pity you didn't give her the same pleasure,' chided his wife, putting a gentle hand on his arm. 'You mean well, Jonathan, I know, but your strictures can be a little daunting at times.'
'Someone has to speak out.'
'There are voices enough to do that.'
'Mine will always be one of them.'
'Even when you're talking to an innocent girl? What harm has she done? What crime has she committed?' She watched him carefully. 'I'll warrant that Mary has
Jonathan pondered. 'Yes, Sarah,' he said at length. 'I did.'
'And?'
'Mary Hibbert has not been polluted.'
'Then why read her a sermon?'
'I've been feeling guilty about that ever since.'
'So you should.'
'Yet the girl needed to be warned.'
'Against what?'
'The dangers that surround her.'
Sarah gave him a hug. 'You spy dangers everywhere,' she said fondly. 'It comes from being a constable. You may claim that you never bring your work across that threshhold but it's not true. It follows you wherever you go. You're always on duty. You can't help being what you are, Jonathan, and I love you for it.'
'There's some consolation, then,' he said with a smile.
'You're a good man. Too good in some ways.'
'What do you mean?'
'You expect too much. You set standards that others can never meet. Stop trying to control people. They have their own lives to lead, Mary Hibbert among them. Leave her be,' she counselled. 'My guess is that she's under no threat. Not if she's the girl I remember. She has her wits about her.'
'You may be right.'
'I am right. Stop worrying about her.'
'I'll try, Sarah.'
'Have faith in the girl. Mary won't let herself down, I'm sure. Nor will she come to any grief. Just let her go about her own business in her own way,' she said softly. 'No harm will befall her.'
The flowers never ceased to delight her. Mary Hibbert walked among them like a child exploring a magic garden. Harriet Gow never lacked for floral tributes. Baskets of exquisite blooms arrived each day from close friends or anonymous admirers. The house near St James's Square was replete with Nature's beauty and charged with the fragrance of summer. A red rose caught Mary's eye, a flower so rich in hue and so perfect in composition that it took her breath away. She felt a vicarious thrill. No man had ever sent her flowers or even given her a posy. Yet she could take pleasure from the fact that her mistress attracted so much love and devotion. She could share indirectly in the joy of adoration.
It was early evening and Mary had been back in the house for several hours now. She was glad that she had visited her sick uncle even though she collected a severe reproach from her aunt in the process, and, during her chance meeting with Constable Bale, some further disapproval. Mary could understand their attitude towards her and she was relieved that her brother, Peter, did not share it. Her aunt and her former neighbour could never appreciate the privileges of the world in which she now moved whereas Peter simply marvelled at them. Being surrounded by beautiful flowers was only one of those privileges. As she looked around the room with its costly furnishings, she offered up a silent prayer of thanks.
Hearing the sound of a coach, she crossed to the window to see if her mistress was returning but the vehicle rumbled on past the house. Mary was mystified. Mrs Gow should have been back some hours ago. Peter, too, should have arrived by now. Her brother was coming to get some money from her and he was rarely late for such an appointment. Mary had no idea where either of them might be. Mrs Gow's absences were routinely cloaked in euphemism. That was the rule of the house. In this particular case, her departure enabled Mary to pay the overdue visit to Carter Lane to call on an ailing relative. Enjoined to be back at the house by early afternoon, she wondered what had delayed her employer. Her apprehension grew.
She was relieved, therefore, when she heard the bell ring. Her mistress had come at last. Running to the front door, she flung it open with a welcoming smile but the greeting died on her lips. Instead of looking into the lovely face of Harriet Gow, she was staring at a complete stranger, a short, stocky individual in the garb of a coachman. The visitor tipped his hat respectfully.
'Miss Hibbert?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'We need your help, please. Mrs Gow has sprained her ankle and will not alight from the coach until you come. Follow me.'
'Wait!' said Mary guardedly. 'Where's Roland? He always drives Mrs Gow's coach. Why isn't Roland here?'
'He, too, was injured in the accident, Miss Hibbert.'
'What accident?'
'Come with me and your mistress will explain.'
'But I see no coach.'
'It's just around the corner, a mere step away.'
'Why is it there?'
'Please,' he insisted politely. 'You're keeping Mrs Gow waiting.'
Against her better judgement, Mary went with him around the angle of the house to the vehicle that was parked in the next street. She came to a sudden halt. It was not her mistress's coach at all. Before she could protest, her companion grabbed her firmly by the shoulder. A second man, lurking in readiness in a doorway, came up behind her to drop a hood over her head and to push her forward. Mary was hustled swiftly into the coach. Strong arms imprisoned her while a rope was tied tightly around her wrists. She flew into a panic but the hood muffled her screams. Her flailing body was easily subdued by the people who trussed her up. It was terrifying. She heard a whip crack and felt the horses lunge into action. The coach soon picked up speed. As the vehicle rattled noisily along the street, Mary Hibbert continued to yell for help that she knew would never come.
