'Mary!'
Harriet Gow came running across the room to help her up.
'Have they brought you here as well?'
'Yes, Mrs Gow.'
Mary burst into tears, not knowing whether to be relieved at the sight of her mistress or frightened by the dire straits in which they found themselves. Rising from her feet, she flung herself into her employer's arms, each clinging tight and drawing comfort from the other. Harriet eventually took her maidservant by the shoulders.
'This is all my fault,' she admitted.
'No, no, Mrs Gow. Don't say that.'
'They've dragged you down with me, Mary.'
'I don't blame you, honestly. I'm just so glad to see you again.'
There was no gladness in her eyes. As she looked at Harriet Gow, she did not see the poised and graceful woman with whom she spent her days so happily. Her mistress was flushed and unkempt, her dress torn and her shoes discarded. Hair that was so lovingly brushed as a rule now hung in long, uneven strands. All of her jewellery had been removed. Her composure had also vanished. There was a hunted look about her.
'Where are we, Mrs Gow?' asked Mary, looking around.
'I've no idea.'
'Have they hurt you? Did they…'
'No, Mary. Nobody has touched me. Yet, that is.'
'They locked me in a cellar all night.'
'How dreadful!' She hugged the girl to her. 'My plight is little better but at least I have a comfortable bed and a garden I can look out on. Where exactly it is, I don't know. We were ambushed near the Strand. While they fought with Roland, someone put a hood over my head and pushed me into another coach. It seemed to travel for an age before we got here. All I know is that we're out in the country somewhere. It's no use calling for help. We're quite isolated.'
'I heard you sing, Mrs Gow.'
'What?'
'That's what kept me going. I heard your voice drifting down to the cellar and knew that you were here as well. It helped. I hate it that this has happened to you, but at least we're together now.'
'Yes, child.'
They exchanged a kiss and held each other tighter than ever.
'Mrs Gow,' said Mary at length.
'Yes?'
'Who are they?'
'I'm not sure.'
'What do they want?'
'They haven't told me.'
'Do you have no idea who they might be?'
'No, Mary.'
'Why are they
By way of an answer, Harriet Gow eased her across to the little sofa and sat beside her on it. Letting the girl nestle into her, she stroked Mary's hair softly and tried to reassure them both in the only way that came to mind. She began to sing.
Chapter Eight
Jonathan Bale made up for lost time. Having committed himself to the search for the missing women, he began early next day by calling on the house in Carter Lane, ostensibly to reassure Mary Hibbert's relatives that she was safe but also to find out how much they knew about her life and movements. Having gleaned some interesting new details, he left the city by Ludgate and began the long walk towards St James's Palace. It gave him time to marshal his thoughts. Impelled by a desire to rescue Mary Hibbert, he was troubled by memories of the earlier meeting with her when, he now felt, his principles had got the better of his civility. Sarah Bale's comment had been apt: the girl was still young. Jonathan should have made more allowance for the fact.
He was also assailed by guilt about his attitude towards Harriet Gow. Personal interest had drawn him into the investigation but it was as important to find the actress he had never met as the maidservant he had known for years. Both lives were threatened. Both women deserved help. Jonathan chided himself for letting his conscience get in the way of his compassion. While he was worrying about his moral standards, a gifted actress was being held to ransom by brutal men. It had taken the kidnap of Mary Hibbert to bring him to his senses and he was keen to make amends. His stride lengthened purposefully.
St James's Square was still at a very early stage of its growth. Situated in fields to the north-east of St James's Palace, it was taking shape on land which had been leased by the King to one of his most trusted friends, Henry Jermyn, the enterprising Earl of St Albans, who, among other services to the nation, was credited with negotiating the marriage of Charles II. Plots of land around the square were let on building leases and snapped up by astute speculators. Large, well-appointed houses began to rise on all sides, their value increased by their proximity to St James's Palace. It was an area of high profit and aristocratic tone, the sort of suburban development that was anathema to a Puritan constable still shackled by notions of integrity and nostalgia for the Commonwealth.
When he finally reached his destination, therefore, he winced at the sight of the exclusive houses of the rich and titled, at the leafy parkland that surrounded it and at the extraordinary sense of space. Even since it was rebuilt, Baynard's Castle Ward was still a warren of cluttered streets and modest dwellings. St James's Square was a world apart, a frank display of wealth, a haven of Royalist sympathy, a dazzling manifestation of the true spirit of the Restoration. Jonathan fervently hoped that his business would not detain him too long in such an uncongenial part of the capital.
Harriet Gow's abode was at the end of a row of neat houses near the west end of the square. Smaller than most of the new residences that were being erected, they nevertheless rose to three storeys, had matching facades and boasted long walled gardens to the rear. Jonathan rang the front doorbell but got no response. Hearing a banging noise at the back of the property, he went under the archway that separated it from its neighbour and strolled down to the stable. Roland Trigg was inside, coat off and sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms. Using a hammer with the skill of a blacksmith, he was trying to beat a strip of iron back into shape on an anvil.
Jonathan sized him up quickly then stepped into his field of vision. The hammer immediately stopped swinging. Trigg straightened up and greeted the visitor with a defensive stare, wondering why a constable had come calling on him. The heavy implement dangled from his hand.
'Do you want someone?' he asked levelly.
'Are you Mr Roland Trigg, sir?'
'I could be.'
'Coachman to Mrs Gow?'
'Who are you?'
'My name is Jonathan Bale. I've been asked to help Mr Redmayne in a case of abduction. He's authorised me to talk to you.'
'Yes, yes, of course,' said Trigg, setting the hammer aside and relaxing slightly. 'I've said I'll help all I can, Mr Bale. Is there any news? Have you picked up the trail?'
'Not as yet, I'm afraid.'
'They want hanging for what they did!'
'Their days may well end on the gallows,' said Jonathan evenly. He looked down at the strip of metal. 'Doing some repairs?'
