The Amorous Nightingale

a sudden question at him.

    'What's your game, sir?' he demanded.

    'My game?'

    'Yes, Mr Redmayne. Why are you here?'

    'I came to see you, Sir William.'

    'To exchange tittle-tattle about actresses? No,' said the other with a cynical laugh. 'I think not. There's a darker purpose behind this visit, isn't there? Who sent you?'

    'Nobody.'

    'Tom Killigrew?'

    'I came on my own account.'

    'For what purpose?'

    'The pleasure of meeting you, Sir William.'

    'Pah!'

    'It's the truth.'

    'Don't talk to me of truth!' snarled the other, hauling himself to his feet. 'I'm old enough to remember a time when it hardly existed. When one thing was said but another meant. When we were all engaged in bare-faced lies of some sort in order to save our own skin.' He loomed over Christopher. 'I only agreed to see you because I know your brother, Henry, a disreputable character, to be sure, but he has a certain louche charm and he patronises my theatre without trying to tear it apart as some of those drunken gallants do. His name got you in through my door but I've yet to hear a reason why I shouldn't turn you straight out again.'

    'Then perhaps I should declare my hand,' said Christopher, smiling apologetically as he groped in his mind for an excuse to cover his arrival. 'You're far too perceptive to be misled, Sir William. The fact is that my visit here is connected with my profession.'

    'That of a spy, perhaps?'

    'Not exactly, though a certain amount of listening, watching and gathering intelligence is required so I have something of the spy about me. I'm an architect, Sir William. I live by my talents.'

    'Why trouble me with your company?'

    'Because I heard a whisper that you plan to build a new theatre.'

    'You've sharp ears, Mr Redmayne.'

    'In my profession, I need them,' said Christopher. 'I've a particular fascination with theatre architecture and came to offer my services.'

    'I'd look for more experience than you have to offer.'

    'Enthusiasm can sometimes outweigh experience.'

    'Sometimes,' conceded the other, looking at him with curiosity. 'An architect, you say? What have you designed, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Domestic buildings, for the most part.'

    'For whom?'

    'The last was for Lord Staines. The project on which I'm currently employed is a house I've designed for Mr Jasper Hartwell.'

    'Hartwell? That lunatic fop in the ginger wig?'

    'He's a good client, sir.'

    'And a rich fool into the bargain. That's the best kind of client you can have. Well, you must have earned your spurs if someone like Lord Staines sees fit to offer you a commission, and Jasper Hartwell would never live in a cheap house. You have definite credit, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Enough to interest you, Sir William?'

    'Tell me what you know about the design of a theatre.'

    'I've visited Mr Killigrew's playhouse and your own, of course, in Portugal Street where you converted Lisle's Tennis Court into a theatre.'

    'Successfully, do you think?'

    'Yes, Sir William. You showed great invention. Your use of scenery was quite brilliant. That's what forced Mr Killigrew to build his new theatre near Drury Lane. His own converted tennis court in Vere Street could never match The Duke's Playhouse.'

    Christopher expatiated on the architectural merits of all three buildings but he had criticism as well as praise. He took care to mention that he had seen several plays performed in France and learned much from their presentation. Convinced that his visitor's interest was real, D'Avenant was soon caught up in a heady discussion of his own plans, showing a deep knowledge of theatrical practicalities and a commendable grasp of architectural principles. In the course of their debate, he also introduced a fund of anecdotes about actors and actresses with whom he had worked in his long career. Christopher was entranced. Valuable new facts were emerging every minute.

    'I am known as a master of adaptation,' said D'Avenant proudly. 'For one thing, I have the right to adapt the plays of my godfather, the revered William Shakespeare, a name that will always live on our stages. But, in a sense, Mr Redmayne, my whole life has been one interminable act of adaptation. Circumstances forced me to change time and again. I had to adapt or perish. Take the Commonwealth,' he went on, resuming his seat. 'Theatres were closed down, actors thrown out of work. But I found a way around the rules. Plays might be forbidden but there was no decree against opera. Adaptation came to my aid once again. I took a play called The Siege of Rhodes and, by the addition of music and song, turned it into an opera. Since I had no theatre, I adapted this very house for performance.'

    'Your name is a by-word for ingenuity, Sir William.'

    'So it should be. It's what sets me apart from that grubbing little charlatan, Tom Killigrew. That and the fact that I write plays of true wit whereas he can only manage comedies so scurrilous that even the most degenerate minds are offended by them. Enough of him!' he said derisively. 'The point is this, Mr Redmayne. After all those years of adaptation, I wish to create something wholly original, a theatre that is neither a converted tennis court nor a riding school, but an auditorium conceived solely and exclusively for dramatic entertainment, embodying all that I have learned about that elusive art.'

    'Have you chosen a site?'

    'It will be in Dorset Garden.'

    'What about an architect?'

    'You see him before you.'

    'Someone will have to execute the designs on your behalf.'

    'He's already engaged.'

    'Does he require an assistant?' said Christopher hopefully, now fired with a desire to be somehow involved. 'I learn quickly.'

    'Restrict yourself to grand houses, Mr Redmayne. That's where profit lies for an architect. My new theatre may take years to build and I have to confront one hideous truth.'

    'What's that, Sir William?'

    'I may not even live to see it open.'

    He rose slowly to his feet and Christopher followed suit. Moving sluggishly, his host conducted him across the room. Christopher opened the door then turned to face him again.

    'Thank you so much for suffering my company, Sir William.'

    'You've a lively mind. That's always welcome.'

    'I enjoyed hearing about your new theatre.'

    'You had useful ideas of your own on the subject.'

    'It was a privilege to share your vision.'

    'Yet that's not why you came.'

    Christopher was caught unawares. His expression betrayed him.

    'I'll trespass on your time no longer,' he murmured.

    'Give the lady my warmest regards.'

    'Lady?'

    'Harriet Gow. That's who you really came to talk about, isn't it? I could see it in your eyes.' His face