The Amorous Nightingale

She would never be party to what happened to the girl.'

    'The same fate may befall Harriet Gow if we don't find her soon.'

    'We'll find her,' vowed Jonathan, 'and the men who killed Mary Hibbert. I've a word or two to say to them on her behalf.'

    'So have I,' said Christopher, gritting his teeth. 'They're the same villains who attacked my brother, remember.'

    'Callous rogues, sir. Far too fond of those cudgels.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'You didn't see Mary's body, sir,' said Jonathan quietly. 'I did. I felt dreadful, having to look at her lying naked on that slab. But it had to be done. The physician was lying, Mr Redmayne.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'Mary suffered a great deal. Her whole body was covered in bruises where she'd been cudgelled unmercifully. I think she was beaten to death. My guess is that they only broke her neck afterwards. These men are animals,' he said with rancour. 'They didn't just murder the girl. They enjoyed it.'

Chapter Ten

    After a long and largely sleepless night, Harriet Gow dozed off in the chair, still agonising over her decision to condone her maidservant's bold escape bid. Her slumbers were soon interrupted. The door was unlocked and unbolted then flung open to allow the man and the woman to come bustling in. They wasted no time on a greeting. Harriet was grabbed and lifted bodily from her chair before being dragged out. As they hustled her up the steps, she found her voice again.

    'Where are you taking me?' she bleated.

    'Be quiet!' grunted the man.

    'Who are you?'

    'Never you mind.'

    'You're hurting my arm.'

    'Be glad that I don't do worse.'

    'What's going on?' she cried.

    'You'll be told in time.'

    'Where's Mary?'

    'Forget about her.'

    'Tell me!'

    The man ignored her. Harriet tried hard to assert herself.

    'You can't do this to me!' she protested with as much dignity as she could muster. 'Do you know who I am? What I am?'

    'Oh, yes,' said the man with a throaty chuckle. 'We know.'

    The dialogue took her up the staircase and along the landing. They were marching her back to her room. The change of accommodation was welcome but her relief was tinged with apprehension. Mary Hibbert's fate took precedence over her own immediate comfort. Harriet continued to ask about her until the door of the bedchamber was opened and she was pushed into it. Turning to continue her pleas, she found the door shut firmly in her face. At least she had been rescued from the cellar. What had prompted that? She could not believe that her captors had taken pity on her. Both of them - the man and the woman - had been consistently brusque with her. They spoke only to give her commands and they had no compunction about laying violent hands on her.

    Evidently, they were acting on orders - but who was giving them? Was there someone else in the house, supervising her imprisonment and controlling any punishment she needed to suffer? Her two captors wore masks to avoid being recognised. Did that mean she had seen them before, or were they merely concealing their identity as a precaution against being picked out by her at a later date? And what of their master? Why did he not put in an appearance, if only to taunt her? What made him keep so carefully out of the way?

    Harriet asked the same burning questions over and over again until she at last noticed something. Changes had been made to the room. Strips of wood had been nailed across the window, obscuring some of the light and making it impossible to open. Most of the furniture had been removed, leaving her with no option but to use the bed or the floor if she wished to sit down. Her comforts had been dramatically reduced. It was the sight of the bed that really harrowed her. Not only had it been stripped of all its linen to ensure that she could create no makeshift rope for another escape attempt, it had acquired a tiny object that glinted in the early morning light.

    She was transfixed. The brooch that lay in the middle of the bed was the keepsake she had given to Mary Hibbert just before the girl had lowered herself into the garden. It was more than a reward for her bravery. It was a sign of her mistress's affection and gratitude. To have it brought back could mean only one thing: Mary had been caught. She would have no need of the brooch now. Rushing to the bed, Harriet snatched it up and held it to her bosom then she swung round to run across to the door. Beating on it with both fists, she yelled as loudly as she could and without any fear of the consequences.

    'What have you done with Mary? Where is she?'

    Christopher Redmayne was up at daybreak, refusing the breakfast that Jacob had prepared for him and ignoring his servant's admonitions as he headed for the stable. Cocks were still crowing with competitive zeal as he rode off down Fetter Lane. Henry's condition was his primary concern and he made for the house in Bedford Street at a canter, swerving his horse through the oncoming carts, waggons and pedestrians who were already streaming towards the city's markets. In the year since the Great Fire had devastated the capital, London had regained much of its old zest and character. There was a communal sense of resilience in the air.

    When he reached his destination, Christopher found that his brother was now sleeping soundly after a disturbed night. He tiptoed into the bedchamber to look at Henry but forbore to wake him. Pleased to hear that the physician was due to call again that morning, he promised to return later himself then set off for the site in the parish of St Martin's-in-the- Fields. The short ride brought him to a scene of almost ear- splitting activity. Picks, shovels and other implements were being used with force, more building materials were arriving to be unloaded and stacked, horses were neighing, a dog was barking as it darted playfully between the piles of bricks and timber, workmen were cursing each other roundly and Lodowick Corrigan was in the middle of it all, bellowing above the tumult and pointing a peremptory finger.

    Christopher took careful stock of what had so far been done. Even in a day, they had made perceptible progress, marking out the perimeter of the house and digging most of the foundations. He waited until the builder ambled across to him.

    'I thought we'd seen the last of you, sir,' said Corrigan tartly.

    'No, I'll be here from time to time.'

    'You should stay all day, Mr Redmayne. If you did that, you might learn something.'

    'About what?'

    'How a house gets built.'

    'But I already know,' said Christopher, icily pleasant. 'You find a talented architect to design it and an agreeable builder to put it up. All that they have to do is to trust each other.'

    'That's what it comes down to in the end. Trust.'

    'What do you trust in, Mr Corrigan?'

    'My long experience.'

    'Of disobeying the instructions of an architect?'

    'When I started in this trade,' sneered the other, 'there weren't quite so many of your profession, sir. Master-builders were the order of the day - men like my father who did everything themselves. My father could design, construct and decorate a property entirely on his own.'