The Amorous Nightingale

    It took Christopher an hour to calm down Jasper Hartwell and convince him that Harriet Gow was not in jeopardy, a considerable feat in view of the reality of the situation. Wanting to call on his brother again before resuming his search, Christopher accepted the necessity of soothing his visitor. Hartwell was, after all, paying him a lot of money to design the new house and that bought him the architect's indulgence as well as his artistic skills. There was another salient point. Ridiculous as Hartwell's romantic ambitions were, they were easily understood. It was at a performance of The Maid's Tragedy that Christopher first met him and first came under the spell of Harriet Gow himself. Though he had never succumbed to any fantasies about marrying her, he had spent more than an idle hour savouring her beauty and singing her melancholy song.

    No sooner had he dispatched one unwelcome visitor than a second came banging on his door. Jacob answered the summons and a heated exchange followed. Guessing who had called, Christopher interrupted the argument and detached his servant from the doorstep but he had no intention of inviting Roland Trigg across it. The coachman touched his cap in a courteous gesture and took the aggression out of his voice.

    'Is there any news of Mrs Gow, sir?' he asked eagerly.

    'None to raise any optimism,' confessed the other.

    'But you're still searching for her?'

    'Oh, yes. In the light of recent events, with more vigour than ever.'

    'Recent events?'

    'They know that we are after them, Mr Trigg. So they did their best to dissuade us from continuing our work. First of all, my brother Henry was attacked by two men in Drury Lane.'

    'Never!' exclaimed Trigg. 'Why pick on him?'

    'Because he was helping me in my search.'

    'Was he badly hurt, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Very badly,' said Christopher. 'I suspect that the men who gave you a beating also administered one to my brother. I don't need to tell you how proficient they are with their cudgels.'

    'No, sir,' said the coachman ruefully. A grin formed. 'But I got my revenge on one of them. I chanced upon the rogue in a tavern and gave him a taste of his own medicine. He deserved it, too,' he added, pointing to his wounds. 'He was the man who really set about me. So I showed him that I can handle a cudgel as well.'

    'Where is he now?'

    'Nursing his broken bones, probably.'

    'You let the villain go?'

    'I had to, sir.'

    'Why ever didn't you capture him?' said Christopher irritably. 'If he was involved in the kidnap, he should be arrested and held for trial. More to the point, he could have been interrogated about Mrs Gow's whereabouts. It was madness to release him.'

    'They gave me no choice, sir.'

    'Who?'

    'The sailors who came out of the tavern. Half-a-dozen of them. When they saw what I'd done, they gave me no time to explain. They came at me to tear me to pieces so I took to my heels.' Angling for praise, he gave another grin. 'I paid him back, sir. He won't be assaulting me, your brother or anyone else for a very long time. Did I do well?'

    'By your own standards,' said Christopher drily, 'I suppose that you did. But I'm annoyed that you let the man slip through your fingers like that. He should have been apprehended. Why didn't you go for help?'

    'There wasn't time. He was leaving the tavern.'

    'Which one?'

    'The Hope and Anchor, sir.'

    'Is that down by the river somewhere?'

    'Thames Street.'

    'What took you there, Mr Trigg?'

    'It was only one of a number of places I went,' explained the other. 'That's where their sort go, sir - the men who ambushed us. Hired villains with a taste for violence. I had a feeling I might just stumble on one of them in a tavern along the waterfront or, if not there, in the stews of Southwark. I was working my way through them when I came to the Hope and Anchor and had some luck at last.' A growl of a laugh. 'My good luck was his misfortune.'

    'Thank you for coming to tell me this, Mr Trigg,' said Christopher, keen to move him on his way. 'I'm relieved to hear that there is one less villain on the loose, though I would have preferred to see him behind bars where we could get some facts out of him. I hope that my own hunt is as successful as yours. When I've been to see my brother, I'll get back to it.'

    'Let me come with you,' urged the other.

    'I work more effectively on my own, Mr Trigg.'

    'But you need protection, sir. Look what happened to me and to your brother. These men will stop short of nothing.'

    'Not even murder.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'There's something I haven't told you,' said Christopher sadly, 'because we need to keep the details secret for the time being. But, given your position in Mrs Gow's household, I think that you have a right to know. Mary Hibbert has been killed.'

    'Mary!' His face turned purple with rage. 'They killed that young girl? I can't believe it.'

    'It's true, I'm afraid. I've seen the body myself.'

    'How did they do it?'

    'That's immaterial.'

    'Not to me, Mr Redmayne, I want to know. I liked Mary Hibbert. She was always kind to me. How, sir? Was she stabbed, strangled or poisoned? Did they put a bullet in her head?'

    'The girl was beaten to death.'

    Trigg almost foamed at the mouth. 'I should've finished him off when I had the chance,' he said vehemently. 'I should've done for him.'

    'That would only have led to your own arrest for murder.'

    'Justified revenge. An eye for an eye.'

    'I take a different reading from the Bible. 'Thou shalt not kill'.'

    While the coachman struggled to master his anger, Christopher was left to question his wisdom in releasing the news about Mary Hibbert. He was glad when the man's fury seemed to abate. Roland Trigg held out his hands to plead.

    'I beg you, Mr Redmayne. Take me with you.'

    'That won't be possible.'

    'But you can't do it all on your own, sir.'

    'I have Constable Bale to help me.'

    'It's not enough. You need a bodyguard. I'm your man.'

    Trigg straightened his shoulders and thrust out his chest. His strength could not be doubted. The coachman had been assaulted by the same men who had put Henry Redmayne into his bed for a week, yet he had already recovered enough to mete out his own crude form of justice. Roland Trigg was resilient and, by his own boast, seasoned in violence. Christopher could see his value as a bodyguard to Harriet Gow but it was her predecessor who popped into his mind. He suddenly recalled where he had heard a certain name before.

    'You served Sir Godfrey Armadale, didn't you?' he said.

    'Yes, sir.'

    'How long were you with him?'

    'Some years, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Sir Godfrey is something of a rake, I believe.'

    'He enjoyed life,' conceded the other, 'but he was a good master. He gave me no cause for complaint. On the other hand, I was glad to be taken on by Mrs Gow - until the ambush, that is. In one way, it was just as well.'