The
hours rolled by but no word came. Harriet shifted rapidly between hope and
despair, believing that Mary had made good her escape then resigning herself to
the thought that the girl had been tracked down. Racked by uncertainty, she
paced the room, went obsessively to the window or hurled herself down on the
bed. None of it brought relief. When evening shadows began to dapple the
garden, her fears reached a new pitch of intensity. Where
was
Mary?
Which direction had she taken? How far had she got? What possible chance did
she have of outrunning the pursuit?
Night
was falling when the door eventually opened. The woman entered and Harriet ran
to her in the gloom, reaching out her hands.
'What's
happened?' she begged. 'Is there any news?'
All
she got by way of a reply was a hard slap across the face. Harriet staggered
back in pain. The woman grabbed her and the man came in to help. Face still
stinging, she offered no fight as they hauled her down the staircase then took
her down the flight of steps that led off the hall. Harriet was pitched
headfirst into the cellar. When the door slammed shut behind her, she was in
total darkness. Mary Hibbert was not coming back; Harriet had replaced her in the
evil-smelling cellar. Did that mean the maidservant had escaped or been taken
somewhere else? Why would they not tell her? It was dispiriting. She groped her
way to the chair, curled up in it and tried to pray. But the words would simply
not come. She wondered if anyone was there to hear them.
It
was late before Jonathan Bale was finally able to seek the refuge of his home
and close the front door on another taxing day. Taking part in a search with
Christopher Redmayne did not release him from routine duties in Baynard's
Castle Ward and he had to cope with a number of incidents before he could
retire from the streets. The last - a dispute between three different families
over some stolen fish - was only resolved when the constable identified a stray
dog as the real thief, leaving the aggrieved victims to patch up their
differences with their neighbours and promise that they would not resort to
false and over-hasty accusation again. By the time that he left them, all three
families were engaged in vigorous reconciliation, united by a common desire to
destroy the culprit.
'Where
is the animal now?' asked Sarah Bale.
'Scavenging
somewhere else.'
'There
are too many stray dogs in the streets.'
'Stray
cats, too,' said her husband. 'Not to mention gulls, pigeons and other birds
with an eye for a tasty piece of fish. They were unwise to leave it in the
kitchen like that with the door wide open.'
'As
long as you solved the crime, Jonathan.'
'I
wish they were all as easy as that, my love.'
A
simple meal with his wife revived him. He listened to the rich crop of gossip
she had harvested during her day and threw in amused comments along the way.
Too late to read to his sons, he wanted to know how well they had behaved
themselves.
'Oliver
was quiet for once,' said Sarah.
'That's
unusual.'
'I
was afraid that he might be sickening for something but he seems healthy
enough. He ate all his food.'
'So
he should.'
'Richard
was noisy enough for the two of them.'
'He's
a growing boy full of noise and mischief.'
'Is
that how you were at his age?'
'I
don't know, Sarah,' he said, diverted by the thought. 'It was such a long time
ago. I suppose I must've been. There were four of us children, always
squabbling. My father beat me a lot, I remember that.'
'You,
a naughty child?' she teased. 'Never!'
'It's
true.'
'Did
you cause trouble, tell lies?'
'Probably.'
'What
turned you into such a pillar of honesty?'
'Marriage
to a certain Miss Sarah Teague.'
'You
blame me, do you?'
'No,'
he said with a grin. 'I
thank
you, my love.'
They
talked on for half an hour or more before it was time to climb the stairs to
bed. After the exigencies of the day, it was a relief to be able to chat about
domestic concerns but Jonathan was never entirely freed from thoughts about the
kidnap. His mind kept returning to it time and again but he did not confide in
Sarah. He might entertain her with the tale of the purloined fish but the
abduction of two women was another matter, especially as his wife knew one of
the victims. Tired from her own exertions, Sarah was the first to get into bed.
Her husband was not allowed to join her. The clatter of hooves took him to the
window. What he saw there made him snatch up the candle and hurry out of the
room.
Jonathan
opened the front door before Christopher Redmayne could knock on it. The
constable had never had a coach at his doorstep before. It loomed menacingly
out of the darkness.
'A
thousand apologies, Mr Bale,' said his visitor, 'but I'm afraid I have to
disturb you. There have been developments.'
'Of
what nature, sir?'
'It
grieves me to report the first of them. My brother, Henry, was attacked and
beaten outside The Theatre Royal today.'
Jonathan
stiffened. 'Not seriously hurt, I hope?'
'He'll
be in bed for a week or more.'
'Does
he know who the attackers were, Mr Redmayne?'
'They
cudgelled him to the ground before he so much as got a glimpse of them. But I fancy
I've seen their handiwork before. So have you, Mr Bale.'
'On
the face of a coachman, perhaps?'
'Yes.'
'But
why assault your brother?'
'To
send a warning to us.'
'They
know
we are after them?'
'Alas,
yes.'
'How,
sir?'
'I
can't say.' He glanced over his shoulder at the coach. 'But the other
development is this. When I got back to my house, a messenger was waiting.
We're bidden to the Palace.'
'Now?'
said Jonathan in disbelief.
'As a
matter of urgency.'
'But I
was just about to retire to bed.'
'I,
too, hoped to be asleep by now.'
'You
go, Mr Redmayne. On your own.'
'The
letter insists that I take you.'
'Me?'
'You're
mentioned by name.'
'I've
no call to go off to the Palace of Westminster at this hour.'
'A
royal summons can't be denied.'
'No,
no,' said Jonathan evasively. 'It's a mistake. They don't really need me. You
can answer for both of us, Mr Redmayne. Find out what this is all about then
report to me in the morning.'
'I
daren't go without you, Mr Bale.'
'You
must.'
'The
letter was unequivocal.'
'Explain
that you represent the two of us.' 'No excuse will be accepted.'
'It's
unfair to call on me like this, sir,' complained Jonathan. 'I can't just go off
into the night. What will I tell my wife?'
'What
you always tell her at such times. You're a constable. Duty calls. Mrs Bale
will understand.'
'How
do I explain this coach?'
'Convincingly.
I'm sure you can do that.'
'No,'
said Jonathan, making a last attempt to wriggle out of the commitment. 'You
know my feelings about the Palace, Mr Redmayne, and those who live in it. I'd
rather not set foot in the place, if you don't mind. I did so once before and it
left me feeling corrupted.'
'Prepare
to be corrupted afresh,' warned Christopher with a grin. 'You'll not only enter
those portals, you'll arrive there in a coach sent at the King's command.
That'll be an experience for you.'
'My
blood curdles at the very thought.'
'Are
you so easily offended?'
'To
the marrow.'
'Then
there's an easy solution here, I suspect. If you balk at the notion of
travelling inside with me, I'll ask the coachman to let you sit beside him
instead. And if that still troubles your conscience, carry a link and run
alongside the vehicle.'
'You
mock me, sir.'
'My
brother was beaten senseless, Mr Bale,' said Christopher seriously. 'Looking at
his bruises left me in no mood for mockery. We've been summoned to the Palace
because something very important has occurred and the sooner we find out what
it is, the better. So please,' he ordered, 'let's have no more delay. Make your
excuses to your wife and come with me.'
Jonathan
hesitated. He grasped at one last straw.
'The
city gates are closed. The coach will not be allowed through.'
'Nobody
will dare to obstruct
this
coach, Mr Bale.'
The
ride to Westminster was an uncomfortable one for him but it did give Jonathan
Bale the opportunity to voice some of his concerns. As the vehicle rocked and
scrunched its way along, he confided his thoughts to Christopher Redmayne in
the half-dark of its interior.
'I've
been wondering about that house, sir,' he said.
'What
house?'
'The one
belonging to Mrs Gow. It must have been expensive.'
'Very
expensive,' said Christopher. 'Be certain of that. I've friends who live in the
area and I know how much they paid for the privilege. There are no cheap
properties around St James's Square. Everything is at a premium.'
'Can
Mrs Gow afford such a residence?'
'Presumably.'
'With
a coach and coachman to go with it?'
'She's
a lady who enjoys living in style.'
'But
who supports that style?' said Jonathan thoughtfully. 'Mrs Gow could hardly do
so on her income from the theatre. Actresses may be well paid but not to that
degree, surely?'
'Go
on.'
'That
brings us to her husband. Since they appear to live quite separate lives, it's
unlikely that he's footing the bill. So who is?'
'You
obviously have a view on the subject, Mr Bale.'
'It's
only a suggestion, sir, but I think we should at least consider it.'
There
was a long silence. Jonathan was slightly embarrassed by what he was about to
say and needed time to work up to it. He prefaced his remarks with a sincere
apology.
'If I
malign the lady, I'm deeply sorry because I don't intend to cast aspersions on
her. But when I think of that fine house, one suspicion does cross my mind.'
'Some
anonymous benefactor maintains her in it?'
'That,
too, is possible,' he conceded. 'From what you tell me, there seem to be a
number of "benefactors" in Mrs Gow's life. We're on our way to meet
one of them now, and others lurk on every side. Mrs Gow doesn't seem unduly
concerned about her marital vows.'
'So
what's your suspicion?'
'A
fleeting thought, no more.'
'Well?'
'Could
it be that Mrs Gow was not really abducted at all, sir?'
'Of
course she was!'
'I
wonder.'
'You
heard the coachman.'
'Oh,
Mr Trigg believes that she was kidnapped. He bears the bruises to prove it. But
what if the lady devised the whole scheme herself? What if she sacrificed her
coachman to achieve her end?'
'And
that is?'