The Ladder Dancer (24 page)

I produced the shilling again. ‘When did you see him?’

Frowns and shrugs. ‘Didn’t see him come,’ one said at last, ‘we was loading her up,’ nodding at the boat. ‘But when we finished, he was hanging about the Fleece.’

‘When was this?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe half an hour back.’

‘Nah,’ said the lazy one. ‘Less than that. Only went off five minutes ago.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Wanted to know where we were going.’

‘Where we lived.’

‘What our names are.’

‘Nosy,’ said the lazy one, yawning. ‘Don’t trust no nosy fellows.’

‘Did he go into the Fleece?’

A shrug. ‘Didn’t see. Too busy.’

‘And he left five minutes ago? Which way did he go?’

They waved along the Key. ‘Went dashing off all of a sudden.’

The lazy one cackled. ‘Reckon he saw a nice piece of flesh.’

‘Gave us a wave. Said he hoped we enjoyed the trip.’

‘Like he ever did a day’s work.’

‘If he’s who I think, he never did,’ I agreed and gave them the shilling. I wasn’t out of earshot before they started squabbling over it.

Wearily, I climbed the Side in the chill night air and headed homewards. Ridley would have had the audacity to do the deed; he’d not particularly have cared about Joseph’s welfare, and the impulsive nature of the affair was the sort of thing that would appeal to him. But I wasn’t satisfied. Why should Ridley have wanted Nightingale’s watch? It was hardly the sort of expense his mama would have objected to – he could have bought his own.

But, more importantly, why had Ridley so deliberately drawn attention to his presence? As if he’d known I’d ask about it—

Of course he’d known. He’d known I was there; he’d seen or heard me, talking to the servants. Was this more of his
fun
? Had Ridley seen me go into the Fleece, heard me talking, attacked Joseph, stolen the watch from Nightingale’s room? Had he done it all for devilment? And then deliberately drawn attention to his presence by making sure the sailors would remember him?

Or was it something more personal? Mrs Annabella had mentioned my penchant for mysteries in Ridley’s presence that day we were first introduced; had he taken it into his head to take me by the nose and lead me astray? He might have guessed I’d question any witnesses about. And if I didn’t, then nothing had been lost, and he might find some other way to draw himself to my attention.

Was that all it was? A performance put on especially for my benefit?

Thirty-Two

A gentleman always acknowledges when he is in error, but he should not be in error frequently.

[
A Gentleman’s Companion
, July 1733]

I snatched a few hours’ sleep and woke to find a note from Esther on my pillow.
Have gone shopping with Kate. Tell me later how you found her.
I stared at the note in resignation. In one way or another, Kate was becoming a part of our household. The note also said that last night Hugh had sent Esther a message.
He told me where you have gone
was underlined, meaning, of course, that he’d told her I’d dashed off in search of Kate and probably gone into that other world.

The note brought me up short. When I’d been unmarried, I’d never had to worry about telling anyone where I was going; now it occurred to me that Esther might have been lying awake worrying about me. The gentle rebuke stung. And I’d a shrewd idea she was also hinting she might have liked to come with me.

I was going downstairs to the breakfast room when George slid down the banister. I snatched my hand away as the cold spirit skimmed past.

‘She didn’t come in till dawn, master!’

I sighed. ‘George—’

‘She’s a nasty girl! She’s rude to me!’

I warmed to Kate. ‘Well, of course, she
shouldn’t
—’

‘Ask her what she was doing, master!’ George’s tone said he thought he knew exactly what Kate had been doing. ‘She came in even later than you did! And that was really late!’ he added snidely. ‘Were you having fun, master? I thought you weren’t supposed to do that after you were married.’

I was rigid with fury. Commenting on Kate’s movements was bad enough; criticizing mine was intolerable. ‘George—’

The spirit started to speak again but at that moment Tom appeared from the back of the house, looking determined. He interrupted the spirit ruthlessly, raising his voice to do so. ‘Will you be requiring breakfast, sir?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll eat out.’ And I walked out of the house, ignoring the calls of the spirit behind me.

Claudius Heron waved to me from the far side of the busy coffee house. He signalled for more wine as I dropped into the chair opposite him, feeling a little dishevelled from the brisk breeze that had sprung up. The bruise Ridley had inflicted was livid in black and yellow on Heron’s cheek; he looked piratical. ‘I hear there was a robbery at the Fleece last night,’ he said.

I nodded. ‘Nightingale’s watch is missing.’

‘And Ridley was seen outside.’

How the devil did he know that? Charlotte brought the wine, winked at me and took herself off to deal with an elderly gentleman. ‘He made sure he was seen. He approached a group of sailors and drew himself to their attention. Is the tale the talk of the town?’

‘The spirits know it, certainly.’

I contemplated this; was that Ridley’s doing too?

Heron poured me wine. ‘He is a young man who likes to provoke others.’

‘He’s very talented at it.’

‘But why should he take Nightingale’s watch? Why not make another attempt on his life?’

‘Perhaps he merely wanted a souvenir,’ I said flippantly.

Heron acknowledged this pleasantry with the slightest of smiles, and nodded to a passing acquaintance. ‘I have just had a message from Jenison. I think he was hoping to see you.’

By which I suspected he meant Jenison had demanded my presence. I sighed. ‘I was hoping to visit a few more possible subscribers to the concerts.’

‘Naturally,’ Heron said lazily. ‘It is, after all, one of your favourite occupations.’

I made a face.

After I’d eaten, we walked up together to the Jenisons’ house on Northumberland Street. The breeze was hustling fleecy clouds across the blue sky. Heron was anxious that I start his son’s harpsichord lessons again after the summer break; I dutifully agreed, though the son is not as eager, or as musical, as the father. He’d also heard of a
young female
, as he put it, who sang
tolerably well
at Bath earlier in the year and passed her name on to me as a potential replacement for Nightingale. His quiet conversation soothed me, particularly in contrast to George; by the time we reached the Jenisons’ I was feeling reasonably human again. Until he asked if
we
– he used the plural, meaning both myself and Esther – had sorted out the estate business with Armstrong. I said, curbing my annoyance, that the matter was in progress.

The Jenisons were all in the drawing room. Jenison looked out of place in so feminine a room and was rustling a newspaper loudly to assert himself. Mrs Jenison, still looking tired, held a book of sermons, which is the usual resort of women when they want to indulge their own thoughts without interruption; Mrs Annabella, who was rather more lively, had a piece of embroidery spread across her lap and was trying to match silks. As we were announced, I heard her say, ‘. . . do you think this rose is too dark?’

They looked up, and Jenison pushed himself to his feet. Mrs Annabella said, ‘Oh!’ and put her hand to her breast, looking suddenly stricken. Esther was right – she did like an audience. Mrs Jenison turned a dulled weary look on us.

We sat down and I explained what had happened while Mrs Jenison asked the footman to bring refreshments.

‘His watch?’ Jenison echoed. ‘Then it was a common thief.’

‘Apparently,’ Heron said.

‘How dreadful,’ Mrs Jenison said automatically. She was holding the book tightly, as if the pain was welcome.

‘The curtains of the room were not drawn properly,’ I said. ‘He probably looked in from the alley and saw the watch on the table.’

‘But how did he know which room to go to?’

‘Oh, indeed,’ Mrs Annabella said, ‘the place is a warren. Do you remember last year, Robert, when we came back from London and we were going to breakfast there and took quite a wrong turn?’

She put her hand down again and hunted amongst the silks, pulling out a bright purple. A pair of small embroidery scissors clattered to the floor; she stooped to pick them up. ‘I really can’t find the right colour for your embroidery, my dear. Not if you wish to match the roses you did before.’ She glanced at Mrs Jenison, who was absorbed in her own thoughts again and didn’t appear to hear her. Mrs Annabella lifted the top of the workbox on the table between the two women and waved the scissors. ‘Where do these go? They’re rather dirty, you know.’

‘This is intolerable,’ Jenison said. ‘I cannot conceive what the world is coming to. That such a fine man should be attacked at all is astonishing enough, but to then rob him while he lies helpless . . .’

‘Shocking,’ Mrs Annabella said. She gave Heron a speaking look. I rather thought it wouldn’t be long before she exhausted her grief and turned her attentions to another target. ‘A wicked world,’ she said. Heron looked away from her but she didn’t seem abashed.

The door opened. A servant came in with a tray of that sweet wine women seem to like. Mrs Jenison came out of her daze and directed where she wanted the wine set down. A footman in the doorway announced sonorously, ‘Mr Cuthbert Ridley.’

We all jumped, except for Heron, who said dryly, ‘Talk of the devil.’ It was plain who
he
thought had attacked Nightingale. We all turned our heads to stare at Ridley who was hesitating in the doorway.

‘Oh— I rather— I would not—’

Jenison stood up convulsively, knocking over a footstool. ‘How dare you come here again, sir! Your behaviour last time was totally unacceptable!’

‘Oh— I— er— I really—’ Ridley’s gaze slid round the room until it lighted on me, then skittered away again. ‘—apologize—’

Jenison looked apoplectic but ground out, ‘Apologize?!’

‘I thought— I wanted to . . .’ He was twisting his hands together nervously, even blushing. ‘To appear before the ladies in such an inebriated state—’

‘Drunk,’ Heron said uncompromisingly.

‘. . . not the thing—’

‘Disgraceful,’ Heron said.

Ridley bobbed as if accepting the rebuke. He cast another glance at me from under his eyelashes, a challenging amused look. ‘The lady—’ Both ladies looked puzzled. ‘About Mr Nighting . . .’

Mrs Annabella shrieked. ‘He’s dead!’

‘Alas,’ he hesitated. ‘No. I haven’t— have you—?’ He turned to me.

Heron said, ‘Perhaps you would care to explain yourself more coherently.’

Ridley flashed him a venomous look. Jenison had subsided. After what had happened previously, no one would have argued if he’d thrown Ridley straight out into the gutter. But Ridley’s mumbling, helpless, peaceable demeanour had evidently reassured him that nothing dreadful would happen, at least not immediately.

‘I wanted,’ Ridley said, enunciating with painful carefulness, ‘to com-mis-er-ate with the lady.’ He bowed to Mrs Annabella. ‘I know she— her interest in the gentleman—’

Mrs Annabella flushed vividly, clutched at the embroidery on her lap.

‘His interest in her—’

Heron unfolded himself lazily and rose. ‘I think we will go, Ridley.’

‘If he had indeed survived . . .’

Mrs Annabella was going as white as she’d been red.

‘I’m sure we would have had an interesting announcement—’

He’d not come to apologize at all. He’d come to have some fun at Mrs Annabella’s expense. This was cruel. We all knew Nightingale’s interest in Mrs Annabella had been minimal; I had myself seen him abandon her at the concert in favour of younger prey. If she had indulged a few fantasies in that direction, it was hardly surprising; she was in an invidious position, dependent on her family financially, always having to please them with little favours, like sorting her sister-in-law’s embroidery. For Ridley to taunt her like this was unforgivable. She was a woman who had no hope of a change in her circumstances; to point it out so blatantly was adding insult to injury.

And I suddenly perceived what his motive for stealing the watch must have been.
Adding insult to injury
. He’d not intended to attack Nightingale again; he didn’t need to – the man was plainly dying. But to steal the watch; even though Nightingale himself would never know – that was the ultimate gesture of contempt.

Heron bowed to the ladies, took Ridley’s arm. ‘I regret we must leave.’

‘No, no,’ Ridley said. ‘Must speak to the ladies— cannot be silenced—’

‘You underestimate me,’ Heron murmured, and steered him towards the door.

We were left in an awkward silence. Mrs Annabella was fingering her sister-in-law’s embroidery silks. She hunted for her lace handkerchief. ‘Oh – it has brought it all back—’ She started to sob; Mrs Jenison looked at her with the stony gaze of a woman tried beyond endurance.

Jenison said, ‘You will of course let me know at once if Nightingale’s condition worsens?’

He was unmistakeably dismissing me. I got up, bowed to the ladies, and went out into the street. On the sunlit cobbles, Heron and Ridley were facing each other off and Heron’s hand was on his sword. I saw why. Ridley was smiling at every sharp word, making little
moues
of amusement, patently not in the least unnerved. I wouldn’t have been so sanguine; I’ve seen the consequences of Heron’s anger.

Heron stopped in the middle of a sentence, stared at Ridley’s unperturbed amusement. ‘You will not live a long life,’ he said.

Ridley grinned and threw Heron’s own words back at him. ‘You underestimate me.’