The Ladder Dancer (11 page)

I sat back, and fragments of other conversations drifted to me. About the latest price of coal, returns on government stocks, the difficulties in Europe, the squabbles between Austria and France and the damage it was doing to trade. ‘You must have come home the day the woman was knocked into the river,’ I said casually.

He squinted at me. ‘Oh?’

‘And her child drowned.’

‘Oh,
that
.’ He grinned.

‘It was your first night at home,’ I said. ‘Don’t tell me you sat quietly in the house.’

He winked.

‘Went out looking for fun?’

He gave me a smirk.

‘In a brothel? Best brothels are on the Key.’

He was staring at me with some calculation now. Despite the drink, he’d clearly sensed something significant in my questioning. I said as lightly as I could, ‘Did you see anything?’

‘I was otherwise engaged,’ he said, pronouncing his words carefully.

‘But?’

He grinned at me over the top of his tankard. ‘I may have.’

‘Such as?’

He stared a moment longer, speared a chunk of meat on the end of his knife, looked as coy as Mrs Annabella ever did. He leered at another serving girl who walked past, followed her for a moment with his eyes. ‘It was foggy.’

‘So you saw nothing?’

‘I heard her. She screamed.’

‘The woman who fell in the river?’

‘There was a pig.’ He grinned broadly at me. ‘Did you see the pig? Squealed like it was being stuck.
She
sounded just like a pig. And whoosh!’ He threw up his hands again. ‘Up went the baby and down again and such a splash.’ He gulped down beer. I clenched my fists under the table.

‘Were you alone?’

He roared with laughter. ‘Me? At the Old Man? Never.’

‘Who was she?’

‘She?
They
!’ He poked at my shoulder. ‘Never take one when two are available!’ He spoke rather too loudly and an elderly gentleman nearby leered at him with salacious interest.

‘Who were they?’ I asked. ‘What were their names?’

He gave me a reproachful glance. ‘Who worries about their names? Not making friends of them for life! A little financial transaction—’ He mimed the passing of money, then grinned and made an obscene gesture. ‘A little . . .
intimacy
. Don’t want to live with ’em. Although,’ he added on second thoughts, ‘they’d be more fun than my mother.’

He roared at Charlotte for more beer; she was across the far side of the room, chatting to one of the other girls. ‘You ask a devil of a lot of questions, Patterson.’

‘So I’ve been told.’

‘Had a good time with this woman, did you?’ He sneered at me. ‘The baby that died – had a personal interest there, did you?’

‘I did not,’ I snapped, then added more moderately, ‘I merely want to catch the fellow responsible for its death.’

At least two gentlemen were glancing across at us, as if we were talking too loudly. Charlotte slapped down another tankard in front of Ridley and made off again with all speed. Ridley wagged a finger at me.

‘Take my advice. Never meddle in other people’s business. Not wise. You’ll come a cropper, mark my words.’

‘Is that a threat?’ I asked, but he was deep into slurping the new beer. I wondered if he’d been drinking all night. Then he fixed on the remains of the pie and speared another lump of meat. He belched. ‘Never go near water. Nasty stuff. Nor boats. They’ll go down, you know.’

‘Your father and brother?’

‘Both of ’em. And then I’ll have it all. That’s worth coming back for, ain’t it? I’ll stand over the coffins, wringing my hands, supporting my mother . . . God, but she can weep! And then I’ll sell the lot and be off to London again. There’s nowhere better to live than London!’ He gestured widely, still chewing. ‘Take what you can get, Patterson. Sell all her lands and property, and come to London with me. I’ll show you where the best gaming can be had.’

‘No, thank you,’ I said, barely restraining my distaste.

‘We can combine our worldly wealth and run a game ourselves. I’ve done it before with a friend.’

‘Then go back to that friend.’

‘Turned respectable on me!’ He waved his hand in the air. ‘Well, all right, I admit there may have been disagreements. But we can clean out. And there’ll be dozens of women. Good solid rumbustious women. Not like that wishy-washy spinster of yours!’

I stared at him. He grinned. And it occurred to me he was saying exactly what he knew would cause most offence. He was playing games with me.

‘I’ve business to do,’ I said, pushing back my chair.

His laugh followed me out of the coffee house.

Fifteen

Do not be led astray by those governed by fashion and frivolity.

[
A Gentleman’s Companion
, March 1731]

I thought I’d conquered my anger by the time I got home but Tom, hovering just inside the door, took one look at my expression and straightened. ‘There’s a note for you, sir.’

‘Another one!’ I took it from him, turned it over. It looked like Hugh’s writing. ‘Where’s Mrs Patterson?’

Tom opened his mouth. A gleam sprang up on the bottom of the banister. ‘She’s out shopping!’ George yelled.

I fancied I could hear Tom grinding his teeth. ‘This is going to have to stop, George,’ I said levelly. ‘I told you to let Tom do his job.’

‘I was, master!’ George said. The slyness in his voice was close cousin to Ridley’s, which only made me more annoyed. ‘I let him tell you about the note. Then I told you about the mistress. You know
I
always look after her!’

I regarded the gleam with misgiving. That note of jealousy again. ‘George—’

The spirit’s voice became more strident. ‘I always keep an eye on what she’s doing, master!’

He probably did. Spirits usually know all about the affairs of the living. But such scrutiny can easily become intolerable. I needed to talk to Esther, to reassure myself that George was not becoming intrusive. Something would have to be done. George would always remain a boy; for the next eighty or so years – almost certainly our entire lives – we’d have to live with him. If we didn’t find a way to control him, our only escape would be to move.

It might yet come to that. ‘Nevertheless,’ I said, ‘I was asking Tom a question. You interrupted a conversation, which is rude.’

‘
He’s
rude!’ George retorted. ‘He’s always swearing at me.’

Tom reddened. ‘I don’t!’ He looked briefly absurdly young. ‘I don’t, sir!’

‘Do, do, do!’ George shouted.

‘That’s enough!’

They both fell silent. The gleam on the banister shifted as if George was dying to say something more. Tom looked stonily into the distance.

‘I want you both to understand,’ I said, ‘that I’m perfectly satisfied with Tom’s performance of his duties. Thank you, Tom.’

‘Sir,’ he said, with a flush staining his cheeks.

‘But I’m not prepared to put up with arguments and dissensions in this house. They must cease at once. Do I make myself plain?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Tom said, a little subdued.

‘But master!’

‘Do I make myself clear!’

‘Yes, master,’ George said sullenly.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now, I came back for some music. And if there’s any more argument, I’m going to be late for a rehearsal.’

‘Sir,’ Tom said again, and retreated to the back of the house. George lingered, muttering.

‘I’m adamant, George,’ I said. ‘These arguments must end.’

‘But master!’

I could hear the hostility in his voice. The spirit was turning more and more green; I sighed inwardly. ‘I appreciate your concern for Mrs Patterson, George, more than I can say—’

‘Really, master?’ The green faded; he sounded gratified.

‘But you must moderate your behaviour to Tom. After all, there are certain things you cannot—’ This required some delicacy; no spirit likes to be reminded they’re no longer as
active
as they once were. ‘Tom’s here to make Mrs Patterson’s life comfortable, to bring her food and drink, and all the other trifles she needs. He can make her life so much easier.’

‘Yes, master.’ Dear God, now he sounded worryingly depressed, and I was getting later and later for my rehearsal with Nightingale.

‘I rely upon you to make sure everything runs smoothly, George.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to do, master!’

‘Yes, I understand that. But don’t forget that other people can do their bit too.’

‘Yes, master. But—’

‘And you want Mrs Patterson to be happy, don’t you?’

‘Yes, master, but—’

‘Exactly,’ I said, and fled for the library.

My music sat in half a dozen piles on the floor behind the harpsichord. I thought I knew exactly the location of the copies I needed but I did not; after ten minutes of hunting, I finally conceded that Esther’s idea of new bookcases had considerable merit. Only at the last minute, just as I was leaving, did I remember Hugh’s note and retrieve it from my pocket. If it was another glowing encomium of London’s virtues, I’d leave it until I was in a better temper.

It was not. The note was addressed from Westgate.

Hugh was back from London? But he’d only been gone three weeks; what was the point in braving the appalling roads for so short a visit? And why did he need consoling? It sounded very much like a disastrous love affair, and I wasn’t in the mood for lovelorn descriptions of buxom beauties. For some reason, Hugh’s always tempted by redheads, and the more vulgar the better.

He’d have to wait. The Assembly Rooms were only a few doors down from Hugh’s lodgings; I could easily walk up there after the rehearsal. I heaved up the music, dashed out of the house – and ran straight into the girl, Kate.

She was lounging against the railings of the gardens at the centre of the square, apparently enjoying a patch of sunshine. She danced across to meet me. ‘Here, did you know there’s a drunken spirit in those gardens?’

‘Yes,’ I said shortly.

‘I don’t think he was respectable,’ she said. ‘You should have heard what he wanted me to do!’

I strode on, trying to outpace her. The sun was breaking through the clouds, drying the thin patina of dampness on the street. Midges bobbed around me. I batted them away irritably.

‘Not going to get rid of me,’ she sang. ‘I ain’t giving up.’

‘And I’m not giving
in
,’ I retorted.

I reached the Assembly Rooms only a minute or two late. The Steward of the Rooms was not there but he’d left the harpsichord key on its usual hook. I snatched it up and started up the long flights of stairs; the concert room is on the second floor. Kate was still at my heels.

‘Here,’ she said admiringly, looking at the decorations, ‘this is canny. All this gold stuff.’ She fingered velvet curtains at the landing windows. ‘I like these. I’m going to have stuff like this in my house.’

‘Oh yes?’ I turned for the next flight of stairs.

‘When I’m rich and famous,’ she said, poking her tongue out at me. ‘After you’ve learned me how to play the fiddle.’

I stopped in confusion on the topmost landing, sunlit through ornate windows. The most peculiar sounds were coming from the concert room. A succession of grunts and groans and rumbling and snorts. Kate made a face. Cautiously, I edged open the door. Kate peered under my arm.

Nightingale stood in the middle of the floor, a music stand in front of him. He had music on the stand, flinging over the pages with fiery abandon, as he wheezed and snorted. He broke into an unnerving falsetto, worse than any castrato. The truth dawned on me; he was working his way through one of Mr Handel’s overtures.

‘He’s ill,’ Kate said. ‘He’s eaten something bad.’

‘No,’ I said, sighing. ‘He’s singing the drum parts. And when he goes falsetto, that’s the flute part.’ I winced, as a nasal whine emerged. ‘And that’s supposed to be the violin.’ I thought fleetingly that even the ladder dancing would have been preferable to this.

‘False what?’ Kate said.

‘Falsetto. That very high-pitched voice.’

She giggled. ‘I can do that. Here.’ She let out such a piercing high screech I was surprised all the dogs in the neighbourhood didn’t come running. Nightingale stopped in mid-phrase.

‘Who’s that? Come out at once!’

I made my appearance, followed by Kate. ‘We were just admiring your performance.’ I went straight to the harpsichord and unlocked it, unable to look Nightingale in the face with such an outrageous lie.

Kate stood grinning in the middle of the floor. ‘I can do what you were doing.’

‘No, you can’t,’ he said.

‘Yes, I can!’

‘No,’ he corrected, drawing himself up. ‘I assure you, young—’ He gave her a derisory look, from the top of her tousled hair to the bottom of her frayed hem. ‘Young
person
, you cannot.’

‘I can, I can! Here, listen.’ Kate took one of her ridiculously large breaths and repeated, faithfully, everything Nightingale had just sung. I paused in the middle of setting up the harpsichord lid. Her recall was amazing. She could never have heard the music before yet she reproduced not just every note, but also the exact manner in which Nightingale had sung it. If she’d been a boy, I’d have been signing her up as an apprentice on the spot.

Nightingale was not so pleased. He strode over, seized her by the arms and shook her, snarling. ‘Get out, you little fiend!’

‘Nightingale,’ I said, starting towards them.

He took no notice, went on shaking as Kate struggled against him. ‘Vermin! Filth! Get out!’

‘Nightingale!’

He swung round on me, red-faced, veins standing out on his forehead, shouting wildly. ‘I will not be mocked! Get the slut out of here! Get her out!’