‘Your most obedient servant, sir: I have not the honour of knowing you, sir.’
‘I believe you do not, sir; I ask your pardon, but I have a small writ against you.’
‘A writ against me!’
‘Don’t be uneasy, sir; it is only a trifle, sir; about two hundred pounds.’
‘What must I do, sir?’
‘Oh, sir! whatever you please; only pay the money, or give the bail, which you please.’
‘I can do neither of them this instant, and I expect company every minute. I suppose, sir, you’ll take my word till tomorrow morning?’
‘Oh, yes, sir: with all my heart. If you will be so good as to step to my house hard by, you shall be extremely well us’d, and I’ll take your word.’
‘Your house! ’sdeath, you rascal!’
‘Nay, sir, ’tis in vain to bully.’
‘Nay, then? – who’s there – my servants.’ Angel Bright and Septimus Spong entered on cue. Courtney as Valentine carried on: ‘Here, kick this fellow down the stairs.’
‘This is a rescue, remember that – a rescue sir: I’ll have the Lord Chief Justice’s warrant,’ shouted Jack in his role as Slap.
Jack was grabbed by Bright and Spong and hustled off amid loud cries of anguish and much exaggerated pulling and shoving. Courtney smacked his lips in annoyance. ‘Please, Mr Flyford, you overdo your exit. You will amuse the audience a great deal more if you protest a little less.’
Jack was pricked by the criticism. He thought he had given a particularly funny performance. What right had this man to belittle him in front of the other actors and the orchestra? This man who was never out of his thoughts because Jack was convinced he was the murderer.
‘Certainly, sir,’ he said, sarcasm in his voice, ‘I’ll follow your instructions to the letter!’ Courtney flinched and stared hard at Jack while those around looked embarrassed. Jack immediately cursed himself for a fool. Had he unwittingly alerted Courtney to the fact that he knew about the missing correspondence from Lady Lammondale?
Courtney quickly regained his composure. ‘Miss Balmore, ’tis your scene next. Orchestra! Let us try and get the right notes for Spring’s a-coming this time.’
Jack slunk away to the passage outside the dressing room. He damned his pride and his over-eager tongue. Would Courtney realise that he suspected him? And what would he do if he did? The possible consequences of his faux pas were just too awful to contemplate.
It was a greatly troubled Jack who made his way down to the quayside. The first performance of The Intriguing Chambermaid the following night was the last thing on his mind. He drank some rough whisky in a gloomy tavern in the shadow of the section of town wall which ran along the edge of the quay, cutting off the harbour from the houses. The drink did not fortify his courage. He was getting himself too deeply into a matter that was no concern of his. Let the obnoxious Sheriff Ridley find the murderer. Bessie had no right to involve him. But however much he blustered to himself, his arguments rang hollow.
He pushed his way onto the street and wandered aimlessly in the dark. Light pierced the night from several windows and there were boisterous noises from the crowded taverns, but few people were wandering abroad. Not even the whores had ventured to their usual places of business up the chares, the narrow lanes that ran directly up from the waterfront. The icy north-eastern cold had returned.
Jack found himself walking slowly back up the hill. The street was quiet. He didn’t recognise it. The shapes of substantial houses loomed above him. Originally, they had been the homes of wealthy merchants who had long since moved up to the higher, more respectable parts of town. What was that? Were those footsteps he heard behind? He swung round. No. Yet there was no denying the prickles that danced warningly up his spine and into the base of his neck. He strode a few steps further. Now he was sure he wasn’t alone. He made out two figures standing in his way. Footpads? They were motionless. Jack checked himself. He tried to quell his rising panic. There must be an innocent explanation. He swivelled round. Two more dark figures appeared, cutting off his exit down the bank. They were certainly not here to protect him. Jack desperately glanced about him for a way out. Then, from the shadows, a low, menacing voice called out: ‘Get him now an’ dee it quick!’
Jack rushed down the hill and tried to burst through his faceless assailants. Strong arms clamped him, and then fists, knees and feet rained viciously in on his increasingly defenceless body. Before he blacked out, a streak of moonlight caught a face in a doorway. Then it was gone.