‘Yes, I heard about the way that he was assaulted.’
‘He was able to turn the tables on his attacker.’
‘He was able to arrest Abel,’ said Henry, disappointed that his weak pun did not even earn a smile from Araminta. He felt a twinge of guilt at his earlier stalking of her. ‘May I take this opportunity to apologise for sending you those unwelcome verses?’
‘I prefer to forget that they ever existed, Mr Redmayne.’
‘Then they did not, Lady Culthorpe. They were figments of my imagination.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Whoosh – they’ve gone forever!’
‘I’m grateful – and I owe you thanks for another reason. You were considerate enough to stay away from the funeral.’
‘It never occurred to me to go,’ said Henry, saying nothing about his last-minute decision to stay away. ‘I wish that others had shown the concern for you that I did.’
She turned to Christopher. ‘Have you seen Monsieur Villemot?’
‘Many times,’ he replied.
‘Does he still wish to have a house built here?’
‘Work started again the day that he came out of Newgate.’
‘I’m so glad that we’ve not frightened him away.’
‘You could frighten nobody away,’ said Henry, beaming at her.
‘It’s I who’ve been frightened away, Mr Redmayne,’ she told him, meeting his gaze. ‘I’ll be quitting London for a while to live on my late husband’s country estate. You might pass on that information to your friends. Their attentions can cease forthwith.’
Henry was suitably reprimanded. Now that he was in the same room as the woman he had idolised, he saw how cold, ruthless and unwelcome his pursuit of her had been. He had been a willing member of a Society with base intentions and uncompromising methods and he was chastened, all the more so since the founder of the Society had been driven to commit a murder by his obsession. He left his brother to continue the conversation.
‘Monsieur Villemot is wondering about the portrait,’ said Christopher, tentatively. ‘He still regards it as his finest work.’
Araminta gave a pale smile. ‘I’m flattered to hear that.’
‘In due course, he’d like to finish it.’
‘I daresay that he does, Mr Redmayne.’
‘May I tell him that that will be possible? In view of what’s happened, that portrait has taken on great significance for him. It brought him untold and undeserved suffering,’ Christopher reminded her. ‘If he were allowed to complete it, those unhappy memories of Newgate might be obliterated.’
‘One day, perhaps,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘One day.’
It was too soon for her to make the decision. Christopher did not press her on the matter. When she had expressed her thanks to them again, he signalled to his brother that it was time to leave and they bade farewell. Before they were shown out, Araminta exchanged a handshake with each of them. Henry was thrilled that he had actually touched her. When he came out of the house with Christopher, his right hand was tingling with pleasure.
‘She likes me,’ he said, joyfully. ‘Araminta likes me.’
‘Lady Culthorpe likes what she saw of you today,’ said his brother. ‘She viewed you as a person who took great pains to prove Monsieur Villemot’s innocence. Had she known that you’d tried to steal her portrait from the studio, however, and heard what underhand methods you employed to do so, she’d never have let you cross her threshold. Be grateful that we were able to display the better side of Henry Redmayne for once.’
‘I thought I did that when I wrote those poems.’
‘They’ve helped to drive her out of London.’
‘I was not her only correspondent,’ said Henry. ‘Jocelyn and Sir Willard showered her with letters and gifts, and Elkannah sent her a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Poetry is the proper expression of true love. That’s why I addressed Araminta in heightened language.’
‘Heightened language that concealed the lowest desires.’
‘I confess it straight, Christopher. When I saw her today, I felt thoroughly ashamed that I’d been a member of that dreadful Society. It was Elkannah Prout who drew me into it.’
‘He was determined to win by any means,’ said Christopher, ‘even if he had to suborn someone to commit a murder. Unlike the rest of you, he was prepared to be patient.’
‘Yes,’ said Henry, sadly. ‘We were like eager schoolboys, chasing their first kiss from some rosy-cheeked girl. The moment that Sir Martin was killed, we thought more of our foul ambitions than we did of Araminta’s distress. While we pushed forward, Elkannah drew back and affected indifference. Since Araminta had chosen an older man as a husband, he hoped that his age and his forbearance would in time recommend him.’
‘He was a cunning man. When he had that key made, he told Paskins to give the name of Jocelyn Kidbrooke to the locksmith. That misled us. His most clever trick,’ said Christopher, ‘was to dine with you and your friends at the very time when he knew that Sir Martin would be murdered. That lifted any suspicion from him.’
‘Elkannah has always been a devious rogue. Well,’ said Henry, ‘he was a lawyer. What else can one expect? I should have known that he’d find out that Sir Martin had dismissed a gardener who nursed a grievance against him. He engaged Paskins as his killer, taking him away from Jocelyn.’ He laughed. ‘One poacher was outdone by another. Jocelyn Kidbrooke only wanted information from Paskins. Elkannah wanted someone with an urge to kill Sir Martin.’
They had walked to the rear of the house to collect their horses from the stables. When they saw the large, iron garden gate, they stopped to look at it. Christopher thought of the artist.
‘If that gate had been open,’ he said, indicating it, ‘I can see that it must have been a strong temptation to Monsieur Villemot. He’d been to the house before to choose the dress from Lady Culthorpe’s wardrobe that he wanted her to wear in the portrait. He knew that her bedchamber overlooked the garden. What took him in there was the vague hope of a glimpse of her at the window.’
‘I’d have done the same in his place, Christopher. This is where Araminta lives. It would have been like stepping into the Garden of Eden. I might even have been rewarded with a sighting of her.’
‘Monsieur Villemot was rewarded with a spell in Newgate. He also tore the sleeve of his coat on a briar. His visit to that garden was a disaster for him.’
‘The wonder is that he still wishes to remain in England.’
‘He likes it here.’
‘After the way he was treated?’
‘He’s unable to return to France,’ said Christopher, ‘until he can finally claim Monique as his wife. Paris is still full of her husband’s family and friends so they could never live there.’
‘Instead, you’ve designed them a French house in England.’
‘By the time it’s built, he may well have a beautiful wife with whom to share it.’
‘What will he do until then?’ said Henry.
‘Oh, he has plenty to keep him occupied in the meantime. There are gorgeous young women all over the city who want to sit for a portrait by Jean-Paul Villemot. Now that he’s been exonerated, he’s more popular than ever. He’ll be just like Henry Redmayne in that Molly House.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes,’ said Christopher. ‘Surrounded by painted ladies.’
About the Author
EDWARD MARSTON was born and brought up in South Wales. A full-time writer for over thirty years, he has worked in radio, film, television and the theatre and is a former chairman of the Crime Writers’ Association. Prolific and highly successful, he is equally at home writing children’s books or literary criticism, plays or biographies.
www.edwardmarston.com
By Edward Marston
THE RESTORATION SERIES
The King’s Evil
The Amorous Nightingale
The Repentant Rake
The Frost Fair
The Parliament House
The
Painted Lady
THE RAILWAY DETECTIVE SERIES
The Railway Detective
The Excursion Train
The Railway Viaduct
The Iron Horse
Murder on the Brighton Express
The Silver Locomotive Mystery
Railway to the Grave
Blood on the Line
THE CAPTAIN RAWSON SERIES
Soldier of Fortune
Drums of War
Fire and Sword
Under Siege
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
13 Charlotte Mews
London W1T 4EJ
www.allisonandbusby.com
Copyright © 2007 by EDWARD MARSTON
Hardcover published in Great Britain in 2007.
Paperback edition published in 2008.
This ebook edition first published in 2011.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–1032–4
The Painted Lady Page 27
