'Gabriel Cheever was murdered earlier this week.'
'Never!'
'I was there when the body was found on Paul's Wharf.'
'Is that who it was?' she said, oozing with sympathy. 'We wondered who it might be. Mrs Gately was talking about it only this morning. She thought it might be a sailor, killed in a brawl. And you say that it was Mr Henley?'
'Cheever,' he corrected.
'He was the murdered man?'
'I fear so.'
'Heavens! Think of his wife! She's far too young and frail to bear such a tragedy.'
'Mrs Cheever is stronger than she looks.'
'There's hardly anything of her. She's such a pretty little thing. Well, who would have guessed it?' she said with a long sigh. 'Her husband was a proper gentleman. He was always so polite. Yet he was killed? Who could do such a terrible thing?'
'We are still trying to find that out, Mrs Runciman. That's why I came.'
'What can I do?'
'Tell me all you know about your neighbours.'
'That's soon done, Mr Bale,' she said, folding her arms. 'I barely knew them. They were very private people. They hardly stirred out of the house.'
'Did they have many visitors?'
'I never saw any.'
'What of their maidservant?'
'I met her in the market once or twice but she had no tongue in her head either. It was an effort to get a word out of her so I gave up trying. Neighbours should be friends, Mr Bale,' she insisted. 'Life is much easier that way. They thought otherwise.'
'They must have had good reason to keep out of sight.'
'I've no idea what it might be.'
'Did you see anything of them at all, Mrs Runciman?'
'Only on Sundays.'
'Sundays?'
'Yes, Mr Bale. They were regular churchgoers, no question of that.'
'What do you mean?'
'They were out of the house before the bells had even started ringing. I'd see them walking down the street arm in arm. They may have had some strange habits,' she went on, 'but I'll say this for them. They were true Christians.'
Jonathan thought about a crucifix nailed to a wall.
Alone in his dining room, Christopher Redmayne looked back on the day with a sadness that was tinged with pleasure. Breaking the news of her husband's death to Lucy Cheever had been even more harrowing for him than carrying the same tidings to Richmond. While the dead man's father and sister could support each other in their bereavement, his wife was completely on her own. That she somehow visited the morgue to identify the body was a tribute to her courage as well as to her love. Christopher had been moved to hear about it from Sir Julius. Yet it was what Susan Cheever had told him that really occupied his thoughts. Her unexpected arrival had been a source of joy to him and her comments about her brother's work had been a revelation. Christopher wondered if he had finally stumbled on the motive behind the murder.
Eager to stay with her as long as possible, he had sensed that he should withdraw in order to let her talk in private with her father. They had been grateful for his considerate behaviour. There was much for them to discuss and it was over an hour before they called him back into the room. Even though Sir Julius still looked hurt and betrayed, a measure of understanding had clearly been achieved between father and daughter. Christopher prevailed upon them to eat a light supper then they departed for the night to their separate rooms. When Jacob had cleared everything away, his master sent him off to bed as well, wanting to stay up for a while himself to reflect on events. The very fact that Susan Cheever was sleeping beneath his roof gave him a recurring thrill. Even in such unfortunate circumstances, she was a most welcome guest. Her bedchamber adjoined his own. When he laid his head on his pillow, he realised, he would be less than six feet away from her. Christopher picked up the one remaining candle and headed for the stairs.
A knock on his front door made him pause. He wondered who could be calling at such an hour. When he opened the door, he found himself looking at the last person he expected to find there.
'Mr Bale!'
'I am sorry to disturb you, Mr Redmayne,' said Jonathan, hands gesturing an apology, 'but I have learned something that may be of interest.'
'Come in, come in.'
'No, sir. It's far too late and I've a home of my own to get to.'
'What is it that you have discovered?'
'I spoke to a Mrs Runciman,' explained Jonathan. 'She lives close to the Cheever house in Knightrider Street. Gabriel Cheever and his wife kept themselves to themselves, it seems, though she always saw them going to church on Sundays. It was as I was leaving Mrs Runciman that I was given the news.'
'What news, Mr Bale?'
'The maidservant must have seen me as I went past the house earlier.'
'Anna? The Cheevers' maidservant?'
'Yes. She was waiting for me in the street. After we left her this afternoon, Mrs Cheever asked the maid to search the house more thoroughly to see if anything was taken. It was, Mr Redmayne.'
'Go on.'
'Some of Mr Cheever's papers were missing.'
'I knew it!' said Christopher.
Jonathan was puzzled. 'You did? How?'
'This is not the time to explain. Suffice it to say that Gabriel Cheever had written something that could be a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands. Thank you, Mr Bale,' he said effusively 'I'm so grateful that you brought this information.'
'I felt that it might be important.'
'It is crucial.'
'Good,' said Jonathan. 'My visit to Mrs Runciman was worthwhile.'
He bade farewell and set off down the street with his long stride. Christopher watched him until he was swallowed up by the darkness, then closed the front door and withdrew into the house. Before he could retire to bed, however, he was detained yet again.
The clatter of hooves made him prick up his ears. Someone was riding along Fetter Lane at speed. When he heard the horse being reined in outside his door, he knew that he had another visitor. Christopher opened the door to see his brother dismounting from the saddle. Henry was almost out of breath.
'Thank goodness you are here, Christopher!' he exclaimed.
'Why? What ails you?'
'I'm being followed.'
'By whom?' said Christopher, looking up and down the empty street. 'I see nobody. Your imagination is playing tricks on you, Henry.'
'There was someone, I tell you. He has been on my tail every inch of the way.'
'You've shaken him off now.'
'Only because I've found sanctuary,' said Henry, glancing over his shoulder. 'He is probably hiding in the shadows somewhere. Let me come in.'
'At this hour?'
'Please. I must.'
'As you wish. Tether your horse by the stable.'
A minute later, Henry stepped gratefully into the house and shut the door behind him. Christopher took him into the dining room, lit some more candles then passed a bottle of brandy to Henry. His brother poured some into a glass and drank it down.
'I needed that,' he said.
'You're shaking all over.'
'You would shake if you had an assassin stalking you.'
'Is that what you think he was?'
'What else could he be?' asked Henry impatiently. 'I receive a death threat and someone follows me home in the dark. Even you must see a link between those two events, Christopher.'
'A possible link,' conceded his brother.
'Possible enough for me. I'll go no further tonight.'
'You must, Henry.'
'I'll stay the night here. Have Jacob prepare a room for me.'
'Jacob is fast asleep in bed.'
'Then rouse him from his dreams at once,' ordered Henry.
'Damn it, man! I'm your brother. My safety surely comes before your servant's comfort.'
'Of course, but I already have guests here. There's no room to spare.'
'Guests?'
'Sir Julius Cheever and his younger daughter.'
<
br /> Henry was indignant. 'Are they being preferred over me as well?'
'It is not a question of preference,' said Christopher soothingly, 'but of expedience. They came to London to identify Gabriel's body. I could hardly turn them away.'
'Why not? You turn me away.'
'That's not what I'm doing. Stay if you must, Henry. I'll even surrender my own bed to you, if it means so much to you. All I am saying is that this is not the most convenient time. You must appreciate that.'
'Why talk of convenience when my life is at stake?' complained Henry.
'Hush!' said Christopher with a finger to his lips. 'You'll wake them. I promise you this. If you're too nervous to continue on home yourself, I'll act as your bodyguard and deliver you safely to Bedford Street.' He patted his brother's arm. 'Now, why not tell me exactly what happened tonight and why you believe that you are being followed?' He indicated the bottle. 'Help yourself to more brandy.'
Henry was slightly mollified. After draining his glass, he poured himself another drink then launched into his tale. His evening at the gaming house had been extended well into the night by Sir Marcus Kemp, who refused to quit the table while he was winning. Banking on his friend's company, Henry had eventually been forced to ride home alone and found that someone was lurking outside to trail him.
'The villain might have struck at any moment!' he concluded.
'Then why didn't he?'
'He was biding his time.'
'It's more likely that he was thinking twice about attacking you when he saw that you carried a sword. You called him an assassin,' said Christopher reasonably, 'but he could just as easily have been a robber, waiting to pounce on some unwary gentleman who was rolling home alone with too much drink inside him.' He gave a smile. 'Or he might just have been someone travelling harmlessly in the same direction as you.'
'There was nothing harmless about this man, Christopher.'
'How do you know?'
'I could feel his menace.'
'Henry, you would feel menaced if a cat followed you home.'
'That's a heartless thing to say!' protested Henry. 'Do you want your brother to be stabbed in the back only yards from his own front door?'
'No,' said Christopher, 'but then, that would never happen. Why wait until you reach Bedford Street before attacking you when you've already ridden past a dozen more suitable places for an ambush? Nobody is trying to kill you, Henry. I am sure of that.'
'You saw that letter.'
'It achieved what it intended. To give you a fright.'
'It certainly did that. I've had enough, Christopher.'
'Enough?'
'I'm inclined to pay the money and have done with the whole thing!'
'That's the last thing you must do.'
'My life is more important to me than five hundred guineas.'
'But that will not buy you peace of mind,' asserted Christopher. 'It's only a first instalment. When he's squeezed one payment out of you, the blackmailer will have you at his mercy. The demands will never cease.'
'The first letter promised that they would.'
'How much faith can you put in the word of a man like that?'
Henry was still trembling. 'It's the only hope I have of staying alive.'
'That death threat was hollow,' said Christopher positively. 'I'm certain of it.'
'Gabriel Cheever was killed because he did not pay what was demanded;
'No, Henry. There was no attempted blackmail where Gabriel was concerned.'
'How do you know?'
'Because I have learned something about his literary endeavours,' said Christopher. 'Gabriel came to London to fulfil his ambition of being an author. He was very talented. As well as writing poems and plays, however, Gabriel kept a diary.'
'A diary?'
'A very explicit diary, I gather.'
'In what sense?'
'It was a form of confession. A detailed account of all the nights he spent in the company of dissolute revellers like Sir Marcus Kemp, Peter Wickens, Arthur Lunn and of course, Henry Redmayne.'
Henry was aghast. 'He wrote about me?'
'My guess is that your name figured quite prominently in the memoir. Do you understand now? All that time that you and your friends got up to your devilish antics, you had a Recording Angel at your shoulder.'
'That's an appalling thing to do to us.'
'Gabriel Cheever paid for it with his life.'
'What do you mean?'
'That's why he was killed Henry. Not because he refused to give in to any demands. What he wrote from personal guilt,' explained Christopher, 'was a potential source of blackmail. Gabriel was murdered so that someone could steal his diary.'
Lucy Cheever passed a sleepless night in an empty bed. A room that had been filled with so much love and tenderness now seemed bleak and inhospitable. She could not believe that her husband was dead. Even though she had seen his body laid out at the morgue, she entertained the ridiculous hope that he would somehow return to her. That hope finally shrivelled away in the darkness. By the time dawn came, she knew that he had gone for ever. Eyes red with weeping, she lay on the bed in despair. She and Gabriel Cheever had given up so much in order to be together. Now she was left with nothing.
Anna was a caring woman. Though Lucy said that she wanted no breakfast, the maidservant coaxed her into eating a little bread and drinking some whey. She also helped to dress her mistress, fearing that she might otherwise simply stay in bed all day and be overcome with grief. Anna had been very fond of her master and was shocked by his death, but the situation compelled her to keep her own emotions under control.
'They'll find the man responsible for this,' she said.
'I hope so, Anna.'
'Put faith in Mr Bale. He'll not rest until the crime is solved.'
'It's Mr Redmayne that I trust,' said Lucy. 'He was so kind to me when he came here yesterday. He never even knew Gabriel yet he was eager to help in the search for his killer. I put my faith in him.'
'He and Mr Bale will work together.'
'Yes.' An upsurge of sorrow made Lucy burst into tears. 'But they'll not be able to bring Gabriel back to me, Anna. My husband is gone.'
Anna put a consoling arm round her. Lucy dried her tears then detached herself to walk around the bedchamber. It was filled with fond memories. They brought a degree of comfort. She was still grasping at some of them when she heard a noise in the street outside. A coach was rattling along the thoroughfare. Anna crossed to the window.
'It's stopped outside the house,' she announced.
'Here?'
'Someone is getting out, Mrs Cheever.'
'I'm expecting no visitors.'
'It's an elderly gentleman and a young lady.'
'Go and see what they want, Anna.'
'I'll send them away,' said the maidservant firmly. 'You can't receive anyone.'
She went bustling out and descended the stairs. Looking at herself in the mirror, Lucy dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and adjusted a curl. When the bell rang below, she heard the door being opened. She moved to the top of the stairs so that she could eavesdrop without being seen.
'I wish to speak to Mrs Lucy Cheever,' said the man's voice.
'My mistress is unable to see anyone today, sir,' replied Anna briskly.
'She may wish to see us.'
'I doubt that.'
'Let her know that Sir Julius Cheever has called with his daughter, Susan. I crave a word about my son. We'll not keep her long.'
Lucy was in a turmoil. Everything that Gabriel had told her about his father made Sir Julius sound like an ogre. Had he come to bully his daughter-in-law in the same way that he had bullied his son? Or was he there to argue about the arrangements for the funeral? Whatever his reason for coming, he could not be ignored. Summoning up all of her strength, Lucy came down the stairs and into the hall. Anna stood back so that her mistress could see the visitors. Lucy looked at her father-in-law with apprehension, but it was ill-founded. H
e was not the tyrant of report at all. Sir Julius Cheever was a sad old man with moist eyes and a tentative smile of welcome. Standing beside him was a handsome young woman whose resemblance to her brother took Lucy's breath away.
It was Susan who made any introductions unnecessary. Flinging her arms round Lucy, she kissed her on both cheeks then stepped back to look at her through her tears.
'Hello, Lucy,' she said. 'Father and I are so pleased to meet you.'
Chapter Nine
The funeral of Gabriel Cheever was held at the parish church of St Andrew in the county of Northamptonshire. Built on the summit of a hill, the church acted as a beacon of hope and inspiration to the surrounding villages from which it drew its congregation. Christopher Redmayne took note of its architectural features, admiring the work of the stonemasons who had constructed the church over two centuries earlier and marvelling at the way they had overcome the problems of erecting the massive conical spire that pointed towards heaven with such reassuring certainty. Though its exterior was bathed in sunshine, the inside of the church was cold and cheerless. It seemed too large for the two dozen people who shuffled into their seats. Sir Julius Cheever wanted the funeral to be a quiet affair and only the closest family friends even knew that it was taking place. The deceased was no prodigal son being welcomed home by a delighted father. He was a murder victim who had left home after violent arguments. His funeral was also a service of reconciliation.
Like everyone else, Christopher was dressed appropriately in mourning clothes, helping to create a swathe of black across the front of the nave. He sat at the rear of the little congregation, wanting to be present but anxious to keep in the background an observer as much as a mourner. Seated in the front row were the members of the Cheever family and he ran his eye along their heads. Sir Julius was flanked by his two daughters. Brilliana Serle was weeping copiously as if trying to atone for the hostility she had shown towards her brother. Her husband tried to console her but she was too determined to draw attention to herself to succumb to his soothing touch. Susan Cheever bore herself with more dignity, subordinating her own grief to that of the diminutive figure who sat beside her. Christopher was moved to see that Lucy Cheever had been given pride of place alongside the others, her head bowed in prayer, her hand clutching that of her younger sister-in-law. It was ironic that she had to wait until her husband had been killed before she could be accepted by his family. No members of her own family were there. Two rows back, Anna, her loyal maidservant, was on hand to lend support to her mistress in the event of any collapse.
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