The Repentant Rake cr-3

by Edward Marston

  'He was very kind to me,' recalled Lucy.

  'Lancelot is a very considerate man,' said Susan.

  'That may be,' agreed Sir Julius gruffly, 'but he is still a dolt and best left down in Richmond until this whole business is settled.' He slapped his knee. 'This inaction will be the death of me. I was not meant to sit around and do nothing. I want to join in the hunt. Where is Mr Redmayne? I want the latest news.'

  It was the ideal place for a tryst. Situated in a quiet lane not far from Charing Cross, the house was small, neat and indistinguishable from those either side of it. When he first saw the building, Christopher Redmayne felt a slight flush of guilt. Its very anonymity had recommended the house to his brother as a place in which to further his romance with Lady Ulvercombe. Assignations had taken place there over a brief period. Looking at it now, Christopher wondered yet again why Henry permitted himself to get drawn into such entanglements. They invariably ended in sorrow. This particular relationship might have even more serious consequences. Christopher was mildly embarrassed that he was put in the position of trying to rescue his brother from the ire of a cuckolded husband. He was not looking forward to the task but somebody had to take it on.

  When he gave his surname at the door, he was admitted at once. It was only when he stood in the hall and removed his hat that the servant was able to take a close look at him. After flinching at the sight of his injured face, the man became suspicious.

  'You are not Mr Henry Redmayne, sir,' he said.

  'I am his brother, Christopher.'

  'Is Lady Ulvercombe expecting you?'

  'Tell her that I have come on Henry's behalf.'

  The man's eyes clouded with doubt and he disappeared for a long time. Christopher feared that Lady Ulvercombe would refuse to see him and he would be sent ignominiously on his way. It made him even more self-conscious. He glanced at the staircase, wondering how many times his brother had climbed it with his fleeting conquest. When the servant reappeared, he warned Christopher that he would be seen on sufferance. It was evident from his tone that Lady Ulvercombe was very annoyed that Henry had not come in person. Steeling himself, Christopher went into the parlour.

  She was standing beside the window that overlooked the garden, choosing a position where the light fell on her to best advantage. Lady Ulvercombe was a tall, stately woman in her thirties who paid meticulous attention to her appearance. She had the kind of glacial beauty that reminded him of Brilliana Cheever but her immaculate attire marked her superior social status. When she turned to Christopher, she wrinkled her nose at the sight of his face.

  'I apologise for my appearance, Lady Ulvercombe,' he said politely, 'but I was attacked in the street last night.'

  She was unsympathetic. 'Did you bear any resemblance to your brother before that incident?' she said. 'I can discern none whatsoever now. Where is he?'

  'Unable to come.'

  'Does he not understand the importance of the summons?'

  'Only too well, Lady Ulvercombe. He was aware that the letter had gone astray.'

  'How?'

  'Henry is being blackmailed.'

  Her poise wavered. 'Somebody has the letter?' she asked. 'That was my fear.'

  'It is causing my brother rather more than fear,' said Christopher. 'If you would care to sit down, I will explain. These injuries you see,' he added, indicating his face, 'are a small part of the explanation.'

  'Henry should be here to give it in person.'

  'Bear with me, Lady Ulvercombe, and you will understand why he is not.'

  She regarded him with a blend of interest and unease. His bearing was impressive and his voice persuasive but she was distressed that he knew about an item of intimate correspondence. If his brother had confided in him, then he had to be trustworthy, she hoped but she would need reassurance on that score. Crossing to a chair, she lowered herself into it and assumed another pose. Christopher had a vision of Henry and his mistress together, preening themselves in front of each other and attaching far more importance to outward show than to any emotional commitment. He took a seat.

  'It is a long story, I fear,' he began.

  'Must I hear it all?' she sighed.

  'It started with a brutal murder, Lady Ulvercombe.'

  She jerked backwards in alarm. Having secured her attention, he did not pause. He described the circumstances of Gabriel Cheever's death and, while refraining from giving any names, told her of the people who were being blackmailed by means of extracts from a secret diary. In showing her that the disappearance of her letter was only one detail in a much larger picture, Christopher expected to shake her self-absorption but he was mistaken. All that concerned her was her own situation.

  'I have never met this Gabriel Cheever,' she said haughtily. 'Who was he?'

  'A friend of my brother's.'

  'His death is unfortunate but irrelevant to me.'

  'I would dispute that, Lady Ulvercombe.'

  'Is there any reference to me in his scandalous diary?'

  'Not as far as I know.'

  'Then let us forget it, Mr Redmayne,' she insisted, 'and turn our attention to the missing letter. Did Henry give you any indication as to its contents?'

  'He did not need to, Lady Ulvercombe,' said Christopher with gallantry. 'I have only to look at you to understand the nature of the communication. Henry was rightly devoted to you.' His flattery drew a thin smile from her. 'The important thing now is to save your reputation.'

  'I could not agree more.'

  'To do that, I need to ask some personal questions.'

  'Not too personal, I trust,' she warned.

  'Where was the letter kept, Lady Ulvercombe?'

  'I have a small cabinet in my bedchamber.'

  'Is the cabinet locked?'

  'Most of the time.'

  'Did you ever take the missive out to read it through?'

  'Really, sir!' she rebuked. 'What a lady does with her keepsakes is her own affair. If your questioning is to take this turn, I'll no more of it.'

  'I'm sorry, Lady Ulvercombe,' he said. 'I'm simply trying to establish when it went astray. It was well over a week ago that Henry received the blackmail demand. Think back, if you will. Were you absent from the house for any period of time?'

  She pondered. 'As a matter of fact, we were.'

  'Oh?'

  'My husband and I stayed with friends in Sussex.'

  'How long were you away?'

  'Several days, Mr Redmayne.'

  'And when did this visit take place?'

  'A fortnight or so ago,' she recalled. 'Are you suggesting that the letter was stolen from the house while we are away?'

  'Unless you took it with you, Lady Ulvercombe.'

  She flared up. 'You are starting to irritate me again, sir.'

  'There are only two possibilities here,' he said. 'The first is that you had it in your possession and mislaid it. That, I know,' he went on swiftly, 'is well nigh impossible as you would never be so careless.'

  'Or so foolish.'

  'Then we have to accept the second possibility. It was stolen from you.'

  'Why?'

  'In order to blackmail Henry and embarrass you.'

  'But nothing else was taken,' she argued, 'and I have a whole drawer of keepsakes. The house is well guarded while we are away. There were no reports of a burglary when we returned.'

  'Then we must look elsewhere, Lady Ulvercombe.'

  'Elsewhere?'

  'At your servants.'

  Her eyes flashed again. 'I refuse even to countenance that suggestion. Each and every one of them is above reproach, Mr Redmayne. They have been with us for years.' She remembered something. 'With one exception, that is.'

  'Who might that be?'

  'A chambermaid we took on six months ago.'

  'I see.'

  'But I would exempt her from any suspicion,' said Lady Ulvercombe. 'She came to us with the highest recommendation. The girl was formerly in the employ of one of your brother's friends, as it
happens.'

  'A friend of Henry's?' said Christopher, his curiosity aroused.

  'I mentioned that my steward was looking to engage a new chambermaid.'

  'And Henry found one for you?'

  'The girl was looking for a new post.'

  'Who was this friend of his?'

  'Miss Hemmings,' she said. 'Celia Hemmings.'

  The afternoon sun beat down on Fleet Lane and made their protracted vigil even more uncomfortable. Both men were sweating profusely. Jonathan Bale was hungry, Tom Warburton was bored and the dog had grown restless. There were several hours to go before the printer's shop closed and they would have to resume their position early next morning if they were to be there when Miles Henshaw opened for business. Warburton was fractious.

  'We could be here for days, Jonathan.'

  'If that is what it takes, I do not mind waiting.'

  'You are not even sure he will come.'

  'No, Tom. I am following my instinct.'

  'I would rather follow my belly.'

  Jonathan smiled. 'So would I, but someone has to keep watch. Leave me here on my own. You and Sam have done your share. The pair of you deserve some solid food.'

  'Shall we bring something back for you?'

  'No, Tom. But you might give a message to Sarah.'

  'Her husband is starving?'

  'Just tell her that I may be late back.'

  'I will.'

  Having elected to go, Warburton nevertheless loitered for a while, torn between a sense of duty and the need to eat. Eventually, he decided to make his move. The dog jumped eagerly to his feet. Before they could leave, however, Jonathan motioned in the direction of the printer's shop. A young man was approaching on a horse. They were too far away to see his face beneath the broad- brimmed hat but they saw how gingerly he carried his right arm. Looped round his neck was the strap of a leather satchel. The man dismounted, tethered his horse, took off the satchel and went into the shop. Neither Warburton nor Sam wanted to go now. They waited as patiently as Jonathan.

  A quarter of an hour passed before the customer reappeared. Miles Henshaw came out with him, ostensibly to wave him off but really in order to give a signal to the watching constables. Jonathan anticipated it. Before Warburton could move, Jonathan came out of hiding and strode purposefully towards the shop. Henshaw saw him coming and squandered the element of surprise. When he saw the expression on the printer's face, the customer became suspicious and glanced over his shoulder to see a constable bearing down on him. Pushing the printer away, the man rushed to mount his horse, using his left hand to help himself up into the saddle.

  'This is him!' yelled Henshaw.

  'Hold there, sir!' cried Jonathan. 'I want a word with you.'

  'He brought more pages of the diary.'

  The rider kicked his horse forward but Jonathan managed to grab the reins. The animal neighed loudly as it described a rapid circle. Jonathan held on firmly. He looked up at the man and saw the ugly swelling around his nose. Identification was confirmed.

  'You are under arrest, sir,' he declared.

  'Stand off!' warned the man.

  Taking a pistol from his belt, he pointed it at Jonathan, shifting it to cover Warburton as well when the other constable lumbered towards him. Jonathan was uncertain what to do. The man could not shoot both of them. Still holding the reins, he took a step closer, but it brought him within range. The man slipped a foot from his stirrup and kicked out to send Jonathan sprawling. The bridle was now free and escape possible. Pistol in hand, the man urged his horse on with a sharp dig of his heels and it lunged forward. The ride was short-lived. Before it reached the end of the lane, the horse was confronted by a small terrier. Yapping noisily, Sam showed no fear of the flashing hooves. It was the horse that took fright. Sliding to a halt, it reared up so abruptly^ on its hind legs that its rider was thrown from the saddle, knocking his head on the ground with an audible thud. Warburton did his best to control the horse while Jonathan got up to run across to the fallen man. The rider was unconscious, blood trickling from a gash in his skull to disfigure his face even more.

  Having done his work, the dog went off to lift his leg against the wall of a house.

  'There,' said Warburton proudly. 'I thought you might need us, Jonathan.'

  Christopher Redmayne rode down Knightrider Street at a canter until he reached the house. Before he could even dismount, he was given a welcome. Flinging open the front door, Sir Julius came bursting out to him. His daughter was close behind.

  'Where have you been, Mr Redmayne?' said Sir Julius. 'Is there any news?'

  'A great deal,' replied Christopher, 'but I did not think to find you back in London, Sir Julius.'

  'Father arrived this afternoon,' explained Susan, delighted to see Christopher again and annoyed that her father was monopolising him. 'Let Mr Redmayne come in, Father. We can hardly talk out here in the street.'

  'Why not?' said Sir Julius. 'I've waited long enough. I've been watching through that window for you this past hour or so, Mr Redmayne.' He peered up at him. 'Look at those scratches. You have been in the wars, I see. Susan told us how well you fought. You merit our congratulations.'

  'It is Mr Bale who has earned the congratulations.'

  'How?'

  'The news from him is good' said Christopher, dismounting to tether his horse. 'But there is so much of it to tell that it might be better if we were all sitting down.'

  Susan led the way into the house and once she had recovered from the shock of seeing his lacerations, Lucy added her own welcome. Christopher had hoped to speak to Susan alone first in order to savour the joy of her response, but he had to settle for a general announcement. His face lit up with a smile.

  'We have caught him,' he said.

  Sir Julius let out a yell of triumph, Susan felt a surge of relief and Lucy was so overcome that she burst into tears. Christopher waited until she had recovered enough to let him go on. Sir Julius was impatient.

  'Who is the rogue?' he asked.

  'He will not give his name, Sir Julius.'

  'But you have him in custody?'

  'Mr Bale is with him now,' said Christopher, 'though he denies any claim to heroism during the actual arrest. He gives the credit to Sam.'

  'Sam?' repeated Susan.

  'A dog belonging to Mr Warburton, another constable. I suppose it was only fitting that Sam should help to catch the killer,' he decided. 'It was he who found Gabriel's body on Paul's Wharf that night.'

  'Tell us about the arrest,' urged Sir Julius.

  'I can only give you Mr Bale's account. I have just left him.'

  Christopher did not mention that he had first visited his brother, interviewed Henry's former mistress, repaired to Bedford Street again to confirm what Lady Ulvercombe had told him about her chambermaid then called in at his own house. Jacob had passed on the urgent message left there by Jonathan Bale. Christopher had ridden hard to the gaol to see the captive for himself. Without even referring to the diary, he gave his listeners an account of how a trap had been set outside a printer's shop in Fleet Lane. Two constables and a dog had caught the man who murdered Gabriel Cheever. The prisoner was also responsible for the attack on Christopher and was unrepentant about it when his victim confronted him.

  'He admits the attack, then?' said Sir Julius.

  'He almost gloried in it.'

  'Wait until I get my hands on the villain!'

  'Let the law take its course, Sir Julius.'

  'I'll tear him limb from limb.'

  'I think it best if you keep away from him until the trial,' said Christopher. 'Mr Bale is with him now, trying to get more information out of him. But he'll yield up neither his name, his address nor the identities of his accomplices.'

  'How many of them were there?' asked Susan.

  'Two at least.'

  'Oh,' she said with disappointment. 'So it is not all over yet?'

  'Not yet, Miss Cheever, but our main task has been accomplished. The killer
is behind bars. He was the most dangerous of them. It is only a matter of time before we track down the others,' he said confidently. 'We are all but there.'

  'You and Mr Bale have done wonders.'

  'Yes,' agreed Sir Julius. 'I'd like to meet this brave constable of yours.'

  'You may already have done so, Sir Julius.'

  'Oh?'

  'Mr Bale would never tell me this himself,' said Christopher, 'but his wife has confided in me that her husband bore arms at the Battle of Worcester.'

  Sir Julius was cautious. 'On which side?'

  'The winning side.'

  'Then I insist on meeting the fellow!'

  'He was very young at the time, Sir Julius, but he's a born fighter. I've learned that on more than one occasion. You might wish to meet Mr Warburton as well. He assisted in the arrest.'

  'I would like to meet the dog,' said Lucy quietly.

  'You will meet them all in time,' said Christopher.

  'What about the accomplices?' asked Lucy. 'Do you have any idea who they are?'

  'I believe that I know the name of one of them.'

  'Tell me who he is,' demanded Sir Julius, 'and I'll help in the arrest myself.'

  'More evidence is needed before we can move to that stage, Sir Julius. As it happens I will need some help in obtaining it.'

  'Count on me, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Actually, I was hoping that your daughter might be able to assist.'

  'Me?' said Susan in astonishment.

  'Yes, Miss Cheever.'

  'What can Susan do?' said Sir Julius with mild scorn. 'Make use of my experience here. I am skilled in the art of interrogation. Tell me who the man is and I promise to get the truth out of him in no time at all.'

  'I still think that your daughter would be more suitable.'

  'Why?' asked Susan.

  Sir Julius was hurt. 'Are you spurning my offer?'

  'I have to,' said Christopher. 'The suspect I have in mind is a woman.'

  Celia Hemmings was scolding her dressmaker when the letter arrived at her house in Covent Garden. Having paid so much for it, she expected every detail to be exactly as she had prescribed, but her new dress fell short of perfection in several ways. With a final burst of vituperation, she packed the dressmaker off to make the necessary alterations before she snatched the letter from her servant's hands and gave it a casual glance. It was only when she returned to her bedchamber that she thought to open it. The letter was short, polite and written in the most elegant hand. What made her blink was the name of the sender. Celia read the letter through once more.