'A quiet night,' he noted.
'Too quiet.'
'Most people are abed.'
'But not all of them with their lawful wives and husbands,' said Warburton sourly. 'The leaping houses will be as full as ever.'
'We can't close them all down, Tom. As soon as we raid one place, another opens up elsewhere. And no matter how big the fine, they always have money to pay it. Vice, alas, is a rewarding trade.'
'I'd like to reward every whore with a long term behind bars.'
'It's not only the women who are to blame,' said Jonathan. 'Many are driven to sell their bodies by poverty or desperation. I could never condone what they do but I am bound to feel sorry for them. It's their clients who are the real culprits. Midnight lechers, buying their pleasures at will. If there were no demand, the brothels would not exist. And if there were no brothels,' he added darkly, 'there'd be a lot less drunkenness and affray. In the company of such women, men are always given to excess.'
Warburton said nothing. His ears had picked up the noise of a distant altercation. Voices were raised in anger, then a fight seemed to develop. The two men quickened their pace. By the time they reached Great Carter Lane, however, the argument had resolved itself. One of the disputants had been knocked to the ground outside an inn and the other had rolled off cursing into the night. Before the constables could reach him, the downed man dragged himself to his feet and scuttled away down an alley. Violence was a regular event inside the Blue Dolphin. This particular row had spilled out into the street to be settled with bare fists. All that Jonathan and Warburton could do was exchange a sigh of resignation and continue on their way. There would be plenty of other brawls in their ward before the night was done.
They were walking down Bennet's Hill when Jonathan felt something brush against his leg. It was Warburton's dog, a busy little terrier that always accompanied its master on his rounds. Sam was an unusual animal. He never barked. During a patrol such as this, he would disappear for long periods then materialise out of thin air when least expected. Warburton treated the dog with a mute affection. It was both his scout and his bodyguard. If his master were attacked, Sam would come to his aid at once. More than one vicious criminal had been put to flight by those sharp teeth. Having returned for a moment, the dog scampered off down the hill and merged with the shadows. Jonathan knew where he was going. Their walk would take them down to Paul's Wharf and there were always vermin to catch beside the river. Sam would be in his element. When they saw him next, he would be holding a dead rat in his jaws.
Rebuilding had begun in earnest. Since the Great Fire, twelve hundred houses had already sprung up along with inns, warehouses and other buildings. Churches had yet to be replaced. Almost ninety had been destroyed by the blaze, including the church of St Benet Paul's Wharf. As they went past its charred remains, Jonathan recalled how he had fought in vain alongside others to save it from the flames. The loss of its churches was a bitter blow to the ward. While religion slept, Jonathan believed sinfulness came in to take its place. He was still musing on the impact of the fire when they finally reached the wharf. Sam was waiting for them. They could pick him out in the moonlight. As they got closer, they saw that he held something between his teeth.
Jonathan assumed it would be another victim from the rat population but he was wrong. When the dog trotted across to his master and laid his trophy at Warburton's feet, it was no dead animal this time. What the constable picked up was a man's shoe with a silver buckle on it. It was too dark to examine the item properly but he could tell from the feel of it that it was the work of an expensive shoemaker. He handed it to Jonathan who came to the same conclusion. Tongue out and panting quietly, Sam knew exactly what to do. He swung round and loped away, leading them to the place where he had found the discarded shoe. Jonathan and
Warburton followed him down to a warehouse not far from the water's edge. The Thames was lapping noisily at the wharf, giving off its distinctive odour. A faint breeze was blowing. Sam went along the side of the warehouse, then stopped to sniff at something in a dark corner. Jonathan was the first to reach him. The dog had led them to the other shoe, but it was different from the first. It was still worn by its owner, who lay hunched up on the ground. Jonathan bent down to carry out a cursory inspection of the man, but he had already sensed what he would find. His voice took on urgency.
'Fetch some light, Tom,' he ordered. 'I think he's dead.'
* * *
Chapter Two
Christopher Redmayne was delighted that he was leaving with a new commission under his belt but sorry that he had not had the opportunity to become more closely acquainted with his client's younger daughter. Susan Cheever had made a deep impression upon him, and though he told himself that someone that attractive must have a whole bevy of male admirers in pursuit of her, perhaps even a potential husband in view, it did not prevent him from thinking about her obsessively when he was alone. The problem was that he was very rarely on his own to luxuriate in his thoughts. Sir Julius Cheever was a possessive man who hardly let his guest out of his sight. Susan had joined them for dinner on the previous day but said little and left well before the meal was finished. Her appetite simply could not accommodate the fricassee of rabbits and chicken, the leg of mutton, the three carps in a dish, the roasted pigeons, the lamprey pie and the dish of anchovies that were served. Long before the sweetmeats arrived, she had made a polite excuse and withdrawn from the table.
Dinner had continued well into the afternoon. Sir Julius ate heartily and drank deeply from the successive bottles of wine. Christopher simply could not keep pace with him. Besides, he wished to keep his head clear for their business discussion and that ruled out too much alcohol. The huge meal eventually told on his host and he fell asleep in the middle of a long diatribe for all of ten minutes, waking up with a start to complete the very sentence he had abandoned and clearly unaware that there had been any hiatus. Sir Julius knew exactly what he wanted in the way of a town house. His specifications were admirably clear and Christopher was duly grateful. Previous clients had not always been so decisive. Sir Julius brought a military precision to it all, tackling the project with the controlled eagerness of a commander issuing orders to his army on the eve of battle. When the long oak table in the dining room had been cleared he stood over the young architect while the latter made some preliminary sketches.
It had been a long but productive day. Susan joined them again for a light supper and Christopher gained more insight into her relationship with her father. She chided him softly for keeping his guest up too late yet showed real concern when he complained about pain from an old war wound in his leg. As the night had worn on, Sir Julius came to look more tired, more lonely and, for the first time, more vulnerable. He turned to maudlin reminiscences of his deceased wife. Susan interrupted him, soothing and censuring him at the same time, bathing him in sympathy while insisting that it was unwise for him to stay up so late. It was almost as if she had taken on the role of her mother. Christopher was touched by the unquestioning affection she displayed towards Sir Julius and impressed by the way she handled him. His only regret was that the closeness between father and daughter obviated any chance of time alone with Susan. Retiring to his bed an ancient four-poster with a lumpy mattress, he slept fitfully.
After breakfast next morning, on the point of departure, he finally had a brief conversation alone with her. Sir Julius went off to berate a tardy servant and the two of them were left at the table. Christopher had rehearsed a dozen things to say to her in private but it was Susan Cheever who spoke first.
'I must apologise for my father, Mr Redmayne,' she said with a wan smile. 'His manner is a trifle abrupt at times.'
'Not at all, Miss Cheever.'
'When you get to know him, you'll see that he has a gentler side to him as well.'
'I see it embodied in you,' said Christopher with an admiring smile. 'Apologies are unnecessary. I find Sir Julius a most amenable client. It will be a pleasure to
work for him.' He fished gently for information. 'Your father mentioned a second daughter with a house in Richmond.'
'Yes, Mr Redmayne,' she said. 'My sister, Brilliana.'
'I understand that he'll be staying there in due course.'
'Until the new house is built.'
'That will be done with all haste.'
'I'm glad to hear it.'
'Will you be travelling to London with your father, Miss Cheever?' he asked raising a hopeful eyebrow.
'Occasionally,' she replied. 'Why do you ask?'
'Because Sir Julius is a different man with you beside him.'
'In what way?'
Christopher was tactful. 'He seems to mellow.'
'It's largely exhaustion.'
'I marvel at the way you look after him so well.'
'Someone has to, Mr Redmayne,' she sighed. 'Since my mother died he's been very restless. It's one of the reasons he wishes to take up a political career. It will keep him occupied. Father pretends to hate London yet he wants be at the centre of events.'
'What about you, Miss Cheever?' he said, keen to learn more about her.
'Me, sir?'
'Do you relish the idea of being at the centre of events?'
'Oh, no,' she said solemnly. 'I have no love for big cities. To be honest, they rather frighten me. I was born and brought up in this beautiful countryside. Why surrender that for the noise and filth of London?'
'London has its own attractions.'
'I know. My sister Brilliana never ceases to talk about them in her letters. She and her husband frequently take the coach into the city. Brilliana seems to keep at least three dressmakers in business.'
'Is her husband engaged in politics?'
'Lancelot?' She gave a little laugh. 'Heavens, no! Lancelot is no politician. He's far too nice a man to entertain the notion of entering Parliament. My brother-in-law is a gentleman of leisure. Running his estate and pampering Brilliana take up all his time.'
'Talking of estates,' said Christopher, glancing towards the window, 'you must have a sizeable one here in Northamptonshire.'
'Almost a thousand acres.'
'Sir Julius is obviously a highly successful farmer.'
'He inherited the land from my grandfather and extended it over the years.'
'It's a pity that he has nobody else to carry on the good work. Farming runs in families. Sons take over from fathers. But since you have no brother the Cheever name may have to make way for someone else.' Susan turned away in mild embarrassment. Christopher was immediately contrite. 'Have I said something to offend you?' he asked. 'I do apologise. It was not intentional, I promise you. In any case, Miss Cheever, it's none of my business. Please forgive me. I'd not upset you for the world.'
She met his gaze. 'There's nothing to forgive.'
'I made a crass remark and I'm truly sorry.'
'How were you to know, Mr Redmayne?' she said, getting to her feet. 'You touched unwittingly on a delicate subject. I do have a brother, as it happens, but Gabriel is not interested in taking on the estate. He has…' She searched for the appropriate words. 'He has other priorities, I fear.'
'Your father made no mention of a son.'
'Nor will he,' she warned. 'And I beg you to make no reference to Gabriel. It would cause Father the deepest pain. To all intents and purposes, he has no son.'
'Yet I suspect that you still have a brother?' he said quietly.
Susan Cheever coloured slightly and bit her lip. She took a deep breath. 'I think that it's time for you to go, Mr Redmayne.'
Sarah Bale was a woman of bustling energy. Rising shortly after dawn, she cleaned the downstairs rooms, roused her children from their beds, gave them breakfast, took them off to their petty school and since the weather was fine, returned to make a start on the washing that she took in to supplement the family income. By the time her husband came into the kitchen, she was humming contentedly to herself, her arms deep in a tub of soapy water. Suppressing a yawn, Jonathan crossed to give her a perfunctory kiss of greeting on the forehead.
'Awake at last, are you?' she teased.
'I was late getting back last night, my love.'
'I know.'
'Did I wake you?'
'Only for a moment.'
'I tried not to, Sarah.'
'You're not the quietest man when you move around the house,' she said, drying her hands on a piece of cloth so that she could turn to him. 'Your breakfast is all ready, Jonathan. Sit down. You look as if you need it.'
Lowering himself on to a chair, he gave a nod of agreement. The events of the night had turned a routine patrol into a harrowing experience and left him drained. When he climbed into bed, he had fallen instantly asleep. Now, after barely three or four hours, he was up to face a new day. Bread and cheese lay on the platter before him. Sarah put a solicitous hand on his shoulder as she poured him a cup of whey.
'Did you hear the children?'
'No, my love.'
'Then you must have been very tired. They made so much noise this morning, especially Oliver. I had to be very stern with him.'
'What was the problem?'
'The usual one,' she said, putting the jug on the table and sitting opposite him. 'He didn't want to go to school. And because Oliver complained, Richard joined in.'
'School is important. They must learn to read and write.'
'That's what I told them.'
'They don't understand how lucky they are to be able to have proper schooling. I didn't at their age, Sarah. My parents couldn't afford it.' He took a first bite of bread. 'I had to pick things up as I went along. My father was a shipwright for thirty years and never learned to read properly. When I took up the trade, none of the apprentices could even write his own name.'
'You could, Jonathan. And you'd taught yourself to read the Bible.'
He took a swig of whey. 'I wanted to be able to read the names of the ships I was helping to build. Knowledge gives you power. You don't have to rely on others. The boys must realise what an advantage they'll have in life by being able to read write and add up properly.'
'I keep saying that.'
'Let me have a word with them.'
'I'd be grateful.'
He addressed himself to his meal and munched away in silence. Pouring herself a cup of whey, his wife sipped it and watched him. Jonathan was gloomy and preoccupied. Sarah could see that something was troubling him but she knew better than to question him too closely about his work. It was a difficult and often dangerous job and he tried to leave it behind whenever he stepped over the threshold. Home was his sanctuary, free from the worries of the outside world. It was a place where he could relax and recover from the strains of his occupation. When he chose to confide in her, Sarah was always willing to listen but she did not prompt him.
She waited patiently until he had cleared his platter. 'More bread?' she offered.
'No, thank you.'
'I have a fresh loaf.'
'I can't stay, my love,' he said, getting to his feet. 'I have to pay an early call.'
'When will I expect you back?'
'For dinner, I hope. I'll speak to the boys then.'
'Good. They listen to you.'
He was about to leave the kitchen when he noticed the quiet concern in her eyes. Feeling that he owed her some kind of explanation, he crossed over to help her up from the table. He pursed his lips as he pondered.
'I was with Tom Warburton last night,' he said at length.
'How is he?'
'As melancholy as ever.'
'I wondered where you'd got that grim look on your face.'
Jonathan smiled. 'Tom is not the most cheerful soul at the best of times. But then,' he continued, his expression hardening, 'there was little to be cheerful about. We found a dead body.'
'Oh dear!'
'To be truthful, it was Sam who actually found it. Tom's little dog. He was sniffing around a warehouse near Paul's Wharf. Just as well, in a way. We'd have walked right past the
place and not known the poor devil was there.'
'Who was he?'
'I've no idea, Sarah. That's why I'm going to the morgue this morning. To see what I can find out about the man. One thing is certain,' he said, gritting his teeth. 'He did not die a natural death.' He became proprietorial. 'I don't like murder in my ward. We have enough ugly messes to wipe up around here without finding corpses as well. This crime needs to be solved quickly. I'll make sure of that.'
'Be careful,' she said, reaching out to squeeze his arm.
'I always am.'
'You're too brave for your own good sometimes.'
He gave a weary smile. 'The bravest thing I ever did was to ask you to marry me, Sarah, and you were foolish enough to accept. That shows how lucky I am.'
'Lucky and much loved,' she said, kissing him. 'Remember that.'
'How could I ever forget?'
He gave her a warm hug, then left the room. A minute later, he was leaving the house in Addle Hill to begin the long walk to the morgue. All trace of fatigue was shaken off now. An officer of the law involved in a murder investigation, Jonathan Bale was as alert and zealous as ever.
Forsaking the safety of travelling companions and anxious to get back to London as soon as possible, Christopher Redmayne rode south at a steady canter. He reproached himself bitterly for causing Susan Cheever dismay with a tactless remark and believed that he had destroyed all hope of a closer acquaintance with her. At the same time, he had elicited an intriguing piece of information about the family. Sir Julius Cheever had three children, one of whom had been his male heir. What provoked him to disown and, presumably, to disinherit his son, Christopher did not know, but it had to be something serious. Susan, by contrast, had not discarded her brother and he was bound to wonder if the two of them were still in contact. Clearly, it was a source of dispute between father and daughter. He came to understand Sir Julius's suppressed anger a little more. The death of his wife and the estrangement of his son were personal sorrows to be added to the profound distaste he felt for the Restoration and its consequences. The sense of loss was unendurable. It soured him. Sir Julius would be a fiery and malcontented Member of Parliament.
The Repentant Rake Page 2
