'But something has happened,' complained Henry, close to hysteria. 'My whole future is in the balance. I can hardly pretend that I'm not concerned about the threat.'
'That's exactly what you must do,' urged Christopher. 'Don't give this rogue the pleasure of seeing you suffer, Henry. Fight back. Put on a brave face and show him that you're not so easily discomfited.'
'But I'm terror-stricken!'
Christopher was moved. Even allowing for his brother's tendency to dramatise and exaggerate, he could see how shaken
Henry was. The warning letter had left him thoroughly dazed. If and when the crisis blew over, it was possible that Henry might even start to mend his ways. That was another reason to come to his aid.
'Do as I suggest,' said Christopher, 'then leave the rest to me. I'll not discuss this with anyone so your shame will not be noised abroad. Whatever you do, you must not give in to blackmail. It's a despicable crime and we'll catch the villain behind it.' He patted his brother's shoulder. 'Bear up. We'll come through this somehow.'
'Will we?'
'Of course.'
Henry managed a pale smile of gratitude. Having shared his grim secret, he felt as if his load had been marginally lightened. Christopher was a younger brother who seemed, in many ways, much older than him. Where Henry was impetuous, Christopher was cool and objective. He was also an extremely resolute man. In the circumstances in which Henry now found himself, his brother was the ideal ally. Henry softened.
'Forgive this whining self-concern,' he said with a gesture of apology.
'I heard no whining.'
'You have news of your own and all I can do is bury you up to the neck in my affairs. It's reprehensible on my part. What's this about a new commission?' His interest was genuine. 'In Northamptonshire, you say?'
'Yes, Henry.'
'How did you come by it?'
'I was recommended by Elijah Pembridge.'
'The bookseller?'
'The very same,' said Christopher. 'Thanks to you, I was able to design his new shop and he was sufficiently pleased with it to pass my name on to a friend.'
'Do I know the man?'
'I doubt it. He was a colonel in Cromwell's army. He's been immured in the country for the last six or seven years and is only forcing himself to reside in London because he is looking to become a Member of Parliament.'
'More fool him! What's his name?'
'Sir Julius Cheever.'
Henry was curious. 'Cheever? No relation of Gabriel Cheever, by any chance?'
'Sir Julius could be his father, I suppose,' said Christopher. 'I know that he has a son called Gabriel but I also know that he's disowned him for some reason.'
'Then it has to be the Gabriel I know.'
'What makes you say that?'
'No father would approve of such a son.'
'Why not?'
'Because Gabriel Cheever makes me look like the patron saint of chastity,' said Henry with a mirthless laugh. 'He's one of the most notorious rakehells in London.'
'When do you intend to leave?' asked Susan Cheever.
'In a day or so,' said her father. 'I've business in London.'
'Where will you stay?'
Sir Julius pulled a face. 'In Richmond.'
'Lancelot is your son-in-law,' she told him with a note of mild reproach. 'You ought to make more of an effort to like him.'
'I have difficulty liking Brilliana at times, so don't ask me to waste any affection on that blockhead of a husband.'
'It was a good marriage for Brilliana. They're very happy together.'
'How can any woman be happy with Lancelot Serle?' he demanded. 'Be honest, Susan. Would you accept a proposal from a posturing ninny like that?'
She suppressed a smile. 'No, Father.'
'Thank God I have one discerning daughter.'
They were just finishing their meal in the dining room. It was a beautiful day and Sir Julius planned to spend the afternoon in the saddle, riding around the estate to see how his tenants were getting on in the hay fields. Though he had delegated most of the management duties to someone else, he liked to keep an eye on progress and knew that it always improved when he put in a personal appearance. Farming was what he knew best and loved most. Sir Julius needed to remind himself of that before he went off to the urban confines of London. He sipped his wine and looked fondly at Susan.
'While we're on the subject,' he began, licking his lips, 'when are you going to follow your sister down the aisle?'
She was dismissive. 'Oh, there's no hurry for that.'
'Answer my question.'
'I've answered it a dozen times already,' she replied. 'The time to get married is when I find someone whom I consider to be a worthy husband.'
'You have plenty of willing suitors.'
'Willing but unsatisfactory.'
'Your standards are too high, Susan.'
'Are you so eager to get rid of me?'
'No,' he said. 'I'll miss you terribly if you go, but it would be wrong of me to stand in your way out of selfishness. Most young ladies of your age have a husband and children. Failing that, they are at least betrothed.'
Susan's face tightened. 'I tried betrothal, Father. It was an ordeal.'
'Only because you chose the wrong man.'
'I seem to recall that he was chosen for me. That was the trouble. I was more or less talked into it by you and Mother. Not that I blame you entirely,' she went on. 'I take some responsibility. I liked Michael immensely but I could never love him and as it turned out, the feelings he professed to have for me were not as intense as he claimed.'
'Forget him,' said Sir Julius briskly 'Michael Trenton was a mistake. I freely concede that. But there are dozens of more reliable young men in the county.'
'I want more than reliability, Father.'
'You need someone who can offer you security, Susan. That's the most important factor. We have to accept that I will not be here for ever.'
Susan smiled. 'Then I insist on looking after you while you are here.'
'Why not find someone to look after you for a change?' 'I will, Father. One day.'
A maidservant came in to clear the table and brought that phase of the conversation to a natural end. Susan was grateful for the interruption. Questions about her lack of marital plans always made her feel slightly cornered. After one doomed betrothal, she was loath to enter too hastily into another. Suitors were tolerated but never encouraged. She had come round to the view that, if she' were to marry, her husband would live well away from the county of Northamptonshire.
'How long will you be in London?' she asked.
'Four or five days,' he said. 'A week at most.'
'It will be very lonely without you.'
'Then why not make the rounds of your many admirers?' he teased.
'I think I would prefer to come with you, Father.'
He was surprised. 'To London? Whatever for?'
'To keep you company, for a start. And to have the pleasure of seeing Brilliana again. Yes,' she added as she saw him grimace, 'I know that you hate staying with them in Richmond but I enjoy it. Brilliana and I can take the coach into the city.'
'Anything to get away from Lancelot!'
'Stop being so unkind about your son-in-law.'
'The man is insufferable.'
'I promise to keep him well away from you. There,' she announced. 'Isn't that a good enough reason in itself to take me with you?'
'It's a tempting offer, certainly.' He drained his glass of wine. 'I'll consider it.'
'Thank you.' Susan tried to sound casual. 'Father, while you're in London, will you be seeing your architect at some point?'
'Redmayne? Probably.'
'Where does he live?'
'Fetter Lane, I believe.'
'Those sketches of his were remarkable.'
'He's a competent architect, Susan. I have it on good authority.' He leaned forward. 'But why this sudden interest in Christopher Redmayne?'
'A passing tho
ught,' she said. 'No more. I can come with you, then?'
He rose to his feet. 'Give me time to think it over.'
'London has so much to offer at this time of year.'
'Yes, Susan. Blistering heat, a dreadful stench and too many people.'
He moved to the door but she got up from her chair to intercept him. Anticipating what she was going to say, Sir Julius bristled. His daughter was not to be put off.
'Father,' she began.
'Do I really want to hear this?' he warned.
'Someone else lives in London as well.'
'Thousands of people do.'
'This person is rather special.'
'Not to me,' he snapped. 'Not any more.'
'Gabriel is your son,' she argued.
'I have no son, Susan.'
'He still looks upon you as his father.'
'Well, he has no right to do so,' said Sir Julius vehemently. 'Gabriel is a disgrace to himself and to his family. Ours is a proud name and he has forfeited any claim on it. I expect a degree of rebellion in a son. It shows spirit. But he went too far, Susan. It broke your mother's heart to see him stalk out of the house the way he did - and for what? A life of idleness in the taverns and gaming houses of London.'
She clutched his arm. 'Gabriel may have changed by now, Father.'
'I have not,' he said firmly.
Detaching her hand, he walked quickly away before he lost his temper.
Jonathan Bale had too full a day to devote much time to the murder investigation and the enquiries he had been able to make on that score had borne no fruit. As he walked back home with Tom Warburton, he confided his frustration.
'I wish I could devote all my time to it, Tom.'
'Leave that to others,' advised Warburton.
'But we found the body. I feel involved.'
'We've done all we can, Jonathan.'
'And where has it got us?' said the other. 'Nowhere. You've knocked on dozens of doors in search of witnesses but found none at all. I've put a name to the dead man but I've no idea who he was or where he lived. Nahum Gibbins gave me an address but they had never heard of him there.' He ran a hand across his chin. 'Why does a customer give his shoemaker a false address?'
'Maybe the name is false as well.'
'I thought of that.'
They plodded on together. As they passed an alley, Warburton's dog came trotting out to take his place at his master's heels but he soon darted off ahead of them. Jonathan watched him pause to sniff at the wall of a tavern.
He was pensive. 'What puzzles me is that nobody's come forward.'
'True.'
'The man is missing. Someone in the ward must be worried by his absence.'
'Only if he came from round here.'
'Where else?'
'Any part of the city.'
'Why drag him all this way to dispose of the body? No, Tom. He must have some link with Baynard's Castle ward. I feel it in my bones. And the killer must know the area as well. He picked a good spot to hide the body. And a good time.'
'When nobody was about.'
'Nobody who remembers seeing anything, that is.'
'Ah.'
'We must try again tomorrow.'
'Yes.'
Jonathan gave him a farewell wave and turned into Addle Hill. With his dog back at his heels, Warburton continued on towards his own house. It had been a disappointing day and Jonathan was glad to be home again. When he entered, Sarah was coming downstairs, having just put the two boys to bed. Smiling a welcome, she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
'I told them you'd be back in time to read to them.'
'In a moment,' he said, going into the kitchen.
'You look exhausted, Jonathan.'
'Annoyed more than anything else.'
'Why?'
'Oh, it's not fair to bring my troubles home,' he said, dredging up a smile. 'The problem will keep until morning then I'll start all over again.'
'Is it to do with that dead body you found?'
'Yes.'
'I thought you found out a name.'
'I did' he agreed, 'but that's all I found out. The address I was given was false. For some reason, the young man wanted to cover his tracks. All I know is that he wore expensive shoes and dressed like a gentleman. He might even be a courtier. That's not a world I know - or want to know - much about, Sarah.'
'You've been to Court,' she said with pride. 'You've spoken to His Majesty.'
He wrinkled his nose. 'Not with any pleasure, my love. When he saw fit to employ me, I had to obey the King but I was never comfortable in his presence. If the dead man was a courtier, I'll leave it to others to find out more about him. I'll not venture down to Westminster again. It's a vile place.'
Sarah said nothing but her mind was working. While her husband went off to read to his sons from the Bible, she prepared his supper. So rarely did he talk about his work at home that she knew this case held a special interest for him. She wanted to help. When he finally came back to the kitchen, she made a suggestion.
'What about that friend of yours, Jonathan?'
'Friend?'
'Mr Redmayne.'
'He's not really a friend, Sarah.'
'Come now,' she said reprovingly. 'You know that you like him. You and he worked well together in the past so don't pretend you have no time for him.'
'What can Mr Redmayne do?'
'See if the dead man really did go to Court.'
'How could he find out? Mr Redmayne is no courtier.'
'No,' she said. 'But his brother Henry is. I've heard you mention him.'
Jonathan pondered. His wife had made a valuable suggestion. It was an idea that would never have crossed his own mind because he had so many reservations about his occasional partnership with Christopher Redmayne. But it was perhaps a way to secure indirect access to Court. When everything else had failed, it might be worth a try. He fought hard to overcome his prejudices.
'Thank you, Sarah,' he said at length. 'I'll go and see Mr Redmayne tomorrow.'
* * *
Chapter Five
Christopher Redmayne was distressed by his visit to Bedford Street and vowed to help his stricken brother in every possible way. At the same time, however, he could not neglect the work in which he was engaged, marking, as it did a major advance in his career. It was not merely the first commission to come his way as a result of a property he had already designed, it was also the first to allow him a free hand in the choice of builder. Earlier clients had reserved the right to select their own men and this had sometimes created problems. The builder foisted on him by Jasper Hartwell, for example, had been able but obstructive and though the house he built was substantially the one that Christopher had designed, he had criticised the architect at every stage and made the project an unnecessarily difficult one. It was a relief to know that this time he could engage a builder who would work with him rather than against him. The choice, in fact, had already made itself. Having found a congenial partner during the construction of Elijah Pembridge's new bookshop, Christopher sought out the same man in the hope that he would be available for hire again. Like most reputable builders, Sidney Popejoy was extremely busy, but his admiration for the architect was such that he promised to recruit additional men in order to take on the project.
They adjourned to the site itself to take stock of any potential hazards.
'A tidy piece of land' observed Popejoy. 'At a tidy price, I dare say.'
'Sir Julius is a wealthy man.'
'He must be if he can afford to build a house that he'll rarely use.'
'Except when Parliament sits,' said Christopher.
Popejoy grinned. 'Sits and sleeps, from what I hear.'
'Not while Sir Julius Cheever is around. His voice would wake the dead.'
'What sort of client will he be, Mr Redmayne?'
'One that expects to get exactly what he pays for.'
'As long as he's not looking over our shoulder every hour of the day.'
> 'No danger of that, Mr Popejoy,' said Christopher. 'Once my drawings have met with his approval, he'll leave us alone to get on with our work. Sir Julius hates London. It's taking a huge effort of will on his part to move here.'
'But he's not really in London,' noted Popejoy. 'Westminster is a city in itself.'
'It's all one to him. An object of scorn and derision. He wanted a house built here so that it was convenient for his visits to Parliament. Our job is to answer his needs.'
Popejoy gave a shrug. 'I foresee no problems there.'
The two men were standing in a tree-lined road that ran north from Tuthill Street. A number of properties had already been built there but the new house would still allow Sir Julius an uninterrupted view of St James's Park. It was a bonus for a man accustomed to look out on appealing landscapes. Popejoy strode slowly around the site, measuring it out and kneeling down to take a closer look at the ground on which he was to build. He was a short, thickset man with black hair and bushy eyebrows that arched so expressively above his bulbous eyes that he seemed to be in a continual state of surprise. Christopher had the highest respect for him. He had seen how Popejoy could bring the best out of his men. When the builder rejoined him, he nodded towards the park.
'Sir Julius will be able to see the King taking his morning walk.'
'That's the last thing he wishes to do, Mr Popejoy,' said Christopher with a smile. 'Left to him, there would be no King.
Unless he went by the name of Oliver Cromwell.'
'What a sour-faced ruler he turned out to be!'
'Not in the opinion of our client. He more or less worshipped the man. Whatever else you do,' he cautioned, 'make no comment about politics to Sir Julius or it will set him off. He's fanatical in his beliefs. Disparage the Lord Protector and he's likely to tear up your contract to build his house.'
Popejoy nodded. 'I know when to keep my mouth shut, Mr Redmayne. I've been employed by men of every political persuasion and I made sure that I never spoke a word out of place to any of them. I prefer to sweeten a client. They pay better that way.'
'I agree,' said Christopher. 'Well, have you seen enough, Mr Popejoy?'
'I think so.'
'Do you have any questions?'
'Only one of significance. When do we start?'
The Repentant Rake Page 6
