Christopher met his gaze. 'It would not have stayed long in your hand.'
'Mr Redmayne was not beaten,' said Jonathan solemnly. 'An attempt was made on his life. We have reason to believe that the man responsible has killed already.'
'Why tell me all this?' demanded Lunn.
'We wondered if you might know the fellow, sir.'
'How could I?'
'By employing him to run errands for you,' said Christopher. 'Was he the same person you sent to Miles Henshaw, the printer?' Lunn looked bewildered. 'What is he? A servant? A friend? Or merely a hired assassin?'
'Will somebody tell me what this is all about? I'm baffled.'
'Let me jog your memory. An unknown person has been sending blackmail demands to a number of people,' he said, glancing at the correspondence on the table. 'My brother Henry was the first to receive one, Sir Marcus Kemp came next and the latest victim, as far as we know, is Mr Peter Wickens. There is a clear pattern. Large amounts of money are demanded. The blackmailer has to come from within my brother's circle or he would not be in possession of the sensitive information that he has acquired. Mr Bale and I have been searching for the man.'
Lunn was incredulous. 'Are you accusing me?'
'We merely wish to ask you some questions.'
'Am I supposed to have written these letters?'
'Let us just say that our enquiries have led us to your door, Mr Lunn.'
'Then they can lead you straight back out again,' snapped Lunn. 'Sir Marcus Kemp, Peter Wickens and your brother are all close friends of mine. Why should I want to blackmail them?'
'You have expensive tastes.'
'I can afford them, sir.'
'Even when you lose heavily at cards?' said Christopher. 'That was why you resented Gabriel Cheever. He took a small fortune from your purse and then he discarded your friendship like an empty bottle.' Lunn shuddered at the reminder. 'I suggest to you that you got your revenge on Gabriel and stole his diary so that you could recoup some of the money that you had lost. Is that what happened?' Lunn's head sank to his chest and he sat down again. 'How many blackmail demands have you sent?'
'None.'
'None at all? Then who has been sending them?'
'You tell me, Mr Redmayne,' said Lunn, looking up at him. 'I want to know.'
'We think that you are involved somehow.'
'Oh, it's true. I am involved.'
'To what extent?' said Jonathan.
'I am the latest victim,' he explained picking up one of the letters from the table. 'If you came in search of proof, here it is. A blackmail demand for five hundred guineas. Even I would not be stupid enough to send a letter to myself.'
Christopher suddenly felt very uneasy. He did not dare to look at Jonathan.
'I think that we owe you an apology, Mr Lunn,' he said at length.
Lunn waved the apology away. 'You were only doing what you felt was right,' he said wearily. 'And it's a relief to know that somebody is trying to catch this devil. When I got his letter this morning, I all but collapsed with the shock.'
'Was anything sent with the letter?'
'Not this time.'
'This time?'
'I figure largely in Gabriel's diary, it seems,' confessed Lunn. 'If I do not pay five hundred guineas, an account of my exploits will be printed and distributed throughout London. It's too hideous to contemplate. No man knew my weaknesses better than Gabriel. He was in a position to crucify me.'
'You must accept some of the blame, sir,' Jonathan pointed out.
'Why?'
'You could not be blackmailed over vices you did not have.'
'Save me from the fellow's morality, Mr Redmayne,' said Lunn angrily.
'I was only offering an opinion, sir.'
'This may not be the most appropriate time, Mr Bale,' said Christopher tactfully. 'Mr Lunn,' he continued 'the other victims were kind enough to let me peruse their letters so that I could compare the handwriting. Would you please extend the same privilege to me?'
'To you, Mr Redmayne,' said Lunn, eyeing Jonathan, 'but not to Mr Bale.'
'Thank you.'
Christopher took the proffered letter and read it quickly. It was couched in the same terse language as the other missives and written by the person who sent the original letter to his brother. He gave it back to Lunn.
'I can see why you did not wish to receive visitors today.'
'While this is hanging over me, I'll not show my face in the streets.'
'Do not be cowed by it.'
'Now I understand why Henry was so loath to venture out with me,' said Lunn, 'and why Sir Marcus refused even to let me in. And Peter Wickens is a victim, too?'
'We called on him last night.'
'Is he going to pay up?'
'I advised strongly against it, Mr Lunn.'
'Why?'
'Sir Marcus handed over a thousand guineas,' said Christopher, 'and thought he was free of danger. But a second demand for that amount has now come.'
'Death and damnation!' cried Lunn. 'The villain has us by the throat.'
'I fancy that we have loosened his grip slightly.'
'Is there any hope of catching him?'
'Every hope,' said Christopher, 'especially if you lend your assistance.'
'What can I do?'
'Tell us more about your friendship with Gabriel Cheever. Why did he turn his back on everybody? Why did he renounce the life that he was living? You must have some idea, Mr Lunn,' he suggested. 'What prompted this repentance of his?'
Arriving back in Knightrider Street, Susan Cheever was surprised to learn that Lucy had been out for a walk. Wherever she had been, it had given her a lift. Lucy's cheeks had some colour back in them and she seemed more at peace with herself. It was the first time her eyes were not red-rimmed from crying. When they sat down to dine together, Susan was able to have a proper conversation with her.
'Where did you go, Lucy?' she asked.
'For a walk.'
'In which direction?'
'Oh, up towards the ruins of St Paul's. I took no notice of where we were going,' said Lucy. 'I simply went where Anna led me and enjoyed it.'
'The fresh air was obviously good for you.'
'I needed to get out of the house.' She chewed some food and swallowed it before speaking again. 'But what about you, Susan?' she said. 'You told me there was nothing wrong with Mr Redmayne but, in that case, why did he send his servant for you like that?'
'Jacob came of his own volition.'
'Why?'
'He felt that Mr Redmayne might want to talk to me.'
Lucy smiled. 'I might have told you that.'
'Jacob was sent to summon Mr Bale and being so close to Knightrider Street, came on here to ask for me.'
'Was Mr Redmayne pleased to see you?'
'I think so.'
'And were you glad to see him?'
'Very glad' confessed Susan. 'But I did not come to London to visit anyone else, Lucy. I'm here at your invitation and you must call on me whenever you wish. It was pleasant to go to Fetter Lane again but I am back now and at your command.'
'I have no commands, Susan.'
'Then I'll just sit with you and offer comfort.'
'Thank you.'
They ate in silence for a while. Susan was desperate to tell her about the attack on Christopher, partly for the pleasure of talking about him again but mainly in order to impress upon Lucy that he was taking perilous risks on her behalf. Christopher had advised against it lest it upset Lucy and the advice had seemed sound at the time. Watching her sister-in-law now, however, Susan wondered if she might broach the topic. If Lucy had recovered enough to venture out for a walk, she could surely cope with some distressing news, especially as it might engage her sympathies. Susan plunged in.
'There was more to it than that, Lucy,' she said.
'To what?'
'My visit this morning. Mr Redmayne has been injured.'
'Injured?' echoed Lucy. 'How badly?'
&
nbsp; Susan described the state he was in when she arrived at his house. When she talked about the attack, she mentioned that both Christopher and Jonathan Bale were convinced that the would-be killer was the same man who had murdered Gabriel. It opened fresh wounds for Lucy and she began to sob. At first, Susan thought she had made an error of judgement, but her sister-in-law soon recovered and brushed away her tears. She looked at Susan.
'Why is Mr Redmayne doing this for us?' she said.
'He sees it as a kind of mission, Lucy.'
'Even though his own life is in danger?'
'He is a strong man. He fought off the attacker.'
'Gabriel was strong yet he was unable to do that.'
'Perhaps he had more than one man to fight against.' Susan paused before returning to a familiar request. 'It would help so much if we knew where the murder took place,' she said. 'Gabriel was not killed in this house or there would have been signs of disturbance. He was out somewhere.'
'Yes,' murmured Lucy.
'And you know where he was.'
'I might guess.'
'Where was it, Lucy?'
'Do not ask me.'
'But Mr Redmayne needs to know.'
'Gabriel was killed. That is the only fact that matters to me, Susan.'
'But you want his killer caught, surely?'
'Of course.'
'And you want to save Mr Redmayne from further attack?' She leaned in closer. 'What will happen if the assassin strikes again, Lucy? Think how guilty you will feel if Mr Redmayne is murdered.'
'It will not be my fault.'
'I know, but you can at least help to reduce the possibility.'
'How?'
'By telling the truth. Not to me,' she added quickly, 'because I can see that I am not the person in whom you will confide. Tell Mr Redmayne. He is such a kind and understanding man. He will respect any confidences. I have not known him long but I have formed the highest opinion of him.'
'So have I,' said Lucy quietly.
'He needs all the help that he can get. Why are you holding back?'
Lucy shrugged helplessly. 'Because I must, Susan.'
Henry Redmayne pounced on his brother like a hawk swooping down on its prey. 'Where have you been, Christopher?' he said, shaking him vigorously.
'Here, there and everywhere.'
'But I needed you beside me.'
'How can I continue the search if I am trapped here?' asked Christopher. 'You must try to shed this anxiety, Henry. Under your own roof, you are completely safe.'
'That is what I thought.'
'What do you mean?'
'I received another letter.'
'A blackmail demand?'
'Of a kind' groaned Henry. 'But first tell me your news. Did you find the man who printed that extract from the diary?'
'I did. His name is Miles Henshaw.'
'He deserves to be hanged, drawn and quartered.'
'No, Henry. He was simply printing what he was given. Mr Henshaw had no idea what cruel use his work would be put to by the blackmailer. Let me explain.'
Eager to hear his brother's tidings, Christopher gave him only a shortened account of the visits to Elijah Pembridge and to Miles Henshaw. The call on Arthur Lunn was summed up in a few sentences. Henry sank even further into dejection. He had been hoping for results that had simply not materialised. As far as he was concerned, a dangerous killer was still on the loose and he was the man's next target.
'What about you?' said Christopher, ending his narrative. 'Show me this new letter that you received today.'
'Even you will not be allowed to see that.'
'Why not?'
'Because I've already burned it.'
'Whatever for, Henry?'
'It is the only safe thing to do with that particular correspondence.'
'Who sent it?'
'Amelia.'
'Lady Ulvercombe?'
'Yes. She has only just discovered that my billet-doux is missing. Why has it taken her so long? I thought she had destroyed it, as she vowed she would do, but she clung on to it for sentimental reasons. It was, I have to confess, worded in such a way to excite a lady to the very pitch of delight. But does she read it every day to keep the flame of our romance alive? No, no, no! It takes her well over a week to notice that my deathless prose has been stolen. I am desolate, Christopher. Heavens above! It is insulting. A man is entitled to expect a mistress to drool over his correspondence.'
'At least, Lady Ulvercombe has learned the worst now.'
'Not before time.'
'What did her letter say?'
'She wants to meet me,' said Henry. 'This very afternoon. How can I venture outside that door when an assassin is lying in wait for me? And why, in any case, should I choose to confront the very woman who landed me in this infernal mess?'
'No, Henry,' said Christopher firmly. 'You landed yourself in this mess.'
'Amelia lost the letter.'
'You wrote it.'
'Only because she pestered me.'
'A moment ago, you were boasting about the way you had worded it.'
'Well, yes,' agreed Henry. 'It was a small masterpiece of its kind. But destined for the eyes of one person only before being consigned to the flames.'
'Is Lady Ulvercombe afraid that her husband will find out?'
'She is terrified. He already has suspicions of me. Were that letter to fall into his hands, he would not hesitate to wreak his revenge. Not that Amelia has any concern for me,' he added. 'Her anxiety is for herself.'
'Go on.'
'She insists on meeting me to discuss the matter. Otherwise - and this is the most drastic form of blackmail - she will make a full confession to the egregious Lord Ulvercombe and beg his forgiveness.' He flung his hands in the air. 'Where will that leave me?'
'Reason with her.'
'Desperate women have no truck with reason.'
'Assure her that the letter will be recovered somehow.'
'It may already be on its way to her husband.'
'I doubt that,' said Christopher. 'Once sent, it loses its power to extract money from you. Lady Ulvercombe must be told how it is being used to blackmail you. It could easily be employed against her in the same way.'
'Amelia would panic and throw herself on the mercy of that brutish husband.'
'You must calm the lady down, Henry.'
'How can I when I dare not leave the house?'
'You must.'
'No, Christopher. It is not simply fear that keeps me immured. The truth is that I do not wish to see Amelia again. She unsettles me.'
'But the two of you were so close at one time.'
'Revulsion is the Janus-face of romance.'
'That's not the remark of a gentleman,' said Christopher reproachfully.
'I'm not talking about my revulsion for her,' explained Henry. 'For my sins, I still have a vestigial affection. It was Amelia who turned against me. I have no idea why. I was encouraged, favoured then summarily discarded. That does not make a man wish to have a rendezvous with a woman he once adored.'
'If you do not go, Lady Ulvercombe will tell all to her husband.'
'There's the rub.'
Christopher pondered. 'Where does she ask you to meet her?' he said at length.
'At a secret address.'
'Where is it?'
'Less than five minutes from here.'
'Would you meet the lady if I were to accompany you there?'
'No. I could not bear the embarrassment.'
'Then I will go in your stead' decided Christopher.
'You?'
'Give me the address, Henry. The meeting may prove fruitful.'
While the two men talked neither took their eyes off the printer's shop owned by Miles Henshaw. Hours had passed since Tom Warburton took up his station nearby. Jonathan Bale was having difficulty replacing him.
'There is no point in both of us staying, Tom,' he said.
'I'll linger awhile.'
'Mr Redmayne asked m
e to relieve you.'
'Why?'
'He felt that you had been here long enough.'
'I have.'
'Then go back home and have some dinner. Come back later.'
'I might miss him.'
'We have no guarantee that he will come today,' said Jonathan, 'though there is one promising sign. The gentleman we visited this morning has been threatened with publication of shameful details about his private life. Not that he had the grace to be ashamed about them,' he added grimly, 'but we'll let that pass. Those details will need to be printed by Mr Henshaw so that they can be used to cause the gentleman further grief. The commission may come today.'
'Then I'll stay.'
'Leave him to me.'
'You may need help, Jonathan.'
'I can manage.'
'We are in this together.'
'True.'
'You, me - and Sam,' said Warburton, fondling his dog. 'He found the body.'
'I have not forgotten that, Tom.'
Jonathan was pleased at the prospect of company during what might prove to be a long vigil but worried that he might not be able to make the arrest himself. The attack on Christopher Redmayne had upset him deeply. Jonathan felt that he had a personal score to settle on behalf of his friend. If the man posing as Gabriel Cheever did arrive at the printer's, he wanted to be the one to confront him. It was a selfish attitude and he chided himself for it but that did not lessen his desire to be instrumental in the arrest. There was, however, another factor to be taken into account. If the man did reappear, he might not be alone. His accomplice might be with him. That could cause a problem even for Jonathan. His colleague's support might be valuable, after all, and it would be very unfair to exclude the dog.
'Thanks, Tom,' he said with feeling. 'Good to have you with me.'
Sam gave a bark of gratitude. He wanted to be involved in any action.
The unheralded arrival of Sir Julius Cheever took both women by surprise. Lucy was quite overwhelmed when he suddenly appeared on her doorstep and she did not know how to react. Susan was dismayed. Much as she loved him, she felt that he had come at an awkward time. During their long conversations, she and Lucy were drawing ever closer. The presence of Sir Julius in such a limited space made any exchange of confidences quite impossible.
The Repentant Rake Page 25
