The Parliament House (35 page)

    'What do you mean?' asked Brilliana.

    'Sir Julius could not be certain,' said Serle, 'but he had a strong impression that one of the earl's seconds at the duel was none other than Henry Redmayne. I find that astonishing. The man who came here to warn your father about that disgraceful play then turns up to assist its author. It's beyond belief.'

    Brilliana was simmering. 'It's a betrayal,' she said, mind racing. 'A vile and unforgivable betrayal.'

       After his confrontation with the man sent to kill him, Christopher went back to Fetter Lane to collect his horse, then he rode to Addle Hill to see Jonathan Bale. The constable was alarmed by the report.

    'You took too great a risk, Mr Redmayne,' he said.

    'I was determined to find out who he was.'

    'Yes, but he may not have been acting alone. Granted, he kept watch on your house. But, for all you knew, he might have had a confederate loitering nearby. Two attackers would have given you much more of a problem.'

    'I agree,' said Christopher. 'I could not even hold on to one.'

    'You disarmed him, that was the main thing.'

    'Could we trace the owner of the dagger somehow?'

    They were in the kitchen of Bale's house and the constable was holding the weapon that Christopher had recovered from the alleyway. It was a long-bladed dagger with a carved handle.

    'There's nothing distinctive about this, sir,' said Bale. 'I've seen a dozen that are identical.'

    'Not quite, Jonathan. In one respect, that dagger is unique.'

    'Unique?'

    'It slit the throat of Dan Crothers.'

    'Did he confess that?'

    'Loud and clear.'

    'And he intended to do the same to you.'

    'I did not give him the opportunity,' said Christopher. 'Is it worth trying to find out where that dagger was made and sold?'

    Bale returned it to him. 'It would take far too long,' he said, 'and we might never get the name that we seek. The weapon could have been stolen, or passed on to him by someone else. No, the dagger will not help us, alas. It's a pity he left no other clue behind.'

    'But he did.'

    'And what was that?'

    'His hat,' explained Christopher. 'I'd hoped the dagger might help us but maybe the hat will do so instead. Perhaps we can find out who made it and to whom it was sold. A dagger is the same size for everyone but a hat has to fit an individual head. It's outside, in my saddlebag.'

    'Then let me see it,' said Bale.

    The horse was tethered to a post near the house and someone was stroking its flank. It was Patrick McCoy and he stood to attention as the two men came out of the house. There was still bruising on his face but the black eye was now a faint yellowish colour.

    'I'd still like to help you, Mr Bale,' he volunteered.

    'You did your share earlier on, Patrick.'

    'I enjoyed being a constable.'

    'Even though you were beaten as a result?' said Bale.

    'He took me unawares.'

    While the two of them were talking, Christopher extracted the crumpled hat from his saddlebag and straightened it out. It was wide-brimmed and high-crowned. It had a black hatband around it. Before giving it to Bale, he tried to remove some of the filth it had acquired in the alleyway.

    'What's that?' asked Patrick, fascinated.

    'It might be a clue,' said Bale.

    'How do you know?'

    'Here you are, Jonathan,' said Christopher, handing it over. 'I'm sorry about the dirty marks and the creases. It was twisted out of shape when he grabbed my sword.'

    Bale examined the hat, turning it over so that he could look inside it. Then he did something that had never even occurred to Christopher. He held it to his nose and sniffed it.

    'What are you doing, Mr Bale?' said Patrick.

    'Trying to find out where someone worked,' said Bale with a grin of pleasure. 'In this case, it's quite easy.' 'Why?'

    'Because that smell clings to your clothes, your face and, most of all, to your hair. I had some of it on myself after I'd been there.'

    'Where?' asked Christopher.

    'The brewery,' said Bale. 'This hat stinks of it. I suspect the man who tried to kill you is employed by Erasmus Howlett.'

        After the exigencies of the morning, Henry Redmayne felt the need to return home to change out of the dull apparel he had worn to the duel into something more ostentatious. He felt restored. When he glanced out of the window of his bedchamber, he saw a coach draw up outside his house and he was thrilled when its passenger turned out to be none other than Brilliana Serle. Completing his joy was the fact that she seemed to be alone. He grabbed his periwig, thrust it upon his head, spent only seconds in front of a mirror to adjust it then fled down the stairs so that he could open the front door himself.

    His prayers had been answered. Instead of rebuffing him, as he had feared, Brilliana had simply waited until a more suitable time to declare her love. When a beautiful woman came alone to the house of a man who adored her, it could have only one meaning. He flung the door wide then spread his arms in a welcome.

    'I need to speak to you, Mr Redmayne,' she said, calmly.

    'Then step inside, Mrs Serle.'

    'Thank you.'

    He stood aside so that she could pass and was rewarded with another whiff of her exquisite perfume. Closing the front door, he led her into the parlour and indicated a seat.

    'I prefer to stand,' said Brilliana.

    'As you wish, dear heart.'

    'Are you an honest man, Mr Redmayne?'

    'I am renowned for my truthfulness.'

    'Then I expect an honest reply from you. Did you or did you not act a second to the Earl of Stoneleigh this morning?'

    'Ah,' said Henry, sensing from her tone that the wrong answer could ruin all his hopes. 'I was forced into a situation that was not of my own choosing.'

    'One word is all I require - yes or no?'

    'My brother needed intelligence about Cuthbert - about the earl, that is - and the only way that I could obtain it was by posing as a friend of his. Indirectly, it was in your father's interests.'

    'Yes or no?' demanded Brilliana.

    'A qualified yes.'

    'You viper, sir!'

    'But I was trying to help Sir Julius.'

    'By assisting a man who had him consigned to the Tower? I fail to see how that helps my father. You were part of the conspiracy against him and I despise you for it.'

    'Do not say that!' he implored.

    'When you came to our house, you deceived us all.'

    'I would never deceive you, Brilliana.'

    'Under the guise of supporting Father, you tried to practise your wiles upon me. That was shameless enough. Even more shameless was the way that you told Father about a play you professed to loathe when you are a good friend of the villain who wrote it.'

    'Cuthbert did write the play,' he told her, 'but someone else inserted the scene in which Sir Julius was mocked.'

    'That does not matter now. The fact is that you were complicit in the whole plot. You sniggered at my father in the theatre then claimed to be appalled at what you saw. And, even though you knew that he would have been roundly abused in the House of Commons as a result of the play, you did not have the grace to confide in Susan or myself. You are a fiend, Mr Redmayne.'

    'But I love you!'

    'A cruel, uncaring, unprincipled, odious fiend.'

    'Brilliana!'

    'Do not dare to speak my name, sir. I spurn you.'

    'Could we not discuss this more amicably over a glass of my finest wine?' he suggested, quivering with contrition.

    'I'd sooner take poison than accept a drink from you.'

    'You cannot mean that.'

    'Be grateful that I came alone, Mr Redmayne,' she said with blistering anger. 'And be thankful that I am but a woman.'

    'A princess among women!'

    'Were I a man, I'd have challenged you to a duel and sent you to the grave that is your rightful home. Good day to you, sir. I'll not soil myself with your company any longer.' Henry followed her as she went out into the hall. Brilliana paused in front the painting of the Roman orgy. 'My husband was right. This is an abomination. I cannot believe that it amused me even for a second. It is like its owner,' she went on. 'Indecent, unchristian and utterly corrupt.'

    Opening the front door, she sailed out with great dignity. Henry was distraught. His romance with her was unequivocally over.

        They first called at his house in Aldermanbury Street but, when they learned that Erasmus Howlett was at work, they walked on to the brewery. Jonathan Bale had the privilege of bearing the warrant. Tom Warburton accompanied him and Bale had taken the precaution of recruiting two constables from Cripplegate ward as well. Since he also had Christopher Redmayne in support, he felt as if he had adequate numbers to apprehend the two men.

    'Will you recognise him if you see him, sir?' asked Bale.

    'Yes,' replied Christopher. 'With or without his hat.'

    'Are you going to return it to him?'

    'Of course - though I might think twice about his dagger.'

    'Mr Howlett should give us no trouble. He does not have the look of a fighting man to me.'

    'He pays others to fight and murder on his behalf.'

    'Those days are over,' said Bale, happily, 'and so is his ambition to be Lord Mayor of the city.' Two drays, loaded with full barrels, were driven past them. Bale took note. 'When they learn what Mr Howlett had been involved in, a lot of taverns may choose to buy their beer elsewhere.'

    'I suspect that the Saracen's Head will be among them.'

    They reached the brewery and went in. Christopher reacted to the insidious aroma. He could understand how it would penetrate the clothes and hair of anyone who worked in it, and why Bale had been able to identify it so easily. It made Christopher grimace. Having seen them from his office, Erasmus Howlett came down the steps to meet them. He seemed unperturbed by the appearance of four constables. When Christopher was introduced, however, a ripple of alarm went across the brewer's face. Bale took out the list of ingredients that Howlett had given him earlier. He held it out.

    'We came about this, sir,' he said.

    'A complaint about my beer?' Howlett gave a nervous laugh. 'I've never had that before.'

    'It's not the beer we complain about,' said Christopher, taking a piece of paper from his pocket. 'It's the handwriting.' He thrust the paper under Howlett's nose. 'It matches
this
exactly.'

    'I never wrote that!' exclaimed the other.

    'Yes, you did. They were your instructions to Dan Crothers and they sent him off on a murderous mission. When he failed to kill Sir Julius Cheever, you had his throat cut in Old Street.' Christopher took out the dagger he had taken from his attacker. 'We even have the weapon that committed the crime. It belongs to one of your men, Mr Howlett. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to point him out.'

    'I've no idea what you are talking about, Mr Redmayne,' said Howlett, indignantly. 'You are trespassing on my property and I must ask you to leave at once.'

    'We will, sir,' said Bale. 'When I've served you with this warrant for your arrest. First, however, oblige Mr Redmayne, if you will.'

    'Pick out the man you sent to kill me today,' said Christopher, taking out his sword. 'I'd like to renew my acquaintance with him.'

    Howlett gave up all pretence of innocence. He knew that he was trapped but his accomplice might yet escape. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he yelled at the top of his voice.

    'Run, Sam!' he called. 'Get away while you can!'

    A figure emerged from behind one of the huge vats and raced off through the brewery. Seeing that it was his attacker, Christopher went after him, dodging round the various people and obstacles in his way. As before, the man had too much of a start and a far greater knowledge of the geography of the place. After leading his pursuer on a circuitous route, he darted through a door at the rear of the building and slammed it shut behind him. Christopher feared that he had lost him for the second time. When he opened the door, however, he had a most pleasant surprise.

    The man he had chased was lying flat on his back with blood gushing from his nose. Standing over him with a grin of triumph was Patrick McCoy.

    'I knew you'd come to the brewery, sir,' he said. 'I waited here because I thought someone might try to escape through the back.' He grabbed the fallen man by the collar and lifted him without effort to his feet. 'Here he is, sir. I just wanted to help.'