The Repentant Rake (11 page)

    'You
have a protective instinct,' remarked Christopher.

    'Do
I?'

    'You
guard that ward of yours like a mother hen watching over her brood.'

    Jonathan
was blunt. 'I won't stand for murder on my doorstep.'

    'Nor
should you, Mr Bale. But how can I help?'

    'By
speaking to your brother, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Henry?'

    'He
may just have the answers I need.'

    'Don't
bank on that,' warned Christopher. 'Henry is not at his most approachable at
the moment. He's rather preoccupied.'

    'All I
am asking is that you tell him the name of the deceased. I have a strong
suspicion that the man may have been at Court. In which case, your brother
might actually know him.'

    'That's
not impossible. Henry is a gregarious fellow. Inquisitive, too. He likes to
keep abreast of all the Court gossip.'

    'Will
you take me to him, please?'

    Christopher
hesitated. 'It might be better if I passed on your request to him. My brother
is indisposed. I'm the only visitor he'll permit. Will that content you?'

    'It
must.'

    'Tell
me name of the murder victim?'

    'Gabriel
Cheever.'

    'Cheever!'

    Christopher
was stunned. Mouth agape, he sat there with his mind in turmoil. Could the man possibly
be the estranged son of Sir Julius Cheever? If so, how would the latter react
when he heard the news? But the question that really skewered its way through
Christopher's brain was how the lovely Susan Cheever would respond. Her brother
might have shaken the dust of Northamptonshire from his feet but she still
recognised him as her sibling and, Christopher suspected cared for him a great
deal. She would be devastated by the news and he hoped that he would be able to
soften its impact by being the person to break it to her.

    'Of
course,' said Jonathan on reflection, 'that may turn out to be a false name. He
certainly left a false address with his shoemaker. I found that out.'

    'He
gave his real name,' murmured Christopher

    'What
makes you think that?'

    'I've
heard of Gabriel Cheever and my brother knew him well.'

    Jonathan
brightened. 'Will he have an address for the man?'

    'Perhaps.'

    'How
soon can you get it for me?'

    'I'll
walk to Bedford Street this morning, Mr Bale.'

    'Are
you all right?' asked Jonathan, peering at him with concern. 'You look pale, Mr
Redmayne. Have these tidings come as a shock to you?'

    'A
profound shock,' admitted Christopher. 'When you arrived here, I was inspecting
a site with a builder. I've been commissioned to design a house for a client
called Sir Julius Cheever.'

    'A
relation?'

    'His
father, I believe.'

    'The
fog is starting to clear at last,' said Jonathan gratefully. 'The father
deserves to be informed at once so he can identify the body for certain. Can
you tell me how to find him?'

    'He
is probably on his way to London even as we speak, Mr Bale.'

    'Good.'

    'Though
I can't guarantee that he'll shed too many tears over his son's demise,' said
Christopher sadly. 'The two of them had fallen out, apparently. Sir Julius is a
man of high principles. He was knighted by the Lord Protector for his services
during the war.' Jonathan's eyes ignited with interest. 'You would have much in
common with him, Mr Bale, but not, I would guess, with his son. Gabriel Cheever
led the kind of existence that appalled his father so much that he virtually
disowned him.'

    'I
see.'

    'But
grief might well dissolve their differences. I pray that it does. Every son
deserves to be mourned.' He became thoughtful. 'Where is the body?'

    'At
the morgue.'

    'Can
you make sure that it remains there until the family has been told?'

    'Yes,
Mr Redmayne.'

    'It
would be a cruelty if they arrived to find that Gabriel Cheever had been buried
in an unmarked grave because nobody came forward to claim the body. Even if Sir
Julius himself does not wish to take responsibility, others in the family may
do so.'

    Jonathan
got up. 'I'll return to the morgue at once and leave instructions.'

    'Do
that, Mr Bale,' said Christopher, rising from his own chair. 'Meanwhile, I'll
repair to my brother's house to see what I can learn about the deceased. He and
Henry sound as if they might have been birds of the same feather.'

    'The
thought had crossed my mind,' said Jonathan quietly.

    'Let's
about our business.' Christopher led the way to the door, arranged to meet his
friend later on then sent him on his way. Having stabled the horse, Jacob was
returning to the house.

    'I
have to go out again, Jacob,' Christopher told him.

    'On
foot?'

    'In
the first instance.'

    'When
shall I expect you back, sir?' asked Jacob.

    'It's
impossible to say. I may be some time. At all events, prepare no food for me.
I'll not be dining at home today.'

    'But I
understood that you were to work on your drawings.'

    Christopher
winced. 'That project is in abeyance, I fear.'

    Buoyed
up by his brother's visit on the previous day, Henry Redmayne resolved to adopt
a more positive attitude. He would no longer be cowed into submission by the
threats of a blackmailer. Courage and forbearance were needed. It was important
for him to resume his normal life in order to show his anonymous tormentor that
he was not so easily alarmed. Instead of hiding himself away, therefore, he
spent his usual daily eternity in front of the mirror, preening himself and
adjusting his periwig, then selected a hat for his walk along The Strand.
Before he could even reach the front door, however, the bell rang and it
shattered his fragile confidence at once, sending him back into the dining room
where he skulked in a corner. He heard the door open and, almost immediately,
close again. His servant's footsteps approached the dining room. Henry made an
effort to compose himself, one hand on the back of a chair and the other on his
hip. When the man entered, he looked down his nose at him.

    'Well?'
he asked.

    'A
letter has come for you, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Set
it down on the table.'

    The man
did so and went out, shutting the door behind him. Henry's bold front collapsed
again. It was a letter that had transformed his life so dramatically and he
feared another from the same hand. Should he open it or should he send for
Christopher to do so? If he read the missive, he risked inflicting further
misery on himself. Yet, if he ignored it, he might imperil himself by
disobeying orders. Eyes on the letter, he walked round the table as if skirting
a dangerous animal that was liable to attack him. There was, he tried to tell
himself, no certainty that it came from the blackmailer. It might be from a
friend a colleague at the Navy Office, or even - the thought depressed him -
from his father. One glance at the neat calligraphy eliminated the Dean of Gloucester
from the list of potential correspondents. He could not identify the hand at
all. It was reassuring. Whoever had written the letter, it was not the man who
had issued the dire warnings.

    Henry
relaxed slightly. Summoning up the vestiges of his resolve, he picked up the
missive. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the letter to read it, then reached out
desperately for the support of the chair. Only one sentence had been written on
the paper but it was as chilling as it was mystifying. Though penned by a
different hand from the one responsible for the first letter, the second
clearly came from the same source. Henry lowered himself into a chair and
suffered an outbreak of prickly heat. He was still transfixed by the single
sentence when the front door bell was rung again. It made him sit up guiltily,
and he thrust the letter into his pocket.

    When
there was a knock on the door he expected his servant to enter, but it was
Christopher who came surging into the dining room. Henry almost swooned with
relief.

    'Forgive
this intrusion,' said Christopher.

    'You
are more than welcome, brother!'

    'I
need your assistance, Henry.'

    'Not
as much as I need yours,' said the other, pulling the letter from his pocket.
'This came only minutes ago. Quite what it bodes I cannot tell, but it gave me
a turn.'

    'Why?'

    'Read
it for yourself.'

    Christopher
took the letter and unfolded it. The message jumped out at him.
Pay what I
ask or suffer the same fate as Gabriel Cheever.

    'What
does it mean?' asked Henry. 'How is Gabriel Cheever involved here? Has he been
receiving blackmail demands as well?'

    'If
he did,' said Christopher, 'he refused to give in to them. Gabriel is dead.'

    'Dead?'

    'His
body was found a few nights ago at Paul's Wharf.'

    Henry
quailed. 'He was
murdered?'

    'Strangled,
apparently, then stabbed through the heart. It's the very matter that brought
me here this morning, Henry. My friend Jonathan Bale stumbled upon the body
with a fellow constable.'

    Henry
was not interested in the details. The fact that Gabriel Cheever had been
killed was enough to throw him into a panic. Leaping to his feet, he wrung his
hands in despair and darted to and fro like a trapped deer waiting for the
huntsmen to strike. The letter contained no idle threat. It was not only
Henry's reputation that hung in the balance: his life was now at risk. When he
had worked himself up into a lather of apprehension, he flung himself at
Christopher and grabbed him by the coat.

    'He's
going to kill me!' he cried.

    'Calm
down, Henry.'

    'How
can I be calm when someone is plotting my murder?'

    'It
could be an empty threat,' argued Christopher. 'If you were to die, he loses
all hope of getting any money out of you. Why sacrifice that? No, Henry. I spy
a ruse here. It is simply a means of frightening you into complying with his
demands.'

    'Cheever
was murdered,' said Henry, releasing him to circle the room. 'If he can be
killed, then so can I. This is no ruse, Christopher. Do you want a constable to
find my dead body on Paul's Wharf?'

    'Of
course not.'

    'Then
take the letter seriously.'

    'I
do,' said Christopher, setting it down on the table. 'It's valuable evidence.
With your permission, I'd like to show it to Jonathan Bale.'

    Henry
was outraged. 'Never!'

    'But
it's relevant to his enquiries.'

    'It's
much more relevant to my life, Christopher!' shouted his brother. 'I don't want
that narrow-minded constable prying into my personal affairs. You swore that
you'd divulge my situation to nobody and I hold you to that vow.'

    'Circumstances
have changed, Henry.'

    'Yes,
I've been threatened with murder.'

    'Come
and sit down,' soothed Christopher, taking him by the arm. 'Nothing will be
gained by this frenzy. Take a deep breath and sit still while you hear me out.'
He lowered Henry on to a chair. 'We have to look at this dispassionately.'

    'Someone
is after my blood!' howled Henry.

    'I
doubt that very much. Now, be still. We're in a position to help each other.'
He held up a hand to stifle Henry's rejoinder then sat beside him. 'That letter
does much more than threaten you,' he said reasonably. 'It gives us a vital
clue to the identity of Gabriel Cheever's killer. Don't you see, Henry? Murder
and blackmail are the work of the same man.'