The Repentant Rake (12 page)

    Henry
was sarcastic. 'Am I supposed to draw comfort from that?'

    'No,'
replied Christopher. 'You're supposed to realise that, by helping to snare a
killer, you will get rid of the menace of blackmail. The two crimes are linked.
Solve one and we solve them both. In short, take Jonathan Bale into your
confidence.'

    'No.
I'll not have a Puritan sitting in judgement on me.'

    'He's
a dedicated officer of the law. Look what he has achieved in the past.'

    'Only
because you worked beside him.'

    Christopher
was determined. 'I intend to do so again, Henry,' he insisted. 'The three of us
are in this together. You have received threats of blackmail. Jonathan is
investigating a murder. And I am employed by a man whose son has been killed in
the most brutal fashion.'

    Henry
shrank back. 'Spare me the details.'

    'Let
me at least tell you how I was drawn into this.' Christopher gave his brother a
succinct account of the constable's visit to his house and stressed the need
for further information about Gabriel Cheever. He was gently persuasive. Slowly
but surely, he began to break down Henry's resistance. One point was made with
particular emphasis.

    'I am
not suggesting for one moment that you show Jonathan that first letter. The
fact of its existence will be enough for him to know. Details of your private
life will not be disclosed, Henry. They would, in any case, be superfluous.'

    'What
do you mean?'

    Christopher
smiled. 'Jonathan is unlikely to mistake you for an ascetic.'

    'The pursuit
of pleasure is the aim of every man.'

    'Perhaps,'
agreed his brother, 'but we do not all derive pleasure from the same things.
Mine comes from my work and Jonathan Bale's from doing his duty. Your pleasures
are more unashamedly sensual.'

    'Why
else were we put upon this earth?'

    'If
you seek a theological dispute, talk to Father.'

    'Keep
the old gentleman out of this,' begged Henry, clutching at his chest. 'I have
had scares enough for one day.'

    'Then
let us dispose of the first,' said Christopher, indicating the letter. 'A
serious threat has been issued. I believe it to be groundless but I understand
that you wish to take no chances. So,' he went on, 'adopt sensible precautions.
You're safe enough here with your servants about you and you would hardly be
attacked on the street in daylight. This killer works by night. That much we do
know.'

    'I'll
not stir from the house until he is caught.'

    'That
would be foolish. Go armed and keep your wits about you.'

    'Gabriel
Cheever was a finer swordsman than me yet he was struck down.'

    'Only
because he was taken unawares, Henry You will be more watchful.'

    'Even
I do not have eyes in the back of my head.'

    'Take
a servant with you, then. Or walk abroad with a friend. Now,' he said
earnestly, 'tell me all you know about Gabriel Cheever. Where does he live?'

    Henry
looked blank. 'I have no idea.'

    'I
thought he was an acquaintance of yours.'

    'He
was. We saw a lot of each other at one time; Gabriel had lodgings in Covent
Garden in those days. That was before he disappeared.'

    'Disappeared?'

    'Yes,'
said Henry.' 'It was quite strange. Nobody sought pleasure more ardently than
Gabriel Cheever. Yet, all of a sudden, he seemed to vanish. He spurned all of
his favourite haunts. I remember commenting on it to Arthur Lunn.'

    'Why
to him?'

    'Because
he knew Gabriel better than anyone.'

    'What
did he say?'

    'Arthur
was as baffled as the rest of us. For some reason, Gabriel quit his lodging and
went to ground. Arthur wondered if he had left London altogether.'

    'Did
nobody see any sign of him?'

    'No.'
Henry shook his head. 'Sir Marcus Kemp thought he caught a glimpse of him in
Knightrider Street but he could easily have been mistaken. Sir Marcus does not
have the keenest eyesight.'

    'Knightrider
Street?' said Christopher. 'That might put him in Jonathan's ward.'

    'Sir
Marcus would not swear that it was Gabriel.'

    'But
it could have been?'

    'Conceivably.'

    'When
he was in Covent Garden, did he live alone?'

    'His
bed was rarely empty,' said Henry enviously, 'but his guests did not usually
stay for any length of time. The only woman with whom I saw him on anything
like a regular basis was Celia Hemmings and that association broke up some time
ago.'

    'Might
she know the address to which he moved?'

    'It
would be worth asking her. I can tell you where to find her.'

    'Thank
you,' said Christopher. 'I'll want to meet anyone who knew Gabriel well.'

    Henry
smirked. 'Celia knew him as well as his Maker.'

    'What
manner of man was he, Henry? You told me that he was a rakehell but there must
have been other sides to his character. Have you any notion what brought him to
London in the first place?'

    'Oh,
yes. The same thing that brought me here, Christopher.'

    'The
lure of pleasure?'

    'No,'
said Henry. 'Fear of a tyrannical father.'

    'You
must not let him intimidate you so,' said Brilliana, snipping another rose to
place in her basket. 'Stand up to him for once.'

    'Sir
Julius has such a strong personality,' complained her husband.

    'At
your age, you should not be afraid of the sound of thunder.'

    'It's
the flashes of lightning that disturb me.'

    Lancelot
Serle was a tall, thin, nervous man in his thirties with a handsome face
stained by a small red birthmark on his cheek that looked like a permanent
dribble of strawberry juice from his mouth. He dressed fashionably but his
apparel always seemed faintly too big for him. His wife, Brilliana, had no
visible defects. A striking woman with a beauty that kept time at bay, she was
wearing the plain dress she reserved for any exploits in the garden. While
gathering flowers, she did not even spare her husband a glance. Serle hovered
ineffectually at her side.

    'They
could be here as early as tomorrow,' he opined.

    'They?'

    'Well,
I have every hope that Sir Julius will bring your sister with him. Susan is a
godsend on such occasions. She knows how to cope with your father.'

    'Nobody
copes with him better than I do, Lancelot,' said his wife peevishly 'Susan is
too inclined to let him have his own way I challenge him at every turn.'

    'I
know, but it does make for a lot of discord, my dear.'

    She
rounded on him. 'Are you censuring me?'

    'Heaven
forbid!'

    'Father
only respects those who argue with him.'

    Serle
gave a sigh. 'Whenever I try to argue, he beats me down.'

    'Offer
your opinions with more force, Lancelot.'

    'I
prefer a quiet life.'

    She gave
a snort of disgust and resumed her snipping. They were in the formal garden at
the rear of their house in Richmond. It was Brilliana's domain. Watched over by
their mistress, a large team of gardeners kept the grass cut, the flowerbeds
free of weeds, the topiary trimmed to perfection, the paths clear and the ponds
uncluttered with extraneous matter. Trees and bushes had been artfully used to
create avenues, glades and endless secret places. Statuary was placed to best
effect. Running to well over two acres, the garden was a special feature of the
fortified manor house that had been in Serle's family for almost two centuries.
Brilliana Cheever had coveted it enough to accept its owner's tentative
proposal of marriage. Experience had taught her that she had been too
headstrong. Instead of being her pride and joy, the garden at Serle Court was
now her only consolation.

    'What
shall we do with him, Brilliana?' wondered Serle.

    'Keep
him firmly in his place.'

    'Sir
Julius will be our guest. How will we entertain him?'

    'Father
is not coming here to be entertained, Lancelot,' she said, cutting the stem of
a white rose. 'He is only tolerating our company so that he can venture into
London to discuss this new house of his with an architect.'

    'When
that is built, he will be our neighbour.'

    'Hardly.'

    'The
city is not far away, Brilliana. We shall see much more of him.'

    'On
the contrary,' she retorted, 'we shall see much less. Why have a house built at
all when he could easily stay here while Parliament is sitting? Father likes to
order everyone around and he can never do that to me.'

    'I
sometimes think you are too harsh on him.'

    'Would
you rather I just grinned obsequiously at him - as you do?'

    Serle
was hurt. 'I like to be on good terms with my father-in- law.'

    'A
wife should surely take precedence.'

    'Of
course, Brilliana.'

    'Then
stop letting me down when he is here,' she snapped. 'Behave more like the
master of Serle Court and less like one of its servants.'

    'What
an unkind remark!' he protested.

    'Unkind
but not inaccurate,' she said, facing him again. 'Your ancestors fought hard to
build up this estate, Lancelot. Prove that you are a worthy successor. When
Father comes, do not accede to his every request. Be your own man.'

    'That
is what I am.'

    'Only
to a degree.'

    Her
basket full, she headed back towards the house. Serle fell in beside her. He
ducked under some fronds of willow that overhung the path and raised a new
topic.

    'What
is the likelihood of your sister's coming?' he asked.

    'Why?'

    'We
must take care not to neglect Susan.'

    'You
can leave my sister to me, Lancelot. We will take the coach into the city and
visit the shops. Susan will like that,' she said with a patronising smile. 'She
is a country mouse, remember. London is a source of continual wonder to her.'

    'Susan
must envy you so much, Brilliana.' He did not see the sneer that rose to her
lips. 'Indeed, it is with that in mind that I have a suggestion to put. For
reasons that I fail to understand, my beautiful sister-in-law is neither
married nor even betrothed. I know that she has rejected the cream of
Northamptonshire's bachelors and wondered if we might not find one more acceptable
to her.'

    'We?'

    'There
are plenty of eligible young men we could invite to the house.'

    'Why?'
she said with contempt. 'So that she may run her eye over them like a farmer at
a cattle market? It is not our task to find her a husband.'

    'A helping
hand is all that I am advocating.'

    'Offer
that and you'll get little thanks from Susan.'

    'Why?'

    'My
sister has true Cheever spirit. She insists on making her own decisions.'

    'Your
brother made his own decisions,' he said ruefully, 'and look what happened to
him.'

    'Lancelot!'
she exclaimed.

    'Gabriel
had rather too much of the Cheever spirit.'

    'That's
a dreadful thing to say.'

    'Yet
it contains a measure of truth.'

    Brilliana
was quivering with anger. 'Gabriel chose his path in life and he must suffer
the consequences. We no longer accept him as a member of the family, as you
know only too well. Why do you vex me by mentioning his foul name?'