The Repentant Rake (21 page)

    'You
should have spoken to me earlier.'

    'I
can see that now, my love.'

    'If
you took in washing, you'd be surprised how much useful gossip you could pick
up.'

    'I
think I'll hold on to my present job.'

    'Are
you afraid of hard work?' she teased.

    'No,
Sarah,' he replied. 'I thrive on it. Nobody works harder than shipwrights and I
was in that trade for several years. But being a constable helps me to look
after people. I feel that I can do some good. That pleases me more than I can
tell you.'

    'There's
no need to tell me. I can see it in your face.'

    'Not
at the moment.'

    'No,'
she said giving him a sympathetic hug. 'This case has upset you badly.'

    'The
murder has caused a deep wound in Baynard's Castle ward.'

    'I
feel the same about a bad tear in some linen. I want to sew it up again
quickly.'

    Jonathan
was solemn. 'The tear that I have to mend is in a shroud.'

    Sir
Julius Cheever needed a few moments to collect himself. During his many walks
across battlefields, he had seen death and mutilation hundreds of times and
become inured to the sight, but this was very different. His own son lay on the
slab beneath the shroud. Gabriel had been young, strong and brimming with
energy the last time they had met. The hot words that Sir Julius had flung on
that occasion came back to haunt him. They seemed so hollow and pointless now.
Anger had taken hold and gnawed away at him for years. At last it was spent.
All differences between father and son vanished in death. What remained was
remorse and self- recrimination. Gritting his teeth, he peeled back the shroud
to look down at the body. The weal round the neck was more livid than ever. He
closed his eyes in agony and covered the face up again.

    'That's
my son,' he said quietly. 'That is Gabriel Cheever.'

    Henry
Redmayne had taken the sensible precautions advised by his brother. He left the
house armed and kept his wits about him. Even when he was among friends in a
gaming house, he kept his back to a wall so that nobody could come up unseen
behind him. His companion, Sir Marcus Kemp, sat at a table nearby, keeping fear
at bay by immersing himself in a game of cards. Glad to be back in one of his
favourite haunts, Henry felt curiously uninvolved. It was as if he were seeing
the place properly for the first time, albeit through a fug of tobacco smoke.
Drink was flowing. Voices were raised. There was an air of sophisticated
merriment. All seats were taken at the table where Sir Marcus Kemp was playing
but Henry sensed an empty chair. In the past, Gabriel Cheever had always
occupied a place at that particular table, winning in style and taking money
from the purses of Henry, Sir Marcus and almost everyone else who pitted their
skills against his. He had been a popular and respected man in the card-playing
fraternity. Only those inflamed by drink had ever accused him of cheating or
threatened him with violence.

    'I
spy a stranger!' said a voice. 'Henry Redmayne, I declare!'

    Henry
inclined his head in greeting. 'Well met, Peter.'

    'Have
you risen from your sick bed at last?'

    'The
thought of what I was missing was the best physician.'

    'We
have not seen you for days, Henry. Where have you been hiding?'

    'Nowhere,
my friend. I am back.'

    'And
most welcome.'

    Peter
Wickens gave him an affectionate slap on the back. He looked as suave and
elegant as ever. Standing beside Henry, he gazed around the room to see whom he
could recognise. Regular denizens were all there. He looked down at the nearest
table.

    'I
see that Sir Marcus is ready to part with more of his fortune,' he remarked.

    'He
seems to be having some luck at last,' said Henry. 'Not before time.'

    'He's
too reckless a player.'

    'Boldness
is essential in cards, Peter.'

    'Only
when tempered with discretion.'

    'That
was never his forte.'

    'Indeed
not. I've seen Sir Marcus lose a hundred guineas through a moment's
indiscretion at the card table,' recalled Wickens with a wry smile. 'But that
was when he was up against Gabriel Cheever.' His manner changed at once. 'Have
you heard the terrible news about Gabriel?'

    'Yes,'
said Henry. 'It's very sad.'

    'I
was appalled. Arthur Lunn told me. He had it from some constable who came to
see him. What a shock for dear Arthur!' he went on. 'He is enjoying a civilised
cup of coffee when he suddenly learns that a friend of his has been murdered.'

    'Has
word of the crime spread?'

    'It's
the talk of the town, Henry.'

    'Gabriel
will be sorely missed.'

    'Not
by Sir Marcus,' said Wickens, nodding at the man. 'He's actually
smiling
at a card table. He never did that when he was Hitting opposite Gabriel
Cheever. But how did you hear of this dreadful murder?' he asked, turning to
Henry. 'I was shaken to the marrow. Do you know any details'

    'None
beyond the fact that the body was found on Paul's Wharf.'

    'What
possessed Gabriel to go there?'

    'We
may never know, Peter.'

    He
grimaced. 'Wharves are such insalubrious places. I keep clear of the river
whenever I can. It seems to give off an unholy stench at times. And I've no love
for the brutish people who make their living beside the Thames,' he added with
a supercilious sneer. 'The lower orders are an affront to decency.'

    'I am
bound to agree with you there.'

    'Arthur
tells me this constable was an ugly fellow, blunt and uncouth.'

    'Who
else would take on such work?'

    'We
deserve better from our officers of the law,' argued Wickens loftily. 'If this
constable wishes to speak to me, I shall tell him to mind his manners. Has he
come in search of you yet, Henry?'

    'No.
Why should he?'

    'According
to Arthur Lunn, the man wants to speak to anyone who knew Gabriel well. I was
not an intimate of his but I did enjoy an occasional game of cards with him.'
He gave a chuckle. 'And I shared some other pleasures with Gabriel as well.'

    'Most
of us did that, Peter. He was ubiquitous.'

    'The
ladies would use a more vivid word for him than that.'

    Henry
laughed obligingly but he was not enjoying the conversation. Peter Wickens was
a man after his own heart, wealthy, self-indulgent, generous with his friends
and addicted to all the pleasures of the town. Henry had lost count of the
number of times when he and Arthur Lunn had been driven to their respective
houses in the early hours of the day by Peter Wickens's coachman. Yet he felt
uneasy beside the man now, fearful that Wickens might probe him about his
earlier desertion of his usual haunts. When he was last on these premises, he
had been as carefree and affable as his companion. Two anonymous letters had
altered that. Behind his token smile, Henry was a frightened man.

    'Are
you waiting to take a place at the table?' asked Wickens.

    'No.
I prefer to watch.'

    'You
normally like to be in the thick of things.'

    'Later,
perhaps.'

    'Arthur
and I thought to visit Mrs Curtis tonight.'

    'I
have other plans,' said Henry, quailing at the thought. 'Give her my
apologies.'

    Wickens
grinned. 'There's only one way to apologise to a lady, Henry, and it does not involve
an exchange of words. Mrs Curtis has been asking after you.'

    'I'll
not keeping her waiting long.'

    Wickens
was about to reply when one of the men at the table threw down his cards in
disgust and got up. Annoyed at his losses, the man stormed out of the room.
Peter Wickens moved swiftly. Before anyone else could take the vacant seat, he
lowered himself into it and spread a smile around the other players. Sir Marcus
Kemp gave him a nod of welcome then waited for the next round of cards to be dealt.
They were soon lost in yet another game. Henry envied his two friends. Peter
Wickens had no shadow hanging over him and Sir Marcus had found a way to ignore
his problems. Henry could do nothing but stand there and suffer. It was
excruciating. While everyone else in the room was enjoying himself immensely,
Henry Redmayne was under sentence of death.

    Susan
Cheever was deeply worried about her father. Since his return from the morgue
he had hardly spoken a word. Seated in a chair at the house in Fetter Lane, he
brooded in silence. His face was drained of colour, his body of energy. Sir
Julius looked as if he had just been dazed by a violent blow. Christopher set
the brandy beside him.

    'Drink
that, Sir Julius,' he counselled.

    His
guest did not even hear him. Susan picked up the glass and offered it to her
father, putting a hand on his shoulder at the same time. Her voice was a gentle
caress.

    'Take
some of this, Father. It's brandy.' He waved it away. 'It will do you good.'

    'I
want nothing, Susan.'

    'You
look ill.'

    'Should
I call a doctor, Sir Julius?' suggested Christopher.

    The
old man bristled. 'Whatever for?'

    'You
seem unwell.'

    'There's
nothing the matter with me.'

    'I'm
delighted to hear it.'

    'I have
much on my mind that is all.'

    'Naturally,
Sir Julius.'

    Before
her father could lapse back into silence, Susan leaned forward in her seat.
'Perhaps it is time for us to leave,' she said gently. 'Mr Redmayne has been
kindness itself but we have imposed on him far too much already and we need to
find accommodation for the night.'

    'You
have found it, Miss Cheever,' said Christopher, opening his palms. 'If you have
nowhere to stay, I insist that you remain as my guests.'

    'That
would be an abuse of your hospitality.'

    'Treat
my home as your own.'

    'I
think it better if Father and I withdraw.'

    'Why?'
said Christopher persuasively. 'You and Sir Julius can sleep here while your
coachman spends the night at an inn in Holborn. We have ample room. There's
fresh bed linen and Jacob will happily provide anything else that you require.
Do please honour me by staying under my roof, Miss Cheever.'

    Susan
was clearly tempted by the notion but felt unable to make the decision on her
father's behalf. The time she had spent alone with Christopher had been
pleasant and restorative. It had helped to lift her out of her sombre mood. She
felt completely at ease in his house. However, while wanting to accept the
invitation, she had reservations about doing so. Sir Julius swept them aside.

    'Thank
you, Mr Redmayne,' he murmured. 'If we may, we'll be your guests.'

    'For
as long as you wish, Sir Julius.'

    'One
night will be sufficient.'

    'I'll
make arrangements at once.'

    Christopher
got up to go into the kitchen, closing the door behind him so that he could
have a private conversation with Jacob. The servant was cleaning some
silverware by the light of a candle. Christopher could not keep the excitement
out of his voice.

    'Sir
Julius and his daughter are staying the night, Jacob.'

    'I
know, sir. I took the liberty of preparing rooms for them.'

    'You
will need to speak to their coachman.'

    'I've
already done so, sir,' said Jacob complacently. 'We unloaded the luggage
together. On my recommendation, he is on his way to the King's Head. He'll find
lodging there.' He looked up with a smile. 'I read your mind sir. I knew that
you would offer them hospitality.'