The Repentant Rake (23 page)

    'Thank
goodness you are here, Christopher!' he exclaimed.

    'Why?
What ails you?'

    'I'm
being followed.'

    'By
whom?' said Christopher, looking up and down the empty street. 'I see nobody.
Your imagination is playing tricks on you, Henry.'

    'There
was
someone, I tell you. He has been on my tail every inch of the way.'

    'You've
shaken him off now.'

    'Only
because I've found sanctuary,' said Henry, glancing over his shoulder. 'He is
probably hiding in the shadows somewhere. Let me come in.'

    'At
this hour?'

    'Please.
I must.'

    'As
you wish. Tether your horse by the stable.'

    A
minute later, Henry stepped gratefully into the house and shut the door behind him.
Christopher took him into the dining room, lit some more candles then passed a
bottle of brandy to Henry. His brother poured some into a glass and drank it
down.

    'I
needed that,' he said.

    'You're
shaking all over.'

    'You
would shake if you had an assassin stalking you.'

    'Is
that what you think he was?'

    'What
else could he be?' asked Henry impatiently. 'I receive a death threat and
someone follows me home in the dark. Even you must see a link between those two
events, Christopher.'

    'A
possible
link,' conceded his brother.

    'Possible
enough for me. I'll go no further tonight.'

    'You
must, Henry.'

    'I'll
stay the night here. Have Jacob prepare a room for me.'

    'Jacob
is fast asleep in bed.'

    'Then
rouse him from his dreams at once,' ordered Henry.

    'Damn
it, man! I'm your brother. My safety surely comes before your servant's
comfort.'

    'Of
course, but I already have guests here. There's no room to spare.'

    'Guests?'

    'Sir
Julius Cheever and his younger daughter.'

    Henry
was indignant. 'Are
they
being preferred over me as well?'

    'It
is not a question of preference,' said Christopher soothingly, 'but of
expedience. They came to London to identify Gabriel's body. I could hardly turn
them away.'

    'Why not?
You turn me away.'

    'That's
not what I'm doing. Stay if you must, Henry. I'll even surrender my own bed to
you, if it means so much to you. All I am saying is that this is not the most
convenient time. You must appreciate that.'

    'Why
talk of convenience when my life is at stake?' complained Henry.

    'Hush!'
said Christopher with a finger to his lips. 'You'll wake them. I promise you
this. If you're too nervous to continue on home yourself, I'll act as your
bodyguard and deliver you safely to Bedford Street.' He patted his brother's
arm. 'Now, why not tell me exactly what happened tonight and why you believe
that you are being followed?' He indicated the bottle. 'Help yourself to more
brandy.'

    Henry
was slightly mollified. After draining his glass, he poured himself another
drink then launched into his tale. His evening at the gaming house had been
extended well into the night by Sir Marcus Kemp, who refused to quit the table
while he was winning. Banking on his friend's company, Henry had eventually
been forced to ride home alone and found that someone was lurking outside to
trail him.

    'The
villain might have struck at any moment!' he concluded.

    'Then
why didn't he?'

    'He
was biding his time.'

    'It's
more likely that he was thinking twice about attacking you when he saw that you
carried a sword. You called him an assassin,' said Christopher reasonably, 'but
he could just as easily have been a robber, waiting to pounce on some unwary
gentleman who was rolling home alone with too much drink inside him.' He gave a
smile. 'Or he might just have been someone travelling harmlessly in the same
direction as you.'

    'There
was nothing harmless about this man, Christopher.'

    'How
do you know?'

    'I
could
feel
his menace.'

    'Henry,
you would feel menaced if a cat followed you home.'

    'That's
a heartless thing to say!' protested Henry. 'Do you want your brother to be
stabbed in the back only yards from his own front door?'

    'No,'
said Christopher, 'but then, that would never happen. Why wait until you reach
Bedford Street before attacking you when you've already ridden past a dozen
more suitable places for an ambush? Nobody is trying to kill you, Henry. I am
sure of that.'

    'You
saw that letter.'

    'It
achieved what it intended. To give you a fright.'

    'It
certainly did that. I've had enough, Christopher.'

    'Enough?'

    'I'm
inclined to pay the money and have done with the whole thing!'

    'That's
the last thing you must do.'

    'My
life is more important to me than five hundred guineas.'

    'But
that will not buy you peace of mind,' asserted Christopher. 'It's only a first
instalment. When he's squeezed one payment out of you, the blackmailer will
have you at his mercy. The demands will never cease.'

    'The
first letter promised that they would.'

    'How
much faith can you put in the word of a man like that?'

    Henry
was still trembling. 'It's the only hope I have of staying alive.'

    'That
death threat was hollow,' said Christopher positively. 'I'm certain of it.'

    'Gabriel
Cheever was killed because he did not pay what was demanded;

    'No,
Henry. There was no attempted blackmail where Gabriel was concerned.'

    'How
do you know?'

    'Because
I have learned something about his literary endeavours,' said Christopher.
'Gabriel came to London to fulfil his ambition of being an author. He was very
talented. As well as writing poems and plays, however, Gabriel kept a diary.'

    'A
diary?'

    'A very
explicit diary, I gather.'

    'In
what sense?'

    'It
was a form of confession. A detailed account of all the nights he spent in the
company of dissolute revellers like Sir Marcus Kemp, Peter Wickens, Arthur Lunn
and of course, Henry Redmayne.'

    Henry
was aghast. 'He wrote about
me
?'

    'My
guess is that your name figured quite prominently in the memoir. Do you
understand now? All that time that you and your friends got up to your devilish
antics, you had a Recording Angel at your shoulder.'

    'That's
an appalling thing to do to us.'

    'Gabriel
Cheever paid for it with his life.'

    'What
do you mean?'

    'That's
why he was killed Henry. Not because he refused to give in to any demands. What
he wrote from personal guilt,' explained Christopher, 'was a potential source
of blackmail. Gabriel was murdered so that someone could steal his diary.'

    Lucy
Cheever passed a sleepless night in an empty bed. A room that had been filled
with so much love and tenderness now seemed bleak and inhospitable. She could
not believe that her husband was dead. Even though she had seen his body laid
out at the morgue, she entertained the ridiculous hope that he would somehow
return to her. That hope finally shrivelled away in the darkness. By the time dawn
came, she knew that he had gone for ever. Eyes red with weeping, she lay on the
bed in despair. She and Gabriel Cheever had given up so much in order to be
together. Now she was left with nothing.

    Anna
was a caring woman. Though Lucy said that she wanted no breakfast, the
maidservant coaxed her into eating a little bread and drinking some whey. She
also helped to dress her mistress, fearing that she might otherwise simply stay
in bed all day and be overcome with grief. Anna had been very fond of her master
and was shocked by his death, but the situation compelled her to keep her own
emotions under control.

    'They'll
find the man responsible for this,' she said.

    'I
hope so, Anna.'

    'Put
faith in Mr Bale. He'll not rest until the crime is solved.'

    'It's
Mr Redmayne that I trust,' said Lucy. 'He was so kind to me when he came here
yesterday. He never even knew Gabriel yet he was eager to help in the search
for his killer. I put my faith in him.'

    'He
and Mr Bale will work together.'

    'Yes.'
An upsurge of sorrow made Lucy burst into tears. 'But they'll not be able to
bring Gabriel back to me, Anna. My husband is gone.'

    Anna
put a consoling arm round her. Lucy dried her tears then detached herself to
walk around the bedchamber. It was filled with fond memories. They brought a
degree of comfort. She was still grasping at some of them when she heard a
noise in the street outside. A coach was rattling along the thoroughfare. Anna
crossed to the window.

    'It's
stopped outside the house,' she announced.

    'Here?'

    'Someone
is getting out, Mrs Cheever.'

    'I'm
expecting no visitors.'

    'It's
an elderly gentleman and a young lady.'

    'Go
and see what they want, Anna.'

    'I'll
send them away,' said the maidservant firmly. 'You can't receive anyone.'

    She
went bustling out and descended the stairs. Looking at herself in the mirror,
Lucy dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and adjusted a curl. When the bell
rang below, she heard the door being opened. She moved to the top of the stairs
so that she could eavesdrop without being seen.

    'I
wish to speak to Mrs Lucy Cheever,' said the man's voice.

    'My
mistress is unable to see anyone today, sir,' replied Anna briskly.

    'She
may wish to see us.'

    'I
doubt that.'

    'Let
her know that Sir Julius Cheever has called with his daughter, Susan. I crave a
word about my son. We'll not keep her long.'

    Lucy
was in a turmoil. Everything that Gabriel had told her about his father made
Sir Julius sound like an ogre. Had he come to bully his daughter-in-law in the
same way that he had bullied his son? Or was he there to argue about the
arrangements for the funeral? Whatever his reason for coming, he could not be
ignored. Summoning up all of her strength, Lucy came down the stairs and into
the hall. Anna stood back so that her mistress could see the visitors. Lucy
looked at her father-in-law with apprehension, but it was ill-founded. He was
not the tyrant of report at all. Sir Julius Cheever was a sad old man with
moist eyes and a tentative smile of welcome. Standing beside him was a handsome
young woman whose resemblance to her brother took Lucy's breath away.

    It
was Susan who made any introductions unnecessary. Flinging her arms round Lucy,
she kissed her on both cheeks then stepped back to look at her through her
tears.

    'Hello,
Lucy,' she said. 'Father and I are so pleased to meet you.'

    The
funeral of Gabriel Cheever was held at the parish church of St Andrew in the
county of Northamptonshire. Built on the summit of a hill, the church acted as
a beacon of hope and inspiration to the surrounding villages from which it drew
its congregation. Christopher Redmayne took note of its architectural features,
admiring the work of the stonemasons who had constructed the church over two
centuries earlier and marvelling at the way they had overcome the problems of
erecting the massive conical spire that pointed towards heaven with such
reassuring certainty. Though its exterior was bathed in sunshine, the inside of
the church was cold and cheerless. It seemed too large for the two dozen people
who shuffled into their seats. Sir Julius Cheever wanted the funeral to be a
quiet affair and only the closest family friends even knew that it was taking
place. The deceased was no prodigal son being welcomed home by a delighted
father. He was a murder victim who had left home after violent arguments. His
funeral was also a service of reconciliation.