The Repentant Rake (25 page)

    'You
are single,' his visitor reminded him, 'whereas I am married.'

    'Yes,'
conceded Henry, 'but you have not received a death threat.'

    'Oh,
yes, I have!'

    'Another
letter?'

    'The
ultimate threat - publication!'

    He
handed his friend the piece of paper that was flapping in his hand. Henry read
it with mounting alarm.
A Knight at the Theatre
was beautifully printed
in bold type. Sir Marcus Kemp was identified by name and a description so
cruelly accurate that it provoked a wild grin from Henry. That grin disappeared
instantly when he saw his own name linked with that of an actress at the King's
House. Sir Marcus was pilloried unmercifully but Henry was not spared.

    'This
is disgusting!' he said with righteous indignation.

    'Yet
horribly true, Henry.'

    'That's
beside the point. Private pleasure should be sacrosanct.'

    'So I
thought.'

    'In
any case, I did
not
relieve myself into the coal bucket. It was a china
vase.'

    'We
are both being pissed upon here.'

    Henry
read the account again and shuddered. He thrust the page back at Kemp. The two
of them were in the dining room of Henry's house. Work that should have been
done at the Navy Office was spread out on the table but he had made only
sporadic attempts to address himself to it. Fear kept him immured in his home.
Sir Marcus Kemp had just intensified that fear.

    'Is
this the only page that came?' he asked.

    'It
is more than enough,' cried Kemp. 'It's my death threat, Henry. If that account
is ever published it will spell the death of my marriage, my reputation, my
place in society and everything that I hold most dear. My whole inheritance is
at risk. Dear God!' he exclaimed. 'What will my children think of their
father?'

    'They
will know him for what he is, Marcus.'

    'That's
no consolation, you rogue. I came for sympathy, not scorn.'

    'Your
case is not as desperate as you imagine,' said Henry enviously. 'What will your
wife learn that she has not already guessed? You spend so little time with her
that she must know you have been out carousing with friends.'

    'With
friends, perhaps, but not with female company. My wife is easily duped.
Whenever I got back late,' he explained, 'I told her that I was talking
politics with colleagues from Parliament. The dear lady believed me. Until
now.' He looked down at the printed page. 'But how convincing will
that
excuse be when she reads this?'

    'The
most gullible wife would not be deceived.'

    'Then
you understand my predicament.'

    'I
share it, Marcus. I, too, am mentioned in that account. Not that publication
would have any power to hurt me,' he said, waving a hand. 'I shall be dead by
then.'

    'Dead?'

    'Cut
down by the same hand that murdered Gabriel Cheever.'

    'Not
if you pay up, Henry,' said Kemp, reaching a decision. 'That's what I intend to
do. Hand over a thousand guineas.'

    'But the
demand was for five hundred.'

    'A
second letter came with
A Knight at the Theatre.
The price has doubled.'

    'That's
iniquitous!'

    'It
will be worth every penny if it stops this ruinous material being printed.'

    'Supposing
it does not?'

    'It
must, surely?'

    'Where
is your guarantee?'

    'I
have a gentleman's agreement.'

    'You
can only have that with a gentleman, Marcus, and we are dealing with a callous
murderer here. My brother Christopher has warned me against paying anything. If
we give in to blackmail once,' stressed Henry, 'we'll be trapped. The villain
will go on squeezing money out of us until he has bled the pair of us dry.'

    'Will
he?'

    'You
would do the same in his position.'

    'I'd
never
be
in the same position,' retorted Kemp, hurt at the suggestion.
'Damn it, man, I've seen you and all my other friends in the most compromising
situations but I'd never dream of exploiting that knowledge for gain. It's
against all decorum.'

    'We
are not dealing with decorum here,' said Henry grimly.

    'I
know that.' He snatched up the paper. 'How on earth did he catch wind of all
this?' he said in dismay 'Was he hiding beneath the bed?'

    'No,
Marcus.'

    'Up
the chimney, then? It would be less painful, if it were not so hideously well
written. Look at it, Henry,' he said, tossing it back on the table. 'We'll be
the laughing stock of London if this is ever sold. The villain who penned this
knows how to wound with words.'

    'Yet
that was not his intention.'

    'It
must have been.'

    'No,
Marcus,' said Henry. 'My brother explained it to me.
A

    
Knight
at the Theatre
was written for private consumption, not with any thought to
publication. It is an extract from a diary kept by Gabriel Cheever.'

    'The
devil it is!' shrieked the other.

    'It
appears that he kept a careful record of all his nights of revelry. Someone
killed him to get their hands on his diary. I can see why now.'

    Kemp
blanched. 'You mean, there is
more?
'

    'Far
more, I suspect, and even more damaging than,4
Knight at the Theatre.'

    'Then
I might as well run myself through with my sword,' confessed Sir Marcus,
putting both hands to his head. 'Gabriel witnessed everything. He was with us
at the theatre when we invited those impudent ladies to dance naked for us in
private. He watched those wonderful breasts bobbing magically in the
candlelight. He saw me fling off my own clothes and sat there while you and Amy
Dyson ran to the bed and-'

    'Yes,
yes!' interrupted Henry. 'There's no need to remind me.'

    'Gabriel
must have had a hundred such tales to write.'

    'They
will all be used against us, Marcus, be certain of that. You and I are the
first victims but others will soon trail in our wake. Arthur Lunn and Peter
Wickens have roistered even more than us. So has Gilbert Sparkish,' said Henry,
throwing out the first names that came into his head. 'They, too, will
certainly have a place in Gabriel's diary. There'll be others in the same
plight as us before long.'

    'A
thousand guineas from each of us? He'll make a fortune.'

    'Only
if we are weak enough to pay.'

    'I'd
hand the money over right now!' declared Kemp.

    'What
happens when he sends you a second page from the diary?' asked Henry.

    Kemp was
in torment. After playing anxiously with his wig, he tore it off and flung it
down, revealing a bald pate with a defiant tuft of hair at its centre. There
was no defiance in the man himself. Shocked and humiliated, he sat back in his
chair and looked towards heaven. A thought then nudged him.

    'Were
you the first to receive a threat?' he said.

    'What
of it?'

    'I
seem to recall that a letter was involved.'

    'It
was,' admitted Henry gloomily. 'A
billet-doux
sent on a foolish
impulse.'

    'To whom?'

    There
was an embarrassed pause. 'A married lady, Marcus.'

    'Which
one?' asked Kemp. 'You sniff around so many.'

    'Her
name is irrelevant. The point is that the letter fell into the wrong hands.'

    'How?'

    'I
wish I knew!'

    'So
you're not being blackmailed with an extract from Gabriel's diary?'

    'Not
yet,' said Henry ruefully. 'That time may yet come.'

    Kemp
was puzzled. 'Why was your life threatened?'

    'I
think I've worked that out. The man who strangled Gabriel Cheever has no need
to murder me. He simply has to show that letter of mine to a certain husband.
He's a vengeful man,' said Henry apprehensively. 'He'll insist on a duel.
That's why the blackmailer does not need to kill me, Marcus. An angry husband
will do the job for him.'

    For
two days, Lucy Cheever barely left her room. The funeral had been a severe
trial for her and she lay prostrate on her bed for most of the time. Even her
maidservant was only allowed limited access to her. Lucy's collapse aroused
mixed feelings in the household. Sir Julius was at once sad and relieved, sorry
that she was suffering so badly but glad to be left alone to nurse his own
woes. Before he learned more about his daughter-in-law, he wanted to clarify
his feelings about his son. Lancelot Serle was sympathetic to the young widow
but Brilliana was more critical, unable to accept that a secret marriage
entitled Lucy to the attention she was receiving and unwilling to embrace her
in the way that Susan had done. Brilliana bickered so much on the subject with
her father and sister that Sir Julius was on the point of ordering her out of
the house. Serle anticipated him and, in a gesture that earned a rare
compliment from his father-in-law, more or less hustled his fractious wife into
their coach to take her back to Richmond.

    The
atmosphere in the house improved markedly. As if sensing the fact, Lucy made
her appearance on the third day, apologising profusely for imposing on her
hosts and for remaining out of sight. Susan Cheever took her off to her own
room so that they could talk in private. While Lucy sat in the chair, she
perched on the bed.

    'How
are you feeling now, Lucy?' she began.

    'As
if all the life has been drained out of me.'

    'We
all feel like that.'

    'What
happened to your sister?'

    'Brilliana
decided to return to Richmond.'

    'I
heard her voice a number of times.'

    'Yes,'
said Susan wearily, 'Brilliana tends to shout, I fear, especially when she's
losing an argument. It was best for all of us that her husband took her away
when he did. The house seems much quieter all of a sudden.'

    'Do
you see much of your sister?'

    'Enough.'

    'She
is so unlike you, Susan,' said Lucy 'Gabriel warned me that she would be.'

    'Do you
have any brothers or sisters?'

    'Not
any more. I had one of each but both died during the Plague.'

    'What
about your parents?'

    'My
mother is a widow.' She felt a lurch of recognition. 'Just like me.'

    'Not
quite, Lucy. You were unlucky. Gabriel was taken before his time.'

    'I
wish that I had been killed alongside him!'

    Susan
was shocked. 'That's a dreadful thought!' she exclaimed.

    'At
least we'd still be together.'

    'You
are
together, Lucy. As long as you preserve his memory.'

    'I'll
cherish it for ever.'

    Susan
felt a pang of regret that she had never seen her brother and his wife
together. They must have made a handsome couple, but there was far more to
their marriage than a pleasing appearance. Lucy had somehow managed to rescue
Gabriel from his former dissolute existence and give him a sense of purpose. In
doing so, she had found her own true path through life.

    'May
I ask how you met?' said Susan.

    'By
accident.'

    'Where?
Gabriel said so little about you in his letters, apart from the fact that he
loved you to distraction, that is. I can see why,' she added with a smile. 'But
he told me nothing about how you met and where you were married.'