The Repentant Rake (27 page)

    I
only let Henry peruse it because he, too, is mentioned in the piece.'

    'I
believe that it is called
A Knight at the Theatre.'

    
'Its
true title is
The Death of Sir Marcus Kemp?

    'You
exaggerate. Help me to catch the villain and your worries will disappear.'

    'How
can I do that?'

    'By lending
me this mischievous page from Gabriel's diary.'

    Kemp's
face reddened in anger. 'Lending it to you?'

    'It
is a piece of evidence, Sir Marcus.'

    'Yes,
Mr Redmayne. Evidence of my folly, evidence of my personal proclivities.'

    'I
know,' argued Christopher, 'but it's been printed according to Henry. That
means the man who sent it engaged a printer. Give the page to me and I'll visit
every printer in London until I find the one who accepted the commission.'

    'That's
tantamount to publishing it far and wide!'

    'No,
Sir Marcus. They will not need to read the contents. A glance will suffice to
tell them if it is their handiwork. Once we know who paid to have it printed,
we can arrest the villain and you can breathe freely once more.'

    'That
document is not leaving this house.'

    'May
I at least have a sight of it?'

    'Certainly
not.'

    'But
it's in your best interests.' Kemp turned away. Christopher went after him. 'I
understand that it was accompanied by a letter. Could I please look at that,
Sir Marcus? I merely wish to establish if it was written by the same hand that
penned Henry's death threat. That will not compromise you, surely?'

    'I'll
show you nothing.'

    'Then
you must resign yourself to your fate.'

    'No,'
said Kemp, swinging round to confront him. 'I'm going to buy my way out of this
mess. If I had had the sense to do that at the start, I could have saved myself
five hundred guineas. I'll pay up and have done with it.'

    'It
will not get the blackmailer off your back.'

    'So
you say, but I'm ready to take that chance.'

    'What
happens if you fail?' An idea suddenly popped into Christopher's mind. 'When
the first letter came, Sir Marcus, did it explain how the money was to be
paid?'

    'Yes.'

    'Presumably,
it is to be dropped somewhere?'

    'At a
spot in Covent Garden.'

    'By
you or by someone else?'

    'That
was not specified.'

    'Do
you intend to place the money there in person?'

    'Heavens,
no! I'd not have the stomach for it.'

    'Then
let me make a bargain with you, Sir Marcus,' said Christopher. 'There's an
element of danger here. The blackmailer is also capable of murder. Remember
that. Whoever delivers the money is taking a risk.'

    'I
can see that.'

    'What
if I were to act on your behalf and go to the designated spot?'

    Kemp
was grateful. 'Would you?' he asked, grasping Christopher's arm.

    'On
one condition.'

    'Condition?'

    'Yes.
If your tormentor is bought off with a thousand guineas, all well and good. But
if, as I suspect, he takes the money then sends you a further demand, you let
me see everything that he has sent you. Is that fair?'

    'No,
Mr Redmayne. It would be too embarrassing.'

    'What
is a little embarrassment if it leads to the capture of a vicious criminal?
Come, Sir Marcus,' he urged. 'I am not going to be shocked by anything I read.
With a brother like Henry, I have been well educated in the ways of the world.'

    Kemp
chewed his lip and looked shrewdly at his visitor. Christopher was discreet and
sincere. If he could not be trusted his brother would not have confided in him.
Kemp was not attracted to the proposition but it did have one advantage.
Someone else would be taking any risks involved in delivering the payment.

    'Well,
Sir Marcus?' pressed Christopher. 'Do you accept my offer?'

    'Yes,'
said Kemp, overcoming his reluctance. 'The bargain is sealed.'

    When
prayers had been said, the Bale family began their meal. The two boys, Oliver
and Richard, fell on their supper with relish, chewing it so noisily and
swallowing it so fast that their mother had to issue a warning.

    'You
must not gobble your food like that,' she said. 'It will do you no good.'

    'I'm
hungry,' replied Oliver through a mouthful of bread.

    'Eat
more slowly, Oliver.'

    'And
wait until you empty your mouth before you speak,' added Jonathan.

    'Will
you read to us tonight, Father?' asked Richard the younger of the boys.

    'Only
if you eat your food properly.'

    'I
want to know what happened to Joseph and his brothers.'

    'You
will.'

    'Oliver
says that he kills them all.'

    'I
said that he
ought
to kill them,' corrected Oliver, still munching
happily.

    'No,
Oliver,' said his father seriously. 'Murder is a terrible crime.'

    'But
they deserve it,' argued the boy.

    'Nobody
deserves to be killed.'

    'His
brothers treated him cruelly. They wanted to get rid of him because they were
jealous of him. They left him down that well.'

    'Yes,'
said Richard, eager to show his knowledge of the story.

    'They
took his coat of many colours and dipped it in blood. They told their father
that Joseph had been killed by a wild beast.'

    'That
was because Joseph had disappeared,' Jonathan reminded them. 'It was Reuben,
the eldest of the brothers, who persuaded the others to spare him. But when
Reuben went to release him, Joseph had gone.'

    'Where?'
asked Richard.

    'Wait
and see.'

    'I
want to know
now.'

    'The
words of the Bible tell the story far better than I can.'

    'But
I can tell you this,' said Sarah, brushing Richard's hair back from his face
with a maternal hand. 'Joseph does not kill his brothers.'

    'Cain
killed
his
brother,' noted Oliver.

    'That
was a dreadful thing to do. Brothers should love one another.'

    'Is
it always wrong to kill somebody?'

    'Yes,'
said Jonathan firmly. 'Always.'

    'Was
it wrong to chop off the head of the last king?'

    'Oliver!'
chided his mother.

    'Was
it?' persisted the boy. 'You named me after Oliver Cromwell yet he was the man
who murdered the king. Was that a crime?'

    'Was
it, Father?' asked Richard. 'Was it a crime or a sin?'

    'I
think it was both,' decided Oliver.

    Jonathan
glanced uneasily at his wife. 'Finish your supper, boys,' he advised. 'I can
explain it to you when I put you to bed. And you will learn what happened to
Joseph as well. But only if you eat your food quietly, as your mother told
you.'

    The
boys were sufficiently mollified to eat on in relative silence. Jonathan was
learning that it was not easy to bring up two inquisitive sons. Oliver was eight
and his brother was fifteen months younger. They asked questions that were
sometimes difficult to answer. On the previous evening, Richard had enquired
what a concubine was. It had caused Jonathan some embarrassment to explain but
he had been honest. Oliver had giggled while Richard had blushed. Looking at
his sons, Jonathan reflected how similar they were in appearance yet how
different in character. It led to endless squabbles between them. He wondered
how they would get on when they became adults and his mind drifted to another
pair of brothers. Christopher and Henry Redmayne could not have been more
disparate. They led divergent lives. While he admired one brother, Jonathan had
polite contempt for the other. Yet they had been raised in the same way by
their parents. What had made Christopher and Henry grow in opposite directions?
Why had one embraced work while the other espoused idleness? Jonathan was
exercised by the thought of how he could prevent the same thing from happening
to his own sons.

    'Will
you be going out again this evening?' asked Sarah.

    'Yes,'
said Jonathan.

    'Not
until you have read to us,' Richard piped up.

    Jonathan
smiled. 'Of course not. I want to know what happens to Joseph myself.'

    'Will
you be late?' said Sarah.

    'I
hope not. I am going to meet Mr Redmayne.'

    Sarah
was disappointed. 'Is he not coming here?'

    'Not
this evening, Sarah.'

    'Do
give him my regards.'

    'I
will,' said Jonathan. 'I told him how helpful you had been. Without you, I might
never have got to know the vigilant Mrs Runciman in Knightrider Street. And it
was you who suggested that I got in touch with Mr Redmayne in the first place.'

    'You
and he work well together, Jonathan.'

    'I
still wonder why sometimes,' confessed her husband.

    'You
have so much in common.'

    'Hardly,
Sarah. Mr Redmayne consorts with the highest in the land while my work makes me
rub shoulders with the very lowest. Had it not been for sheer accident, we
would never have met.'

    'Are
you glad that you did?'

    'I
think so.'

    Sarah
laughed. 'Oh, Jonathan!' she teased. 'You will hold back so. Be honest for
once. You know that you like Mr Redmayne as much as I do but you never admit
it. He obviously respects you.'

    'Does
he?'

    'I
can see it in his face. He thinks you far too good to be a mere constable.'

    'Nobody
is too good for such important work, Sarah.'

    'Could
Tom Warburton do the things that you have achieved?'

    'Probably
not.'

    'He
could never work with Mr Redmayne the way that you have. And the pair of you
do
have something in common,' she insisted. 'Both of you are like Tom's
little dog. You are real terriers. Once you get your teeth into something,
neither of you will let go.'

    The
headache was so severe that Henry Redmayne took to his bed with a flask of wine
for consolation. He was still propped up with pillows when his brother called
on him. Christopher's news did nothing to alleviate the throbbing pain in his
temples.

    'Sir
Marcus is going to pay up?' he said in astonishment.

    'I
made a bargain with him, Henry.'

    'But
you did everything possible to
stop
me from handing any money over.'

    'I
tried to prevent Sir Marcus as well,' said Christopher, 'but he was determined.
So I decided to make virtue out of necessity.'

    'In
what way?'

    'I
volunteered to hand the thousand guineas over on his behalf.'

    'Why?'

    Christopher
grinned. 'If I have to part with that amount of money, I want it to belong to
someone else.' He became serious. 'I have to catch this villain, Henry. I owe
it to Gabriel's family. Paying up is a means of luring the blackmailer out of
hiding. That's not how I presented it to Sir Marcus, of course. He thinks that
he is buying peace of mind with his thousand guineas.'