The Repentant Rake (34 page)

    'Gabriel
can rest easy in his grave at last.'

    'I
was thinking about you.'

    'All
that matters to me is to catch Gabriel's killer.'

    'Will
you go back to Northamptonshire?'

    'Probably.'

    'That
would make it very difficult for you.'

    'Difficult?'

    'When
I wanted to see Gabriel, I had my short cut through the churchyard.' She put a
hand on Susan's shoulder. 'You can hardly find an excuse to visit Fetter Lane
if you go back to live with your father. How will you manage?'

    Susan
was perplexed. It was a question she had already been asking herself.

    Henry
Redmayne was grateful that his brother had sought him out. The cards were again
falling so favourably for Arthur Lunn that it might be hours before he could be
prised away from the table. The promise to give Henry a lift back to Bedford
Street in his coach was forgotten. Christopher came to his brother's rescue,
offering to act as his bodyguard and take him home.

    'There
is one condition, Henry,' he warned.

    'What
is that?'

    'We
first call on Peter Wickens.'

    'This
late?' said Henry peevishly. 'Why not leave it until the morning?'

    'He
may have made the wrong decision by then. I want to speak to Mr Wickens before
he gives in to the blackmail demand. Come on,' said Christopher. 'I know that
he lives quite close to you. It is not much out of our way.'

    'Peter
may not even let us into the house.'

    'He
will if he has any sense. Meanwhile, tell me more about Arthur Lunn.'

    'Arthur?'

    'I
want to hear just how close he was to Gabriel Cheever.'

    The
walk through the dark streets gave Henry plenty of time to reminisce. He talked
at length about Lunn, insisting that it would be quite out of character for him
to be involved in a murder and in the subsequent blackmail demands.

    'If
he was threatening to kill me, why take me out in his coach this evening?'

    'Mr
Lunn could be playing a deep game.'

    'He's
far too shallow for that,' said Henry dismissively. 'The only games that Arthur
will ever play are at the card table or in a lady's bedchamber.'

    'Is
he rich?'

    'Tolerably.'

    'Then
he is not in need of money?'

    'Arthur
is always in need of money, Christopher.'

    'When
we left, he seemed to be doing extremely well.'

    'You
caught him on a good night. He is not usually so fortunate. He never loses as
heavily as Sir Marcus Kemp but I've known him take some severe falls.'

    'He
would not sneeze at a thousand guineas, then?'

    'Offer
him that and he would snatch your hand off.'

    Christopher
was rueful. 'That is effectively what happened.'

    The
house was in St Martin's Lane and Henry was astonished how quickly they seemed
to get there. He was also pleased that he had not once felt uneasy during the
journey. Christopher's presence was reassuring. Henry would never have dared to
walk home on his own. Fear of attack still haunted him.

    'What
sort of man is Peter Wickens?' asked Christopher.

    'I
thought you had met him.'

    'Only
once or twice. He seemed like the rest of your friends, Henry.'

    'Noble
and upstanding?'

    'Disreputable.'

    Henry
laughed. 'Peter is as disreputable as the rest of us,' he confessed, 'but that
does not mean he has no care of his reputation. He guards it jealously. It is
one thing to revel in private, quite another to have your revelry displayed for
one and all to see.'

    'Is
he a weak man?'

    'On
the contrary.'

    'Then
he might hold out against the blackmail demands.'

    'You
will have to ask him about that, Christopher. All I can say is that Peter
Wickens is a good friend a lively companion and a generous host. If he has a
fault, it is that he has a serious side to his character.'

    'What
do you mean?'

    'Peter
actually goes to the playhouse in order to enjoy the play.'

    With
a scornful laugh, Henry reached out to ring the doorbell. They were in luck.
Wickens was still up and received them at once. Puzzled by their arrival, he
ushered them into a small room off the hall. The three of them took seats round
the flickering candles in the silver candelabrum.

    'To
what do I owe this visit, Henry?' asked Wickens.

    'I
told Christopher about your little problem.'

    'Then
you had no business to do so,' said the other hotly. 'It's a private matter.'

    'Not
when it has a bearing on Gabriel Cheever's murder,' said Christopher. 'If we
can solve that, you will have to pay no blackmail demand.'

    Wickens
was sceptical. 'Have you taken it upon yourself to solve the crime?'

    'I
became involved through my brother, Mr Wickens.'

    'Christopher
has helped me through the ordeal,' agreed Henry.

    'What
use is that to me?' said Wickens.

    Christopher
calmed him down and explained his role in the murder investigation. Wickens
slowly shed his reservations. Instead of being annoyed at Christopher's
intrusion into his affairs, he began to be interested in what he was hearing.
The questions he put were intelligent and searching. Christopher felt that he
was winning the man over. Wickens was not like the other blackmail victims he
had met. Henry had been gripped by hysteria while Sir Marcus Kemp had ranted
and raved. Wickens was much more in control of his anxiety. It was possible to
have a sensible dialogue with him.

    'When
did the letter arrive?' asked Christopher.

    'Late
this morning.'

    'What
did you think when you read it?'

    'Rational
thought was impossible at first,' said Wickens. 'The truth is that I was in turmoil.
I do not pretend to be celibate but the notion of having my indiscretions made
public was terrifying. My first instinct was to pay the money at once.'

    'I am
glad you fought against the impulse.'

    'I
needed advice. Your brother was the obvious person to turn to for counsel.'

    Henry
smirked. 'I do have flashes of sagacity from time to time.'

    'It
was only then that I discovered that Henry himself was a victim. It explained
why we had seen so little of him recently. Why on earth did you not turn to me,
Henry?' he wondered. 'You could have relied on my help.'

    'Henry
chose me instead, Mr Wickens,' said Christopher. 'Having been a victim
yourself, you'll understand the urge to tell as few people as possible.'

    'Oh,
yes!'

    'So
what do you intend to do?'

    'Sleep
on the matter and decide in the morning.'

    'Which
way do you incline at the moment?'

    'Towards
complying with the demand.'

    'That
would be a mistake, Mr Wickens.'

    'What
else can I do?'

    'Ignore
the letter.'

    'And
see myself ridiculed in print?' said Wickens sharply. 'It is not an enticing
prospect, sir. Gabriel Cheever is taking revenge on us from beyond the grave.
Had I known that he was keeping this scurrilous diary about his closest friends,
I would have made him destroy it.'

    'I
doubt that, Peter,' said Henry. 'He was not the kind of man to take orders.'

    'Besides,'
added Christopher, 'the diary was not intended for publication.'

    Wickens
was adamant. 'It must never see the light of day.'

    'Then
help me to prevent that happening, Mr Wickens.'

    'How?'

    'First
of all, I would like to see the letter you received.'

    Wickens
was about to protest. 'I do not intend to read it,' promised Christopher. 'A
cursory glance will be more than enough.'

    'Do
as says,' urged Henry.

    Wickens
hesitated. 'I do not feel that it is necessary.'

    'My
brother believes it came from the same person who sent one of the letters to
him,' explained Christopher. 'I merely wish to confirm that. Nothing more.'

    With
considerable reluctance, Wickens took the missive from his pocket. The visitors
waited while their host wrestled with the problem. At length, he thrust the
letter into Christopher's hand with a stern warning.

    'Do
not read it through, Mr Redmayne.'

    'There
is no need.' Christopher looked down at the neat handwriting, then he raised
the paper to sniff it. He gave it back to Wickens. 'Thank you.'

    'Henry
tells me that Sir Marcus has also been a target,' said Wickens, pocketing the letter.
'That must have scared the wits out of him. He has a wife to worry about.'

    'Not
any more,' Henry told him. 'Sir Marcus paid up.'

    'Who
can blame him?'

    'I
do, Mr Wickens,' said Christopher. 'It was folly.'

    'Yet
you went along with it, Christopher,' his brother reminded him.

    'Only
because I hoped to set a trap.' He turned to Wickens. 'Since he was determined
to hand the money over,' he explained, 'I offered to act as his intermediary
and had a man concealed in the crowd to watch. We hoped to catch the
blackmailer but he was too cunning for us.'

    'He
seems to hold all the cards,' sighed Wickens.

    'Not
all of them. We have one or two of our own.'

    'You
know who he is, then?'

    'We
will do in time.'

    'What
happens to us meanwhile?' asked Henry.

    'You
sit tight and do nothing.'

    'But
I have a death threat hanging over me.'

    'Have
you seen the slightest sign of danger?' said Christopher.

    'No,
of course not. It was simply a device to lever the money out of you.'

    'I
take the threat more seriously.'

    Wickens
was concerned. 'So would I in your place, Henry. Take care, my friend.'

    'I'm
glad that someone has sympathy for me.'

    'Henry,'
said his brother, bridling at the criticism, 'we have just walked along dark
streets that afforded endless possibilities of ambush. Were you attacked? Were
you menaced in any way?'

    'No,
I was not.'

    'How
many days has it been since that death threat arrived?'

    'Several,
Christopher.'

    'I
rest my case.'

    'You
are too glib, Mr Redmayne,' said Wickens. 'According to your brother, Gabriel
was murdered so that someone could get his hands on that diary. We are not just
dealing with a blackmailer here. If he has killed once, he may kill again.'

    'Or
get an irate husband to do it for him,' moaned Henry.

    'You
know my position, Mr Wickens,' said Christopher. 'The decision is yours.'

    'I'll
not make it until the morning.'

    'Will
you let Henry know what you do?'

    'If
you wish.'

    'I
do, sir.'

    'So do
I, Peter,' said Henry. 'It will help me to make up my own mind. The suspense is
ruining my health. Sleep has become a complete stranger to me.'