The Repentant Rake (39 page)

    When
a servant entered with a letter, Henry snatched it from him and sent the man
out. He tore the letter open. A glance at the handwriting was enough to
fracture his new-found confidence. He scrunched up the paper and emitted a howl
of agony.

    'Christopher!'
he yelled. 'For God's sake,
help
me!'

    As the
two men approached the printer's shop in Fleet Lane, they could hear a voice
raised in anger. Anticipating trouble, Jonathan Bale straightened his shoulders
and led the way into the premises. In a room at the back, Miles Henshaw was
admonishing a wayward apprentice. Judging by the boy's pleas for mercy, the
printer was reinforcing his words with blows. Jonathan banged the counter to
attract attention.

    'Mr
Henshaw!' he called.

    The
shouting stopped and the boy's ordeal was temporarily over. Composing his
features into the flabby smile he reserved for customers, Henshaw came into the
front of the shop. He was a tall, big-boned, corpulent man in his fifties with
tiny eyes glinting either side of a hooked nose. When he saw Christopher's
facial injuries, he blinked in surprise. Sobbing was heard from the back room.
Henshaw gave an explanatory chuckle.

    'The
lad must learn the hard way,' he said, rubbing his hands together. 'I was an
apprentice for eight years and a blow from my master taught me quicker than
anything else.' He broadened his smile. 'What can I do for you, gentlemen? If
you wish to have something printed, you have come to the right place.'

    'We
want to discuss your work, Mr Henshaw,' said Christopher.

    'Has
someone recommended me to you, sir?'

    'Not
exactly.'

    Christopher
performed the introductions then took out the page from the diary. Handing it
over to Henshaw, he studied the man's reactions. The printer's jaw tightened
visibly and his smile congealed. He glared at Christopher.

    'Why
have you brought this to me?' he said.

    'Because
we believe that it is your handiwork.'

    'There's
some mistake. This is not mine.'

    'Do
you not use that typeface, Mr Henshaw?'

    'From
time to time,' the printer conceded.

    'Then
rack your memory,' said Christopher. 'Try to recall when you used it for this
particular commission. It's very important.'

    Henshaw
sniffed. 'I'm sorry,' he said tossing the page on to the counter. 'I've never
seen this before. Nor would I care to, sir. It's not the kind of thing a
respectable shop like mine would be interested in touching.'

    'How
do you know? You did not read it through.'

    'I
saw enough.'

    'Let
me speak to your apprentice,' said Christopher.

    'Why?'

    'I
fancy that he may be more alert than his master. He may recollect setting the
type for this particular commission. Call the lad through, Mr Henshaw.'

    'No,
sir.'

    'What
harm can it do?'

    Henshaw
was belligerent. 'My apprentice has work to do and so do I. If you are not here
to do business, I bid you farewell.' He grabbed the page from the counter and
thrust it at Christopher. 'Take this out of my shop.'

    'Not
until you tell us what we came to find out,' said Jonathan, taking the page
from him. 'You recognised this work as soon as you saw it. I dare say that you
have printed others from the same source.'

    'Go
your ways,' snarled Henshaw.

    'All
in good time.'

    'I
cannot help you.'

    'You
mean that you
will
not,' said Jonathan levelly. 'At the moment, that
is.'

    'Obviously,
you require a little persuasion,' said Christopher easily. 'I'm sure that you
are familiar with the name of Elijah Pembridge.'

    'I
know Pembridge and all his pernicious tribe,' sneered Henshaw. 'Booksellers are
the bane of my life. They outnumber us completely and enforce terms that take
away any profit we might enjoy. The Stationers' Company will be the ruin of
us.'

    'We
did not come here to listen to your woes,' said Jonathan bluntly.

    'Then
take yourselves off.'

    'You
have not heard us out yet,' resumed Christopher. 'Mr Pembridge is a friend of
mine. When it comes to printing, I respect his judgement. According to him,
that page is your work, Mr Henshaw. I'd take his word against yours.'

    'So
would I,' added Jonathan.

    'Pembridge
is wrong,' insisted Henshaw.

    'Is
he?' said Christopher. 'Supposing that Mr Bale and I were to show this to every
other printer in the city. What would happen if every one of them denied any
knowledge of it? The trail would lead us straight back to you, Mr Henshaw. Why
not save us a great deal of time?'

    The
printer hesitated. Jonathan wearied of his lying. It was time for action.

    'You
will have to come with us, Mr Henshaw,' he declared.

    'Why?'
said the printer.

    'Because
I'm placing you under arrest, sir.'

    'On
what charge?'

    'You
are an accessary to blackmail.'

    'That
is ridiculous!'

    'Save
your protests for the magistrate, sir,' said Jonathan, going round the counter.
'We have evidence to link you to a conspiracy to extort money by means of
blackmail.' He held up the page. 'This is only the first link in the chain.'

    'Stay
away from me!' said Henshaw, pushing him away.

    'Leave
him be, Mr Bale,' said Christopher. 'He may yet be innocently involved here.
Let me explain the seriousness of the situation, Mr Henshaw,' he went on,
turning to the printer. 'We are not just talking about blackmail. Murder has
also occurred.'

    'Murder?'
gasped Henshaw.

    'The killer
tried to add me to his list of victims. As you see, I still bear the scars of
the encounter. But let me tell you exactly what we are dealing with here.'

    Christopher
gave him a terse account of the crimes, omitting the names of the blackmail
victims but mentioning the amounts of money demanded. Henshaw's face was
eloquent. Shock gave way to fear, then quickly changed to self-pity.

    'I
knew nothing of this, Mr Redmayne!' he protested. 'I swear it!'

    'Did
you print that page?' asked Christopher.

    Henshaw
bit his lip. 'Yes,' he admitted.

    'Have
you printed anything similar?'

    'Not
yet, sir. But another commission is promised to me.'

    Christopher
looked around. 'Do you have the diary on the premises?'

    'No,
sir. The gentleman said he'd bring it in due course.'

    'What
gentleman?' said Jonathan.

    'The
one who paid me handsomely for that single page,' replied Henshaw.

    'Did
he give you a name?' asked Christopher.

    The printer
nodded. 'Yes, Mr Redmayne. A name and an address.'

    'Excellent!'
Christopher leaned forward with excitement. 'We want them.'

    'I'll
need to look in my book,' said Henshaw, easing Jonathan back so that he could
reach behind the counter. He pulled out a ledger and set it down, beginning to
flick through the pages. 'Here it is,' he said at last, finding the correct
place.

    'Give
us the name!' demanded Christopher. 'Gabriel Cheever, sir,' announced Henshaw.
'He lives Knightrider Street.'

    Susan
Cheever tried hard to conceal her disappointment but it showed clearly in her
eyes. Hoping that they had returned with good news, she was dismayed when
Christopher explained what had happened at the printer's shop. What hurt her
most was the fact that her brother's name had been used to disguise the
identity of someone who was implicated in his murder. It was a detail she
intended to keep from her sister-in-law.

    'I am
sorry that it was all such a waste of time, Mr Redmayne,' she said.

    'But
it was not,' said Christopher. 'We feel heartened by what we discovered.'

    'Heartened?'

    'Yes,
Miss Cheever. We know who printed that extract from the diary and he assures us
that his customer promised to return soon. Mr Bale has left a colleague of his
watching the shop. When the man does return,' he said 'Mr Henshaw will give a
signal and an arrest can be made.'

    'Are
you sure that you can trust this printer?'

    'Oh,
yes. Thanks to Mr Bale. He frightened the life out of Miles Henshaw.'

    'It
was the only way to get his help,' said Jonathan with a smile. 'He was a surly
fellow who had been sworn to secrecy by his customer. He was very obstructive
at first. When I threatened to haul him before a magistrate, he thought better
of it.'

    'Was
he aware that Gabriel's diary was being used for blackmail?'

    'No,
Miss Cheever. He was simply paid to print that extract.'

    'By
whom?'

    'That
is what we've yet to establish,' confessed Christopher, 'but Mr Henshaw gave us
a good description of the customer. Apparently, he was a well-built young man
with a handsome face but a rough manner. I have a strong feeling that I met the
fellow in the dark last night.' He grinned quietly. 'After the way I flattened
his nose, he may not be quite so handsome now.'

    'You
say that he had a rough manner?'

    'Mr
Henshaw meant that he was uneducated Miss Cheever. He spoke less like a master
than a servant. That may be a valuable clue.'

    It
was late morning and the three of them were sitting in the parlour of the house
in Fetter Lane. Jonathan was anxious to continue their investigation but
Christopher felt that they had to report back to Susan first. He had not
forgotten the way she had surged into the room to enquire after his health. It
was almost worth taking a beating to enjoy the sheer luxury of her concern.
Since she had appeared, his injuries no longer caused him the slightest twinge
of pain.

    'What
will you do now, Mr Redmayne?' she asked.

    'First,
I will tell Jacob to escort you safely home.'

    'Must
I go?'

    'You
can remain here if you wish but it may be a long wait. Mr Bale and I have so
much more to do. Besides,' said Christopher reasonably, 'your sister-in-law
will be wondering what happened to you. It must have been a great shock to her
when you suddenly left.'

    'It
was.'

    'Go
back and reassure her.'

    'What
shall I say to her?'

    'Tell
her that her husband's death will soon be explained.'

    'Am I
allowed to mention the attack on you, Mr Redmayne?'

    'No,'
he said. 'It would only upset her needlessly She has enough things to worry her
as it is. Say nothing about me, Miss Cheever. Try to get
her
to do the
talking.'

    'I
will.'

    'Are
you making any headway on that front?'

    'I
think so,' she said. 'Lucy is close to confiding in me.'

    'Then
it is important for you to stay with her.'

    'I
suppose so.'

    'She
needs your support.'

    Susan
gave a nod of agreement. Reluctant to leave, she accepted that she had to go.
She had travelled to London at her sister-in- law's express request and could
not desert her for any length of time. The visit to Fetter Lane had served to
deepen the unspoken affection between her and Christopher. While she waited for
him to come back, she had learned a great deal more about him simply by sitting
in his house and imbibing its atmosphere. It was an interesting place and it
reflected his character with accuracy. Jacob had even let her see some of his
master's drawings. Marvelling at Christopher's skills, she was grateful that
her father had retained him as an architect. It was her one source of
consolation. She rose sadly to her feet.