The Repentant Rake (4 page)

    She
waited patiently until he had cleared his platter. 'More bread?' she offered.

    'No,
thank you.'

    'I
have a fresh loaf.'

    'I
can't stay, my love,' he said, getting to his feet. 'I have to pay an early
call.'

    'When
will I expect you back?'

    'For
dinner, I hope. I'll speak to the boys then.'

    'Good.
They listen to you.'

    He
was about to leave the kitchen when he noticed the quiet concern in her eyes.
Feeling that he owed her some kind of explanation, he crossed over to help her
up from the table. He pursed his lips as he pondered.

    'I
was with Tom Warburton last night,' he said at length.

    'How
is he?'

    'As
melancholy as ever.'

    'I
wondered where you'd got that grim look on your face.'

    Jonathan
smiled. 'Tom is not the most cheerful soul at the best of times. But then,' he
continued, his expression hardening, 'there was little to be cheerful about. We
found a dead body.'

    'Oh
dear!'

    'To
be truthful, it was Sam who actually found it. Tom's little dog. He was
sniffing around a warehouse near Paul's Wharf. Just as well, in a way. We'd
have walked right past the place and not known the poor devil was there.'

    'Who
was he?'

    'I've
no idea, Sarah. That's why I'm going to the morgue this morning. To see what I
can find out about the man. One thing is certain,' he said, gritting his teeth.
'He did not die a natural death.' He became proprietorial. 'I don't like murder
in my ward. We have enough ugly messes to wipe up around here without finding
corpses as well. This crime needs to be solved quickly. I'll make sure of
that.'

    'Be
careful,' she said, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

    'I
always am.'

    'You're
too brave for your own good sometimes.'

    He
gave a weary smile. 'The bravest thing I ever did was to ask you to marry me,
Sarah, and you were foolish enough to accept. That shows how lucky I am.'

    'Lucky
and much loved,' she said, kissing him. 'Remember that.'

    'How
could I ever forget?'

    He gave
her a warm hug, then left the room. A minute later, he was leaving the house in
Addle Hill to begin the long walk to the morgue. All trace of fatigue was
shaken off now. An officer of the law involved in a murder investigation,
Jonathan Bale was as alert and zealous as ever.

    Forsaking
the safety of travelling companions and anxious to get back to London as soon
as possible, Christopher Redmayne rode south at a steady canter. He reproached
himself bitterly for causing Susan Cheever dismay with a tactless remark and
believed that he had destroyed all hope of a closer acquaintance with her. At
the same time, he had elicited an intriguing piece of information about the
family. Sir Julius Cheever had three children, one of whom had been his male
heir. What provoked him to disown and, presumably, to disinherit his son,
Christopher did not know, but it had to be something serious. Susan, by
contrast, had not discarded her brother and he was bound to wonder if the two
of them were still in contact. Clearly, it was a source of dispute between
father and daughter. He came to understand Sir Julius's suppressed anger a
little more. The death of his wife and the estrangement of his son were
personal sorrows to be added to the profound distaste he felt for the
Restoration and its consequences. The sense of loss was unendurable. It soured
him. Sir Julius would be a fiery and malcontented Member of Parliament.

    He
might also be a cantankerous client. Christopher accepted that. There were
consolations. Not only had the young architect secured a valuable commission to
design a house in London, Sir Julius had insisted on giving him a generous
down-payment in cash to encourage him. The money was safely stowed away in
Christopher's satchel along with the preliminary drawings he had made. There
was an additional feature that brought him particular pleasure. This was the
first major project he had won entirely on his own merit. His brother, Henry,
had been instrumental in finding him his first three clients and, though one of
the houses was never actually built, the two mansions that were completed
served as a lasting tribute to his talent. By comparison with these
undertakings, the design of a new bookshop for Elijah Pembridge was a
relatively simple affair that had brought in much-needed money but would hardly
enhance his reputation. For that reason, he did not list it among his
achievements. Henry Redmayne had been indirectly responsible for that
commission as well but he had no connection whatsoever with Sir Julius. Much as
he loved his brother, Christopher was grateful to be striking out on his own at
last.

    Susan
Cheever had been right. Northamptonshire was a beautiful county. In the hectic
dash north, Christopher had not taken the trouble to admire the scenery on the
way. Now, with two days of hard riding ahead of him, he determined to repair
that omission. Heavily wooded in some areas, Northamptonshire was given over
almost exclusively to agriculture. The soil was rich but less than ideal for
ploughing and grain production, so there was a predominance of dairy farming
and sheep-rearing. Herds of cattle and flocks of sheep seemed to be everywhere.
Christopher passed the occasional windmill as well. What he noticed was the
absence of any major rivers. Since it was largely denied direct access to the
sea by means of navigable water, Northamptonshire was curiously isolated. The
lack of a major road through the heart of the county was another element that
set it apart from its neighbours. On the first stretch of his journey,
Christopher was travelling along a small, winding, rutted track. It was only
when he crossed the border into Bedfordshire that he found a wider and more
purposeful road.

    Not
long after noon, he stopped at an inn for refreshment. The Jolly Shepherd was a
welcoming hostelry that offered good food and strong drink to its customers. A
large party of travellers, all men, occupied three of the tables. Christopher
found a seat in the corner and sampled the game pie, washing it down with a
tankard of beer. A tall, bearded, well-dressed man in his thirties sauntered
across to him with an easy smile.

    'May
I share your table, my friend?' he asked.

    'Be
my guest,' said Christopher pleasantly.

    'I'm
much obliged, sir.' The man sat opposite him and set his own tankard down.
'It's rather quieter at this end of the room. Our fellow travellers are in
raucous mood.'

    Even
as he spoke, a jesting remark set the entire party roaring in appreciation.
Judging by the amount of food and drink in front of them, they would be there
for some time. They were patently making the most of their stop.

    'Where
are you heading?' asked the man.

    'London,'
said Christopher.

    'So
are our noisy neighbours. Fall in with them and you'll have a safer journey.'

    'I'll
make better speed on my own, I think.'

    'Do
you have a good horse?'

    'An
excellent one.'

    'Then
I'll bear you company part of the way, if I may,' offered the other. 'My home
is near Hertford. Could you tolerate me alongside you until then?'

    'I
believe so.'

    The
man beamed. 'That settles it.' He extended a hand. 'Zachary Mills at your
service.'

    'Pleased
to make your acquaintance, sir,' said Christopher, shaking his hand. 'My name
is Christopher Redmayne.'

    'Have
you ridden far?'

    'I
had business in Northamptonshire.'

    'Ah,
so did I, Mr Redmayne. Sad business, as it happens. I was visiting my sick
mother in Daventry. She is desperately ill but I like to think that I helped to
sustain her while I was there. The doctor holds out little hope.'

    'I'm
sorry to hear that.'

    'It
comes to us all,' said Mills resignedly. He brightened at once. 'But I'll not
burden you with my family problems. I'm so relieved to spend some time on the
road with a gentleman. Some of these fellows,' he added, nodding in the
direction of the three full tables, 'have yet to learn proper manners.' Another
roar went up as a more uncouth jest was passed around. 'Do you take my point?'

    'I
do, Mr Mills.'

    'I
could see that you would.'

    Zachary
Mills was a pleasing companion, urbane, well-spoken and attentive. When he had
ordered his own meal, he insisted on buying Christopher a second tankard of
beer. The conversation was confined to neutral subjects and Mills made no
attempt to pry into Christopher's personal affairs. The latter was grateful for
that and glad that he would have someone to share the next stage of the
journey. In the event of attack from highwaymen two swords were better than
one, and Mills had the air of a man who knew how to use his blade. As time
passed, however, the rowdiness increased among the other travellers and the two
men left by tacit consent. They strolled towards the stables, talking amiably
about the advantages of living in London, a city that Mills seemed to know extremely
well. He had a sophistication that had been notably lacking among the other
guests at the inn. Christopher warmed to him even more.

    When
they entered the stables, however, Mills's manner changed at once. Putting a
hand in the small of Christopher's back, he pushed him so firmly that the
latter stumbled to the ground. Christopher was on his feet at once, swinging
round to face the other man and ready to demand the reason for the unwarranted
shove. He found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol and his question
was answered. The plausible friend was a cunning robber. Mills gave him a broad
grin.

    'You
should have stayed with the others, Mr Redmayne. Safety in numbers.'

    'I
took you for a gentleman.'

    'Why,
so I am, good sir.'

    'Indeed?'

    'I
extend every courtesy to the people I rob.'

    Christopher
was sarcastic. 'What would your sick mother say?'

    'She's
in no position to say anything, alas. She died several years ago.'

    'Out
of a sense of shame at her son, no doubt.'

    'Do
not vex me, Mr Redmayne,' cautioned the other. 'This pistol is loaded. All you
have to do is remove that satchel and hand it over with your purse. I'll then
be obliged to bind and gag you while I make good my escape. By the time that
drunken crowd stumble out here and find you, I'll be well clear.'

    'How
will you tie me up?'

    'I
have rope in the saddlebags directly behind you.'

    Christopher
glanced over his shoulder. 'I see that you planned this very carefully, Mr
Mills,' he said with grudging respect.

    'I
leave nothing to chance.'

    'That
remains to be seen.'

    'I'd
advise against any futile heroics.'

    'I'll
remember that,' said Christopher, weighing up the possibilities of escape. They
were severely limited. 'May I ask why you singled me out?'

    'The
satchel gave you away, I'm afraid.'

    'Did
it?'

    'Yes,
my friend. In all' the time we were at the table, you never once took it from
round your neck. That means it contains something valuable.'

    'It
does. Something that I'll not part with easily.'

    'Gold?'

    'Drawings.'

    Mills
was sceptical. 'Drawings?'

    'Correct,
sir.'

    'I've
no time to play games, Mr Redmayne.'

    'It's
the truth. I'm an architect by profession and I've been visiting a client who
wishes me to design a new house for him.' He patted his satchel. 'The
preliminary sketches are in here. They'd be worthless to you and it's vital
that I keep them.'

    'That
satchel contains more than a few drawings,' said Mills, levelling the pistol at
him. 'Hand it over or I'll be forced to take it from your dead body.'