The Repentant Rake (48 page)

    'A
friend?'

    'Yes,'
said Christopher, 'they both fought with Cromwell at Worcester. Jonathan Bale
has been sharing memories of the battle with him.'

    'I
hope they remembered that the wrong side won,' said Henry sourly. 'Warn your
bellicose constable not to compare memories of that undeserved victory with
Arthur Lunn or he may stir up a nest of hornets.'

    'Why?'

    'Arthur
was captured at the battle and imprisoned in Worcester Cathedral. He's still
very bitter about it. So is Peter Wickens, I seem to recall. He lost his only
brother in that battle. Mr Bale had better not boast about his military record
to them.'

    'Mr
Bale boasts about nothing.'

    'You'll
not show my letter to
him
,' said Henry with sudden panic.

    'No,
Henry. He would blush to read it.'

    'Let
me come with you to make sure.'

    'Stay
here and celebrate. This is a wonderful moment for you.'

    'It
is at that,' said his brother as the implications began to sink in. 'I feel
that I have been reborn. All that I need is to have Celia Hemmings roasting on
a spit and my joy would be complete.' He gave a cackle. 'I have just had a
wicked thought. Arthur Lunn was so lucky to have been imprisoned in Worcester
Cathedral. Had he been incarcerated in Gloucester, our dear father would have
bored him to death with his interminable sermons.'

    Jonathan
Bale waited at the designated place and hoped that their second visit to Covent
Garden would be more profitable than the first. Having set two constables the
task of searching for witnesses in Faringdon Ward Within, he had returned to
Addle Hill to find that Christopher had left a message for him. Responding to
its request, he hurried straight off to Covent Garden and took up his position.
The meeting with Sir Julius Cheever had left him feeling oddly satisfied.
Though the old man lacked his Puritan restraint, they had much in common.
Jonathan had been intrigued to hear how Sir Julius had marshalled his men at
Worcester and at some of the battles preceding it. He could understand only too
well how a man with such high moral standards would refuse to acknowledge a
rakehell like Gabriel Cheever as his son. Jonathan imagined how he would feel
if one of his own boys grew up to cast aside every precept he had been taught.

    Christopher
Redmayne did not keep him waiting for long. Arriving on his horse, he
dismounted to explain to his friend what had happened in his absence. They now
had clear proof that Celia Hemmings was involved in the blackmail. When
Christopher pointed out her house, Jonathan had some misgivings.

    'Let
me wait outside,' he said shifting his feet. 'I am never happy in such places.'

    'I
was going to suggest that you go round to the back of the house, Mr Bale. We
are dealing with a slippery lady. If she tries to bolt, my guess is that it will
be through the rear entrance of the house.'

    Jonathan
gave a grim smile. 'I'll be waiting for her, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Do
not be too gentle. The lady is an accessary to murder.'

    'I've
arrested lots of women before. They sometimes fight harder than the men.'

    Christopher
tethered his horse and gave the constable time to get to the back of the house.
When he rang the doorbell and gave his name, he was invited into the hall at
once. Hearing of his arrival, Celia Hemmings had him shown in and gave him a
cordial welcome until she saw his face. She recoiled slightly at the sight of
the cuts and bruises but recovered to offer her hand. Christopher took it with
gallantry and brushed her fingers with a kiss.

    'This
is an unlooked for pleasure, Mr Redmayne,' she said.

    'That
remains to be seen, Miss Hemmings.'

    'What
happened to your face?'

    'Do
you really need to ask that?'

    'You
look as if you've been in a brawl.'

    'I
survived.'

    'I'm
delighted to hear that. What exactly happened?'

    'Forget
about my injuries,' he said, producing a letter from his pocket and showing it
to her. 'I believe that you wrote this. It was sent to Miss Susan Cheever.'

    'Yes,'
she replied warily. 'She invited me to meet her.'

    'No,
Miss Hemmings. I dictated that letter to her. Miss Cheever only agreed to write
it on the understanding that she would never have to come face to face with
you.'

    Celia
was angered. 'You
dictated
the letter, Mr Redmayne?'

    'It
was the only way to get a sample of your handwriting,' he explained, taking out
another missive. 'I wanted to compare it with the hand on this death threat to
my brother. They show a remarkable similarity.'

    'A
mere coincidence.'

    'I
think we shall find many more coincidences before we have finished. Like the
fact that you once used a strange phrase about Gabriel Cheever to me. You said
that his rivals sought to defeat him at the card table, not in a dark alley.'
He gave her a smile. 'We found that alley today just off Warwick Lane. How did
you know that Gabriel was killed in a place like that?'

    'It
was just a wild guess.'

    'Tell
that to the judge.'

    'You
have no evidence on which to charge me,' she said defiantly.

    'We
have these two letters and the others you wrote to your victims,' he argued.
'We have the fact that your former chambermaid stole something very
compromising from Lady Ulvercombe. And we now know that you went to Gabriel's
funeral to gloat.'

    'I
loved him.'

    'Yes,
Miss Hemmings. But that love turned sour when he left you.'

    'That's
not how it happened.'

    'I've
heard your version,' he reminded her. 'How you bore him no malice when he
dropped you like a stone and vanished from sight. That was a blatant lie. In
fact, you were furious. I've seen the limits to which that fury pushed you.'

    'Have
a care, Mr Redmayne,' she warned. 'You're in dangerous waters.'

    'They
are far less dangerous since my good friend, Mr Bale, took your man-of-war out
of the fleet. Do not look for him to come to your aid. Gabriel's killer is
locked up safely in prison.'

    She
leaped to her feet. 'That's impossible!'

    'He
was taken outside a printer's shop in Fleet Lane. Mr Henshaw kindly pointed him
out when he came there earlier today.' A hunted look came in her eyes. 'Who
else was in on the conspiracy, Miss Hemmings? Who wrote the first letter to my
brother, and the one to Arthur Lunn?'

    'Nobody.'

    'There
must have been.'

    'No,
Mr Redmayne.'

    'I've
seen
that foul-mouthed rogue you employed to do your killing,' he said. 'I
even fought him in the dark. You and he are scarcely natural bedfellows. There
has to be someone else with the wit to set this whole scheme up. Admit it.'

    'I
admit nothing.'

    'That
former chambermaid of yours may be more willing to speak up.'

    'Leave
Hetty out of this.'

    'But
she played such a crucial part. Oh, and by the way,' he remembered 'could I
please have my brother's letter back? It has caused more than enough anguish to
Henry.'

    'Good!'

    'Why
did you pick on him? Henry has his vices but he's essentially harmless.'

    'Your
brother is an idiot.'

    'No,'
said Christopher defensively. 'He's a flawed man who has occasional moments of
idiocy. Just like the rest of us. That includes you, Miss Hemmings. After all, you
were idiotic enough to imagine that you could get away with this. Gabriel
Cheever was killed to assuage your hatred of him. It's only fitting that it was
his sister who helped to expose you.' He put the letters back in his pocket.
'You overreached yourself. You wrote one letter too many.'

    'What
do you want?' she said icily.

    'The
name of your accomplice or accomplices.'

    'There
were none.'

    'Why
prevaricate? You've been caught in your own trap.'

    Thinking
hard, she moved in closer. 'Did you come on your own, Mr Redmayne?'

    'I
did not imagine that I would need an army.'

    'Who
else knows what you've just told me?'

    'That's
irrelevant. I know, Miss Hemmings.'

    'How
much would it cost to make you forget it for a while?'

    'Are
you trying to bribe me?' he said insulted at the very notion.

    'All
you have to do is look the other way.'

    'No!'

    'Not
even for a hundred guineas?'

    'A
thousand guineas would not afflict me with temporary blindness,' he asserted.
'Fetch my brother's unfortunate letter to a certain lady, then I'll take you to
be charged.'

    Celia
sagged and nodded in defeat. 'Very well. Let me call my servant,' she said. 'He
knows where I keep everything.' She opened the door. 'David! Come here,
please.'

    The
servant who had let Christopher into the house now reappeared. He was a stolid
man in his thirties with dark eyes set into a craggy face. His deferential
manner suggested someone who was devoted to his mistress.

    'Yes,
Miss Hemmings?' he enquired.

    Her
tone changed. 'Mr Redmayne's behaviour is highly offensive to me,' she said
harshly. 'Please show him off the premises.'

    'At
once.' He turned to Christopher. 'This way, sir.'

    'Miss
Hemmings and I are leaving together,' said Christopher.

    'I
think not, sir.'

    The
servant took a firm grip on his arm to march him out. Explanations were
pointless. He would not listen to anything Christopher said. His job was simply
to obey orders. Wrenching his arm free, Christopher swung round and saw that
Celia had already quit the room by means of another door. When he tried to open
it, he found that it was locked. He also had the problem of a strong man
grabbing his shoulders from behind. Violent action was required. He had no
quarrel with the servant but David was now trying to force him across the room.
Christopher resisted, trod hard on the man's toe then pushed him over when he
hopped in agony on one foot. Before the servant could recover, Christopher
caught him on the jaw with a solid punch and dazed him sufficiently to make
good his escape. Dashing into the hall, he went out towards the rear of the
house until he found a way into the garden. He ran down the path and let
himself out through the door in the garden wall.

    Jonathan
Bale was waiting for him with a squirming Celia Hemmings in his arms.

    Christopher
grinned. 'I forgot to mention that Mr Bale was with me,' he said.

    Henry
Redmayne was a self-appointed angel of mercy. Having been given the wondrous
news, he wanted to share it with his fellow victims so that they, too, could
celebrate their escape from the horror of blackmail. The home of Arthur Lunn
was his first port of call and his friend embraced him warmly when he heard the
good tidings. Sir Marcus Kemp was even more relieved, bursting into tears and
hugging Henry so tightly that he feared for the safety of his coat buttons.
When he rode off to visit Peter Wickens, there was still a damp patch on his
shoulder from the unmanly display of weeping. Two victims had been delighted
with his news. Henry expected a similar reception from Peter Wickens. Shown in
to see his friend, he struck a pose and beamed inanely.

    'How
are you, Peter?' he asked.

    'Worried,'
said Wickens. 'Deeply worried.'

    'Have
you paid the blackmail demand yet?'

    'No,
but I intend to do so.'

    'There
is no need my friend. I'm here to save you five hundred guineas.'