'But he's not been convicted yet, Father,' she reminded him.
"The fellow is guilty. Why else would they arrest him?'
'There are all kinds of reasons. Mistaken identity is but one of them.'
'We have been the victims of that, Susan.'
'What do you mean?'
'We took the Redmayne family for honourable men,' he said, gesticulating with both arms, 'and we were most cruelly deceived.'
'Not so, Father,' she rejoined with vehemence. 'Christopher Redmayne is the most honourable man I've ever met and his brother, Henry, can be quite charming when you get to know him.'
'I've no wish to know him, Susan.'
'At least, give him the benefit of the doubt.'
'What doubt?' he asked. 'Henry Redmayne consorts with some of the most notorious rakehells in the capital. That says everything. It pains me to admit that my son, Gabriel, was once embroiled in that same twilight world of decadence and debauchery. He paid for it with his life.'
'And who helped to solve his murder? Christopher Redmayne.'
'I've not forgotten that.'
'But for him, the villains would never have been caught.'
'That was one crime, this is quite another.'
'It's unfair to reproach him because of what's happened to his elder brother.'
'Certain traits run in families.'
Susan exploded. 'That's a dreadful thing to say!'
'Nevertheless, it happens to be true.'
'But their father is the Dean of Gloucester.'
'You know my opinion of Anglicans,' he said with a sneer. 'That may be the reason the sons were led astray. Brought up on debased values, they had a false start in life. It's ended at the gallows.'
'It's done nothing of the kind, Father,' she said, 'and I'll thank you to stop talking about the two brothers as if they are the selfsame person. They most assuredly are not. It's Henry who has been charged with this terrible crime and I, for one, will presume him innocent until he's proved guilty in a court of law.'
'I know the man did it. I feel it in my bones.'
'That's no more than old age creeping up on you.'
'Old heads are the wisest.'
'Not when they make unjust accusations.'
'The fellow has been arrested, Susan,' he said, slapping the table with the flat of his hand for emphasis. 'Evidence has been gathered and a warrant issued for his arrest. That's proof positive to me.'
Susan bit back a reply. In his present mood, Sir Julius would not even listen to her properly. His mind was already made up while her own was still very confused. The tidings about Henry Redmayne had alarmed her. In her heart, she could not accept that any member of the Redmayne family could be capable of murder. Vain and feckless, he might be, but Henry was not, in her opinion, a potential killer. Yet he had been indicted and such a step would not be taken lightly. Her real concern was for Christopher. Though he was the younger brother, he always seemed older and more responsible than Henry. The latter's peccadilloes were an unceasing source of discomfort to him and he had rescued his brother from countless embarrassments. This time, Susan feared, even Christopher would be uncertain what to do. She felt an urge to go to him.
Sir Julius Cheever seemed to read his daughter's mind.
'Stay away from him, Susan,' he warned.
'Who?'
'Mr Redmayne.'
'But he must be in great distress.'
'That's a problem he must cope with alone. It does not affect us.'
'It does. At a time like this, he wants friends around him.'
'Well, he'll not number us among them.'
'He will and he ought to,' she said hotly. 'Do you condemn one brother for the alleged sin of another? What a miserable species of friendship that is! It's callous to desert Mr Redmayne when he needs us most.'
'We do it for our own protection.'
'From what?'
'The taint of evil.'
'That's a monstrous suggestion!'
'I'll not have you associating with any member of that family.'
Susan was defiant. 'Would you forbid me?'
'No,' he said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. 'I'd not go that far. I'd simply appeal to your love and loyalty. For my sake, keep away from Mr Redmayne. I know that you are fond of him, Susan, and I know that he has many virtues. Why,' he went on, looking around the room, 'he designed this very house in which we stand and I'm very grateful to him for that.'
'He did much more than that to earn our gratitude, Father.'
'Do not harp on about Gabriel.'
'He was my brother,' she said with tears in her eyes. 'You shut him out of your life in the same way that you now want to exclude Mr Redmayne and his brother. Did you never stop to think that, if Gabriel had been kept within our family, he would not have met such an untimely end?'
'No!' yelled Sir Julius, rounding on her. 'That's not true!'
'Be honest with yourself, Father.' 'Silence!'
He was so furious that he did not trust himself to say anything else until he had regained his composure. Crossing to a large oaken court cupboard, he opened the door to take out a bottle of brandy and a glass. He poured himself a measure and drank it down in one gulp, waiting until it had coursed through him. When he turned back to his daughter, there was sadness as well as anger in his voice.
'Never dare to say that to me again,' he cautioned.
'I did not mean to hurt you so.'
'Gabriel's death lies heavy enough on my heart, as it is. I need no additional burden of anguish. Let him rest in peace, Susan. Please do not tax me on his account.'
'No, Father.'
He opened his arms to give her a hug of reconciliation and she kissed him on his cheek. Since he was due to leave London the following day, Susan did not want any disagreement between them. It might be months before they were reunited. On a subject as important as her friendship with Christopher Redmayne, however, she could not stay silent. Sir Julius held her by the shoulders to look at her.
'It's so ironic,' he reflected.
'What is?'
'Here am I, telling you to spurn Mr Redmayne when, only a few days ago, I called at his house for the express purpose of asking him to keep an eye on you while I was away from London.'
She took a step back. 'You talked to Mr Redmayne about me?'
'Yes.'
'Why did you not say?'
'It was a private matter between the two of us.'
'Not if it concerns me,' she said, hands on hips. 'I'm not sure that I like the idea of anyone keeping an eye on me. Am I a child that needs to be assigned to a new parent whenever my own goes away on his travels?'
'No, Susan. You misunderstand the situation.'
'I understand it all too well. You do not trust me to fend for myself.'
'That's not the case at all.'
'I'm wounded by this news. It's galling enough to be packed off to Richmond to stay with Brilliana when I could just as easily remain here.' 'Not on your own.'
'There are servants in the house.'
'They are hardly adequate companions.'
'I've friends in London on whom I can call.'
'That's my fear. Mr Christopher Redmayne is one of them.'
'A few days ago, you were urging him to look after me.'
'That was before I learned the ugly truth about his family,' said Sir Julius. 'It changes everything. Tomorrow, I depart for home but not before I've delivered you into Lancelot's hands. His coach will arrive by mid-morning at the latest.'
'You do not have to stand over me like that, Father.'
'I do it by choice. That imbecile of a brother-in-law will hardly be entertaining company but Lancelot will at least get you safely back to Richmond. I've written to Brilliana to tell her what's afoot here.'
'There was no need to do that.'
'Brilliana is your sister. She has a right to know what's going on.'
'She's too critical of Mr Redmayne.'
'With just cause, it see
ms.'
'This will only feed her misconception.'
'Brilliana will take a dispassionate view of it all.'
'She'll only interfere.'
'Precisely,' he said with a cold smile that signalled the end of the conversation. 'Brilliana will agree with me and her husband will, as usual, do what she tells him. That contents me. Between the two of them, they'll keep you well away from Mr Redmayne and that murderous brother of his.'
Susan felt helpless. She could do nothing but smoulder in silence.
The first thing that Christopher Redmayne did when he left the prison was to fill his lungs with fresh air. It helped to clear his head and rid his nostrils of the abiding stench of Newgate. His visit had been deeply disturbing. It was bad enough to find his brother in such an appalling state. To learn that there were genuine grounds for suspecting Henry Redmayne of murder was truly shocking. What made it even worse was that Henry himself could neither deny nor confirm his guilt, making it almost impossible for Christopher speak up in his defence. On previous occasions when he had been arrested, Henry had been fined for being drunk and disorderly before being discharged. He had never spent a night in a prison cell before, especially one as cramped and fetid as the bare room that he now occupied. Unused to squalor, he was having it rubbed in his face and his ordeal seemed likely to continue until he went to trial for murder.
Christopher walked away from Newgate then turned back to study it. Razed to the ground in the Great Fire, the prison had been rebuilt and work was still continuing on it. As an architect, Christopher had to admire the magnificent facade, decorated, as it was, by emblematic figures and statues. Among other civic worthies of the past, Richard Whittington and his cat looked down on the hordes of people going in and out of the city. Behind the sumptuous exterior of Newgate, however, was a grim prison that retained all the faults of its hated predecessor. Bad ventilation, an inadequate water supply and serious overcrowding made it a breeding-ground for disease. Those who survived the brutal regime imposed upon them often fell victim to gaol fever. In one way or another, Newgate left an indelible mark on anyone incarcerated there.
Fearing for his brother, Christopher heaved a sigh and turned his steps homeward. The stroll back to Fetter Lane gave him an opportunity to reflect on the situation. Henry Redmayne had mourned the loss of his job and of his reputation but there was another potential loss, so great and so frightening that Henry had not even been able to address his mind to it. Out of consideration to his brother, Christopher had said nothing but the dilemma now had to be faced. What of their father, the eminent Dean of Gloucester? Should he be informed of the disgrace brought upon the family by his elder son or should he be kept in the dark in the hope that Henry would be found innocent and set free? It was a thorny problem.
Christopher's first instinct was to keep his father ignorant of the events in London but he soon came to accept how unfair and unwise that would be. If, by any chance, Henry were convicted of the murder, the Reverend Algernon Redmayne would never forgive his younger son for holding back information about the arrest. He would see it as the ultimate betrayal. There was another consideration. Even if Christopher remained silent, others would not. The Dean of Gloucester had enemies in the Church hierarchy and they would revel in the situation, taking an unholy delight in telling him that one of his sons faced execution. Given the name of the murder suspect, Archbishop Sheldon himself might be moved to write to their father. The truth could not be hidden indefinitely.
Christopher accepted that it was his duty to pass on the sad tidings. He knew that the Dean would travel immediately to London. It would be an additional blow for the prisoner. Henry would view a visit from his father as worse punishment than being stretched on the rack but it could not be helped. In a time of crisis, the Redmayne family needed to come together. When he got home, Christopher went straight to the parlour and sat down at the table.
He began to compose the most difficult letter that he had ever written.
Chapter Four
Jonathan Bale was in a quandary. The news that Henry Redmayne was being held as a chief suspect in the murder investigation was profoundly troubling to him. Having met Henry a number of times, he had no affection at all for the man and even less respect. In his estimation, the elder of the two Redmayne brothers was a symbol of all that was wrong with the country since a venal King had returned to rule over it. Henry Redmayne was conceited, egotistical and corrupt. He was a confirmed sybarite whose circle included some of the most blatant voluptuaries in London. Since Henry was guilty of so many deplorable sins, Jonathan had no difficulty in believing him capable of a heinous crime. That was how the quandary arose. It was a murder that the constable was helping to investigate. What exercised his mind was whether or not he should get in touch with Christopher Redmayne. He agonised over the decision for hours. It was his wife who finally helped him to make it.
'Go to him, Jonathan,' she advised. 'Mr Redmayne needs you.'
'He may not want me near the house, Sarah.'
'How will you know unless you offer your sympathy?'
'I'm not sure that I feel any,' he admitted. 'Henry Redmayne never struck me as a violent man but there's evidence enough to arrest him. That speaks volumes. You can hardly expect me to feel sorry for a man I think might well be a killer.'
'Put yourself in his brother's place. How do you think he feels?'
'Low and dispirited.'
'Is that all?'
'No, I daresay that he's been badly shaken by this business. Mr Redmayne is a decent man who deserves better than to have something like this happen within the family. It will cause him great pain. He'll be mortified.'
"That's why you must call on him.'
'It's not my place to do so, Sarah.'
'You're his friend.'
They were in the kitchen of their little house in Addle Hill. Sarah was seated at the table, sewing a pretty blue dress with deft fingers. In warmer weather, she took in washing to help the family finances but winter found her leaning much more on her skills as a needlewoman. It was something she fitted in around running the house, looking after two children and caring for a husband whom she loved dearly even when she disapproved of his actions. Her opinion on the matter in hand was dictated by her fondness for Christopher Redmayne. She simply could not accept that any brother of his would commit such a terrible crime as murder. Notwithstanding the arrest, she clung to the belief that he must somehow be innocent.
Still sewing away, she raised questioning eyes to Jonathan.
'Did you hear what I said?'
'Yes, Sarah.'
'I know what Mr Redmayne would do in your place.'
'Do you?'
'He'd be knocking on our door to offer you his help.'
'What possible help can I give?'
'You're an officer of the law. You can advise him.'
'I doubt if he'd even agree to see me.'
'How do you know if you refuse to call on him?'
'It's not as simple as that,' he said, running a ruminative hand across his chin. "There's more to this than you understand, Sarah. If it was merely a question of going to a friend in need, I'd be there now. But his brother is accused of murder.'
'Does that make Mr Redmayne a criminal as well?'
'No, but it does oblige me to think carefully.'
'What do you mean?'
'I'm deeply involved in this investigation. It was our son who found that body in the first place. Richard keeps asking me when I'm going to arrest the killer.'
'That should not stop you going to Fetter Lane.'
'But it does, Sarah,' he argued. 'Don't you see? I'm gathering evidence that may lead to the conviction of Henry Redmayne. What will people think if I'm seen helping the brother of the accused man?'
'Since when did you worry about what people thought?'
'I have to keep an open mind.'
'Mr Redmayne would expect no less of you, Jonathan.'
'Then it would be safer if I kept
well away from him.'
'Why?' 'Because there'd be no complications then.'
Sarah put her sewing aside. 'You disappoint me, I must say.'
'What do you mean?'
'I never thought that you could be so selfish.'
'It's not selfishness, Sarah. It's commonsense.'
'Oh, is that what it is?' she said with light mockery in her voice. 'It sounds more like putting your own needs first, Jonathan Bale, and I'm ashamed of you for doing so.'
'I have to do my duty.'
'And don't you have a duty towards a friend as well?'
'It's not the same thing.'
'So it seems.'
'I'm in an awkward position,' he explained. 'I'm searching for evidence that will lead to the prosecution of Henry Redmayne and you want me to go running off to the one person in London who is trying to defend him.'
'You see it your way, I see it mine.'
'If I arrived on his doorstep, Mr Redmayne would feel embarrassed.'
'No, Jonathan. You would. And that's what really holds you back.'
'It would be wrong and it would be foolish.'
'My parents once told me it was wrong and foolish of me to marry a shipwright named Jonathan Bale,' she recalled with a wistful smile. 'But I listened to my heart instead.'
His tone softened. 'Do you have any regrets?'
'None at all - until now.'
'Sarah!'
'Yes, I know. I'm a woman. I couldn't possibly understand.'
'That's not what I was going to say.'
'What's the point in talking about it?' she asked, taking up her sewing again. 'You tell me that you must keep an open mind but it's shut tight against sympathy or reason. You pay no attention at all to me.'
'I do, I promise you.'
'I see precious little sign of it.'
'There are some decisions I can only make on my own.' He gave a smile. 'Did your parents really say that it was wrong and foolish of you to become my wife?' 'They thought it would never last.'
'We proved them wrong.'
'In some ways,' she conceded. 'Prove me wrong, Jonathan.'
'You?'
'Show me that you're not the fair-weather friend that you seem.'
'Now, that's unjust!' he protested.
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