The Frost Fair cr-4

by Edward Marston

  'I'm glad that we agree on that point.'

  'We do,' confirmed Susan. 'I'd be hurt if you thought I was taking advantage of your good nature to make use of your coach. That would be ungracious. At the same time, however, I'm determined that I'll not get under your feet. I daresay that there will be moments when my absence will come as a relief.'

  'That's too fanciful a suggestion even to consider,' said Cardinal.

  His mother nodded. 'I side with Jack on that.'

  'There'd be no benefit at all in your absence, Miss Cheever.'

  'And so many from your presence,' said Mrs Cardinal as if laying down a law. 'Besides, I made a promise and I've sworn to keep it.'

  'A promise?' said Susan.

  'To your sister, Brilliana. She told me that you had a habit of going astray and we cannot have that in a city as large and dangerous as London. It would irresponsible of me. I promised her that I'd keep a motherly eye on you at all times, Miss Cheever.' She gave Susan a playful nudge. 'I hope that you've no objection to that?'

  'Do you?' asked Cardinal.

  'No,' said Susan, forcing a smile. 'I've no objection at all.'

  She concealed her dejection well but her heart was pounding. Susan feared that the private meeting with Christopher Redmayne might not even take place. Her escape was illusory. Instead of breaking free from Brilliana, she was taking her sister with her in the bloated shape of Mrs Cardinal. She felt as if she had been betrayed.

  Christopher Redmayne could see at a glance that he was not going to like him. Lady Whitcombe and her daughter were as pleasant as ever but Egerton Whitcombe exuded hostility from the moment he stepped into the house. While the ladies sat, he preferred to stand. When they accepted the offer of refreshment, he spurned it with a rudeness that fringed on contempt. Christopher's polite enquiry about his visit to France was met with a rebuff. Whitcombe made no attempt at civility.

  'I was so anxious for Egerton to meet you,' said Lady Whitcombe with a benign smile. 'I wanted to still any doubts he has about you as an architect.'

  'It's not Mr Redmayne's architecture that's in question, Mother.'

  'Then what is?' asked Christopher.

  'Your family, sir.'

  'Egerton!' scolded his mother. 'You promised not to raise the matter.'

  'It cannot be ignored.'

  'Your son is correct, Lady Whitcombe,' admitted Christopher, ready to confront the problem honestly. 'You've doubtless heard about the unfortunate circumstances in which my brother finds himself. But the situation is only temporary, I do assure you. Henry is innocent of the crime with which he's been charged and I've every confidence that he'll be released in due course.'

  'I admire your loyalty to your brother, Mr Redmayne,' said Whitcombe with a faint sneer, 'but you can hardly expect us to share it. Everyone else in London believes him to be guilty and you'll not persuade me otherwise.'

  'I'd never attempt to do so.'

  'You'd be rash even to try, sir.'

  'Perhaps we can leave the matter there,' decided Lady Whitcombe.

  'No, Mother.'

  'Are you determined to exasperate me, Egerton?'

  'I'm determined to bring everything out into the open,' he said, ignoring her warning glare. 'You may have no reservations about Mr Redmayne but I think it would be foolish and impolitic to link our name with that of his family.'

  'A decision has already been made,' she said with steely authority, 'and it will not be changed. Now, let's have no more of your bleating.'

  'I must be allowed to speak my mind, Mother.'

  'Enough is enough!'

  There was a long silence. It was broken by an involuntary giggle from Letitia, who had not taken her eyes off Christopher since she had been in the room and who had blushed deeply at her brother's forthright comments. Conscious that her giggle was out of place, she mouthed an apology then shrank back in her seat. At best, it would have been an unwelcome visit because Christopher did not wish to see his client at such an awkward time. The presence of Egerton Whitcombe made the discussion very painful. Silenced by his mother, he was now glowering. Christopher chose to address his objections in the most reasonable way.

  'Lady Whitcombe,' he began, 'it's absurd to pretend that a problem does not exist here. I do not blame your son for adopting the attitude that he takes. It is, alas, one that's shared by the vast majority of people. That's regrettable but understandable. What I propose, therefore, is this.'

  'You've no need to propose anything, Mr Redmayne,' said Lady Whitcombe.

  'Hear him out, Mother,' advised her son.

  'Yes,' added Letitia nervously. 'I'd like to know what Mr Redmayne has to say.'

  'It's quite simple,' said Christopher. 'Since my family name is under a cloud, would it not be sensible to set aside the contract that I have with you and leave it in abeyance? As it happens, the weather conspires against us. It may be some time before work could begin on site and, by then, I am certain, my brother's fate will have been decided. His name will be cleared and your son's objections will be removed.'

  'Supposing that your brother is hanged for his crime?' asked Whitcombe.

  'He did not commit any.'

  "Then why is he being held in Newgate prison?'

  Christopher took a deep breath. 'In the event that Henry is found guilty - and there have been miscarriages of justice before - then my contract with Lady Whitcombe is null and void. I accept that.'

  'Well, I do not,' she asserted.

  'It's your son for whom the house is primarily being built.'

  'I'm glad that someone else appreciates that,' said Whitcombe.

  'Do you consider my offer a fair one?'

  'I do, Mr Redmayne.'

  "Then that's how we will proceed.'

  'No,' insisted Lady Whitcombe. 'I commissioned the house and I'll hold you to the contract that you signed. Whatever the outcome of the trial, I want to see the property built and I wish you to remain as its architect.'

  'So do 1,' Letitia piped.

  'Keep out of this,' snapped her brother.

  'I'm entitled to an opinion, Egerton.'

  'You simply do as Mother tells you.'

  'And you would be wise to follow her example,' said Lady Whitcombe.

  'Please,' said Christopher, trying to calm them down. 'I do not wish to sow any family discord here. I'm honoured that you selected me as your architect and would hate to be compelled to withdraw from the project. At the same time, I have to acknowledge that there are peculiar difficulties here so I offer you a compromise. Let us wait. What harm can there be in that?'

  'None,' said Whitcombe, partially mollified.

  Christopher turned to his client. 'Lady Whitcombe?

  'I need to think it over,' she replied before shifting her gaze to her son. 'Well, Egerton. Did I not tell you what a considerate man Mr Redmayne was? He has taken your objections into account. I think that you owe him an apology.'

  'For what?' asked Whitcombe.

  'Your bad manners.'

  'It's not unmannerly to protect the good name of your family.'

  'Indeed not,' said Christopher, quick to agree with him, 'I'm in the process of doing the same thing myself.'

  'Even though you may be wasting your time.'

  'That remark was uncalled for, Egerton,' said Lady Whitcombe reproachfully.

  'We shall see,' he said. 'Well, now that I've met Mr Redmayne, I'll not take up any more of his time. I have friends to call on. You know where to find me, Mother.'

  Christopher had hoped they would all leave but it was only Egerton Whitcombe who was shown out. The hostility towards his host was still there but it was not as pronounced as before. Feeling that he had at least achieved a degree of victory, Whitcombe walked off in the direction of Holborn. Christopher braced himself before returning to face the two ladies in the parlour. He conjured up a pleasant smile.

  'You must forgive my son,' said Lady Whitcombe when he reappeared. 'His stay in France has coarsened him somewhat. Egerton
is normally so amenable.'

  'As long as he gets what he wants,' observed Letitia.

  'That's not true at all.'

  'Egerton does like his own way, Mother.'

  'He takes after me in that respect.'

  Christopher sat opposite them and sensed an immediate change of mood. They were not there solely to talk about the new house. Both of them were now looking at him with a mingled respect and admiration. Letitia tried to suppress another giggle but it came out in the form of a squeak instead. Her mother nudged her sharply before looking around the room.

  'What a charming house you have here, Mr Redmayne,' she said.

  'Yes, Lady Whitcombe,' he replied. 'I'm lucky that it still stands.'

  'Was it threatened by the fire, then?'

  'Very much so. The lower half of Fetter Lane was burned to the ground. What you saw when you passed them were the new houses that have been built.'

  'I prefer this one,' said Letitia. 'It feels so homely.'

  'It's also my place of work.'

  'That's why I like it so much. Was our house designed in here, Mr Redmayne?'

  'On that very table,' he said, pointing to it. 'But it was not so much designed as recreated to your mother's specifications. Lady Whitcombe is rare among clients in that she knows exactly what she wants.'

  'Oh, I do,' said the older woman.

  Christopher felt uncomfortable at the way that Letitia was staring at him with a fixed grin on her face. Lady Whitcombe seemed to have brought her daughter there for his approval and it unsettled him. He sought a way out.

  'I don't wish to be inhospitable,' he said, rising to his feet, 'but I have to visit my brother this morning. Is there anything else we need to discuss?'

  'Not for the moment,' said Lady Whitcombe. 'Since we are in London for a few days, there'll be other opportunities for talking to each other.'

  'Oh, yes!' agreed Letitia.

  'How is your brother, Mr Redmayne?' 'Bearing up well, Lady Whitcombe,' said Christopher.

  'I must confess that I was shocked to hear of his arrest.'

  'I'm grateful that you did not seize on it as an excuse to rescind our contract.'

  'Heavens!' she protested. 'I'd never do that. My late husband taught me to be sceptical about the law. Justice is blind, he told me, and it often fails to see the truth. The guilty people are not always the ones who are locked up in prison. From what you say, your brother has been arrested by mistake.'

  'Yes, Lady Whitcombe.'

  'Innocence is its own protection.'

  'It does need some help occasionally,' said Christopher. 'I've vowed to do everything in my power to restore his reputation.'

  'That's very noble of you, Mr Redmayne,' said Letitia.

  'And just what I would expect of you,' added Lady Whitcombe. 'Your father must have heard the tidings by now. Have you had any response from him?'

  'The clearest possible,' replied Christopher. 'Father is not a young man but he endured days in the saddle to get here in order to lend his support to Henry. Had you come earlier, you'd have met him.'

  Lady Whitcombe was delighted. "The Dean of Gloucester is here? Then we must have the pleasure of meeting him.'

  'Not for a while, perhaps. Circumstances are not entirely propitious.'

  'Of course. He has other preoccupations at the moment.'

  'When will your brother be set free?' asked Letitia.

  'As soon as we can arrange it.'

  'I'd be thrilled to meet him as well.'

  'Yes,' said her mother, getting up from her seat and motioning Letitia up at the same time. 'We'd like to get to know all of your family, Mr Redmayne. It's not often that your father is in the city, I daresay, so we must not miss the opportunity.'

  'I'll make sure that you don't,' said Christopher, anxious to be rid of them.

  'Where is the reverend gentleman now?'

  'At the prison, Lady Whitcombe. He's trying to comfort my brother.'

  During his years as a priest, the Reverend Algernon Redmayne had often been called upon to visit parishioners who had fallen foul of the law and finished up in Gloucester gaol. It was part of his ministry and he discharged that particular aspect of it extremely well. What he did not envisage was that he would one day be obliged to visit one of his own sons in the most infamous prison in London. Its sheer size was forbidding, its history was a black and direful catalogue of the worst crimes ever perpetrated by the human hand. To realise that the name of Redmayne had been entered in the prison records made the old man quiver with indignation. It was a foul blot on the family escutcheon and he wanted it removed. When he was escorted through Newgate, therefore, he was in a mood of quiet determination. His composure was soon shaken.

  'Saints above!' he exclaimed as he was let into the cell. 'This is worse than a pigsty! Can they find you no accommodation other than this, Henry?'

  'No, Father. This is one of the better rooms.'

  'Then I feel sympathy for the poor souls elsewhere. The place stinks.'

  'Newgate does not have an odour of sanctity.'

  'Do not be so blasphemous!'

  'I was endeavouring to be droll.'

  'Droll?' The Dean was aghast. 'In here?'

  'I can see that my remark was misplaced.'

  Wishing to greet his brother, Henry was startled when his father stepped into the inadequate confines of the prison cell. He backed away instinctively and yet he felt, after the initial shock had worn off, oddly reassured by the arrival of his visitor. He knew the effort it must have taken the old man to reach London and the embarrassment there must have been when the Dean confided to his bishop the reason for his journey. His father plainly shared his suffering. Henry noted how stooped he had become.

  'How are you, Father?' he asked.

  'Wearied by travel,' replied the other. 'I'm far too old ride a horse across four or five counties.' He rubbed his back. 'It feels as if I've been in the saddle for a month.'

  'See it as a form of pilgrimage.'

  'If only I could, Henry! But this is a hardly a holy shrine.'

  'No, Father.'

  'What have you to say for yourself?'

  Henry lowered his head. 'I'm deeply sorry about all this.'

  'I did not come for an apology,' said the Dean, 'but for an explanation. Your brother assures me that you are completely innocent of the charge but I want to hear it from your own lips. Look at me, Henry.' The prisoner raised his eyes. 'Did you or did you not commit a murder?'

  'I do not believe so, Father.'

  'Is there the slightest doubt in your mind?'

  'No,' said Henry, trying to sound more certain than he felt. 'The taking of a man's life is anathema to me. That was inculcated in me at an early age. I've obeyed all your precepts, Father. I've done my best to live a Christian life.'

  "There's no room in Christianity for over-indulgence.'

  'I strive to be abstemious.'

  'You have patently not striven hard enough. How often have I warned you about the danger of strong drink? It leads to all manner of lewd behaviour.'

  'That's why I only touch wine in moderation, Father.'

  'You should only ever taste it during communion.' He leaned forward. 'You do attend a service of holy communion every Sunday, I hope?'

  'Unfailingly,' lied Henry. 'I've become very devout.'

  'I see precious little sign of it.'

  He peered at his son and noticed for the first time how pinched and sallow Henry was. There was a day's growth of beard on his face, his hair was unkempt and the clean apparel he had put on the previous day was already creased and soiled. Sympathy welled up in the old man. Putting his hands on Henry's shoulders, he closed his eyes then offered up a prayer for his son's exoneration and release. Henry was moved.

  "Thank you, Father.'

  'Bishop Nicholson is praying for you daily. He, too, has faith in you.'

  'That's good to hear.'

  'Christopher tells me that your friends are standing by you as well.'

>   'Some of them.' Henry became worried. 'What else has Christopher told you?'

  'Far too little. I had a distinct feeling that he might be concealing certain facts from me out of consideration for you. I want nothing hidden. In order to make a proper judgement, I need to hear all the relevant information. Do you understand?'

  'Yes, Father.'

  "Then tell me what happened, in your own words.'

  Henry had looked forward to his father's visit with trepidation. Now that the old man had actually arrived, however, it was not as bad as he had feared. Life in prison had stripped him of his sensibilities and habituated him to pain. What helped him was the fact that he felt sorry for his father. He could see the anguish in his eyes and the awkwardness with which he held himself. On this occasion, the Dean of Gloucester was too fatigued to carry his pulpit with him. Henry would be spared a full homily. With that thought in mind, he told his story with more honesty than he had ever used in front of his father before.

  In the intimacy of the cell, Algernon Redmayne listened with the watchful attentiveness of a priest receiving confession from a sinful parishioner. Though he said nothing, his eyebrows were eloquent. When the recital came to an end, he let out a long sigh and searched Henry's face.

  'Is that all?' he asked.

  'It's all that I can remember.'

  'I'm surprised that you remember anything after so much drink.'

  'I was led astray, Father. It's unusual of me to imbibe so much.'

  'At least, you now know what horrors can ensure. A sober man would not have behaved the way that you did, my son. He would not be under threat of death in a prison.'

  'I know that,' said Henry. 'I rue the day when I picked up that first glass of wine.'

  'You are too weak-willed.'

  'It was an unaccustomed lapse, Father. I hope that you believe that.'

  'I trust the evidence of my own eyes and they tell me that you are much too fond of the fruit of the vine. You look haggard and dissipated.'

  'Even you would look like that after a few days in here.'

  'No, Henry. I might pine and grow thin but I would not be so unwholesome.'

  'If you saw me in my periwig, you'd think me the healthiest of men.'

  'Never,' said the other. 'I've seen too much decadence to mistake the signs. If and when you are delivered from this hellish place, you and I must have a long talk, Henry. The time has come to mend your ways.' His son gave a penitential nod. 'Thank you for what you told me. You spoke with a degree of sincerity that I had not anticipated and it was a consolation. But there is one point on which you were not entirely clear.'