The Frost Fair cr-4

by Edward Marston

  Reaching the house, he could see candlelight through the gap in the shutters. Since Jacob did not come out to greet him, he surmised that his servant was attending to their guest who must surely have returned from his visit to the bishop. Christopher decided to stable the horse by himself. He dismounted and led the animal down the passageway at the side of the house. Jacob had lit a lantern and it was hanging from a nail outside the stable. Opening the door, Christopher patted the horse and it went through into the stall. Before he could follow it, he heard hurried footsteps behind him.

  Christopher swung round to see a figure hurtling towards him out of the shadows.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He was too slow. His attacker had the advantage of surprise. Before he could even draw a weapon to defend himself, Christopher was hit on the side of the head with a cudgel. Though his hat softened the blow, it still dazed him slightly. He put an arm up to ward off the next few blows and bunched his other fist so that he could throw a punch at the man who was belabouring him. It caught his adversary on the chest and sent him a yard backwards, but he flung himself at Christopher again with renewed energy and knocked his hat from his head. Using both arms to defend himself, Christopher was beaten back against the stable door. Resistance was being bludgeoned out of him. When he felt blood oozing down the side of his face, it prompted his instinct for survival. Christopher tensed himself. As the cudgel descended again, he grabbed the man's wrist and twisted hard but the weapon was not dislodged. It flailed around in his face. With a supreme effort, Christopher swung the man's arm against the wall so that the cudgel was dashed from his hand.

  Letting out a cry of pain, his attacker pushed him away and ran back down the passageway. Christopher flung back his cloak and groped for his sword but the man did not want to duel with him. Instead, he pulled a dagger from his belt and threw it hard. Christopher dodged in the nick of time. After missing his face by inches, the dagger embedded itself in the side of the stable with a thud. The man took to his heels. Christopher was too groggy to give pursuit but he staggered out into Fetter Lane in time to see him mounting a horse before riding off at speed.

  It had all happened so quickly that Christopher did not get a chance to look properly at the man. All that he knew was that his adversary was young, slim and wiry with a hat pulled down over his face. One thing was evident. It was certainly not the man he had known as Captain Harvest. As he swayed uncertainly on his feet, he did not know whether to be reassured or disappointed by that fact. A moment later, Jacob came hurrying out of the house with a lantern in one hand and a dagger in the other. He saw the blood on his master's face.

  'What happened, Mr Redmayne!' he exclaimed.

  'Someone was lying in wait for me, Jacob.'

  'Are you badly hurt, sir?'

  'I'm bruised and bloodied, but it could have been far worse.'

  'It's my fault,' wailed Jacob. 'I meant to come out when I heard the horse but your father was busy giving me instructions. Come inside, Mr Redmayne. I'll clean that the wound for you and bind it up.'

  'See to the horse first,' said Christopher, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. 'I'm not sure that I can manage that just yet. Oh, there's something I forgot,' he added, going back to the stable to retrieve the dagger. 'This was meant for me.'

  Jonathan Bale's visit to the house in Covent Garden had been instructive. Sir Humphrey Godden had denied any knowledge of the whereabouts of the former Captain Harvest with such vehemence that the constable knew that he was lying. That meant either that the impostor had already been to him in the hope of borrowing money, or, more worryingly, that Sir Humphrey was somehow working in league with the man. If the latter were the case, Jonathan decided, it explained why Sir Humphrey had insisted that his friend could not be guilty of the crime. He would have been deliberately shielding an accomplice. There was no doubting the intensity of Sir Humphrey's open hatred of the Italian fencing master. It gave him an obvious motive for murder.

  The important thing was to catch the bogus soldier as soon as possible. Jonathan did not think that the man would necessarily leave London. Someone who could evade a succession of creditors with such ease knew how to lose himself in the populous city. As long as he had money to sustain himself, he might go to ground somewhere. Jonathan set out in search of him, having first called at his house to change his clothing. It was an occasion when a common man would be more likely to gather intelligence than a constable. His long black coat was therefore replaced by the garb that he had once worn as a shipwright. It would help Jonathan to blend in more easily.

  Since he had twice found his quarry at a tavern in Whitefriars, he knew that the man would not return there. Instead, he went to the Hope and Anchor, the riverside inn where Christopher Redmayne had encountered the quondam Captain Harvest. It was only half-full but the atmosphere was still rowdy. A fierce quarrel was taking place between two watermen who berated each other with mouth-filling oaths. Another man was arguing over the price that an ageing prostitute was putting on her dubious favours. Three drunken sailors were singing out of tune. Jonathan ordered a tankard of beer and bided his time. When the noise finally died down a little, he sidled across to the innkeeper.

  'I was hoping to see a friend of mine in here,' he said, looking around.

  'And who might that be?' asked the other, a stocky man with bulging forearms.

  'Captain Harvest. We agreed to play cards in here this evening.'

  The innkeeper smirked. 'Oh, I think that the captain has another game in mind.'

  'Does he often come in here?'

  'Only when he needs some money and some comfort.'

  'Comfort?'

  'Captain Harvest has an eye for the ladies, sir,' said the man. 'One in particular brings him to the Hope and Anchor. She's done it time and again.'

  'Who is she?'

  'That would be telling.'

  'If he's not coming in this evening, I need to get a message to him.'

  'Leave it with me. I'll pass it on.'

  'How will you do that?' The innkeeper ignored him and used a cloth to wipe the counter between them. 'I've good news for the captain,' resumed Jonathan. 'It could bring him some money.' He put his hand on his purse. 'There'd be something in it for you, my friend, if you could tell me where he is.'

  The innkeeper was suspicious. 'Who are you?' he asked.

  'I told you. I'm a friend of Captain Harvest.'

  'What's your trade?'

  'I'm a shipwright.'

  'Oh?' said the innkeeper, looking him up and down. 'A shipwright, eh? You've the hands for it, I grant you, but that proves nothing. Which ships have you worked on?'

  'The last was the Mercury,' said Jonathan, naming a vessel that had been launched only months ago. 'We needed the oak from almost six hundred trees to build her. It was nearer seven hundred for the Silver Spirit. I was working at Chatham when we built her. I could tell you exactly how we constructed the hull. Would you like me to take you through the mysteries of my trade?'

  'No, sir,' said the other. 'I believe you. But I had to make sure.'

  'You were right. Never trust a stranger. It's a good rule.' He put some coins on the counter. 'But I'd still like to speak to Captain Harvest.'

  The innkeeper eyed the money. 'I'm not sure where he is this evening.'

  'But you have some idea, I can see that. Who is this particular lady you speak of?'

  "That would be Hannah Liggett.'

  'Does she work here?'

  'Yes,' said the man, 'that's why the captain always comes back when he needs a bed for the night. Hannah is sweet on him. He'll leave her for months on end but she never turns him away when he shows up here.'

  'Where is she now?' asked Jonathan.

  'Hannah won't be in for days yet.'

  'Does that mean she's with the captain?' The innkeeper was staring at the money. Jonathan added two more coins. 'How would I find this Hannah Liggett?'

  The man swept up the money. 'She lives no more than a short
walk away.'

  When Jacob had cleaned him up, Christopher Redmayne still looked in a sorry state. His father stood over him and clicked his tongue in consternation.

  'Attacked on your own doorstep!' he said. 'What a violent city this is!'

  'Violence is everywhere, Father,' said Christopher, seated on a chair while Jacob bound his head with a strip of linen. 'You have your share of it in Gloucester, I daresay.'

  'Not on this scale. Bishop Henchman was complaining about it earlier. He told me that he feels like a King Canute, vainly trying to hold back the tide of villainy. We have our malefactors in Gloucester but they do not try to murder you outside your own house. That is insupportable.'

  'I managed to fight him off.'

  'But look at the injury he inflicted on you.'

  Christopher winced at the reminder. The scalp wound smarted and his arms and shoulders ached from the bruising blows. He was glad that Susan Cheever could not see him at that moment. He felt battered.

  'We'll pray together later,' said the Dean, 'and thank God for your deliverance.'

  'Yes, Father.'

  'Bishop Henchman will hear of this.'

  'You must not trouble the Bishop of London with my misfortunes.'

  'But he's taken an interest in Henry's case. The bishop was very sympathetic to our cause. By the time I had finished talking to him, he was prepared to accept that Henry might be innocent of the crime.' Having finished doctoring his patient, Jacob went off into the kitchen. The Dean put a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. 'Who was the rogue who assaulted you?'

  'A henchman of a different kind, Father.'

  'Henchman?'

  'I believe that he may be working for someone else, a swaggering fellow who called himself Captain Harvest to conceal his real name and character. When I talked about the murder with him, he told me that an accomplice was involved. I did not realise that he might have been the person who employed him. Captain Harvest is a genial parasite,' he explained. 'He uses his charm and cunning to live off others.'

  'Henry mentioned his name. He thought the captain was a friend of his.'

  'Not any more, Father.'

  'How did he fall in with such bad company?'

  'He's not the only person to be tricked by Captain Harvest. Dozens more were deceived by his plausible manner and smooth tongue. Had it not been for my friend, Jonathan Bale, the captain would have continued his deception unchecked and, I fear, have got away with murder.'

  'It's shameful!' said the old man with bitterness. 'All this stems from Henry's reprehensible way of life. That is the fans et origo of this succession of horrors. Because your brother is so easily led by false friends, he is now in prison and you have twice escaped attempts on your life. It's unpardonable! I was far too soft on Henry at the prison. When I return tomorrow, I'll make him see the evil consequences of his behaviour.'

  'No, Father. Do not mention what happened to me today.'

  'But I must. It may bring him to his senses.'

  'He's already plagued by his conscience,' said Christopher, 'If he knows there's been another assault on me, he'll suffer even greater pangs. Let's spare him those. It's torment enough simply to be locked up in that prison.'

  'Henry needs to show true remorse.'

  'I'm sure that he does.'

  'I want clearer evidence of it, Christopher,' insisted the other. 'For that reason, I intend to tell him how terribly you've suffered because of him. Thanks to Henry, you were all but murdered by that ruffian.'

  "That's the odd thing, Father.'

  'What is?'

  'The man was no ruffian.'

  'He must have been.'

  'He hit me hard,' said Christopher, rubbing a shoulder, 'there's no question about that. But he used that cudgel as if he'd never had it in his hand before. A ruffian would have had me senseless with a few blows then finished me off with a dagger. This may seem a strange thing to say,' he continued, 'but I was attacked by a gentleman of sorts.'

  Hannah Liggett lodged in a tenement not far from the Hope and Anchor. When he got there, Jonathan first spoke to the landlord and learned that the woman was not inside. She had been seen leaving with a man earlier that evening but he did not fit the description that the constable gave him of Captain Harvest. There was nothing that Jonathan could do except wait. Finding a vantage point from which to watch the building, he turned up his collar against the chill wind and kept his eyes on the street. Several people came and went but none looked anything like the man he sought. Hannah Liggett's room was on the first floor and he watched the shuttered window for signs of light. She did not return to the tenement. It was a long, cold, cheerless wait that yielded no positive result. At midnight, Jonathan went back home.

  The first guests arrived by mid-morning and the house in the Strand was suddenly filled with political gossip. Susan Cheever remained on the fringes of the conversation and spent most of her time chatting to Jack Cardinal, who seemed to shy away from the general discussion.

  'Do you have no time for politics, Mr Cardinal?' she asked.

  'For politics, yes,' he replied. 'It's the politicians that frighten me. Listen to them. They never stop talking about which faction will rise and which fall.'

  'You'd not find my father congenial company, then.'

  'Oh, but I would, Miss Cheever.'

  'He, too, is obsessed with political events.'

  'Any member of your family would interest me greatly. Lancelot tells me that Sir Julius is an outspoken man with forceful opinions. We've too few of those in parliament. I'd very much like to meet him some time.' He gave a smile. 'Now that I've made your acquaintance, I hope to see a lot more of you.'

  It was the nearest he got to expressing his affection for her. Susan was grateful when his mother detached him with a request to fetch something from her bedchamber. It gave Susan a chance to take a first look at Patience Holcroft, who was just arriving with her husband. They were an incongruous couple. The gaunt and stooping Sir Ralph Holcroft looked years older than his true age while his wife seemed to be years younger than hers. There was a youthful bloom on her that turned the head of every man in the room. She was beautiful yet demure, accepting compliments with a touching modesty. Her husband appeared to bask in the praise that she received. Susan was worried. With everyone forming a circle around the newcomers, she could not see how she could get near Patience Holcroft and, if she was to fulfil her promise to Christopher Redmayne, it was imperative to speak to her alone.

  She watched and waited until the novelty of the woman's arrival slowly wore off. Lord Eames voiced an opinion concerning the revenue of the Crown and Sir Ralph Holcroft immediately responded to it. The room was suddenly ringing with heady political discussion again. It was Mrs Cardinal who came unwittingly to Susan's aid. Restored by the smelling salts that her son had brought for her, she swooped on Patience Holcroft and brought her across to introduce her to Susan. When she heard that Sir Julius Cheever was a

  Member of Parliament, Lady Holcroft gave Susan a look of sympathy

  'It would be better for you if he'd remained a farmer,' she said.

  'Life would certainly be quieter, Lady Holcroft,' replied Susan. 'But your husband is far more elevated than my father. Does it not excite you that he is so close to the centre of events?'

  'It does, Miss Cheever. I reap the benefits but I also suffer the disadvantages. Sir Ralph's dedication to his work is remarkable but it does take him away from me. This will be the first time this week that we've dined together.'

  'And your husband will spend it talking to other politicians,' noted Mrs Cardinal.

  'At least, we are together,' said Lady Holcroft loyally.

  'That's so important in a marriage, especially in the early years.' Mrs Cardinal shot a meaningful glance at Susan. 'My husband spoiled me. We saw each other every day at first and were rarely apart after that. Jack, my son, was able to pattern himself on his father because he spent so much time with him.'

  'Your circumstances were o
bviously different, Mrs Cardinal,' said Susan.

  'I chose a man who loved the country so much that he rarely stirred from it. Jack follows him a little in that regard, though he does have something in common with you, Miss Cheever,' she said with a fond smile in her son's direction. 'He loves to kick the earth off his boots from time to time and come to London. You are two of a kind in that respect. Oh, look,' she added, noticing that Lady Eames was alone. 'Our dear hostess is being cruelly neglected by all her guests. Do please excuse me.'

  She displayed a row of small teeth and moved away. Susan knew that it was time to strike because she might not get a second opportunity. Making sure that nobody was within earshot, she took a step closer to Lady Holcroft.

  'I wondered if I might have a word in private with you?' she asked.

  'Why?' replied the other.

  'I've a letter to give you from a friend.'

  Lady Holcroft stiffened. 'A letter? Do I know the person who wrote it?'

  'No, Lady Holcroft.'

  'Then keep it yourself, Miss Cheever. I do not accept missives from strangers.'

  'I was told that it was important to deliver it,' said Susan.

  'No matter.'

  'It's not what you think it might be, Lady Holcroft.'

  'Oh? Why do you say that? Do you know what the letter contains?'

  'No, Lady Holcroft but I trust the young man who wrote it.'

  'Too many young men have tried to involve me in a correspondence.'

  'I can understand that.'