The Frost Fair cr-4

by Edward Marston

  'That's what I remember, Christopher. He was suddenly there in front of me.'

  'Fortunately for you, Mr Crenlowe was also there,' said Christopher. 'In knocking you down from behind, he probably saved your life. Signor Maldini would else have run you through. Mr Crenlowe, as we now know, had a score of his own to settle with the fencing master.'

  'His wife had fallen for the Italian's charms.'

  'I think it may have been the other way around, Henry.'

  'Whatever the truth,' said the Dean, 'it was deplorable behaviour.'

  'But it gave Mr Crenlowe the urge to commit murder, Father,' said Christopher. 'When the opportunity presented itself, he took it. While Henry was lying unconscious on the ground, Mr Crenlowe bent over him out of pretended concern and took hold of Henry's dagger. He then tried to appease Signor Maldini with soft words. When the Italian was off guard, Mr Crenlowe stabbed him in the back.'

  'Yes,' said Jonathan, taking up the story, 'then he dragged the dead body to the river and heaved it in, thinking it might never be found. He did not bargain for the Thames freezing over like that. When my son stumbled on the body that day, it still had Mr Redmayne's dagger in its back.'

  'I felt that it was in my back,' complained Henry.

  'To some degree, it was,' said his father sonorously. 'Instead of confessing his crime, this goldsmith friend of yours let you take his punishment. He stabbed you in the back, Henry.'

  'So did Captain Harvest,' noted Christopher. 'He deliberately brought Signor Maldini along that evening so that the two of you would strike sparks off each other. The fencing master knew where you were and that you'd not be in the best position to defend yourself by the time you'd been drinking heavily. By setting you up like that, the captain stabbed you in the back as well.'

  'Who is this Captain Harvest?' asked the Dean. 'What's the villain's real name?'

  'James Wragg,' replied Jonathan, 'and he had been a soldier but not in any English army. He was a mercenary who fought on the Continent for anyone willing to pay him. He'd picked up a smattering of languages along the way, Italian among them. It was the reason that he and Signor Maldini were so close. Mr Wragg had a talent for making easy friendships - your son was only one of his victims - and he lured to the fencing school gentlemen whom Signor Maldini had a particular interest in meeting.'

  'Why?' said the old man.

  'Because they had desirable wives, Father,' said Christopher.

  The Dean was appalled. 'Then this unprincipled rogue was a pandar!' he cried.

  He would have been even more outraged if he had known that the women whom Jeronimo Maldini had seduced almost invariably had husbands with political influence, but Christopher kept that information from his father, as from everyone else. The death of the fencing master had brought the espionage to an end. Nobody still alive was culpable. Ladies who had unwittingly yielded up intelligence about their husbands' work while they were in the arms of the Italian, were dupes rather than traitors. Christopher and Jonathan had agreed to remain silent about Maldini's main reason for coming to England.

  'Henry is well clear of the man,' said Christopher. 'Let's be grateful for that.'

  'You've been given a second chance, Henry,' observed his father. 'Do not waste it. Turn aside from the company of rogues and voluptuaries. Take your delight in the law of the Lord.'

  'I will, Father,' promised Henry. 'Newgate was my Damascus. Of one thing, you may be certain. Prison has made me a better man.'

  'I pray that it may be so.'

  'It is, it is.'

  'Yet the punishment was not wholly undeserved.'

  'Yes, it was,' argued Henry. 'I was innocent.'

  'Innocent of murder,' said the Dean, 'but guilty of sin. In thought and word, you wanted that man to die. You fell short only of the deed itself.'

  Henry was soulful. 'I suppose that's true.'

  'It is, my son. You'll be haunted by your sin. That dead body of the man you threatened will be frozen forever inside your skull like that corpse at the frost fair. You must pray daily for the salvation of Signor Maldini's soul. Only then will I know that you are not confusing Damascus with somewhere else.'

  When the day of departure arrived, Susan Cheever found herself in two minds. Anxious to stay in London, she was yet ready to leave with Jack Cardinal and his mother. Part of her wanted to linger in the hope that Christopher would somehow get in touch with her. Another part of her, however, was deeply hurt that no word had come from him even though his brother had been exonerated. His silence gave credence to the worrying suggestion that the architect was showing a romantic interest in the daughter of his client. Susan was upset. It made her more vulnerable to Cardinal's respectful and unhurried attentions. Indeed, she had come to find both him and his mother such amenable companions that she looked forward to developing their friendship.

  They gathered in the hall of the house in the Strand to express their gratitude to Lord and Lady Eames for their hospitality. Servants, meanwhile, took their luggage out to the coach. It included several presents that Mrs Cardinal had purchased for herself and some gifts that her son had bought for Susan. When farewells had been completed, the whole party moved out into the porch and it was at that point that Susan felt the real poignancy of leaving the city. Assisted by Cardinal, his mother was the first to manoeuvre her bulging frame into the waiting carriage. Susan was just about to take his proferred hand herself when she heard hoof beats on the drive. She let out an involuntary cry of joy when she saw who the horseman was. Christopher Redmayne was trotting towards her with a grin on his face.

  He reined in the animal and dismounted, taking Susan's hand to kiss it in greeting. Christopher removed his hat politely to be introduced to everyone else. Requesting a brief moment alone with Susan, he took her aside. Cardinal had only to see the two of them together to realise that any hopes he might have had with regard to her were entirely misplaced. He took the disappointment well but his mother was less accommodating. Mrs Cardinal, feeling baulked, sat back in the coach so hard that it shook violently.

  The conversation was short and constrained by the presence of others.

  'Where have you been?' asked Susan with reproach in her eyes.

  'Wrangling with lawyers on my brother's behalf,' he replied. 'It was much easier to put the guilty man in prison than to get an innocent one out again. I came as soon as I could, Susan, and I'm so glad that I caught you.'

  'How is your brother?'

  'Henry is thoroughly chastened and so am 1,' he said, glancing at the coach. 'Another five minutes and I'd have missed seeing you. I just came to ask for permission to call on you in Richmond - provided that your sister does not slam the door in my face again, that is.'

  'Brilliana owes you an apology,' she said. Recalling the gossip she had heard, her manner became guarded. 'Will you come on to Richmond after you've visited your client in Sheen?'

  'No, Susan,' he said, 'I'll not need to go there again.'

  'But I understood that you had become friends with the family.'

  'I try to be friendly towards all my clients but Lady Whitcombe has been far too demanding. With luck, I'll not see her or that strange daughter of hers until the house is actually built. Forget my client,' he advised. 'I'll be coming to Richmond solely to visit you, Susan. If you agree, that is. Do I have your permission?'

  'No, Christopher,' she said with a smile. 'You have my request.'

  'Request?'

  'Please come at the earliest possible opportunity.'

  Christopher burst out laughing then reached an instant decision.

  'Step into the coach,' he said, 'and I'll follow you all the way to Richmond.'

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: 96aca4f1-3948-44f4-a03e-479a0875f9b8

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 10.9.2012

  Created using: calibre 0.8.67, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software

  Document authors :

  Edward Marston

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