The Frost Fair

The Frost Fair Page 5

by Edward Marston

'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.

  'Is it?'

  'Yes.'

  'Mr Redmayne is waiting for you.'

  "Then he must wait in vain.'

  'Why is that?' she challenged. 'Are you going to let him down?'

  When she plied her needle again, Jonathan felt as if it were piercing his brain.

  Susan Cheever had always liked her brother-in-law. Lancelot Serle was a willing, affable, tolerant man who was passably handsome and never less than impeccably dressed. He had none of the arrogance that wealth often brings and he was endlessly obliging. Ordinarily, Susan would have been pleased to see him again but circumstances militated against her. Serle had come to take her away from the city and put distance between her and Christopher Redmayne. It made her fretful. She gave her brother-in-law only a muted welcome. Sir Julius Cheever did not even bother with a greeting.

  'Where, in God's name, have you been?' he demanded.

  'We were delayed, Sir Julius,' replied Serle with a shrug of apology.

  'I can see that, man. I wanted you here by mid-morning and it is well past noon. Are there no clocks in Richmond? Or have you lost the ability to tell the time?'

  'We reached London hours ago but we were held up on the bridge. Every cart, carriage and coach in England seem to have congregated there. It took an age to battle our way through. That's the beauty of living in the country,' he said, turning to Susan. 'We have the freedom to move at will.'

  'I was hoping to enjoy that freedom myself,' said Sir Julius testily, 'but you've kept me cooling my heels in Westminster.'

  'Not deliberately, Sir Julius.'

  'You should have set out earlier.'

  'Nobody could have foretold that amount of traffic.'

  'London Bridge is always an ordeal to cross.'

  'Except when the river freezes over,' observed Serle with an almost childlike smile. 'The ice is breaking up now or we could have ridden across the Thames itself. What an adventure that would have been! I'm so sorry that we missed the frost fair but Brilliana refused to stir from the house during the cold spell.' His smile broadened into a polite grin. 'Brilliana sends her love, by the way.'

  'I'd have been more grateful if she could have sent a punctual husband.'

  'I did not mean to hold you up, Sir Julius.'

  'You never mean any of the idiocies that you commit.'

  'Do not be so choleric, Father,' said Susan, trying to save their visitor from further abuse. 'Lancelot has made the effort to get here and you have not even had the grace to offer him refreshment.'

  Sir Julius was dismissive. 'He does not deserve any.'

  'Forgive him, Lancelot,' she said. 'Father is so eager to be on the road that he has forgotten his manners. I'm sure that you'd like refreshment after your journey and the horses will appreciate a rest.' She turned to Sir Julius. 'Carry on, if you must. There's nothing to detain you now.'

  Sir Julius hovered. The three of them were standing in the hall of the house in Westminster. Milder weather had banished the icicles under the windowsills and the hoar frost on the garden. Winter sunshine was chasing away the last few deposits of snow. It was only Sir Julius who seemed impervious to the thaw. He regarded his son- in-law with glacial contempt. What upset him most was that he was forced to part with his younger, and favourite, daughter. It would be a long and lonely journey to Northamptonshire and, when he got there, his manor house would feel desperately empty without her. But Susan was determined to remain near the capital so a compromise was reached. Sir Julius grudgingly allowed her to stay behind on condition that she moved in with her sister in Richmond. He felt a flicker of paternal interest.

  'How is Brilliana?' he asked gruffly.

  'Extremely well, Sir Julius,' said the doting husband. 'She's full of plans for Susan's visit and regrets that you are unable to join us yourself.'

  'I've business elsewhere.'

  'We understand that. When can we expect your return?'

  'When I choose to make it.'

  'Ignore him, Lancelot,' advised Susan. 'Father is in a peevish mood today.'

  Sir Julius was always in a peevish mood when he was close to his son-in-law, a man whose personality and politics he found it impossible to admire. Lancelot Serle had none of the intelligence, thrust or ambition that would have impressed the older man. Instead, he was kind, considerate and inoffensive. He did not seem to mind that he was firmly under the thumb of his wife, indeed, he accepted his servitude with alacrity. Serle was proud to be linked to the Cheever family.

  'Brilliana was grateful for your letter, Sir Julius,' he said.

  'I felt that she needed to be made aware of the facts.'

  'As it happened, word of the crime had already reached us. We are not so cut off in Richmond that we do not hear the latest scandal. Brilliana was as shocked as I was,' he went on, looking at Susan. 'Who would have thought that Mr Redmayne's brother would be guilty of such a foul murder'

  'He is only suspected of the crime,' corrected Susan.

  'They would not arrest him without firm evidence.'

  Sir Julius was blunt. 'The fellow deserves to hang and there's an end to it!'

  Susan was dismayed that the subject had even been raised. Her aim had been to send her father on his way so that she could work on her amenable brother-in-law while they dined together. Before they left London, she believed, she could persuade Serle to let her call at a certain house in Fetter Lane. Her urge to see Christopher had hardened into a firm resolve. If nothing else, she wanted him to know that he was in her thoughts. Sir Julius was dressed for departure. His luggage had been loaded on to the coach that stood ready at his door. He reached for his hat and cane.

  'One last request, Lancelot,' he said.

  'Yes, Sir Julius?' asked Serle.

  'When you leave here, drive straight to Richmond.'

  'That was my intention.'

  'Do not be shifted from it,' said the old man with a reproving glance at his daughter. 'Especially if you are asked to direct your coachman to an address in Fetter Lane. I want no contact to be made between Mr Christopher Redmayne and my daughter. Do you understand?'

  'I understand and endorse your wishes, Sir Julius.'

  'It would be a relief to know that you got something right at last.'

  'Brilliana takes the same view,' said Serle.

  'So I should hope.'

  'She thinks it would be unwise and improper for Susan to maintain a friendship with anyone in the Redmayne family, however personable he may be. It's a name that now bears the most hideous stigma.'

  'Do you hear that, Susan?' asked her father. 'Forget all about Mr Christopher Redmayne. Your friendship with him is at an end.'

&n
bsp; Susan saw the futility of protest. Her hopes had been completely dashed.

  As soon as he stepped into the house, Jonathan Bale knew that he had made the right decision. Christopher Redmayne was not only pleased to see him, he was deeply touched. There was none of the awkwardness that the constable had feared. He was invited in, given a drink by Jacob and taken immediately into his friend's confidence.

  'I hoped that you'd come,' said Christopher.

  'Did you?'

  'I need your assistance.'

  'What can I do, Mr Redmayne?'

  'Two things,' explained the architect. 'Firstly, you can help me to drive out some of the demons that have been inside my skull since my brother was arrested. Secondly, you can trust my judgement.'

  'Your judgement?'

  'I firmly believe that Henry is innocent.'

  'Any brother would feel like that,' said Jonathan cautiously. 'But you have to accept that there must be substantial evidence against him for an arrest to be made.'

  'I know what that evidence is.'

  'Do you?'

  'I visited Henry this morning in Newgate.'

  'How was he?'

  'Still overwhelmed by the turn of events.'

  'Prison comes as a terrible shock for a gentleman.' 'It comes as a shock for anyone, Jonathan,' said the other. 'I saw some of the filthy cells in which the prisoners are kept. I'd not house animals in conditions like that.'

  'Newgate is better than some of the other gaols.'

  'Then they should be pulled down and rebuilt. Even criminals have the right to be treated as human beings. If I'd designed Newgate, I wouldn't spend all that money on a beautiful exterior that none of the prisoners can see. I'd make sure they had clean water, proper drains and larger windows to let in more light and air. Yes,' said Christopher, 'and there'd be far more single cells to allow a degree of privacy.'

  'Privacy costs a lot of money in prison,' said Jonathan.

  "That's what Henry has found. He's already spent everything in his purse. Luckily, I was able to replenish his funds.'

  'Were you able to speak to him alone?'

  'Yes, I was. Thanks to a bribe.'

  'Did he plead his innocence?'

  'No,' said Christopher, shaking his head, 'that was the strange thing.'

  Jonathan was astonished. 'He confessed to the murder?'

  'Not exactly. What Henry admitted was the possibility that he might have been guilty of killing Jeronimo Maldini. He was not entirely certain.'

  'He must have been. Either he stabbed the victim or he did not.'

  "There was more than just stabbing involved,' Christopher reminded him. "The body was dropped into the freezing water of the Thames and that's one charge that could never be laid at Henry's door.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because he was too drunk to walk properly, let alone carry a dead body.'

  'I thought that drink might be involved,' said Jonathan ruefully.

  'Henry's eternal weakness, I fear. One of them, anyway,' added Christopher sadly, 'for my brother is liberal in his choice of vices.'

  'They appear to have caught up with him at last, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Newgate has certainly been a sobering experience for him.'

  Christopher was standing behind the table on which his latest architectural drawing was set out. Lying on top of it was a piece of paper that he used to make some jottings. He picked it up to glance at what he had written.

  'What's convinced you that your brother is innocent?' asked Jonathan.

  'His account of what happened.'

  'It sounds as if he's very confused.'

  'Henry is completely bewildered.'

  'Rumour has it that he and the murder victim were arch enemies.'

  'They were certainly not the best of friends. Thus it stands,' said Christopher, keen to rehearse the facts for his own benefit as much as for that of his visitor. 'Henry was enjoying the pleasures of the town one evening when he happened to cross the path of Signor Maldini. There was a violent argument - in front of witnesses - during which my brother became so incensed that he threatened to kill the man.'

  'Is he in the habit of issuing such threats?'

  'No, Jonathan, that's what makes this so worrying.'

  'What was it about the Italian gentleman that enraged him so much?'

  'Henry believed that he cheated at cards.'

  'Is that reason enough to murder him?'

  'To threaten him with murder,' said Christopher. 'And the answer is yes. Cheating is a cardinal sin to those who wager large amounts on the turn of a card. But there were other reasons why my brother disliked the fellow so intensely. I've yet to drag all of them out of him.'

  'Go on,' encouraged Jonathan. 'I'm sorry to interrupt.'

  'Signor Maldini was a hot-blooded man. When Henry threatened him, he drew his sword and would have attacked my brother there and then if the others had not pulled him away. It was, apparently, an ugly scene.'

  'What happened then?'

  'Henry and his friends rolled on to a tavern for supper. If they were not drunk when they went in there, they certainly were by the time they came out. They split up and went their separate ways. My brother had forgotten all about the quarrel with Jeronimo Maldini. The gentleman himself, however, had not.'

  'He was lying in wait for your brother,' guessed the constable.

  'Yes,' said Christopher, 'and he, too, was emboldened by drink.'

  'It's the root of so much crime and evil in this city.'

  'Henry went in search of a calash to take him home. Out of the shadows came Signor Maldini, still shaking with fury and demanding satisfaction. He was waving his rapier in the air.'

  'Duelling is against the law.'

  'That will not prevent it, Jonathan.'

  'Did your brother draw?'

  'He wore no sword,' said Christopher, 'and even if he had done so, he would have thought twice about taking on a fencing master in a duel. The only way he could defend himself was with his dagger and he remembers taking that out. In fact, it's one of the last things that he does remember.'

  'Why?'

  'He passed out. Whether from drink or fear or a combination of both, he does not know. Henry has a vague memory of a pain at the back of his head before falling to the ground so he might have been struck from behind.'

  'By an accomplice of Signor Maldini?'

  'Possibly.'

  Jonathan pondered. 'It's not a convincing story,' he said at length. 'A man as skilful with a sword as a fencing master would not need a confederate. It would be a matter of pride to him to dispatch an enemy on his own.'

  'Yet he left Henry untouched.'

  'When did your brother recover his senses?'

  'A watchman found him and helped him to his feet,' said Christopher, resuming the tale. 'There was no sign of the Italian. Henry's only concern was to get home safely so the watchman summoned a calash for him. When he got back to Bedford Street, the servants put him to bed.' He pursed his lips. 'They've had plenty of practice at that, I fear.' He tossed the piece of paper on to the table. 'I think I know what you are going to ask me, Jonathan.'

  'Where was your brother's dagger?'

  'It disappeared along with Signor Maldini.'

  'According to the coroner, he was stabbed to death before he went into the river.'

  "The dagger was still embedded in his back,' said Christopher. 'It bore my brother's initials and Henry was forced to identify it as his own. Yes,' he continued when he saw the doubt in his friend's eyes, 'I know that it's telling evidence against him but you have to remember the condition that my brother was in at the time.' 'Too sodden with drink to know whether or not he stabbed a man in the back.'

  'He'd never do that, Jonathan.'

  'Not even in self-defence?'

  'What chance would a dagger have against a rapier?'

  'Very little if the two men faced each other,' said Jonathan. 'However, if your brother chanced upon his adversary from behind, it would be a different mat
ter.'

  'I can see that you're not persuaded of his innocence.'

  'I'd need far more evidence to do so.'

  'Let me speak to Henry again. Newgate will have jogged his memory.'

  'With respect, Mr Redmayne, it would be foolish to rely only on what your brother tells you. Drink befuddled his mind. That much is beyond question. You'll never get the truth out of a man who does not know it himself.'

  'So what do you suggest that I do?'

  'Speak to the witnesses who were present when the argument flared up. They may be able to shed more light on why your brother and Signor Maldini hated each other so much. Do you have their names?'

  'They are here before me,' said Christopher, indicating the piece of paper. 'When I got back from the prison, I made a note of everything that Henry told me, incoherent as it may be. But he did remember who his companions were that night.'

  'How many of them were there?'

  'Three.'

  'Begin there,' counselled Jonathan. 'And when you have finished with his friends, track down this watchman who discovered your brother lying on the ground. He might yield some valuable information.'

  Christopher was resolute. 'I'll do all that I can to save Henry,' he affirmed.

  'If he is innocent.'

  'If he is guilty, he deserves to suffer the full rigour of the law. If my brother killed a man in a drunken brawl, I would hesitate to lift a finger in his defence. But that's not the case, Jonathan,' he argued. 'Henry could not have committed this crime and I'll not rest until I've proved that.' He looked deep into his friend's eyes. 'Will you help me?'

  'I am already making enquiries that relate to this investigation.'

  'I know,' said Christopher. 'Signor Maldini lodged not far from you. But I would ask you to go further afield. This watchman, for instance. You'll find him much quicker than I would and win his confidence more easily.'

  Jonathan was cynical. 'The right coins will do that.'

  'I need a partner in this enterprise. I'm too guided by filial love to see everything as clearly as I should. That's why your help would make such a difference, Jonathan. You are cool, detached and objective.'

  "There are others with those same qualities.'

  'I'm asking you.'

  'Then you've come to the wrong man, Mr Redmayne.'

 

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