'Your brother murdered Jeronimo,' said Maldini, glaring at him.
"The evidence points that way, I admit, but I had doubts about it at the start. Let me tell you why Did you ever see your brother take part in a fencing bout?'
'Many times.'
'He was a fine swordsman, I hear.'
"There was no better one,' said the other with pride.
'In other words,' said Christopher, 'he was a man well able to look after himself. My brother was not. On the night when the crime took place, my brother was too drunk even to know where he was going. His only weapon was a dagger. Your brother never went anywhere without his rapier. It was the mark of his trade.'
'What you trying to tell me?'
'I want to ask you a simple question. If the two of them met that night, which would have the advantage? A drunken man with a dagger or an unrivalled swordsman?'
Maldini was confused. 'Your brother stabbed him in the back.'
'How?' asked Christopher, spreading his arms. 'He'd never get close enough to try. Do you think your brother would be stupid enough to turn his back on someone with whom he'd fallen out? Had they closed with each other, there would have been only one winner and it would not have been Henry.'
'You make this up to trick me.'
'Why should I do that? Why should I bother to defend my brother's name if I was not absolutely certain that he was innocent? There's no trick involved, Signor Maldini.' He moved forward to stand over the man. 'Do you think I'd trouble to speak to someone who tried to murder me if I did not believe he could help me? I'm the one with the right to be angry,' he said with studied calmness, 'and you know why. But I put my personal grievances aside for the sake of my brother. Do the same for the sake of yours.'
Maldini was still suspicious. 'What do you want from me?'
'A clearer notion of what your brother was like. Everything I've heard about him so far has been coloured by prejudice. Tell me about the real Jeronimo Maldini,' he said. 'I admire anyone who comes to a foreign country and masters its language enough to make a good living here. Both you and your brother did that. Why did you come in the first place? What made you choose England?'
The prisoner gave a wistful smile. 'We thought we'd have a better life here.'
'And did you?'
Pietro Maldini was resentful at first, feeling that he and his brother had been badly let down in their adopted country, talking about some of the slights they had received. But the more he talked, the more relaxed he became. He spoke with great fondness of his brother and revealed many insights into his character. Christopher was struck by the speed with which Jeronimo Maldini had settled into his new home. He pressed for more personal detail.
'Did he never wish to marry?'
Maldini shrugged. 'Why tie yourself to one woman when you can please many?'
'Is that what your brother did?'
'Jeronimo was a very handsome man. He could take his pick.'
'I understand that he bought jewellery from a goldsmith called Mr Crenlowe.'
'That is so.'
'Was he able to afford the high price that must have been charged?'
'Of course!' rejoined the other.
'And did you brother always buy expensive gifts for his ladies?'
'No,' said Maldini with a half-smile. 'He did not need to. The gift they had was Jeronimo himself. That was enough.'
'Except in this particular case,' noted Christopher. 'Why was that?'
'One lady, she was very special to him. He love her dearly.'
'But not enough to marry her, obviously.'
'She already had a husband. Most of them did. Jeronimo, he prefer that.'
'Who was the lady he loved more than the others?' asked Christopher. 'She must have been special to him if he was ready to spend so much money on her. Did he ever tell you her name?'
'My brother, he would never do that. He protect the lady's reputation. But I did watch him seal a letter to her once,' said Maldini. 'He wrote something on the front of it.'
'Well?'
'It was her initial. Her name, I think it begin with 'M".'
Sir Humphrey Godden had enjoyed his visit to his favourite coffee house. He was among friends and able to relax. There was far less gossip to be heard about the murder of the Italian fencing master and that, too, contented him. It was something that he was trying to put out of his mind for the time being. When he finally came out of the building, he was feeling more cheerful than he had done for a week. Then someone stepped out of a doorway and took him familiarly by the arm. It was the man he had first known as Captain James Harvest.
'Good day to you, Sir Humphrey!' he said, grinning broadly.
'What are you doing here?'
'Waiting for you, of course. When I saw your coach, I knew that you were inside. And I could hardly join you,' he went on, indicating the dark suit that he was wearing, 'in this humble garb.'
'I've nothing more to say to you,' growled Sir Humphrey. 'I gave you what you wanted so you can now disappear from my life.' 'That's what I'd hoped to do, Sir Humphrey, but a constable has other ideas.'
'Constable? Are you talking of Mr Bale?'
'The very same. He's a good huntsman. He found out where I was hiding and lay in wait for me. That will not do, Sir Humphrey I'm too fond of my freedom to risk another meeting with that tenacious fellow.'
'Why tell me?'
'Because you are in a position to help me.'
'You'll get no more money from me,' snarled Sir Humphrey.
'It's not money that I'm after,' said the other, 'but somewhere to hide. You have that huge house with all those empty rooms in it. Nobody would ever think of looking for me there. It would be so much more comfortable than a tenement in Wapping.' He grinned again. 'What do you say?'
'No!'
'Why must you be so inhospitable?'
'You are not coming anywhere near my home,' said Sir Humphrey 'Find somewhere else to hide or get out of London altogether.'
'I don't have enough money for that. You were the only person ready to help me. Martin turned me away with a mouthful of abuse. We used to be such friends, all three of us.' He nudged the other man in the ribs. 'Do you remember?'
'Look,' said Sir Humphrey, trying to sound more reasonable. 'It's not possible.
'Why not? I stayed there once before - when your wife was away.'
'That was a long time ago.'
'I still remember how soft and inviting the bed was,' said the other. 'It will only be for a week or so. The trail will have gone cold by then. Mr Bale will think that I've quit the city and give up.' He gave a knowing leer. 'I think that you owe me a favour. Remember what happened to your wife.'
'Be quiet, man!'
'I helped you to resolve the problem regarding Lady Godden.'
Sir Humphrey shook him. 'I won't tell you again!'
Their eyes locked and he began to wilt under the other man's gaze. In trusting the former Captain Harvest, he had been unwise and was now suffering the consequences.
'This is blackmail!' he hissed.
'A week is all I ask, Sir Humphrey. Then I'll be gone for good.'
Sir Humphrey began to weaken. 'My wife must not even know that you're there.'
'I'll be as quiet as a mouse. Lock me in the cellar, if need be.'
'Amid my wine and brandy?' said the other. 'I'm not that stupid.'
'My horse is nearby. Shall I follow you back to Covent Garden?'
'Can you not leave it until after dark?'
'No, I need a refuge now.'
Sir Humphrey was trapped. An enjoyable visit to the coffee house had been ruined by a face from the past but he was not in a position to ignore it completely. There was an obligation that could be held over him. He opened the door of his coach as he thought through the implications of the request. With one foot on the step, he turned round and spoke in a grudging voice.
'I'll do it,' he said, 'but let me get to the house well before you do.'
Henry Redmayne
was outraged by what he saw as a filial betrayal. When Christopher explained what he had done, Henry took his brother by the shoulders and shook him hard.
'That man tried to throttle me!' he yelled.
'I still have the bruises from his cudgel.'
'Then why did you not avenge the pair of us? I'd have torn the rogue apart.'
'What would that have achieved?' asked Christopher.
'It would have given me profound satisfaction.'
'No, Henry, it would have ensured that you'd have an appointment with the hangman, after all. You were imprisoned for a crime you did not commit. Only a fool would then try to kill someone within the confines of the prison. Pietro Maldini did that,' he pointed out, 'and look where he has ended up.'
'Enjoying a pleasant chat with my brother.'
'There was nothing pleasant about it for either of us.'
Christopher calmed him down and explained in detail what had happened. When he realised that his brother had been searching for information that might lead to his release, Henry was apologetic. He was also angered by the news that his rival had bought some expensive jewellery for a married woman.
'It had to be for Patience,' he decided. 'He commissioned it for her.'
'The name begins with 'M' and that rules Lady Holcroft out.'
'But she adored jewels of all kind, Christopher. They were her real joy in life. Patience deserved to be covered in diamonds and rubies. I asked Martin Crenlowe to fashion a brooch for me but, before I could give it to her, Patience was taken away from me by that fiend of an Italian.'
Christopher loved his brother too much to disabuse him of his illusion. Having heard Lady Holcroft's account of their friendship, he resolved never to mention to Henry that he had ever met her. It would be too cruel. Henry was better left to his fantasies.
'I feel that we have an important clue in our hands,' said Christopher. 'All that we have to do is to identify the woman and it was not, I'm certain, Lady Holcroft. Think of the letter 'M". Find me a wife called Mary, Margaret or Mildred.'
'I know of none, Christopher.'
'Rack your brains.'
'They have already been racked too hard.'
'Which of your friends has a wife called Maria?'
'None of them,' said Henry. He thought hard. 'But I know a Miriam,' he recalled.
'Is she young and beautiful?'
'Very young and exceedingly beautiful.'
'Yet she's a married lady?' Henry nodded. 'Excellent. Who is her husband?'
'Sir Humphrey Godden.'
Jonathan Bale was rarely excited. His was a more phlegmatic temperament. When he made his discovery at the fencing master's lodging, however, he was thrilled. He walked back to the house in Fetter Lane to report his findings. Christopher Redmayne was not there but Jacob introduced him to the Dean of Gloucester instead. Jonathan received warm congratulation and stern reproof at the same time. While the old man thanked him for his courage in tackling Henry's would-be assassin, he also felt obliged to attest the spiritual superiority of the Anglican Church and to condemn those who dared to question the validity of its tenets. The constable weathered the storm with some difficulty and was glad when the Dean retired to his bedchamber with his Bible.
Christopher arrived back soon afterwards. Jonathan could see that he, too, was in a state of excitement. The architect explained why. Though highly uncomfortable, the talk with Pietro Maldini had been very worthwhile. Christopher felt that a significant connection had been made.
'If that jewellery was intended for Sir Humphrey Godden's wife, we have a motive for murder,' he argued. 'Sir Humphrey must have learned of his wife's infidelity and sought revenge. He engaged the false Captain Harvest as his accomplice.'
'What shall we do, Mr Redmayne?'
'Challenge him at once.'
'Wait until you've heard my news,' said Jonathan, taking the ledger and the papers from under his arm. 'We are dealing with far more than a case of murder, sir.' He handed a sheet of paper to Christopher. 'Do you recognise any of those names?'
Christopher was jolted when he saw that the first name on the list was that of Sir Peregrine Whitcombe. Beneath that was the name of Sir Ralph Holcroft. Of the other seven on the list, he recognised most as senior members of the government. He reached the same conclusion as Jonathan.
'Signor Maldini was a spy,' he declared, remembering what Lady Holcroft had told him. 'He deliberately courted ladies who were married to leading politicians. While he was pleasuring them, he was also asking them about their husbands.' An image of Lady Whitcombe came into his mind. 'Yet I cannot think he was involved in that way with Sir Peregrine's wife.'
'He did not need to be,' said Jonathan, giving him some letters. 'His was the one name that I knew because Jacob told me you were designing a house for his widow. As you see, Sir Peregrine is number one. That means he wrote those letters.'
Christopher leafed through them, staggered by what he saw. Information about the country's naval and military defences was set out in neat columns. There were also reports of meetings of the Privy Council. His head reeled. He was being employed by a woman whose late husband had betrayed his country.
'Sir Peregrine was paid for his intelligence,' said Jonathan, holding the ledger up. 'Here's proof of it. Payments to number one are listed at the back. The man was a traitor, Mr Redmayne. He died before he could be caught.'
'We cannot pursue him beyond the grave,' said Christopher.
'And I'm certain that Lady Whitcombe knew nothing of this. She'd not be so proud of her husband's reputation if she had.' He took the ledger from Jonathan. 'Well, you've opened a door to Hell with this discovery. Did someone find out that Signor Maldini was a spy?' he wondered. 'Is that why he was killed?'
'It could be, Mr Redmayne.'
'How was he unmasked? No wife would dare to admit to her husband that she had been seduced by a foreign spy. That's why the arrangement was so clever.'
Jonathan gave a disapproving frown. 'I see nothing clever in seduction, sir.'
'When he had found out what he wanted to know, he abandoned one lady and moved on to the next. He knew that none of them would ever betray him. Although,' he added, as the words of Pietro Maldini came back to him, 'that's what happened to him in the end. A certain lady betrayed the spy by making him fall in love with her.'
'She wrote these letters,' said Jonathan, handing over the last two items he had found in the desk. 'I felt embarrassed at reading them.'
'Why?'
'They are very fulsome, Mr Redmayne.'
'Are they signed?'
'Only with an initial - 'M” '.
'That stands for Lady Miriam Godden,' said Christopher, glancing through the first letter, 'and there's no doubt that she loved Signor Maldini, or she'd not have been so indiscreet as to write to him. If her husband learned about this secret romance, he'd have been enraged.'
'It would certainly have given him a reason to go after Signor Maldini's blood.'
'Let's go and speak to him, Jonathan,' said Christopher, pocketing the two letters. 'I've a strong feeling that Sir Humphrey Godden is our man.'
Sir Humphrey Godden was grateful that his wife was not at home. It made it much easier to smuggle his unwanted guest into the house. At the top of the building was a small room that was used for storage. When he had stabled his horse, the former Captain Harvest was hustled upstairs to the room by his reluctant host.
'You're to stay here and keep quiet,' ordered Sir Humphrey.
'There's no mattress,' complained the other.
'One of the servants will soon bring one. He'll also bring you food and drink.'
'A manservant, eh?' said the other with a chuckle. 'I'd prefer to be looked after by a buxom chambermaid. It may get lonely up here.'
'You'll get a hiding place and nothing else.' Sir Humphrey looked at him. 'By the way, I still have no idea what your real name is.'
'I'd prefer to keep it that way. See me as an anonymous friend.'
Sir
Humphrey was about to make a tart riposte but thought better of it. After issuing further warnings, he left the room. His guest immediately began to rearrange his accommodation, shifting some wooden boxes into a corner and stacking some bolts of material on top of them. The servant arrived with a mattress and placed it against a wall. He stayed long enough to light a fire in the grate then withdrew to fetch some blankets. The erstwhile Captain Harvest took stock of his surroundings. When the fire had warmed the room up, it would be snug. More important, his refuge would be safe. While he was being looked for in the more insalubrious parts of the city, he was enjoying the hospitality of a house in the heart of Covent Garden. He grinned at his good fortune.
Crossing to the window, he looked down into the street and watched the traffic go past. The grin then froze on his face. Two figures were walking purposefully towards the house. He could not believe that Christopher Redmayne and Jonathan Bale had tracked him so soon to his new lair. He had to get away at once.
They stopped well short of the house so that they could appraise it. Christopher was armed with sword and dagger but Jonathan carried no weapon, relying instead on his strength and experience. Both were alert to the potential danger of accosting a man whom they believed had committed a murder.
'When I confront him,' said Christopher, 'he may try to make a run for it. Go round to the back of the house, Jonathan, to cut off his escape.'
'Give me time to get into position, Mr Redmayne.'
'I will.'
Jonathan set off. After marching past the house, he turned swiftly down the side of it towards the stables. Sir Humphrey's coach stood in the yard, its horses unhitched and returned to their stalls. But it was another animal that caught the constable's eye. Its head was poking out over the stable door and there was something about it that was familiar. Jonathan took a closer look at the horse, peering into the stall to take note of its colour and conformation. A saddle was resting on the edge the manger at the rear of the stall. He felt a shock of recognition. It was the horse that had once knocked him flying outside a tavern in Whitefriars.
The Frost Fair Page 29