The Repentant Rake

by Edward Marston

  'Yes, yes!' interrupted Henry. 'There's no need to remind me.'

  'Gabriel must have had a hundred such tales to write.'

  'They will all be used against us, Marcus, be certain of that. You and I are the first victims but others will soon trail in our wake. Arthur Lunn and Peter Wickens have roistered even more than us. So has Gilbert Sparkish,' said Henry, throwing out the first names that came into his head. 'They, too, will certainly have a place in Gabriel's diary. There'll be others in the same plight as us before long.'

  'A thousand guineas from each of us? He'll make a fortune.'

  'Only if we are weak enough to pay.'

  'I'd hand the money over right now!' declared Kemp.

  'What happens when he sends you a second page from the diary?' asked Henry.

  Kemp was in torment. After playing anxiously with his wig, he tore it off and flung it down, revealing a bald pate with a defiant tuft of hair at its centre. There was no defiance in the man himself. Shocked and humiliated, he sat back in his chair and looked towards heaven. A thought then nudged him.

  'Were you the first to receive a threat?' he said.

  'What of it?'

  'I seem to recall that a letter was involved.'

  'It was,' admitted Henry gloomily. 'A billet-doux sent on a foolish impulse.'

  'To whom?'

  There was an embarrassed pause. 'A married lady, Marcus.'

  'Which one?' asked Kemp. 'You sniff around so many.'

  'Her name is irrelevant. The point is that the letter fell into the wrong hands.'

  'How?'

  'I wish I knew!'

  'So you're not being blackmailed with an extract from Gabriel's diary?'

  'Not yet,' said Henry ruefully. 'That time may yet come.'

  Kemp was puzzled. 'Why was your life threatened?'

  'I think I've worked that out. The man who strangled Gabriel Cheever has no need to murder me. He simply has to show that letter of mine to a certain husband. He's a vengeful man,' said Henry apprehensively. 'He'll insist on a duel. That's why the blackmailer does not need to kill me, Marcus. An angry husband will do the job for him.'

  For two days, Lucy Cheever barely left her room. The funeral had been a severe trial for her and she lay prostrate on her bed for most of the time. Even her maidservant was only allowed limited access to her. Lucy's collapse aroused mixed feelings in the household. Sir Julius was at once sad and relieved, sorry that she was suffering so badly but glad to be left alone to nurse his own woes. Before he learned more about his daughter-in-law, he wanted to clarify his feelings about his son. Lancelot Serle was sympathetic to the young widow but Brilliana was more critical, unable to accept that a secret marriage entitled Lucy to the attention she was receiving and unwilling to embrace her in the way that Susan had done. Brilliana bickered so much on the subject with her father and sister that Sir Julius was on the point of ordering her out of the house. Serle anticipated him and, in a gesture that earned a rare compliment from his father-in-law, more or less hustled his fractious wife into their coach to take her back to Richmond.

  The atmosphere in the house improved markedly. As if sensing the fact, Lucy made her appearance on the third day, apologising profusely for imposing on her hosts and for remaining out of sight. Susan Cheever took her off to her own room so that they could talk in private. While Lucy sat in the chair, she perched on the bed.

  'How are you feeling now, Lucy?' she began.

  'As if all the life has been drained out of me.'

  'We all feel like that.'

  'What happened to your sister?'

  'Brilliana decided to return to Richmond.'

  'I heard her voice a number of times.'

  'Yes,' said Susan wearily, 'Brilliana tends to shout, I fear, especially when she's losing an argument. It was best for all of us that her husband took her away when he did. The house seems much quieter all of a sudden.'

  'Do you see much of your sister?'

  'Enough.'

  'She is so unlike you, Susan,' said Lucy 'Gabriel warned me that she would be.'

  'Do you have any brothers or sisters?'

  'Not any more. I had one of each but both died during the Plague.'

  'What about your parents?'

  'My mother is a widow.' She felt a lurch of recognition. 'Just like me.'

  'Not quite, Lucy. You were unlucky. Gabriel was taken before his time.'

  'I wish that I had been killed alongside him!'

  Susan was shocked. 'That's a dreadful thought!' she exclaimed.

  'At least we'd still be together.'

  'You are together, Lucy. As long as you preserve his memory.'

  'I'll cherish it for ever.'

  Susan felt a pang of regret that she had never seen her brother and his wife together. They must have made a handsome couple, but there was far more to their marriage than a pleasing appearance. Lucy had somehow managed to rescue Gabriel from his former dissolute existence and give him a sense of purpose. In doing so, she had found her own true path through life.

  'May I ask how you met?' said Susan.

  'By accident.'

  'Where? Gabriel said so little about you in his letters, apart from the fact that he loved you to distraction, that is. I can see why,' she added with a smile. 'But he told me nothing about how you met and where you were married.'

  'We agreed to keep that secret.'

  'Why?'

  Lucy was wary. 'I'm not able to tell you that, Susan. It's rather complicated. Gabriel had reasons of his own for secrecy. Nobody was to know where we were.'

  'Somebody knew,' noted Susan.

  'I was not counting you.'

  'Nor was I, Lucy. The man who killed Gabriel must have known where he lived as well. From what you told me, Gabriel hardly ever left the house.'

  'He was wedded to his work, Susan. He wrote all the time.'

  'That sounds like my brother. Gabriel did nothing by half- measures.'

  'I miss him so much.'

  Lucy's control snapped again and she burst into tears. Leaping off the bed, Susan knelt down to embrace her, fighting off her own urge to cry. They were entwined for several minutes. When Lucy felt well enough to push Susan gently away, she looked into her eyes.

  'You've been so kind to me.'

  'I loved Gabriel as well.'

  'He doted on you,' said Lucy. 'Gabriel could be harsh at times. He told me that he would not mind if he never saw his father or Brilliana again. They had been hateful to him. But he would never spurn you, Susan. You were his one friend in the family.'

  'We grew up together. I could never disown him.'

  'Your sister did.' 'That's all behind us. Brilliana will mourn his death in her own way.' Susan stood up and regarded her sister-in-law for a few seconds. 'Did you mind being at the funeral on your own?'

  'But I was not on my own. I brought Anna with me.'

  'I was thinking about your family.'

  Lucy's face darkened. 'There was nobody else I wanted there.'

  'Not even your mother?'

  'No. In any case, she would be too ill to travel.'

  'Will you tell her what's happened?' Lucy shook her head. 'Why not?'

  Lucy reached out to hold her hand. 'I don't know you well enough to tell you that yet, Susan. Perhaps I will one day. Until then, please bear with me.' She got up and crossed to look through the window. 'It's beautiful here. I'm sorry I have to leave.'

  'Must you?' said Susan, moving to stand behind her. 'Father would like you to stay as long as you wish. He wants to talk to you.'

  'I'm not sure how much we have to say to each other.'

  'When were you thinking of going?'

  'Tomorrow,' said Lucy, turning to face her. 'I need to go back to London.'

  'Why?'

  'Because that's where Gabriel's killer is and I want to be there when he's caught.'

  'If anyone can track him down,' said Susan fondly, 'it is Christopher Redmayne. He's a fine man. Father and I have so much to thank h
im for, Lucy.'

  'So do I.'

  'Do you have his address?'

  'Yes, he left it when he called on me in Knightrider Street.'

  'Good.'

  'Why do you ask?'

  'Because I think that you might consider telling him what you are unable to tell me. Let me finish,' she went on, silencing the imminent protest. 'Mr Redmayne is putting his own life at risk on our behalf. We must do everything we can to help him. You must have information about Gabriel that nobody else could have. The most trivial details might be valuable clues to Mr Redmayne. Talk to him, Lucy. You can trust him not to break a confidence.' She held her by the shoulders. 'Tell him the truth.'

  'No, Susan. I could never do that.'

  'Not even if it might lead to the arrest of Gabriel's killer?'

  Lucy fell silent and lowered her head. Letting go of her, Susan stepped back to watch her. She had surprised herself with the degree of affection that came into her voice when she mentioned Christopher Redmayne, but she was not ashamed of her feelings for him. Her admiration for him had steadily grown. When he left her in the churchyard after the funeral, she had been bitterly disappointed. She wished that Lucy had the same faith in him that she did. There was a long wait before Lucy looked up at her. When her question came, it took Susan completely by surprise.

  'Will you come back to London with me?' she asked.

  Jonathan was putting a man in the stocks when Christopher rode up on his horse. Having secured his prisoner, a ragged individual with a straggly beard, the constable gave his friend a nod of welcome.

  'I did not expect you back so soon, Mr Redmayne,' he said.

  Christopher dismounted. 'There was nothing to keep me in Northamptonshire.' He thought of Susan Cheever and smiled to himself. 'Well, on reflection, there was, but it was imperative that I got back here. That's why I rode so hard.' He patted his horse's flank. 'You deserve a rest, old friend.'

  'It's good to see you.'

  'Thank you, Mr Bale. And I'm pleased to see you again.' He indicated the man in the stocks. 'More pleased than this fellow was to see a constable, I know that.'

  'Leave him where he is, sir. Those stocks are his second home.'

  He collected a jeer from the prisoner then set off down the street. Leading his horse, Christopher walked beside him. He gave Jonathan a terse account of the funeral but included a reference to the two unheralded visitors.

  'Mr Lunn was there?' he said. 'I met him. He did not strike me as a caring soul.'

  'He was there to accompany Miss Hemmings,' explained Christopher. 'It would have been difficult for her to attend the funeral on her own. With a man beside her, she was almost invisible. Had she been there alone, people would have asked what her relationship had been with Gabriel Cheever.'

  'The answer would not have been fit to be heard on hallowed ground.'

  'Perhaps not, Mr Bale, but I admire the woman. She loved Gabriel once.'

  'From what I hear, that young man seems to have had many similar ladies.'

  'Yet he gave them all up to marry Lucy.'

  'It may have been the one sensible thing he ever did.'

  'Yet it may have cost him his life. Still,' said Christopher, 'tell me your news.'

  Jonathan shrugged. 'There's precious little of it, Mr Redmayne.'

  Christopher had been away for the best part of a week. During his absence Jonathan had been far from idle, but he had made scant progress. He had been pursuing lines of enquiry for which he did not feel best suited.

  'Some of your brother's friends look with disdain on constables,' he recalled. 'They have no respect for the law. Or maybe something about me irritates them. Mr Peter Wickens refused to speak to me, Mr Gilbert Sparkish was rude to my face and Sir Thomas Sheasby threatened to set the dogs on me. I had to speak sternly to him.'

  'It sounds to me as if all three of them deserved to have their ears boxed,' said Christopher. 'At what time of day did you seek them out?'

  'Late afternoon.'

  'That was your mistake, Mr Bale. Catch them after dinner and they'll have drunk too much to give anyone a civil answer. No matter,' he continued. 'I'm back to take over the examination of Henry's cronies. I'm on my way to visit one now but I wanted to talk to you first.'

  'Who are you going to see, Mr Redmayne?'

  'Sir Marcus Kemp.'

  'Is he the other gentleman who received a blackmail demand?'

  'He is. Apparently, that demand has been doubled.'

  'Why?'

  'Because he has been too tardy in paying it, Mr Bale. Before I came in search of you, I called on my brother. It seems that Henry had a visit from Sir Marcus earlier today. He brought something with him that had frightened the daylights out of him.'

  'A death threat?'

  'An extract from Gabriel Cheever's diary,' said Christopher. 'One that did not exactly show Sir Marcus in a flattering light. In the hands of his wife, it could become a dangerous weapon.'

  Jonathan was appalled. 'Sir Marcus is married?'

  'Several of Henry's friends are.'

  'Yet they still lead such shameful lives? What of their marriage vows?'

  'They keep them less well than you, Mr Bale.'

  'Such wickedness should not go unpunished.'

  'Oh, Sir Marcus Kemp has been punished' said Christopher wryly. 'According to Henry, his friend has been roasting in the fires of Hell. I hope there's something left of him by the time I get there.'

  Sir Marcus Kemp was in a quandary. He did not know whether to pay the money demanded from him or not. It would cost him a thousand guineas to prevent some highly damaging material about him from being published. Rich enough to afford such an amount, he did not, however, have unlimited wealth. If he had to pay indefinite blackmail demands, he would be driven to financial ruin. The alternative course of action was not appealing. He could defy the blackmailer and try to limit the damage by making a full confession to his wife about his indiscretions after a visit to the playhouse. The notion was immediately dismissed. There was no way that he could bring himself to tell a God-fearing woman who had borne him three children that two naked actresses had entertained Henry Redmayne and him in the most beguiling manner one evening, or that his supposed late nights with parliamentary colleagues were invariably spent in the arms of an expensive whore. The two worlds of Sir Marcus Kemp were set to collide. By keeping them apart, he could inhabit each with unrestrained pleasure. Once they met in opposition, a huge explosion would ensue.

  Lost in thought, he prowled around the room. A tap on the door startled him.

  'Yes?' he snarled.

  'You have a visitor, Sir Marcus,' said the servant from the hall.

  'Send him on his way. I refuse to see anyone.'

  'Mr Redmayne says that it's a matter of urgency.'

  'Redmayne?' said his master, unlocking the door. 'Why didn't you tell me that it was Henry who had called? He's the one man in London I will see.' He flung open the door to see Christopher standing before him. 'You are not Henry!' he protested.

  'There is a family likeness, Sir Marcus. Good day to you.'

  'What are you doing here?'

  'Representing my brother,' said Christopher. 'I may be able to help you with this unfortunate business in which you have become entangled.'

  'Keep your voice down, man!' said Kemp, pulling him into the room and closing the door before locking it again. 'What has Henry been telling you?'

  'Something of your problems.'

  'He swore to keep those secret.'

  'Not from me, Sir Marcus. I am on your side.'

  Before his host could object, Christopher explained how he had become involved in the murder investigation and how he had learned about the theft of Gabriel Cheever's diary. Sir Marcus listened with horrified curiosity. He had met Christopher before and been struck by how much he differed from his brother in appearance and inclinations. His visitor was far too wholesome for his taste. It was unnerving.

  'That is why Henry confided in me,'
said Christopher. 'So that I could have all the facts at my disposal. If I can find the killer, Sir Marcus, I can put a stop to these blackmail demands.'

  'I wish that somebody would.'

  'May I see the latest communication?'

  'No!' howled Kemp. 'I could not show you that, Mr Redmayne.

  I only let Henry peruse it because he, too, is mentioned in the piece.'

  'I believe that it is called A Knight at the Theatre.'

  'Its true title is The Death of Sir Marcus Kemp?

  'You exaggerate. Help me to catch the villain and your worries will disappear.'

  'How can I do that?'

  'By lending me this mischievous page from Gabriel's diary.'

  Kemp's face reddened in anger. 'Lending it to you?'

  'It is a piece of evidence, Sir Marcus.'

  'Yes, Mr Redmayne. Evidence of my folly, evidence of my personal proclivities.'

  'I know,' argued Christopher, 'but it's been printed according to Henry. That means the man who sent it engaged a printer. Give the page to me and I'll visit every printer in London until I find the one who accepted the commission.'

  'That's tantamount to publishing it far and wide!'

  'No, Sir Marcus. They will not need to read the contents. A glance will suffice to tell them if it is their handiwork. Once we know who paid to have it printed, we can arrest the villain and you can breathe freely once more.'

  'That document is not leaving this house.'

  'May I at least have a sight of it?'

  'Certainly not.'

  'But it's in your best interests.' Kemp turned away. Christopher went after him. 'I understand that it was accompanied by a letter. Could I please look at that, Sir Marcus? I merely wish to establish if it was written by the same hand that penned Henry's death threat. That will not compromise you, surely?'

  'I'll show you nothing.'

  'Then you must resign yourself to your fate.'

  'No,' said Kemp, swinging round to confront him. 'I'm going to buy my way out of this mess. If I had had the sense to do that at the start, I could have saved myself five hundred guineas. I'll pay up and have done with it.'

  'It will not get the blackmailer off your back.'