The Repentant Rake

The Repentant Rake Page 20

by Edward Marston

  'Why should I be distressed by it?'

  'The details are rather sordid.'

  'Nevertheless, I will hear it,' she said. 'Do not think to spare me.'

  Christopher took a deep breath. 'If you insist.'

  He gave her a clear and comprehensive account of events from the very start, hiding nothing from her and describing in detail the failure of his plan to catch the blackmailer in Covent Garden. Susan Cheever listened to it all without a tremor. The name that caught her attention was that of a woman.

  'Miss Celia Hemmings?'

  'Yes,' he said. 'Did Gabriel ever mention her in his letters?'

  'No, Mr Redmayne.'

  'He obviously made a deep impression on her. She was at the funeral.'

  'Was she?' asked Susan with mingled surprise and disapproval.

  'She left discreetly soon afterwards.'

  'I'm glad to hear it.'

  'Do not be too harsh on her. She was a good friend to Gabriel.'

  'That may be so, Mr Redmayne, but she had no place at a family funeral. Think what pain it would have caused Lucy if she had known of the woman's presence and of her relationship to Gabriel. It was wrong of Miss Hemmings to come.' Susan cocked her head slightly and stared at him. 'Are you ashamed of your brother?'

  'Ashamed? No, Miss Cheever.'

  'Why not?'

  'With all his faults, I love Henry.'

  'I loved Gabriel - with all his faults.'

  'It's not a fair comparison.'

  'Why not?'

  'Your brother repented,' he argued. 'He turned his back on his days as a rake and tried to lead an honest, sober, blameless life as a married man. That takes courage. Henry's case is very different,' he conceded. 'In spite of all that has happened, he has no thought of repentance and he would no more contemplate marriage than emigration to some uninhabited wilderness in America.'

  'Gabriel and your brother were still two of a kind.'

  'Up to a point.'

  'And so are we, Mr Redmayne.'

  'We?'

  'Yes,' she said resignedly. 'Each of us found ourselves with wayward brothers. There's no escaping that fact. Neither of them would aspire to canonisation.'

  Christopher laughed. 'Henry would feel insulted if it were offered to him.'

  'Our brothers drew us into this.'

  'Granted.'

  'But for them, we would not be sitting here now. In view of that, it is surprising that you chose not to confide in me.'

  'Nothing will be hidden from you in future, I swear it.'

  'I'll keep you to that,' she warned. 'Gabriel Cheever and Henry Redmayne are both weak men who went astray. We supported them. That gives us a real bond.'

  Christopher felt the full strength of that bond and gave a quiet smile.

  Sir Marcus Kemp was in his element. Having paid the blackmail demand, he felt that his life could begin again in earnest. He repaired to his favourite gaming house that evening and had a run of good fortune at the card table. He decided that it was an omen. His troubles were completely over. Henry Redmayne watched him from a distance, envying the confidence that his friend exuded and wishing that he had the same air of freedom. Gone was the hunted expression and the feverish manner. Kemp was determined to make up for lost time. Arthur Lunn was also happy. Henry had played a few games of ombre but he had still not mastered the intricacies of the new fad and lost each time. Lunn, by contrast, was slowly amassing a sizeable amount of money from his opponents at the table. Henry wondered if he would be able to drag his friend away.

  When Kemp's luck finally changed, he had the sense to quit the game. Seeing Henry in the far corner, he strode across to him with a benign smile on his face.

  'Welcome back, Henry!' he said expansively

  'I might say the same to-,you, Marcus.'

  'All's well that ends well!'

  'Unfortunately, it has not ended in my case.'

  'Then do as I did,' urged Kemp. 'Grit your teeth and pay up. You'll not regret it. Yes,' he added genially, 'and employ that brother of yours to hand the money over. What he is like as an architect I do not know, but Christopher is a sterling fellow.'

  'It's a quality that runs in the family.'

  'He pulled me out of the pit of despair, Henry.'

  'I wish that he could do the same for me.'

  'Did your brother not tell you how he delivered the money to Covent Garden?'

  'Yes, Marcus,' said Henry. 'When he left you this afternoon, Christopher called on me in Bedford Street but he was not as sanguine as you are about the future. He feels that the extortion is not yet over.'

  'It is in my case.'

  'That's little comfort to me - or to Peter Wickens.'

  'Wickens? How does he come into this?'

  'He received a blackmail demand this very day.'

  'Never!'

  'I saw it with my own eyes, Marcus. Penned by the same hand that wrote one of my letters and both of yours. Peter was utterly desolate,' he said. 'All of his indiscretions were neatly listed. The threat of publication all but deranged him.'

  'How much was the demand?'

  'Five hundred guineas.'

  'Advise him to pay at once or it will be doubled.' He looked around. 'I'll tell him myself. Is Wickens here this evening?'

  'No, Marcus. He is skulking at home just as we did.'

  'I've no need to do that any more.'

  Henry writhed in discomfort. 'Do not rub salt into my wounds.'

  'Be not so full of apprehension,' urged the other. 'Bow to the inevitable and pay for your pleasures. Your suffering will then cease. If you need to borrow the money, I'll gladly offer you a loan. Ah!' he said as a figure approached them. 'Chance contrives better than we ourselves. Here is the very man you will need as your intermediary.'

  Henry was astonished to see his brother there. Christopher was not interested in trying his luck at the card table and he had resisted all his brother's efforts to lure him to various brothels. Henry sensed that Christopher must have a particular reason for venturing into the gaming house. As soon as the social niceties were over, he wanted to know what it was.

  'What brings you here, Christopher?'

  'I was looking for you, Henry.'

  'He knew where to find you,' remarked Kemp with a chuckle. 'Find a card game and you will soon find Henry Redmayne. Excuse me,' he said about to move off.

  'Before you go, Sir Marcus,' said Christopher, blocking his path, 'I wanted to remind you of the bargain we struck.'

  'That's null and void.'

  'Not if you receive another blackmail demand.'

  'But I will not. I'm in the clear.'

  'Wait a while before you celebrate,' advised Christopher. 'All I ask is that you do not destroy the letters or the printed extract. I may need to look at them.'

  'Only if I am harried again and that will not happen.'

  'Promise me that you will not burn the evidence.'

  'I'll do what I please with it, Mr Redmayne,' said Kemp airily.

  He went off to speak to some other friends. Henry looked after him.

  'Sir Marcus assumes that the problem has been solved,' he commented.

  'That's a foolish assumption.' Christopher glanced around. 'Is there somewhere we can talk in private, Henry? I need a word with you.'

  Henry nodded and led him to an empty table. Drinks were served, and Henry lit a pipe. Christopher sat back to avoid the smoke, consoling himself with the fact that his brother was unusually sober. At that time on a normal evening, Henry would be incapable of articulate conversation.

  'I'm glad that you came, Christopher,' he said. 'I have news.'

  'Of what?'

  'Another demand.'

  'You've had a third letter?' asked Christopher.

  'No. Another victim has been singled out.'

  'Who is it?'

  'Peter Wickens.'

  Henry told him about the unexpected visit from Wickens and described the calligraphy and the wording of the letter. Christopher wa
s relieved to hear that his brother had urged his friend not to pay the demand.

  'I knew that there would be more victims,' he said.

  'He has dozens to choose from,' Henry remarked. 'Peter Wickens has had his wilder moments but there are plenty whose antics are far more outrageous than his. Will they be targets as well, do you think?'

  'Most probably. If they appear in Gabriel Cheever's diary.'

  'Who will be next?'

  'Nobody - if we find the blackmailer.'

  'How do we do that?' asked Henry gloomily.

  'We are closer than you imagine,' said Christopher earnestly. 'I still believe that he is one of your own circle. He may even be here this evening. That is what brought me here tonight, Henry. I wish to speak to Arthur Lunn.'

  'Arthur? You surely do not suspect him?'

  'Everyone must be considered.'

  'But he's a good friend to me and Sir Marcus.'

  'Let me probe the strength of that friendship,' suggested Christopher. 'When time serves, invite him over and leave us to talk alone. Do not tell him why I am here. There is no point in putting him on the defensive at the start.'

  Henry shook his head. 'Arthur Lunn? No, I'll not accept it.'

  It was a long wait. Lunn was enjoying himself too much to be drawn away from the table. When he eventually did rise from his seat, Henry moved in swiftly to guide him across to Christopher. Lunn raised a cynical eyebrow.

  'This is hardly your world, Mr Redmayne,' he observed drily. 'Have you come to gape in disgust at us hardened libertines?'

  'No, Mr Lunn. I merely craved a word with you.'

  'Speak up, then.'

  'Gabriel Cheever once lodged with you, I gather.'

  'All the world knows that.'

  'Had he started to write at that time?'

  'Why, yes,' said Lunn, adjusting his periwig. 'He scribbled away whenever he could. I thought that he was writing letters to his sister but he had literary ambitions.'

  'Did he show you any of his work?'

  'Bless you, no! Why should he?'

  'You were close friends.'

  'We drank, played cards and whored together, perhaps.'

  'There was more to it than that, Mr Lunn. He lived under your roof.'

  'Only until he made enough money to afford lodgings of his own.' Lunn gave a sudden chortle. 'As it happens, most of that money came from me at the card table. Even when he moved out, I was still helping to pay for his accommodation.'

  'Did you resent that?' asked Christopher.

  'A little, perhaps.'

  'Was there anything else you resented about Gabriel?'

  'Of course not,' replied the other. 'Why should there be?'

  'He did vanish without trace,' Christopher reminded him.

  Lunn was rueful. 'That's true. And I admit I was a trifle irritated by that.'

  'I suggest that it was rather more than irritation, Mr Lunn.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'It must have been galling to be abandoned like that,' said Christopher.

  'I was not abandoned!' retorted Lunn.

  'Then why did Gabriel give no warning of his departure?'

  'Who knows?'

  'You must have felt badly let down.'

  'That's my business,' snapped Lunn, temper starting to show.

  'Why did you go to the funeral?' prodded Christopher.

  'Celia Hemmings told you that. I was there to act as her escort.'

  'I think you may have had a more personal reason, Mr Lunn.'

  Lunn flared up. 'It was not for the pleasure of meeting you, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Was it remorse that took you to Northamptonshire?' said Christopher. 'Or were you simply there to gloat over the dead body of a friend who deserted you?'

  'I was gloating over nobody.'

  'Are you pretending that you actually cared for Gabriel?'

  'What is it to you?'

  'I am curious, Mr Lunn. As you so rightly pointed out,' he said, waving a hand to include the whole room, 'this is not my world. But it is yours. A man who likes pleasure as much as you do would need a very strong motive to brave the highways of England for two whole days in order to spend a mere half an hour at a funeral.'

  'Why are you pestering me like this?' demanded Lunn.

  Christopher was calm. 'I am putting some simple questions to you, that is all.'

  'Do not expect any answers from me, sir.'

  'Why not? Do you have something to hide?'

  'No,' snarled Lunn, jumping to his feet. 'Now leave me be.'

  'If you tell me one last thing.'

  'I'm rapidly losing my patience with you, Mr Redmayne.'

  Christopher stood up. 'How much of Gabriel Cheever's diary did you read?'

  Arthur Lunn turned purple and started to bluster. Mastering the urge to lash out at Christopher, he instead turned on his heel and stalked away. Henry sidled over to his brother with a look of alarm on his face.

  'You upset him,' he said.

  'I know, Henry. That was the intention.'

  Lucy Cheever sat motionless in the chair. Her eyes were open but she was quite unaware of the fact that her sister-in-law sat directly opposite her. Susan waited patiently. It was not the first time that Lucy had been in the grip of her memories. A smile occasionally brushed her lips but sadness prevailed. When she finally shook herself awake, she was overcome with guilt at ignoring her guest.

  'I am so sorry,' she said, reaching out to touch Susan. 'Do forgive me.'

  'There is nothing to forgive.'

  'I was daydreaming.'

  'It's too late for daydreams, Lucy,' said Susan. 'Night is starting to fall.'

  'Heavens! Have I been that long? You should have given me a nudge.'

  'Why? You were exactly where you wanted to be.'

  'I invited you here so that we could get to know each other better,' said Lucy apologetically. 'And all I do is forget all about you.'

  'You need some time alone with your memories.'

  'I had that while you went to visit Mr Redmayne.' Interest brought a proper smile to her face. 'Was he pleased to see you, Susan?'

  'Very pleased.'

  'I thought he would be.'

  'Mr Bale is the person to thank. He took me all the way.'

  'And who brought you back?'

  'Mr Redmayne himself. He insisted that I sit on his horse while he led it along.'

  'I told you that he was a gentleman.'

  'Every inch,' agreed Susan.

  'What did you want to ask him?'

  'Oh, there were a number of things, Lucy.'

  'Did you find out if he knew a Henry Redmayne?'

  'It's his brother, it seems. He leads a somewhat dissolute life, which is how he got into Gabriel's diary. Christopher and Henry Redmayne may be related,' she said, 'but they are different in every way. Like me and Brilliana.'

  'Nobody would take you for sisters.'

  'There are times when Brilliana denies the connection.'

  Lucy gave a little laugh. 'I'm glad I did not invite her to stay.'

  'She would have made quite an impact on this house, believe me.'

  'Brilliana likes to be in charge.'

  'Yes, Lucy. Given that urge, I believe that she married the right man.'

  'And what about you?'

  'Me?'

  'When will you find the right man?'

  'Oh,' said Susan, tossing her head. 'I doubt if I shall ever marry. Father has pushed many suitors in my direction but none of them has been remotely appealing.'

  'Perhaps you should look further afield.'

  'Young ladies are not supposed to look, Lucy. We take what is offered.'

  'Or remain single.'

  'Quite,' replied Susan. 'It is an attractive option in many ways.' She sat back and regarded Lucy with curiosity. 'You still have not told me how you met Gabriel. All that you would say was that it was a chance encounter.'

  'It was, Susan. In a churchyard.'

  'A churchyard? Why there?'

>   Lucy became nostalgic. 'I happened to be taking a short cut through it when I saw this handsome young man bending down in front of one of the gravestones. At first, I thought he was paying respects to a family member, then I realised what he was doing.'

  'And what was that?'

  'Copying the inscription,' said Lucy. 'Reading the words that had been carved into the stone. I was so surprised that I stopped to watch him. We began to talk. Gabriel was searching for interesting epitaphs,' she went on, the memory bringing some light into her eyes. 'That was his first commission as a poet, you see. To write epitaphs.' She gave another little laugh. 'Imagine that, Susan. You know the kind of wicked life he was leading yet they paid him to write epitaphs. Gabriel told me that he had not been near a church for months until he got the commission. We talked for ages.'

  'What happened?'

  'I made sure that I took that short cut whenever I could.' Tears threatened and she bit her lip. 'I met him in one churchyard and bade him farewell in another.' Susan moved over to put an arm round her. 'He always wanted to write his own epitaph, you know.'

  'In a sense, he did,' said Susan. 'With that diary of his.'

  Lucy turned to her. 'Do they know who killed him, Susan?'

  'No, but they are getting closer to him all the time.'

  'What did Mr Redmayne say?'

  'That he is making steady progress. However,' Susan continued, 'he is still collecting evidence. What he really needs to know is where Gabriel was likely to have been on the night he was killed. Do you have any idea, Lucy?'

  'He should have been here.'

  'He was somewhere else. Mr Redmayne is certain of it. Where was it?' Lucy shook her head. 'You must do all you can to help. Where did Gabriel go?'

  'How would I know?' said Lucy, breaking away to get up. 'He might have gone out for a walk. He worked all day but he was not chained to the house.'

  'If you do remember-'

  'How can I?'

  'If you do,' repeated Susan, 'please tell Mr Redmayne. It could be important.'

  Lucy gazed ahead of her. 'Nothing is important any more,' she murmured. 'Not since Gabriel died.' She seemed on the point of drifting off again but she checked herself and turned to Susan. 'What will happen if this case is solved?'

 

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