The Repentant Rake

by Edward Marston

  'Heavens!' he exclaimed. 'What happened, sir? You look half dead.'

  Henry Redmayne had his first complete night's sleep for over a week. It restored his spirits. Awaking refreshed, he felt much more ready to face the trials of the day ahead. He decided that his brother's advice was sound. Defiance was the watchword. He would not give in to the demands of a blackmailer. As soon as he thought of the repercussions, however, his resolve crumbled. Lord Ulvercombe would come after him. The letter to his wife had boiled over with passion. Henry regretted that he had ever sent it but the lady herself had asked for some sign of commitment. He had given it to her and reaped the reward the same night. In retrospect, it had all been a hideous error. Henry blamed her. If the letter had been so important to Lady Ulvercombe, why had she let it go astray? Her carelessness might land her quondam lover in a duel that he was bound to lose.

  Sitting up in bed, he bewailed his misfortunes, but he was not permitted to wallow in self-pity for long. There was thunderous knocking on the door before it burst open and Sir Marcus Kemp charged into the bedchamber with two servants plucking at his arms as they tried unsuccessfully to restrain him.

  'Whatever is going on?' demanded Henry.

  'Get these lackeys off me!' howled Kemp.

  'I'm sorry, Mr Redmayne,' said one of the men. 'He forced his way in.'

  'Why?' asked Henry.

  'Because I need to see you,' said Kemp.

  'Could you not at least wait until I had risen, Marcus?'

  'No, Henry. This will brook no delay.

  Henry saw the despair in his face. It was the expression of a spaniel that had just been run over by the wheels of one coach and sees another approaching. Snapping his fingers, Henry sent the servants on their way then reached for his wig. Even though he was still in his night attire, he wanted to have a shred of dignity. Kemp stamped across to the bed and glared down at him.

  'Did you know about this, Henry?' he asked.

  'About what?'

  'This brainless scheme of your brother's to catch the blackmailer.'

  'Well, no,' lied Henry. 'What is Christopher supposed to have done?'

  'He has ruined everything,' said Kemp, holding up a letter. 'Instead of simply handing over my thousand guineas, he and an accomplice set a trap and I am the one who has been caught in it.'

  'What do you mean, Sir Marcus?'

  'This letter came this morning. It's another demand for money.'

  'How much?'

  'A thousand guineas.'

  Henry whistled through his teeth. 'Another thousand!'

  'As a punishment, he says. Because I tried to deceive him, I have to pay the amount all over again and this time I have to hand it over in person. Damnation!' protested Kemp, flinging the letter on to the bed. 'I was not responsible for any deception. All that I wanted to do was to buy this rogue off.'

  'Christopher did warn you that there would be another demand.'

  'Only because of his folly.'

  'I disagree, Marcus.'

  'If he had obeyed the instructions, everything would have been fine.'

  'I doubt that.'

  'Take him a message from me!' Kemp ordered.

  Henry shrank back into the pillow. 'Could you stand further off and shout less?' he implored. 'All this commotion is giving me a headache.'

  'What do you think that letter gave me?'

  'Permit me to read it and I'll hazard a guess.'

  Henry picked the letter up and ran his eye over the contents. He soon blenched. The tone was harsh, the demand peremptory. What startled him was that his brother was mentioned by name. He ran a tongue over lips that had suddenly gone very dry.

  'You knew,' concluded Kemp, watching his reaction.

  'Not exactly, Marcus.'

  'You were party to this botched plot.'

  'That's not true.'

  'Why on earth did you inflict that brainless brother of yours on me?'

  'Yesterday, you told me what a sterling fellow he was.'

  'A sterling fool, more like. Did he really think that he could get away with it?'

  'Christopher was only trying to help you.'

  'Help me?' echoed Kemp. 'How does a second demand for money help me? I acted in good faith. It's the Redmayne family that is at fault here.'

  'Moderate your passion a little, Marcus.'

  'I'll moderate nothing.'

  'Then at least exclude me from your rage. I am quite innocent.'

  'Are you?' said Kemp sourly. 'Who was it who foisted his brother on to me in the first place? Who was it who broke a confidence and told that idiot sibling of his that I was a victim of blackmail?'

  'Christopher is no idiot.'

  'He betrayed my trust.'

  'My brother tried to catch the villain,' argued Henry. 'Had he done so, you would have got your thousand guineas and your peace of mind back. You should be grateful to Christopher for taking the initiative on your behalf.'

  Kemp grabbed the letter. 'This is the result of his initiative.'

  'Let me show it to him.'

  'No, Henry.'

  'He has a right to see it.'

  'Keep your brother away from me. All that I want from him is the money.'

  'What money?'

  'The thousand guineas, of course,' said Kemp, brandishing the letter. 'He got me into this mess so he must buy me out of it.'

  'Christopher does not have a thousand guineas.'

  'Then you can share the cost with him, Henry. I think that you are in this with your brother. He discussed his plan with you beforehand. Did you try to stop him? Did you have the sense to warn me? No!' he asserted. 'You are as guilty as he is. I want five hundred guineas from each of you by this afternoon.'

  Henry gurgled. 'Why not ask for five thousand?' he said with heavy sarcasm. 'You are just as likely to get it. This is preposterous, Marcus.' He hopped out of bed to confront his visitor. 'Christopher may have misled you slightly but it was only for your own good. Look at the tone of that letter,' he advised. 'We're dealing with a ruthless man here. Even if you had handed over the money yourself yesterday, I can promise you one thing. You would still have got another demand.'

  Kemp's ire slowly drained away and he flopped down on the edge of the bed. 'What am I to do Henry?'

  'Take heart, my friend. All is not yet lost.'

  'It is if I have to pay out a thousand guineas time and time again.'

  'Christopher did say that this would happen,' warned Henry.

  Kemp shook with rage. 'Who is the callous devil behind it all?'

  'Help us to find out, Marcus.'

  'How do I do that?'

  'Keep to your side of the bargain,' said Henry softly.

  'What bargain?' asked Kemp, looking at him.

  'The one you struck with my brother,' Henry reminded him. 'If, for whatever reason, you received another blackmail demand, you agreed to show Christopher all the correspondence you have received.'

  'I feel as if I want to stuff it down his throat!'

  'What would that achieve? Christopher is on our side.'

  'Is he?' wondered Kemp.

  'Yes,' said Henry reasonably. 'This is not his fight. He need never have got involved. He could have let the pair of us stew in our own juice. But did he? No, Christopher has done everything in his power to help. But for my brother,' he admitted sadly, 'I'd have been driven insane by this whole business.'

  Kemp's fury had burned itself out. Instead of hurling wild accusations, he was a crumpled figure with barely enough strength to sit upright. He widened his eyes.

  'I am done for, Henry,' he murmured. 'I might just as well be dead.'

  It was a paradox. In trying to find out more about her sister-in- law, Susan Cheever was instead learning a great deal about herself. She had liked Christopher Redmayne from the start but it had taken Lucy's gentle teasing to make her realise how deep her affection for him had become. Susan was faced with a dilemma. Wanting to see him again, she could not imagine how it could be arranged. Her sta
y in London was not indefinite. Once Lucy had recovered enough to make decisions about her future, Susan would have to return home. It would be possible for her to visit her sister for a while but Christopher would have no call to travel to Richmond so her chances of meeting him there were slim. To call on him unannounced would be improper yet she was sorely tempted to do that. She tried to manufacture an excuse. Everything depended on Lucy. If Susan could extract some valuable information from her sister-in-law, she would have a legitimate reason to visit Fetter Lane yet again and she was desperate to help in the search for her brother's killer. When breakfast was over, she began to probe.

  'How did you sleep, Lucy?' she asked solicitously.

  'Fitfully.'

  'You need proper rest.'

  'I have too much on my mind.'

  'Try to catch up on your sleep during the day.'

  'If only I could,' sighed Lucy. 'But I cannot sleep properly in that bed. I keep waking up in the hope that I will find Gabriel lying beside me.'

  Susan gave her a smile of sympathy. Lucy was pale and tense. She looked smaller and more defenceless than ever. The cumulative effect of her bereavement was telling on her more obviously. She had only eaten a frugal breakfast.

  'What will you do?' asked Susan gently. 'Are you going to stay on here alone?'

  'No,' said Lucy firmly. 'I could never do that. The house has too many bad memories for me now. It holds some wonderful memories as well, of course, and they have helped me through this dreadful time, but I could never go on living so close to the place where Gabriel was…' Her voice tailed off. 'You understand.'

  'Yes,' said Susan. 'Where will you go?'

  'I am not sure yet.'

  'Back to your mother?'

  'Probably. It's my duty to do that. Mother is failing badly and she needs me.'

  'Perhaps you need her as well,' suggested Susan. 'When we travelled back from Northampton, I had no idea that your mother lived near St Albans. It could not have been too far out of our way. I remembered how restless you were on the second day of our journey. You kept glancing through the window of the coach. Were you thinking about your mother?'

  'Yes,' admitted Lucy. 'I felt guilty that we were passing within a few miles of the house. Mother would have been delighted to see me but, in the circumstances, it was quite impossible.'

  'Why?'

  'She would have noticed my sadness and asked what caused it.'

  'Did she not notice your joy when you last visited her?'

  'She would have put that down to something else.'

  'What else?'

  Lucy shook her head. 'I need time, Susan. I am still dazed by it all. I need time to recover from this blow. I will not make any decisions until I can think properly again. When that happens, I expect I will return to St Albans.'

  'What will you tell your mother?'

  'That I have come back to nurse her.'

  'Will you tell her why?'

  'No.'

  'Surely, she deserves to know that you were married? You cannot keep it from her for ever. Until she learns the truth, she will not be able to help you.'

  'It is Mother who is in need of help.'

  'Is she not well enough to cope with the truth?'

  Lucy pursed her lips in thought. Her eyes shone with concentration. Susan felt that she was on the verge of learning something important but she waited in vain. At the very moment when Lucy was about to speak, the doorbell rang. The noise made her start. She was annoyed at the interruption; she felt robbed. It would not be easy to bring Lucy to that same point again. The maidservant answered the door and voices were heard in the hall. Susan paid no attention until Anna came into the room.

  'You have a visitor, Miss Cheever,' she said. 'His name is Mr Vout.'

  Susan was puzzled. 'Vout? I know nobody of that name.'

  'He said that he came from Mr Redmayne.'

  Susan was on her feet immediately, brushing past Anna to go into the hall. Hat in hand, an old man was waiting deferentially. Susan recognised him at once. She saw the look of concern on his face and became alarmed.

  'What is the matter, Jacob?'

  Jonathan Bale listened with a mixture of interest and dismay as Christopher Redmayne told him about the events of the previous night. Eager to hear every detail, the constable was upset to see his friend in such a state. The lacerations on Christopher's face were vivid and a bruise discoloured his cheekbone. Through the open neck of his shirt, the bandaging on his shoulder was visible. Christopher's knuckles bore testimony to the ferocity of the fight. One hand was bruised while the other had lost some skin from the backs of the fingers. Jonathan felt guilty that he had not been there to protect him.

  'Next time you go out at night, Mr Redmayne, I will come with you.'

  Christopher grinned. 'To a gaming house?'

  'If need be,' said Jonathan.

  'I'll not be caught off guard again, Mr Bale.'

  'No, sir. I will be watching your back.'

  'It was my own fault,' recalled Christopher. 'My mind was on something else. I should have realised that someone was following me. The irony is that I had just acted as Henry's bodyguard. I deliver him safely to his house in Bedford Street then I'm the one who is attacked.'

  'He obviously put up a fight.'

  'Yes,' said Christopher modestly, 'but, luckily, he came off far worse.'

  'He may try again.'

  'Not for some time, Mr Bale. I managed to stab his arm.'

  'It must have been the same man who killed Gabriel Cheever.'

  Christopher felt his neck. 'He used the same method, I know that. He was a strong fellow. I can see how he overpowered Gabriel.' He saw Jonathan's grim expression. 'Do not look so gloomy. I am not destined for the grave just yet.'

  'I hope not, Mr Redmayne. Thank you for sending for me.'

  'Jacob insisted on going for you.' He glanced around. 'By the way, where is he?'

  'He said that he had somewhere else to go.'

  'Where? Jacob should have come back with you. Those were his orders.'

  'He is probably on his way now.'

  'It's so unlike him to go missing.'

  'Forget your servant,' said Jonathan. 'Tell me about your visit to Mr Wickens.'

  'He was reluctant to show me his anonymous letter at first. It's understandable, I suppose. No man wants his vices to be put on display like that, though I suspect that Peter Wickens had less to hide than Sir Marcus Kemp. In any case,' said Christopher, 'we persuaded him eventually and he allowed me a glimpse of the letter.'

  'Was it written by the person who sent your brother's demand?'

  'Yes, Mr Bale. The hand was identical to that which penned the second letter to Henry. A different correspondent wrote the original demand. Someone with a bolder and more looping style.'

  'So we are looking for two people.'

  'Three, at least,' corrected Christopher. 'You forget my midnight companion. He did not strike me as the kind of man who dashes off a neat letter. His task is to carry out the threats, not to frame them in the first place.'

  'How long do you think he was following you?'

  'From the time we left that gaming house, probably. Henry and I were too busy talking to notice him and he could hardly make his move while we were together. No,' he said running a finger round his sore neck, 'my guess is that he lurked outside the house when we called on Peter Wickens. Then he shadowed us all the way back and waited until I was on my own.'

  'But why attack you, Mr Redmayne? Your brother received the death threat.'

  'I'm the one investigating the murder. Being ambushed like that was not the most pleasant experience,' said Christopher, 'but there is one compensation.'

  'You survived.'

  'That was an additional bonus. No, Mr Bale, we should take it as a sign that we are making good progress. They know that we are after them and sense that we are closing in. That's why I was attacked,' he concluded. 'They are afraid.'

  Before Jonathan could reply, he heard th
e front door opening and the sound of footsteps in the hall. Jacob had returned. Christopher was about to rebuke his servant when someone else came into the room ahead of him. Susan Cheever made no attempt to hide the affection beneath her anxiety. Hurrying across to his chair, she looked down at Christopher with consternation.

  'Jacob tells me that you were attacked, Mr Redmayne,' she said.

  Astonished to see her, all that Christopher could manage was a nod. He tried to catch Jacob's eye but the servant slipped off into the kitchen without looking at him. Susan was taking a rapid inventory of his face and neck. She winced when she saw his raw knuckles.

  'Are you badly hurt?'

  'No,' he said, relishing her proximity. 'I'll live to fight another day. But do sit down, Miss Cheever. You know Mr Bale, of course.'

  Susan gave the constable a nod of recognition. When she came into the room, Jonathan had risen to his feet. As she sat down, he resumed his seat. Susan had not come to see him. Her attention was fixed solely on Christopher.

  'What happened?' she said. 'Jacob would not give me any details.'

  'I do not remember very much,' replied Christopher. 'It was over in a flash.'

  'I do not believe you. Tell me the truth.'

  He blinked at her directness. 'There is not much to tell.'

  'Yes, there is,' she insisted. 'You did not get those injuries in the space of a few seconds. I think that you are trying to fob me off again, Mr Redmayne. Have you so soon forgotten your promise to tell me everything?'

  'Mr Bale has heard it all before. It would bore him.'

  'Not at all,' said Jonathan. 'I'd be glad to listen again, sir. Some small details may emerge that you forgot the first time. I am used to taking statements and I always make witnesses go over the story at least twice. There is usually something new that comes out and it is often crucial.'

  Christopher turned back to Susan. Worried and attentive, she was also determined to hear the full truth. He could not hold things back from her again. Making light of the courage he had shown, he gave her a lucid account of the attack and assured her that his injuries looked far worse than they really were. Susan was not reassured.

  'We are to blame for this,' she said guiltily. 'If you had not been trying to help my family, you would have been perfectly safe.'