The Repentant Rake Page 10

  Christopher was still sceptical about the suggested motive for the murder. Everything he had heard about Gabriel Cheever indicated a young man who would meet blackmail demands with contempt. What could possibly be disclosed that he would find at all embarrassing? The irony was that the only things he kept secret were his literary aspirations and they would hardly be a source of blackmail. Christopher decided to keep an open mind about the reasons that prompted someone to kill him. What had altered the situation slightly was the intelligence, confided by his brother on the previous day, that Sir Marcus Kemp was also a victim of attempted extortion, with one significant difference. In the latter case, no death threat had been received. Why had Henry Redmayne been singled out for additional pressure, if, indeed, that is what had happened? Christopher could not exclude the possibility that others might also have been the target for blackmail and, perhaps, for a secondary threat. One thing seemed incontrovertible. The man behind the letters was an insider. He was part of the social circle that embraced Henry Redmayne, Sir Marcus Kemp and Gabriel Cheever. It was not a world in which Jonathan Bale would be able to operate with any ease. Christopher knew that he would have to take much of the investigative burden on himself.

  Following the Thames south as it snaked through the verdant acres of Surrey, he travelled without incident and kept up a steady pace. There was an incidental bonus. His journey took him past Richmond Palace and he paused to enjoy the architectural refinements of a building that dated, for the most part, back to the reign of the first Tudor monarch. Though he had seen it several times before, he feasted his gaze on its sheer splendour. Particular interest was reserved for Trumpeters' House. It was situated off the Green behind Old Palace Yard and Christopher admired its elegant lines for a long while, knowing that he would never be able to design a royal residence but wishing that he might one day be able to put his name to a house as fine as the one before him. The vain thought was soon dismissed. Chiding himself for being deflected from his purpose, he swung his horse round and kicked it into a canter.

  Serle Court was little more than a mile away. Set on a rise in rolling countryside, it was an imposing sight from a distance. Closer inspection revealed its shortcomings. Its turrets looked faintly ridiculous, its battlements ugly and the tiled areas of roof at war with the larger expanse of thatch. Its scale was its chief recommendation. Christopher wished that he could strip away the fortifications to let the manor house stand on its own merits again. Everything else about the estate was impressive. The grounds of the house were well kept, the landscape offered pleasing prospects on all sides and the fountain in the forecourt was a positive delight. What gave him a sudden thrill of recognition was the sight of the coach that was being taken round to the stable yard. Christopher was certain that he had seen it once before in Northamptonshire.

  Dismounting from his horse, he handed the reins to an ostler who came running towards him, then presented himself at the front door. He was invited in and asked to wait in the hall. News of his arrival provoked an immediate response. Sir Julius came strutting out to offer him a gruff welcome and to demand what he was doing there.

  'I was hoping that you might be here, Sir Julius,' explained Christopher.

  'Yes,' said the other, 'but not to discuss business, man. That is best done at your own house in London. This is a family visit. I resent any intrusion.'

  'It was forced upon me, I fear.'

  'Oh?'

  'I have sad tidings to impart.'

  The old man started. 'Are you trying to wriggle out of our contract?'

  'No, Sir Julius,' said Christopher. 'This has nothing to do with your new house. It's a personal matter.' There was a long pause. 'It concerns a member of your family.'

  'What on earth are you talking about?'

  'Your son, Gabriel.'

  Sir Julius turned puce. He was on the point of issuing a stinging rejoinder when he was interrupted by a voice behind him. Susan Cheever was standing in the doorway of the parlour, composed yet apprehensive.

  'Good day to you, Mr Redmayne!' she said politely.

  'And to you, Miss Cheever,' he returned.

  'Did I hear you mention my brother?'

  'Yes, you did.'

  'I'll not hear a word about him,' warned Sir Julius angrily. 'If you bring a message from him, Mr Redmayne, you are wasting your breath.'

  'What is going on?' said Brilliana, sweeping into the hall past her sister. 'Why is Father shouting like that?' She glared at Christopher. 'Who might you be, sir?'

  'My architect,' snapped Sir Julius. 'At least, he was,' he added with a warning glance. 'Whatever blandishments you have brought, you may take them away at once. And you may tell the person who sent you that I never wish to see him again.'

  Lancelot Serle now joined the group in the hall, standing beside his wife with his usual expression of bafflement. Sir Julius was exuding hostility. Brilliana had turned to ice. Susan was clutching her hands together. Christopher was left with no alternative to blurting out his news.

  'Your son is dead Sir Julius.'

  The effect on his hearers varied. Sir Julius turned away in disgust, Brilliana stared accusingly at the visitor, Serle dithered helplessly and Susan was so shocked that she had to support herself on the door frame. Wanting to rush across to her, Christopher had to restrain himself and wait for the opportunity to deliver an even more crushing blow. It was Brilliana who first found a voice.

  'I can hardly say that I am surprised' she said without sympathy.

  'Brilliana!' cried her sister.

  'Those who follow such a despicable life must suffer its consequences.'

  Susan was trembling. 'That's a horrible thing to say.'

  'It has a degree of truth in it,' ventured Serle, eager to support his wife.

  'I would dispute that, sir,' said Christopher defensively. 'Gabriel Cheever did not die in the way that is implied. He was murdered in cold blood.'

  The announcement set off another series of reactions. Sir Julius turned back with incredulity on his face, Serle began to gibber wildly and his wife had the grace to look saddened by the news. Christopher was not interested in them. His attention was fixed on Susan Cheever, who took a few uncertain steps towards him then collapsed in a dead faint. He ran across to kneel beside her, slipping a hand under her head. The emergency seemed to bring out the best in the other members of the family. Sir Julius suggested that she be carried into the parlour, Serle helped Christopher to lift the limp body and Brilliana summoned a servant and gave crisp orders. By the time she began to recover, Susan was lying on a couch while her sister held a cup of brandy to her lips. Christopher had been relegated to a position at the rear of the group clustered around her but it was his eyes she sought. Aided by her father, she sat up and waved the brandy away.

  'I do not want that,' she said.

  'Let me send for a doctor,' said Brilliana.

  'There's no need.'

  'I am sorry that I gave you such a shock, Miss Cheever,' said Christopher.

  'It was not your fault, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Would you rather I withdrew?'

  'That might be a sensible notion,' decided Brilliana.

  'No,' said Susan, raising a hand. 'I am recovered now. Do not leave us, Mr Redmayne. I want to hear what happened.'

  'And I wish to know how you came by this gruesome intelligence,' said Sir Julius, clearly shaken.

  Lancelot Serle made his first useful contribution by inviting them all to take a seat. Christopher found himself in a chair at the centre of the room. He looked around the expectant faces. Susan was tearful, Brilliana watchful and her husband solemn. Sir Julius was trying to appear detached but his eyes betrayed him. Christopher was tactful. Eliminating the most distressing details and making no reference to his brother's predicament, he explained how Gabriel Cheever's body had been found and why he had been drawn into the investigation. After admitting that no suspects had yet been arrested, he made an attempt to end on a positive note.

  'I
n a sense, it was a blessing that the constable turned to me for help.'

  'Blessing?' echoed Sir Julius in a hollow voice.

  'Had the body not been identified' Christopher argued, 'it would have been buried in an unmarked grave with nobody to mourn over it. That would have been very sad.'

  'Where is it being held?'

  'At the city morgue, Sir Julius. Awaiting the decision of the family.'

  That decision, he saw, would not be easy to make. Sir Julius was caught up in a welter of emotions, Brilliana was wrestling with her own feelings and her husband was awaiting her cue so that he could agree with her. Only Susan Cheever knew what she wanted and she feared that her wishes might be overruled.

  Christopher rose to his feet. 'I'll trespass no longer on your grief,' he said. 'All that I can do is offer you my profound condolences. If there is anything further that I may do - anything at all - please do not hesitate to call on me.'

  'Thank you, Mr Redmayne,' whispered Susan.

  'Yes, thank you,' said Sir Julius awkwardly. 'I am sorry to give you so uncivil a welcome. It was good of you to ride all this way with such dreadful tidings. I do appreciate that. Needless to say, this may alter my plans somewhat.'

  'Of course, Sir Julius,' said Christopher. 'Our business can wait. Do excuse me.'

  He gave a farewell nod and headed for the door. Serle followed him into the hall to add his personal thanks and to wave him off. Christopher departed reluctantly. He wanted to offer some consolation to Susan Cheever but that was impossible while she was surrounded by the others. All that he could do was slip quietly away. When the front door was closed behind him, he looked up at the house and regretted that he had brought such unhappiness to it. He walked slowly to the stables to find his horse, and was about to mount up when a figure suddenly appeared in front of him. Susan Cheever was breathless from her dash to find him.

  'Thank goodness I caught you!' she said between gasps.

  'Get your breath back before you speak further,' he advised. 'I cannot tell you how grieved I am to be the bearer of such tragic news, but I felt that you should hear it as soon as was conceivably possible.'

  'That was very considerate of you, Mr Redmayne.'

  'I wish that you could have been spared the shock.'

  Susan took a moment to regain her composure then gave a little smile. 'You deserve my thanks,' she said.

  'For what?'

  'Omitting something from your account of Gabriel's death.'

  'I thought it a kindness to do so.'

  'I'm not talking about details that might have upset us, Mr Redmayne. You were discreet in another way. I'm grateful to you.'

  'It's not for me to pry into your family affairs.'

  'You knew,' she said quietly, 'yet you did not expose me.'

  'All I know is that you loved your brother as a sister should, Miss Cheever.'

  Susan heaved a sigh. 'Father would disagree.'

  'Sir Julius may one day come to admit that he did have a son.'

  'Gabriel's name will always fester in his memory.'

  'And in that of your sister, I fancy,' he observed sadly.

  'Brilliana and Gabriel were never close,' recalled Susan. 'When he left home, she spurned him as readily as Father. I could never do that.'

  'So I've learned.' Alarm came into her eyes. 'Have no fear,' he soothed. 'I'll not betray you, Miss Cheever. I applaud your courage. You've done what any true sister would have done.'

  Susan looked at him with mingled doubt and affection. She searched his face to see if she could trust him. Christopher was calm beneath her scrutiny. Even at such a difficult time, it was a joy to be close to her again. When she made up her mind, Susan checked to see that nobody could overhear them then stepped closer to him.

  'There's something I must tell you, Mr Redmayne,' she began. 'Something which has to be kept from the rest of the family.'

  'With good reason, I suspect.'

  'It may help with your enquiries.'

  'Anything that does that is welcome, Miss Cheever.'

  She lowered her head. 'Though it will mean more pain and distress.'

  'For whom?'

  'Someone I have never even met.'

  'You are being very mysterious.'

  'How much have you found out about Gabriel?' she asked, looking up.

  'Precious little,' he confessed. 'I know that he spent most of his time in the gaming houses and enjoyed an astonishing run of luck at cards. But I also know that he was no mere pleasure-seeker. Your brother had serious literary ambitions.'

  'He did. Writing was his first love.'

  'I am told that he had exceptional talent.'

  'What else were you told?' she wondered. 'Do you know where he lived?'

  'No, Miss Cheever. That has been a stumbling block to us. We have no address for him. He lodged in Covent Garden at one time but disappeared from there without warning some months ago. None of his friends had any idea where to find him.'

  'I did, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Was he still in London?'

  'Oh, yes. Gabriel had no urge to leave.'

  'Where did he go to ground?'

  'At a house in Knightrider Street. I can furnish you with the number. But there is something you must know before I do so.'

  'Indeed?'

  'Gabriel was not living alone,' she said quietly. 'He was enjoying true happiness for the first time in his life. I dare say that you can guess why.'

  Christopher was taken aback. 'He was married?'

  'Her name is Lucy. Be gentle with her when you break the news.'

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Jonathan Bale had a laborious day. He worked excessively hard but had little to show for his efforts. As well as attending to the routine duties of a constable, he interviewed two more people whose names appeared on Henry Redmayne's list, spoke at length to the coroner about the murder investigation, scoured Paul's Wharf afresh for any clues that might lead to the identification of a suspect and kept his eyes peeled, wherever he went, for any stones resembling those taken from the dead man's coat. He also joined his colleague in the tedious process of visiting every house in Knightrider Street. By mid-afternoon, they had almost completed the task. Tom Warburton was more morose than ever.

  'Waste of time,' he decided.

  'Only one more house to go.'

  'I know the people who live there, Jonathan.'

  'Do they have a lodger?'

  'No.'

  'We might as well try while we are here.'

  'Why bother?'

  'Leave it to me,' said Jonathan.

  He knocked on the door and a hulking man in a leather apron soon appeared. Jonathan recognised him as the assistant to a blacksmith in Great Carter Lane. The man was surly and resentful. With five children, a wife and a mother-in-law in the house, he pointed out, a man had no room for a lodger. Nor did he know of a young man called Gabriel Cheever. He went back into the house and closed the door firmly in their faces. Jonathan was left to face his gloomy colleague.

  'I told you so,' grunted Warburton.

  'It was worth a try.'

  'Mr Cheever is not here.'

  'He may have moved in recently, Tom.'

  'Where? We knocked on every door.'

  Jonathan looked down the length of the street and gave a resigned nod. It had been a forlorn exercise. All that they had to go on was a possible sighting of Gabriel Cheever in Knightrider Street by a man who was not entirely certain of what he saw. Even if the fleeting glimpse had been of Cheever, there was no proof that he resided in the area. He might have simply been visiting the ward. The constables were tired. Even the normally ebullient Sam was jaded. It was time to seek refreshment. Jonathan decided to take one last look at Paul's Wharf before going home, but Warburton had other chores to deal with and went off in the opposite direction. Glad to see his master moving with more purpose, the dog scampered after him with something of its old enthusiasm.

  When he reached the wharf, Jonathan
went to the place beside the warehouse where the body had been found. He kept thinking about the stones caught up in the man's coat. If they had not come from the immediate vicinity, where had they been picked up? He had seen nothing like them on his rounds and he could hardly search every street, lane and alley in London to find a match. Jonathan was irritated at his own lack of progress. Had it not been for his wife's suggestion he would never have thought of calling on Christopher Redmayne, yet the architect's help had been crucial. But for that, the case would have remained insoluble. Cheever's murder had been used as a warning. Given his stern moral code, Jonathan had scant sympathy for the plight of Henry Redmayne, though he wanted the man responsible for the blackmail to be caught and convicted. What pleased him was that he and Christopher were engaged in solving crimes that were linked in some way. It meant that they could team up once more and pool their resources. It also meant that he could renew a friendship that was unlikely but curiously satisfying. He would never have believed that he could like a man of such Cavalier associations. Unlike his brother, Christopher did not patronise the constable. He appreciated Jonathan's virtues and treated him as an equal.