The Repentant Rake Read online

  It was Susan who made any introductions unnecessary. Flinging her arms round Lucy, she kissed her on both cheeks then stepped back to look at her through her tears.

  'Hello, Lucy,' she said. 'Father and I are so pleased to meet you.'

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  The funeral of Gabriel Cheever was held at the parish church of St Andrew in the county of Northamptonshire. Built on the summit of a hill, the church acted as a beacon of hope and inspiration to the surrounding villages from which it drew its congregation. Christopher Redmayne took note of its architectural features, admiring the work of the stonemasons who had constructed the church over two centuries earlier and marvelling at the way they had overcome the problems of erecting the massive conical spire that pointed towards heaven with such reassuring certainty. Though its exterior was bathed in sunshine, the inside of the church was cold and cheerless. It seemed too large for the two dozen people who shuffled into their seats. Sir Julius Cheever wanted the funeral to be a quiet affair and only the closest family friends even knew that it was taking place. The deceased was no prodigal son being welcomed home by a delighted father. He was a murder victim who had left home after violent arguments. His funeral was also a service of reconciliation.

  Like everyone else, Christopher was dressed appropriately in mourning clothes, helping to create a swathe of black across the front of the nave. He sat at the rear of the little congregation, wanting to be present but anxious to keep in the background an observer as much as a mourner. Seated in the front row were the members of the Cheever family and he ran his eye along their heads. Sir Julius was flanked by his two daughters. Brilliana Serle was weeping copiously as if trying to atone for the hostility she had shown towards her brother. Her husband tried to console her but she was too determined to draw attention to herself to succumb to his soothing touch. Susan Cheever bore herself with more dignity, subordinating her own grief to that of the diminutive figure who sat beside her. Christopher was moved to see that Lucy Cheever had been given pride of place alongside the others, her head bowed in prayer, her hand clutching that of her younger sister-in-law. It was ironic that she had to wait until her husband had been killed before she could be accepted by his family. No members of her own family were there. Two rows back, Anna, her loyal maidservant, was on hand to lend support to her mistress in the event of any collapse.

  A minute before the service began, two latecomers slipped into the church. Hearing the latch being lifted and the heavy oak door opened, Christopher looked over his shoulder to see a man and a woman making their way slowly down the nave before sitting in a pew a few rows behind the main party. Both were dressed in black and kept their heads down, but Christopher thought that there was something familiar about the woman. When she glanced across the aisle at him, he caught a glimpse of the white face beneath the elaborate black hat and recognised Celia Hemmings. He was touched that she had made such a long journey in order to pay her last respects to her former lover but relieved that she sat apart from the family and close friends as if acknowledging her position with regard to Gabriel Cheever. Christopher wondered who her companion might be but he had no time to speculate because the funeral service began.

  The vicar was a white-haired old man who had ministered to his flock for over thirty years and knew the Cheever family well. He conducted the service with practised solemnity. Having baptised Gabriel and prepared him for confirmation, he was able to talk with authority and affection about the dead man, sounding positive notes in the prevailing sadness and omitting any mention of his departure to London and its tragic consequences. Brilliana contributed some loud sobbing at various points in the sermon and Susan Cheever was also tearful but Lucy showed remarkable restraint, memorising every word said about her husband as if learning entirely new facts about him. In saying farewell to the man she had married, she was somehow discovering him.

  The burial itself took place in the crypt, a dank, chill chamber lit by a number of shivering candle flames. The last remains of Gabriel Cheever were laid to rest in a family vault that already contained the bones of his mother and his grandparents. Sir Julius was visibly shaken and Brilliana wept more dramatically than ever until her husband, to his credit, put an arm round her to bury her face in his bosom and stifle the noise. Christopher watched Susan Cheever and mused on a paradox. The one member of the family who had not rejected Gabriel was not allowed to mourn his loss properly because she was too busy offering solace to her father and sister-in-law. Indeed, when Lucy's control finally snapped, it was Susan who caught her before she could fall to the stone-flagged floor. Anna moved in swiftly to help her mistress up the stone steps and out of the crypt. Christopher lent a steadying hand. The full force of her loss had finally hit Lucy Cheever and she was inconsolable. They lowered her gently down in a pew so that she could bury her face in her hands. Amid the sobbing, Christopher could hear prayers being said in Latin. The maidservant took charge. When he saw that he was no longer needed, Christopher drifted away.

  After such a long time in the shadowed interior of the church, it was a shock to step out into bright sunlight. The fine weather seemed faintly inappropriate for a funeral but Christopher was grateful to be out in the fresh air again. As other members of the congregation filed out, he took the opportunity to intercept Celia Hemmings and her companion, realising, now that he could see the man clearly, that he knew him. It was Arthur Lunn, one of his brother's friends, so renowned for his ostentation that he was virtually unrecognisable in mourning apparel. Celia was tearful und Lunn subdued. They exchanged muted greetings with Christopher.

  'It was very good of you to come,' he said.

  'I would not have missed it,' murmured Celia.

  'How did you know when the funeral would be held?'

  'We made enquiries of the coroner,' explained Lunn, 'so we knew when the body was being brought back to Northamptonshire. In fact, we got here ahead of it.'

  Christopher nodded. 'The journey took three days. A coffin has to be transported at a respectful pace. But how did you guess where to come?'

  'I knew where Gabriel lived' said Celia quietly. 'Once we found his home, we came here to the church. Word had already been sent on ahead to the vicar so he was able to give us details of the funeral.'

  'We might ask what you are doing here, young sir?' said Lunn.

  'I'm a friend of the family,' said Christopher. 'I'm designing a house in London for Sir Julius, though that project has had to be set aside for a while.' He saw his client, weighed down with sorrow, coming out of the church porch. 'It may be some time before Sir Julius is ready to take an interest in it again.'

  Lunn stepped in closer. 'Is the rumour true?' he asked.

  'What rumour?'

  'We heard a whisper that Gabriel was married.'

  'His widow is here today.'

  'Was she the young lady you helped out of the crypt?' said Celia.

  'Yes,' replied Christopher. 'This has been a dreadful ordeal for her.'

  'I can imagine.'

  'It was something of an ordeal for me,' said Lunn with a sly grin. 'I found it difficult to keep my face straight throughout that peculiar sermon. Did you hear the way the vicar described Gabriel? He made him sound like a minor saint.' He gave a chuckle. 'That's not the Gabriel Cheever that I remember. Nor you, I'll warrant, Celia.'

  'Those days are long gone, Arthur,' she said reprovingly

  'But old memories must have been stirred.'

  'All that I feel is sadness that he's gone and deep sympathy for his family.'

  'Well, yes,' blustered Lunn, 'I feel the same. That goes without saying. But I'll not deny that I had some merry times with Gabriel - and with your brother Henry for that matter,' he added, turning to Christopher. 'Henry and I spent many a night at the card table with Gabriel Cheever.' He chuckled again. 'Much to our cost!'

  'Such thoughts have no place at a funeral,' said Celia with soft reproach. 'Keep them to yourself, Arthur.'

  He gave a
bow of mock humility. 'I stand rebuked.'

  'Besides, I think it's time for us to steal quietly away.'

  'Must you?' said Christopher, eager to talk further with them.

  'Yes, Mr Redmayne. You have a place here. We do not.'

  'We do,' insisted Lunn. 'We were Gabriel's best friends.'

  'But not the kind of whom Sir Julius would entirely approve, Arthur. For his sake - and for the sake of Gabriel's widow - we ought to leave now.'

  'Why, Celia?'

  'Before there is any embarrassment.'

  'Nobody can embarrass me,' said Lunn, eyes popping even further out of their sockets. 'I've consorted with His Majesty. Do you think I'll be discomfited by these country cousins with their rural simplicity?'

  Christopher was annoyed. 'That's a gross insult to the Cheever family!' he said sharply. 'Miss Hemmings shows the tact and discretion that you so signally lack, Mr Lunn. It is you who might embarrass the family, sir. You belong to a part of Gabriel's life that his family would rather forget.'

  'Well, I'll not forget it and neither will your brother Henry.'

  'Forgive him, Mr Redmayne,' said Celia. 'Arthur is speaking out of turn.'

  'I'm entitled to my opinion,' asserted Lunn.

  'I only brought him with me to ensure my safety.'

  'How disappointing!' he said with a leer.

  She pulled her companion away. 'It was a big mistake,' she admitted.

  Christopher watched them make their way along the path that wound between the gravestones. Celia Hemmings improved on acquaintance but Arthur Lunn did not. While he had been impressed by the gracious way in which she had conducted herself, Christopher had been irritated by Lunn's remarks and stung by the reminder that Henry Redmayne spent most of his time in the company of such men. If his brother had been more careful in his choice of friends, he reflected, he would not be in such dire straits now. Theirs was a world that had neither charm nor appeal for Christopher, especially now that Gabriel Cheever was such a blatant victim of it.

  'Good day, Mr Redmayne,' said a voice at his elbow.

  He turned to see Susan beside him. 'Miss Cheever,' he said.

  'Thank you for coming.'

  'It was the least I could do.'

  'And thank you for helping Lucy when you did. I could support her no longer.'

  'She did well to hold up as long as she did, Miss Cheever. Where is she now?'

  'The vicar is with her.'

  'Do you know what her plans are?'

  'Father has invited her to stay with us until she's recovered enough to travel.'

  'That's very kind of Sir Julius.'

  'It will give us a chance to get to know her better,' she said with a pale smile. 'There is so much to catch up on. But you are also welcome to stay with us, Mr Redmayne. It will give us an opportunity to repay your hospitality in London. Father asked me to pass on the invitation.'

  'I appreciate his kindness but I must get back to London.'

  'Oh,' she said with evident disappointment.

  'Much as I hate to leave,' he explained reluctance showing in his eyes, 'there is important work that calls me back. Now that your brother has been laid to rest, we must renew our efforts to find his killer.'

  She reached out to grasp his arm. 'Do you have hopes on that score?'

  'Strong hopes, Miss Cheever.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes, but do not worry about that,' he advised. 'Your place is here, mourning with the rest of the family and getting acquainted with your sister-in-law.'

  'I know,' she said releasing his arm.

  'Please thank Sir Julius for his invitation and explain why I'm unable to accept it.'

  'Father will understand.'

  'I'm more concerned that you do, Miss Cheever.'

  The affection in his voice drew another half-smile from her. Both wanted to speak further but they were at the mercy of their circumstances. It was neither the time nor place for conversation. Christopher felt guilty about the pleasure he was deriving from their brief encounter. It seemed wrong. Susan, too, was patently uneasy. Giving her a polite bow of farewell, Christopher took a final look at the bereaved family then made his way out of the churchyard.

  When he came into the room, Sir Marcus Kemp looked even more like a giant spaniel whose paws had been inconsiderately trodden upon. Without being invited, he dropped on to the chair opposite Henry Redmayne and rolled his eyes in despair.

  'I can take no more of it, Henry,' he said dolefully.

  'Then we are two of a kind.'

  'I think not. My plight is far worse than yours.'

  'I doubt that, Marcus.'

  'You are single,' his visitor reminded him, 'whereas I am married.'

  'Yes,' conceded Henry, 'but you have not received a death threat.'

  'Oh, yes, I have!'

  'Another letter?'

  'The ultimate threat - publication!'

  He handed his friend the piece of paper that was flapping in his hand. Henry read it with mounting alarm. A Knight at the Theatre was beautifully printed in bold type. Sir Marcus Kemp was identified by name and a description so cruelly accurate that it provoked a wild grin from Henry. That grin disappeared instantly when he saw his own name linked with that of an actress at the King's House. Sir Marcus was pilloried unmercifully but Henry was not spared.

  'This is disgusting!' he said with righteous indignation.

  'Yet horribly true, Henry.'

  'That's beside the point. Private pleasure should be sacrosanct.'

  'So I thought.'

  'In any case, I did not relieve myself into the coal bucket. It was a china vase.'

  'We are both being pissed upon here.'

  Henry read the account again and shuddered. He thrust the page back at Kemp. The two of them were in the dining room of Henry's house. Work that should have been done at the Navy Office was spread out on the table but he had made only sporadic attempts to address himself to it. Fear kept him immured in his home. Sir Marcus Kemp had just intensified that fear.

  'Is this the only page that came?' he asked.

  'It is more than enough,' cried Kemp. 'It's my death threat, Henry. If that account is ever published it will spell the death of my marriage, my reputation, my place in society and everything that I hold most dear. My whole inheritance is at risk. Dear God!' he exclaimed. 'What will my children think of their father?'

  'They will know him for what he is, Marcus.'

  'That's no consolation, you rogue. I came for sympathy, not scorn.'

  'Your case is not as desperate as you imagine,' said Henry enviously. 'What will your wife learn that she has not already guessed? You spend so little time with her that she must know you have been out carousing with friends.'

  'With friends, perhaps, but not with female company. My wife is easily duped. Whenever I got back late,' he explained, 'I told her that I was talking politics with colleagues from Parliament. The dear lady believed me. Until now.' He looked down at the printed page. 'But how convincing will that excuse be when she reads this?'

  'The most gullible wife would not be deceived.'

  'Then you understand my predicament.'

  'I share it, Marcus. I, too, am mentioned in that account. Not that publication would have any power to hurt me,' he said, waving a hand. 'I shall be dead by then.'

  'Dead?'

  'Cut down by the same hand that murdered Gabriel Cheever.'

  'Not if you pay up, Henry,' said Kemp, reaching a decision. 'That's what I intend to do. Hand over a thousand guineas.'

  'But the demand was for five hundred.'

  'A second letter came with A Knight at the Theatre. The price has doubled.'

  'That's iniquitous!'

  'It will be worth every penny if it stops this ruinous material being printed.'

  'Supposing it does not?'

  'It must, surely?'

  'Where is your guarantee?'

  'I have a gentleman's agreement.'

  'You can only have that with a ge
ntleman, Marcus, and we are dealing with a callous murderer here. My brother Christopher has warned me against paying anything. If we give in to blackmail once,' stressed Henry, 'we'll be trapped. The villain will go on squeezing money out of us until he has bled the pair of us dry.'

  'Will he?'

  'You would do the same in his position.'

  'I'd never be in the same position,' retorted Kemp, hurt at the suggestion. 'Damn it, man, I've seen you and all my other friends in the most compromising situations but I'd never dream of exploiting that knowledge for gain. It's against all decorum.'

  'We are not dealing with decorum here,' said Henry grimly.

  'I know that.' He snatched up the paper. 'How on earth did he catch wind of all this?' he said in dismay 'Was he hiding beneath the bed?'

  'No, Marcus.'

  'Up the chimney, then? It would be less painful, if it were not so hideously well written. Look at it, Henry,' he said, tossing it back on the table. 'We'll be the laughing stock of London if this is ever sold. The villain who penned this knows how to wound with words.'

  'Yet that was not his intention.'

  'It must have been.'

  'No, Marcus,' said Henry. 'My brother explained it to me. A

  Knight at the Theatre was written for private consumption, not with any thought to publication. It is an extract from a diary kept by Gabriel Cheever.'

  'The devil it is!' shrieked the other.

  'It appears that he kept a careful record of all his nights of revelry. Someone killed him to get their hands on his diary. I can see why now.'

  Kemp blanched. 'You mean, there is more?'

  'Far more, I suspect, and even more damaging than,4 Knight at the Theatre.'

  'Then I might as well run myself through with my sword,' confessed Sir Marcus, putting both hands to his head. 'Gabriel witnessed everything. He was with us at the theatre when we invited those impudent ladies to dance naked for us in private. He watched those wonderful breasts bobbing magically in the candlelight. He saw me fling off my own clothes and sat there while you and Amy Dyson ran to the bed and-'