The Frost Fair Read online

  'Left to you,' teased his wife, 'there'd be no frost fair.'

  "That's not true, Sarah.'

  'You hate to see too much merriment.'

  'Not if it's kept within the bounds of decency,' he said. 'We are entitled to get some enjoyment out of this terrible frost. What I hate to see are the thieves, rogues, liars, gamblers, charlatans, drunkards and lewd women that a fair will always attract.'

  "That's no reason to shun such an event as this,' argued Christopher.

  'Nor have we done so, Mr Redmayne. I was only too ready to call on my skills as a carpenter to make some skates for my sons.'

  'Yes,' said his wife proudly. 'Jonathan has kept all the tools he used during his days as a shipwright and he can still use them like a master.'

  'I wanted Oliver and Richard to have their fun while they could. This weather will not last and they may never see such a frost fair again.'

  'I'll certainly not forget this one,' said Susan.

  'Nor shall 1,' added Christopher with an affectionate glance at her.

  'I'm sorry that Father could not be persuaded to join us on the river.'

  'How is Sir Julius?' asked Jonathan.

  'Fretful.'

  'Because of the weather?'

  'It has made the roads impassable,' said Susan, 'and that irritates him. We can neither return home to Northamptonshire nor even visit my sister and her husband in Richmond. Snow and frost have kept us in London, though I make no complaint. I'm the happiest of prisoners. I could spend every afternoon here on the ice.'

  Christopher grinned. 'We'll have to get Jonathan to make you a pair of skates.'

  'Shame on you, Mr Redmayne!' scolded Sarah playfully. 'It's a pastime for small boys, not for refined young ladies.'

  'And yet,' confessed Susan, 'I do envy your sons.'

  They all turned to watch the progress of the two skaters. Oliver and Richard Bale had now moved much further away to find a patch of ice they could have entirely to themselves. They were engaged in a race that could only have one conclusion. Though they set off together, Oliver was too preoccupied with staying on his feet to move at any speed. Richard was soon several yards in front of him. Putting more effort into his skating, he lengthened each stride and pulled right away. The younger boy was thrilled. Accustomed to being in Oliver's shadow, he had finally found something he could do better than his brother. It bred a fatal arrogance. When he was thirty yards clear of Oliver, and still skating with verve, he could not resist looking over his shoulder and emitting a mocking laugh. Richard soon discovered that he still had much to learn. Losing his balance, he fell forward and skidded crazily over the ice on his chest. He let out such a cry of horror that both Jonathan and Christopher hurried off simultaneously to his aid.

  'Dear God!' exclaimed Sarah. 'The poor lad must have broken something.'

  'I hope not,' said Susan.

  And the two women walked swiftly in the direction of the fallen boy.

  Jonathan was also afraid that an arm or a leg had been fractured in the accident and he cursed himself for letting the boys get too far away from him. As they ran past Oliver, he was still having difficulties staying upright. Richard, meanwhile, was backing away on all fours from the spot where he had finished up. Christopher and Jonathan soon realized why. When his father grabbed him, the boy was gibbering with fear and pointing in front of him. A jagged line, first sign of a thaw, was etched in the ice but that was not what had frightened the boy. Through the crack, the two men could see the hazy outline of a body Two large, dark, sightless eyes stared up at them out of a deathly white face.

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  When he alighted from his coach, Sir Julius Cheever used a stick to support himself. A thaw had set in but the streets were still treacherous. On the journey from his house in Westminster, the coach had slid from side to side and the horses had occasionally lost their footing. Sir Julius was a big, strapping man of sixty with the physique of a farmer dressed incongruously in the apparel of a gentleman. If he slipped and fell, his weight would tell against him. The walking stick was therefore a sensible accessory. It was also useful for rapping hard on the door of the house in Fetter Lane that he was visiting. His imperious summons was soon answered. The servant who opened the door gave him a deferential smile of recognition.

  'Good morning, Sir Julius,' he said.

  'Is your master in?'

  'Mr Redmayne is working in the parlour.'

  "Then don't keep me shivering out here, man,' said Sir Julius, using the end of the stick to move the servant aside. 'Let me in.'

  'Yes, Sir Julius.'

  Opening the door to its full extent, Jacob Vout, the old servant who was butler, cook, chambermaid, ostler and everything else in the household, stepped back to admit the visitor. He did not need to announce the man's arrival. The booming voice of Sir Julius Cheever had already brought Christopher Redmayne out of his parlour. Pleased to see his former client, the architect was disappointed that he had not brought his daughter with him. After an exchange of greetings, he conducted Sir Julius into the room where the drawing on which he had been working all morning was spread out on the table. His visitor gave it a cursory glance before choosing the most comfortable chair into which to lower his bulk. He held his hat in his lap.

  'You are designing a new house, I see.'

  'Yes, Sir Julius. I have a commission from Lady Whitcombe.'

  'Whitcombe? That name sounds familiar.'

  'She is the widow of the late Sir Peregrine Whitcombe,' explained Christopher. 'In his time, he was a distinguished Member of Parliament.'

  Sir Julius was scornful. 'There's no such thing as a distinguished Member of Parliament. They are all such dolts, rogues or charlatans that I can scarce forbear knocking their heads together. Whitcombe, eh?' he went on, scratching a bulbous nose. 'I remember the fellow now. A damnable Cavalier. He fought at Naseby and at Worcester, as did I. On both occasions, I thank God, we gave his army a bloody nose. I'm sorry to hear that you are working for the family of such a despicable creature.'

  'The war is long over,' said Christopher tactfully.

  'Not to me. It continues in other ways.'

  Christopher did not argue with him. Sir Julius was an unrepentant Roundhead who still talked of Cromwell with affection. Knighted by the Lord Protector, he ignored the taunts that came from those whose honours had been bestowed by royal patronage and who therefore felt them to be superior. In addition to the battles he had mentioned, he had also fought at Bristol, Preston and Dunbar, liberally donating his blood to the soil in all three places. Sir Julius carried the scars of battle with pride. In his own mind, he was still a colonel in a victorious army.

  'May I offer you some refreshment?' asked Christopher.

  'No, no. This is only a brief visit.'

  'At least, remove your coat.'

  'There is no point,' said Sir Julius. 'The first thing that I must do, Mr Redmayne, is to thank you. Susan has told me what transpired at the frost fair. In keeping her away from the horror that you uncovered, you acted like a true gentleman.'

  "There was no need for her to view such a hideous sight.'

  'Susan has always been far too curious.'

  'Yes,' said Christopher with a fond smile. 'Your daughter was determined to see the body for herself. I had some difficulty persuading her that it would be unwise for her to do so. Most young women would be too squeamish even to make the request. That was not the case with her.'

  'She has a headstrong streak, I fear,' said her father, 'though I cannot imagine from whom she got it. Her mother was a docile woman and I am known for my gift of restraint.' He gave a chuckle. 'Except on a battlefield, that is.'

  Christopher had never met anyone less restrained than Sir Julius but he made no comment. As he looked into the face of his visitor with its surging brow, its rubicund cheeks, its wild eyes and its square chin, he could see that Susan's beauty had certainly not come from her father. His features were arresting but hardly
prepossessing. What she had inherited from him was an iron determination and a sense of independence.

  'My real concern was for Richard,' he said. 'Jonathan Bale's younger son. He actually chanced upon the body. It will give him nightmares for a long time to come.'

  'Mr Bale is a good man. He fought with us at Worcester.'

  "That will not advantage his son.'

  'It will,' insisted Sir Julius. "The boy has his father's blood in his veins. He'll be able to look on death without turning a hair.'

  'The poor lad was crying like a baby. It was a dreadful shock for him.'

  'He'll soon get over it.'

  'I beg leave to doubt that.'

  'Be that as it may,' said the other irritably. 'I did not come here to talk about a small boy who stumbled upon a corpse. I simply wanted to thank you for the way you behaved towards Susan and to acquaint you with the fact that, as soon as the roads are passable, I will be quitting London.'

  Christopher was upset. 'For how long, Sir Julius?'

  'Until the King sees fit to recall Parliament.'

  'But that may be months away.'

  'I do have an estate in Northamptonshire to run.'

  'Naturally,' said Christopher, trying to conceal his fear that he and Susan might be parted for a considerable time. 'But I hope that you'll not neglect the many friends you have here in the capital.'

  'I entered Parliament to clean up this city, not to sink into its corruption myself.'

  'Do not judge the whole of London society by its more wayward members.'

  'Prejudice has not made me that blind, sir.'

  'I trust that you'll be able to dine here before you depart,' said Christopher, anxious to arrange at least one more meeting with Susan. 'It may be a week or so before the ice has completely thawed.'

  Sir Julius rose to his feet. 'It's a tempting invitation,' he said, 'but I'll have no time to take advantage of it. There's too much work to do before I leave. I've letters to write, reports to deliver and committee meetings to attend. Because I consider you one of the few decent men in this cesspool of a city, I felt that I owed you the courtesy of telling in person about my decision.'

  'I appreciate that, Sir Julius.'

  'One day, perhaps, we can lure you back to Northamptonshire.'

  'This commission will keep me in London for the time being.' said Christopher, indicating his drawing, 'but the situation may ease in the springtime. I'd be happy to come then.'

  'Our door is always open to you.'

  'I'm flattered.'

  'A word of advice, Mr Redmayne,' said Sir Julius, tossing a disapproving glance at the table. 'Reject this approach from Lady Whitcombe. You are far too talented an architect to be short of work. Choose clients whom you can respect, not those who bear the names of confounded Royalists.'

  'I make no distinctions.'

  'You should, man.'

  'I disagree.'

  'What scoundrel introduced you to this particular lady?'

  'You did, Sir Julius.'

  'Me?' protested the other. 'But I've never even met the woman.'

  'It makes no difference,' said Christopher, amused at his reaction. 'Indirectly, you were responsible for my coming to Lady Whitcombe's attention. When she was driven through Westminster, she was so impressed with the town house I built for you that she demanded the name of the architect. I was promptly engaged to design something similar, though on a larger scale, for her.'

  'Do you mean that she's copying my house?' demanded Sir Julius. 'I'll not allow it, do you hear? Is the lady incapable of having ideas of her own?'

  Christopher smiled ruefully. 'Far from it. Lady Whitcombe invents new refinements every time we meet. Her house will be no slavish copy of yours. The façade has a superficial resemblance to your own,' he continued, looking down at the drawing, 'but there are features that set the two properties far apart. Between the two interiors, there will be little comparison.'

  'I still feel that you should refuse her tainted money.'

  'Architects do not make moral judgements about their clients.' "They ought to.'

  'Then our commissions would be few and far between.'

  'But you'd have the reward of a clear conscience.'

  'My creditors prefer to be paid in coin.'

  'I took you for a man of principle.'

  'Then you were right to do so, Sir Julius,' said Christopher. 'Nobody adheres so closely to the principles of architecture as I do. The first principle is that an architect must have food, drink and a roof over his head in order to pursue his profession. I'm grateful to anyone who makes that possible.'

  'So be it,' said the visitor, putting his hat on. 'I'll waste no more breath on you.'

  'I wish you a safe journey.'

  'And I wish you a better class of client.'

  Turning on his heel, Sir Julius made his way to the front door. Christopher did not want them to part on such a sour note. When his guest tried to open the door, he put a restraining hand on it.

  'How shall I know when you leave London?' he asked.

  Sir Julius snorted. 'The city will sink back into a morass of depravity.'

  'I'd like to be there to see you off, Sir Julius.'

  'There's no need for that.'

  'I could wish you both God-speed.'

  'I abhor the sight of well-wishers,' said Sir Julius, opening the door, 'however well-meaning they may be. Besides, I'll simply go when the moment is right. There'll be no time to advertise my departure.'

  'I see.'

  'Good day to you, sir.'

  'Thank you again for taking the trouble to call.'

  'I had to,' said Sir Julius, walking to his coach. He paused at the door held open by his coachman. 'Dear me!' he added with a wry grin. 'I all but forgot the main reason that brought me here. While I will be shaking the dust of London from my feet, Susan will not. She's decided to stay with her sister at Richmond.'

  Christopher's spirits were lifted. 'This is excellent news!'

  'I thought it might be.'

  'I'm doubly grateful that you came, Sir Julius.'

  'Then repay me in the best possible way,' said the old man with a twinkle in his eye. 'While I'm away, look after Susan for me. It will bring me some comfort to know that she has such a reliable friend in London. Do I ask too much of you?'

  'Not at all. No request could be more welcome.'

  'Then let me burden you with a second one.'

  'As many as you wish, Sir Julius.'

  'Since that body was discovered in the ice, Susan has taken a personal interest in the crime. I'd like that interest to be firmly discouraged. It's not right for a young lady to concern herself with such things.'

  'I understand.'

  'Has the body been identified yet?'

  'Not to my knowledge.'

  'When it is,' said the other, 'confide no details in my daughter. Susan is showing an unhealthy curiosity in the whole business. I trust that I can depend on you to keep her ignorant of any developments.'

  'I'll do my best, Sir Julius,' Christopher promised.

  But he doubted if he would be able to keep his promise. But he doubted if he would be able to keep his promise.

  Jonathan Bale got back from his patrol that evening to find that his children were already in bed. Sarah was in the kitchen, preparing a meal for her husband. Like all the other properties in Baynard's Castle Ward, their little house in Addle Hill had been burned to the ground in the Great Fire but it was among the first to be rebuilt. Grateful to have their home back again, they treated it with exaggerated care, keeping it spotlessly clean and making sure that their sons showed it due respect. Every night, they prayed that their house would never again be destroyed by flames.

  Jonathan went into the kitchen and gave his wife a token kiss on the cheek.

  'Are the boys asleep?' he asked.

  'No,' she replied. "They are waiting for you to read to them.'

  'I'll go up in a moment. How is Richard?'

  'He's still very u
pset. I spent most of the afternoon cuddling him.'

  'Poor lad! He was all but frightened out of his skin.'

  'I know,' she said, putting the food on the table for him. 'Richard has hardly slept a wink since. Thank heaven that Oliver did not have to see that gruesome sight!' 'I made sure of that, Sarah.'

  'If only you'd been able to keep everyone away.'

  'Yes,' he sighed, 'but that was impossible. As soon as word spread, the ghouls came in their hundreds to peer at the corpse as if it was part of the frost fair laid on for their pleasure. In truth, it made me ashamed of my fellow men.'

  'There were a few women in that crowd as well.'

  'They were among the worst offenders.'

  'So I saw.' She folded her arms. 'Did you call on the coroner today?'

  'I spent an hour with him this afternoon.'

  'Does he know how the body got into the water?'

  'Not by accident,' said Jonathan sadly. 'That much is certain. There were stab wounds in the man's back, it seems. He was dead before he was thrown into the Thames. What the killer did not anticipate was that the river would freeze over. The ice preserved the body in a better state than might have been the case. Most corpses that are hauled out of the water are bloated beyond all recognition.'

  Sarah gave an involuntary shiver. 'So this man was murdered?'

  'I fear so.'

  'Do they have any idea who he might be?'

  'Yes,' he said. 'The coroner has no doubt on that score. The man had been reported missing and, even in their sorry condition, his brother was able to identify the remains. My ears pricked up when I heard that the murder victim had lived in this ward.'

  'Who was the man?'

  'His name was Jeronimo Maldini.'

  'An Italian?'

  'Yes, Sarah. A fencing master by profession and one with a fine reputation, I gather. In short, a man who was well able to defend himself. It would have taken a cunning swordsman to get the better of him.'

  'Is that what happened?'

  'Who knows?' said Jonathan. 'I mean to look closely into the matter.'

  'Why?'

  'Because I feel involved. It was my son who first saw the body.'