The Repentant Rake Read online

  'That's immaterial,' said Christopher. 'The point is that we now know who killed your son and where the crime occurred. All that is left to establish is motive.'

  'How will you do that?'

  'By gathering evidence.'

  'Let me help you.'

  'No, Sir Julius. This is work for Mr Bale and me.'

  'Three men are better than two.'

  'Not in this case. We know what to look for and where to find it.'

  Sir Julius was hurt. 'Am I to be excluded altogether from the hunt?'

  'Yes, Father,' said Susan. 'I told you not to impede Mr Redmayne.'

  'That's not what he's doing, Miss Cheever,' said Christopher. 'I have great sympathy with your father and I'm grateful for his offer of assistance. But it is not what we need at this point. We have to move stealthily.'

  'Is there no role at all for me?' asked Sir Julius.

  'Wait until we get back, Sir Julius. Here or at the King's Head.'

  'The King's Head it will be,' said the other disconsolately. 'I've no wish to intrude here any longer. Where will you go, Mr Redmayne?'

  'I have to see someone in Bedford Street.'

  'Another of your anonymous informants?' said Sir Julius sceptically.

  'Oh, no. This gentleman is far from anonymous. I wonder if you would excuse us if I ask for a moment alone with your daughter, Sir Julius?' asked Christopher, moving to the door. 'I will not keep her a minute.'

  Susan did not wait for her father's permission. She followed Christopher into the hall and closed the door behind them. They spoke in whispers.

  'You had a reply?' he said.

  'Yes, Mr Redmayne,' she said, handing over the letter that she pulled from her sleeve. 'It arrived just before Father did.'

  'What does she say?'

  'Miss Hemmings declines my invitation.'

  Christopher looked at the distinctive handwriting and felt a surge of triumph. 'It is just as well,' he said. 'For she will be quite unable to meet you now.'

  Unaware of developments elsewhere, Henry Redmayne was still suffering the torments of the damned. He writhed in unremitting pain. A blackmail demand had been issued and a death threat made. All that he needed to compound his misery was an unexpected visit from his censorious father. If the Dean of Gloucester were to arrive on the heels of Lord Ulvercombe, he thought, he would at least be on hand to identify his son's dead body. He rebuked himself yet again for his folly in writing so passionately to his mistress. It had earned him a night of ecstasy but the memory of that was of little practical use to him; indeed, he now looked back on it with dread. Lady Ulvercombe had been a spirited lover but an indiscreet one. At least, he consoled himself, he would never have to see her again.

  The sound of the doorbell made him jump from his chair in the dining room. When his brother was shown in, he clasped him like a drowning man about to go under the water for the last time.

  'Praise God!' he exclaimed with unaccustomed sincerity. 'You're back.'

  'And I bring glad tidings, Henry,' said Christopher.

  'You found my letter?'

  'No, but I've brought one that may turn out to be far more important. The crisis is past,' he announced. 'You can breathe freely again.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'The killer has been arrested. He's languishing in a prison cell. In addition to that, we've stopped any further extracts from the diary being printed.'

  Henry was not reassured. 'How does that help me?'

  'The death threat has vanished.'

  'Not if my billet-doux finds its way to Lord Ulvercombe.'

  'I doubt if that will happen, Henry,' said his brother. 'The man who has it will be too busy trying to make his escape when he learns that his accomplice is behind bars.'

  'And who is this man?'

  'We are still not quite certain,' admitted Christopher.

  'Then why come rushing in here to announce a false dawn?'

  'Are you not pleased that we have captured a vicious killer?'

  'Of course,' said Henry petulantly. 'The only thing that would make me more pleased would be to hear that Lady Ulvercombe was locked up in the same cell with him. I hear no relief in what you tell me. Whoever has that letter holds the whiphand over me.'

  'Not for much longer.'

  'You do not even know who he is.'

  'I'm fairly certain who his accomplice is. Arrest her and we will get to him.'

  'Her?' said Henry. 'A woman is involved?'

  'That calligraphy was too neat for a man's hand,' explained Christopher. 'When I sniffed the letter sent to Peter Wickens, I caught a faint whiff of perfume.' He clicked his fingers. 'Where are the blackmail demands sent to you, Henry?'

  'Why?' '

  'I need the second one now.'

  'I carry both of them with me,' said Henry, rummaging in his pocket. 'As a penance.' He found the letters and handed them over. 'Take them.'

  Christopher found the second of the two demands and set it on the table, placing the letter to Susan Cheever beside it. There was no possibility of error. The same hand had written both letters. Over his shoulder, Henry noticed a signature.

  'Celia Hemmings!'

  'She got hold of your billet-doux.'

  'How?'

  'By accident, probably,' said Christopher. 'Do you remember putting Lady Ulvercombe in touch with her regarding a chambermaid?'

  'Vaguely.'

  'The girl had worked for Miss Hemmings and her first loyalty was to her. My guess is that she stumbled upon your letter, sensed its potential and gave it to her former mistress. That's putting the kindest construction on it,' he conceded. 'It's just as likely that Miss Hemmings instructed her to look for compromising material. She is clearly well versed in the art of blackmail.'

  'I'll throttle her!' yelled Henry.

  'You'll do nothing of the kind.'

  'Celia Hemmings is a witch!'

  'She's a very cunning woman,' said Christopher with a hint of admiration. 'She took me in completely at first. But you can stay here, Henry. Having finally unmasked her, I insist on being the one to confront Miss Hemmings. Jonathan Bale can have the pleasure of making the actual arrest.'

  'I want to be there, Christopher!'

  'No.'

  'I need to repossess that letter before anyone else sees it.'

  'I'll take care of all your correspondence,' said Christopher, putting all three letters into his pocket. 'Besides, Miss Hemmings may not have Lady Ulvercombe's letter. It may well be kept by her accomplice. I suggest that you stay here and toast your release. Send for the best wine in your cellar, Henry.'

  'I drank it all during my ordeal.'

  'Then send out for more. You can afford it now that you will not have to pay five hundred guineas. Enjoy your freedom.'

  'What I want to enjoy is the sight of Celia Hemmings being apprehended.'

  'Leave that to Mr Bale and me.'

  'Why do you need him? Take me instead.'

  'He's earned the right, Henry, He's also made a new friend in Sir Julius Cheever.'

  'A friend?'

  'Yes,' said Christopher, 'they both fought with Cromwell at Worcester. Jonathan Bale has been sharing memories of the battle with him.'

  'I hope they remembered that the wrong side won,' said Henry sourly. 'Warn your bellicose constable not to compare memories of that undeserved victory with Arthur Lunn or he may stir up a nest of hornets.'

  'Why?'

  'Arthur was captured at the battle and imprisoned in Worcester Cathedral. He's still very bitter about it. So is Peter Wickens, I seem to recall. He lost his only brother in that battle. Mr Bale had better not boast about his military record to them.'

  'Mr Bale boasts about nothing.'

  'You'll not show my letter to him,' said Henry with sudden panic.

  'No, Henry. He would blush to read it.'

  'Let me come with you to make sure.'

  'Stay here and celebrate. This is a wonderful moment for you.'

  'It is at that,' s
aid his brother as the implications began to sink in. 'I feel that I have been reborn. All that I need is to have Celia Hemmings roasting on a spit and my joy would be complete.' He gave a cackle. 'I have just had a wicked thought. Arthur Lunn was so lucky to have been imprisoned in Worcester Cathedral. Had he been incarcerated in Gloucester, our dear father would have bored him to death with his interminable sermons.'

  Jonathan Bale waited at the designated place and hoped that their second visit to Covent Garden would be more profitable than the first. Having set two constables the task of searching for witnesses in Faringdon Ward Within, he had returned to Addle Hill to find that Christopher had left a message for him. Responding to its request, he hurried straight off to Covent Garden and took up his position. The meeting with Sir Julius Cheever had left him feeling oddly satisfied. Though the old man lacked his Puritan restraint, they had much in common. Jonathan had been intrigued to hear how Sir Julius had marshalled his men at Worcester and at some of the battles preceding it. He could understand only too well how a man with such high moral standards would refuse to acknowledge a rakehell like Gabriel Cheever as his son. Jonathan imagined how he would feel if one of his own boys grew up to cast aside every precept he had been taught.

  Christopher Redmayne did not keep him waiting for long. Arriving on his horse, he dismounted to explain to his friend what had happened in his absence. They now had clear proof that Celia Hemmings was involved in the blackmail. When Christopher pointed out her house, Jonathan had some misgivings.

  'Let me wait outside,' he said shifting his feet. 'I am never happy in such places.'

  'I was going to suggest that you go round to the back of the house, Mr Bale. We are dealing with a slippery lady. If she tries to bolt, my guess is that it will be through the rear entrance of the house.'

  Jonathan gave a grim smile. 'I'll be waiting for her, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Do not be too gentle. The lady is an accessary to murder.'

  'I've arrested lots of women before. They sometimes fight harder than the men.'

  Christopher tethered his horse and gave the constable time to get to the back of the house. When he rang the doorbell and gave his name, he was invited into the hall at once. Hearing of his arrival, Celia Hemmings had him shown in and gave him a cordial welcome until she saw his face. She recoiled slightly at the sight of the cuts and bruises but recovered to offer her hand. Christopher took it with gallantry and brushed her fingers with a kiss.

  'This is an unlooked for pleasure, Mr Redmayne,' she said.

  'That remains to be seen, Miss Hemmings.'

  'What happened to your face?'

  'Do you really need to ask that?'

  'You look as if you've been in a brawl.'

  'I survived.'

  'I'm delighted to hear that. What exactly happened?'

  'Forget about my injuries,' he said, producing a letter from his pocket and showing it to her. 'I believe that you wrote this. It was sent to Miss Susan Cheever.'

  'Yes,' she replied warily. 'She invited me to meet her.'

  'No, Miss Hemmings. I dictated that letter to her. Miss Cheever only agreed to write it on the understanding that she would never have to come face to face with you.'

  Celia was angered. 'You dictated the letter, Mr Redmayne?'

  'It was the only way to get a sample of your handwriting,' he explained, taking out another missive. 'I wanted to compare it with the hand on this death threat to my brother. They show a remarkable similarity.'

  'A mere coincidence.'

  'I think we shall find many more coincidences before we have finished. Like the fact that you once used a strange phrase about Gabriel Cheever to me. You said that his rivals sought to defeat him at the card table, not in a dark alley.' He gave her a smile. 'We found that alley today just off Warwick Lane. How did you know that Gabriel was killed in a place like that?'

  'It was just a wild guess.'

  'Tell that to the judge.'

  'You have no evidence on which to charge me,' she said defiantly.

  'We have these two letters and the others you wrote to your victims,' he argued. 'We have the fact that your former chambermaid stole something very compromising from Lady Ulvercombe. And we now know that you went to Gabriel's funeral to gloat.'

  'I loved him.'

  'Yes, Miss Hemmings. But that love turned sour when he left you.'

  'That's not how it happened.'

  'I've heard your version,' he reminded her. 'How you bore him no malice when he dropped you like a stone and vanished from sight. That was a blatant lie. In fact, you were furious. I've seen the limits to which that fury pushed you.'

  'Have a care, Mr Redmayne,' she warned. 'You're in dangerous waters.'

  'They are far less dangerous since my good friend, Mr Bale, took your man-of-war out of the fleet. Do not look for him to come to your aid. Gabriel's killer is locked up safely in prison.'

  She leaped to her feet. 'That's impossible!'

  'He was taken outside a printer's shop in Fleet Lane. Mr Henshaw kindly pointed him out when he came there earlier today.' A hunted look came in her eyes. 'Who else was in on the conspiracy, Miss Hemmings? Who wrote the first letter to my brother, and the one to Arthur Lunn?'

  'Nobody.'

  'There must have been.'

  'No, Mr Redmayne.'

  'I've seen that foul-mouthed rogue you employed to do your killing,' he said. 'I even fought him in the dark. You and he are scarcely natural bedfellows. There has to be someone else with the wit to set this whole scheme up. Admit it.'

  'I admit nothing.'

  'That former chambermaid of yours may be more willing to speak up.'

  'Leave Hetty out of this.'

  'But she played such a crucial part. Oh, and by the way,' he remembered 'could I please have my brother's letter back? It has caused more than enough anguish to Henry.'

  'Good!'

  'Why did you pick on him? Henry has his vices but he's essentially harmless.'

  'Your brother is an idiot.'

  'No,' said Christopher defensively. 'He's a flawed man who has occasional moments of idiocy. Just like the rest of us. That includes you, Miss Hemmings. After all, you were idiotic enough to imagine that you could get away with this. Gabriel Cheever was killed to assuage your hatred of him. It's only fitting that it was his sister who helped to expose you.' He put the letters back in his pocket. 'You overreached yourself. You wrote one letter too many.'

  'What do you want?' she said icily.

  'The name of your accomplice or accomplices.'

  'There were none.'

  'Why prevaricate? You've been caught in your own trap.'

  Thinking hard, she moved in closer. 'Did you come on your own, Mr Redmayne?'

  'I did not imagine that I would need an army.'

  'Who else knows what you've just told me?'

  'That's irrelevant. I know, Miss Hemmings.'

  'How much would it cost to make you forget it for a while?'

  'Are you trying to bribe me?' he said insulted at the very notion.

  'All you have to do is look the other way.'

  'No!'

  'Not even for a hundred guineas?'

  'A thousand guineas would not afflict me with temporary blindness,' he asserted. 'Fetch my brother's unfortunate letter to a certain lady, then I'll take you to be charged.'

  Celia sagged and nodded in defeat. 'Very well. Let me call my servant,' she said. 'He knows where I keep everything.' She opened the door. 'David! Come here, please.'

  The servant who had let Christopher into the house now reappeared. He was a stolid man in his thirties with dark eyes set into a craggy face. His deferential manner suggested someone who was devoted to his mistress.

  'Yes, Miss Hemmings?' he enquired.

  Her tone changed. 'Mr Redmayne's behaviour is highly offensive to me,' she said harshly. 'Please show him off the premises.'

  'At once.' He turned to Christopher. 'This way, sir.'

  'Miss Hemmings and I are le
aving together,' said Christopher.

  'I think not, sir.'

  The servant took a firm grip on his arm to march him out. Explanations were pointless. He would not listen to anything Christopher said. His job was simply to obey orders. Wrenching his arm free, Christopher swung round and saw that Celia had already quit the room by means of another door. When he tried to open it, he found that it was locked. He also had the problem of a strong man grabbing his shoulders from behind. Violent action was required. He had no quarrel with the servant but David was now trying to force him across the room. Christopher resisted, trod hard on the man's toe then pushed him over when he hopped in agony on one foot. Before the servant could recover, Christopher caught him on the jaw with a solid punch and dazed him sufficiently to make good his escape. Dashing into the hall, he went out towards the rear of the house until he found a way into the garden. He ran down the path and let himself out through the door in the garden wall.

  Jonathan Bale was waiting for him with a squirming Celia Hemmings in his arms.

  Christopher grinned. 'I forgot to mention that Mr Bale was with me,' he said.

  Henry Redmayne was a self-appointed angel of mercy. Having been given the wondrous news, he wanted to share it with his fellow victims so that they, too, could celebrate their escape from the horror of blackmail. The home of Arthur Lunn was his first port of call and his friend embraced him warmly when he heard the good tidings. Sir Marcus Kemp was even more relieved, bursting into tears and hugging Henry so tightly that he feared for the safety of his coat buttons. When he rode off to visit Peter Wickens, there was still a damp patch on his shoulder from the unmanly display of weeping. Two victims had been delighted with his news. Henry expected a similar reception from Peter Wickens. Shown in to see his friend, he struck a pose and beamed inanely.

  'How are you, Peter?' he asked.

  'Worried,' said Wickens. 'Deeply worried.'

  'Have you paid the blackmail demand yet?'

  'No, but I intend to do so.'

  'There is no need my friend. I'm here to save you five hundred guineas.'

  'How?'

  'By giving you the glad tidings that the plot against us has foundered' said Henry. 'My brother called on me not an hour ago.