The Repentant Rake Read online

  One of the villains is already in prison and Christopher was on his way with a constable to arrest his accomplice.'

  Wickens was taken aback. 'His accomplice?'

  'Yes, Peter. Prepare yourself for a shock.'

  'Why?'

  'It was Celia Hemmings. Actually,' said Henry airily, 'I suspected her all the time. Celia was the only woman who stayed with Gabriel long enough to have access to that diary of this. She knew exactly how profitable it might be.'

  'On what evidence was she arrested?' pressed Wickens.

  'My brother used a simple ruse. He asked Gabriel's sister to write to Celia and suggest that they met. Celia refused but those few lines that she dashed off in reply sealed her doom. The handwriting matches exactly that on the second letter sent to me.'

  'That was clever of your brother.'

  'He takes after me.'

  'What about this man who was taken?'

  'Christopher set a trap for him outside a printer's shop in Fleet Lane,' said Henry. 'When the man turned up to get some more extracts from the diary printed he was ambushed by two constables.'

  'I see,' said Wickens thoughtfully. 'Did the man name his accomplices?'

  'No, he was a surly beggar. Christopher could get nothing out of him.'

  'Then how did he track down Celia Hemmings?'

  'Ask him yourself, Peter. The point is that you, Arthur, Sir Marcus and I have been set free at last. Look more cheerful, man,' he urged. 'Are you not pleased?'

  'Delighted,' said Wickens, forcing a smile.

  'You see now how wise I was to argue against paying any money to them.'

  'I thought that was your brother's counsel.'

  'Mine, too,' boasted Henry. 'I held firm against the blackguards. Like you, I did not give them a single penny.' He emitted a high laugh. 'But poor Sir Marcus parted with a thousand guineas. I left him wondering if he would ever get it back.'

  Stroking his chin, Wickens moved aside for a moment, deep in meditation. When he turned back to Henry, he manufactured a broad grin and patted his friend on the arm.

  'Thank you for telling me, Henry. It was kind of you to come.'

  'We must all celebrate tonight with Mrs Curtis and her girls.'

  'Yes, yes,' said Wickens without enthusiasm. 'A capital notion.'

  'By that time,' said Henry, 'everyone involved in the plot will be locked up behind bars. Christopher will soon get the truth out of Celia Hemmings. I doubt if she'll enjoy the stink of a prison cell. They are not too fastidious in Newgate.'

  'Quite so.'

  'Sir Julius Cheever was overjoyed when they caught the man who killed Gabriel. Wait until he and his accomplices are hanged' said Henry. 'I'll wager that Sir Julius will be at the front of the crowd.'

  Wickens was interested. 'Is he in London at the moment?'

  'Apparently. My brother met him at the house in Knightrider Street where Gabriel used to live with his wife. She'll be relieved by the turn of events as well.'

  'Yes, Henry.'

  'It's a golden day for all of us.'

  'So it seems.'

  Henry rubbed his hands. 'Shall we join Arthur and Sir Marcus?'

  'You go on ahead,' said Wickens, easing him towards the door. 'I'll join the three of you later. I have some business to attend to first then I'll carouse with you until dawn.'

  'We can raise a glass in memory of Gabriel.'

  'We will indeed.'

  'The repentant rake.'

  Celia Hemmings proved to be an unhelpful prisoner. Confronted with irrefutable evidence of her guilt, she responded with angry denials and refused to name any accomplices. Christopher was disappointed. Someone involved in the plot was still at large and he was no nearer identifying that person or, in point of fact, the man who was already in custody. There was one compensation from the visit to Covent Garden. He now had his brother's billet-doux in his pocket. Jonathan Bale's presence had deterred the servant from any further heroics on behalf of his mistress and the visitors had been able to enter the house to retrieve Henry's letter. What worried Christopher was that there was no sign of Gabriel's diary. He decided that it must still be in the hands of an unknown accomplice and might yet be a source of danger to those whose misdeeds the nascent author had chronicled in such detail.

  While Jonathan took charge of the prisoner, Christopher went back to Knightrider Street to report the latest success. He was in luck. Susan Cheever not only answered the door, she explained that her sister-in-law had retired early to bed. She and Christopher were alone again. Her affection for him was more obvious than ever and his fondness for her kept a permanent smile on his face. Christopher explained how Celia Hemmings had been caught and thanked her for her part in the ruse.

  'I did very little,' she said.

  'You did a great deal,' he told her. 'You were the one person who could have coaxed a letter out of Miss Hemmings. Had I written to her, she would have suspected a trick. You appeared to hold no threat for her. Your innocence exposed her guilt.'

  'What will happen to her, Mr Redmayne?'

  'She will stand trial with the others and suffer the same fate.'

  Susan gulped. 'A horrible way for a woman to die.'

  'Miss Hemmings brought it on herself,' said Christopher with a sigh. 'There was no hint of remorse from her. She despised your brother for the way he cast her aside and vowed to get her revenge. At least, we now have her where she belongs. I must pass on the good news to Sir Julius. Did he go back to Holborn?'

  'Yes, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Then I had better call on him now,' he said reluctant to go.

  'Will you come back here afterwards?' she asked hopefully.

  'Oh, yes. If you wish.'

  'I will count the minutes while you are gone.'

  It was the closest she had ever come to a declaration and it gave him the confidence to reach out to take her hands. Susan did not resist. Words were abandoned. They stood there for several minutes without moving. Her hands were warm. Her smile of contentment matched his own. It was Susan who broke the spell.

  'You may get to Holborn in time to meet Father's other visitor,' she said.

  'Other visitor?'

  'Yes, Mr Redmayne. He left here not long before you arrived. He said that he was an old friend of Father's and was anxious to meet him again.'

  'Did he give his name?'

  'Mr Peter Wickens.'

  Christopher was startled. 'Peter Wickens came here?'

  'Do you know the gentleman?'

  'Only through my brother,' said Christopher, his mind grappling with the news. 'How on earth did Mr Wickens realise that your father was back in London? And what brought him to this address?' he added. 'Nobody knew that Gabriel lived here.' He took her by the shoulders. 'Did you tell him where Sir Julius was staying?'

  'Yes. I saw no harm in it. Mr Wickens was very polite.'

  'I know. He has great charm when he wishes to use it.'

  'He went straight off to the King's Head.'

  'Was he on foot?'

  'No, Mr Redmayne. He came on his horse.'

  'Then I had better get after him at once,' decided Christopher, moving swiftly to the front door. 'Whatever else he is, Peter Wickens is no old friend of your father's, Miss Cheever. I believe that Sir Julius may be in danger.'

  Alone in his room, Sir Julius sat on the edge of the bed drumming his fingers impatiently on his knee. He was not used to waiting on the actions of others. Throughout his life, he had always taken the initiative and forced himself to the centre of events. His capacity for leadership and for making prompt decisions had helped his military career to take wing. Promotion had come early and he had gone on to distinguish himself repeatedly in the field. Yet he was now forced to sit in a room at the King's Head, isolated from the action, wondering what was going on and obliged to leave everything to others. His son had come back into his life in the most distressing way. As he reflected on their estrangement, he had to admit that Gabriel was not entirely to blame. It was not simpl
y a case of youthful rebellion that took him to London. Had he shown his son more understanding, Sir Julius could have retained the friendship that had been so important to him in earlier days. He could see that he had been too intractable.

  A sharp knock on the door got him to his feet. He was cautious.

  'Who is it?' he called.

  'My name is Peter Wickens,' came the reply 'Mr Redmayne sent me.'

  'You have a message for me?'

  'Yes, Sir Julius.'

  Unbolting the door, Sir Julius flung it open in the hope of hearing good news. Instead of that, he had a pistol held against his forehead. Wickens pushed him back into the room and closed the door behind him. He guided his captive to a chair. When Sir Julius sat down, Wickens took a step back to appraise him, keeping the pistol aimed at his head. Sir Julius was more curious than afraid.

  'Who are you?' he demanded.

  'I was a friend of your son, Gabriel,' said Wickens. 'In my view, he was the only good thing to come out of the Cheever family, but we had to kill him none the less.'

  Sir Julius was horrified. 'You killed my son?'

  'Not exactly but I was there when it happened. Just to make sure that he was dead, I ran him through with my sword.' He gave a mocking smile. 'He died quite peacefully.'

  'You devil!' said Sir Julius, trying to get up. When the pistol was placed against his skull again, he lowered himself back into his seat. 'What do you want, Mr Wickens?'

  'It's called revenge.'

  'Against me?'

  'Against you and your family, Sir Julius,' said Wickens, stepping back again. 'I came to like Gabriel or I would have killed him much sooner. He bore a name that I've been taught to hate. Then he told me how much he loathed the famous Colonel Cheever and

  I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I spared him until I heard that his father had ambitions to enter Parliament.'

  'It's a foregone conclusion.'

  'Not any more. I could not have you moving to London and living under my nose. The stench would offend my nostrils.'

  'Do you always talk with a pistol in your hand, Mr Wickens?' said Julius, icily calm. 'Put it aside and we can have a proper conversation.'

  Wickens gave a sneer. 'You once had a proper conversation with my brother.'

  'Did I?'

  'His name was Michael Wickens,' said the other. 'Not a name that you would recall, I dare say, because he was only one of many people you killed on the battlefield. Witnesses told me that Michael was shot from close range by a Colonel Cheever. Do you remember the carnage at the Battle of Worcester?'

  'That war is over and done with, sir.'

  'Not as far as I'm concerned.'

  'I fought hard for my side just as your brother must have fought nobly for his.'

  'But you are still alive,' said Wickens darkly. 'Michael is not.' He held the pistol within a foot of his captive's head. 'I felt it only right that you should know why I arranged to have your son murdered and why you must follow him to the grave. Say your prayers, Sir Julius. You are going to join your Maker.'

  Sir Julius closed his eyes and heard the other's soft laughter. He could not believe that he was being called to account for an unremembered incident in the heat of a battle that took place many years before. Evidently, it was remembered only too well by Peter Wickens.

  'You chose an appropriate place, Sir Julius.'

  Sir Julius opened his eyes. 'What do you mean?'

  'The King's Head. Where better for a traitor who helped to remove a king's head to lose his own life? Farewell, Sir Julius. Go off to join the Lord Protector in Hell.'

  He levelled the pistol and took careful aim. Before he could pull the trigger, however, the door burst open and Christopher

  Redmayne came hurtling into the room. Wickens was momentarily distracted. Seeing his chance, Sir Julius swung an arm to knock the barrel of the pistol away from him and the weapon went off, firing its ball harmlessly into the ceiling. Wickens was enraged. He used the pistol to club Sir Julius, opening a deep gash in his head. Christopher was on him at once, diving recklessly at Wickens and knocking him to the ground. The ride from Knightrider Street had given him time to work out that he would be dealing with the very accomplice whose name Celia Hemmings had refused to divulge. Wickens was ruthless. He would not scruple to kill again. Christopher grabbed the wrist holding the weapon and twisted it sharply until his opponent was forced to leave go. Sir Julius had staggered back to the chair, holding the wound on his head as he tried to stem the blood, unable to do anything but look on.

  Wickens was a determined adversary. Deprived of his weapon, he used his hands to punch, push and claw at Christopher. They grappled rolled knocked over a low table then struggled fiercely to get the upper hand. Wickens was spurred on by a combination of revenge and sheer fury but Christopher's will was even stronger. Certain members of the Cheever family helped to fuel his resolve. He was fighting on behalf of a young husband who was murdered in a dark alley. He was representing a helpless widow who saw her happiness cruelly snatched away from her. In Sir Julius himself, he was striving to save a man whom he admired and a client whom he needed. But, most of all, he was there to rescue Susan Cheever from further distress. As Wickens sat astride him and got both hands to his neck, Christopher summoned up extra reserves of energy. He pulled the hands away, threw his man off then hurled himself on top of him. Urged on by Sir Julius, he punched until resistance slowly began to fade.

  Covered in blood and close to exhaustion, Wickens gave up. Christopher pinned him to the floor. The landlord had been roused by the shot and the commotion. He came bustling into the room to see what was happening, and blinked in amazement at the scene.

  'What is going on, sirs?' he asked querulously.

  'Summon a constable,' said Christopher.

  Henry Redmayne was mortified. It was bad enough to be hauled out of his bed by a visitor at that time of morning. After a night of merriment, he had intended to sleep until dinner. When he heard what Jonathan Bale had to say, his misery was compounded. His cheeks were crimson with embarrassment.

  'It was my fault?' he said, swallowing hard.

  'So it appears, sir,' said Jonathan sternly. 'You were the person who told Mr Wickens what had happened. He went charging off in search of Sir Julius Cheever.'

  'How was I to know that Peter Wickens was party to this whole plot?'

  'You acted too thoughtlessly.'

  'I believed that he was a victim like me. Hell's teeth, man!' he exclaimed. 'Peter came here and showed me the letter he had received.'

  'That was to throw us off the scent, Mr Redmayne. Did you never ask yourself why he came to you and not to one of his other friends?'

  'No, Mr Bale.'

  'It was because he wanted us to know. Realising that your brother was hunting for the blackmailers, he showed that letter to you because you were sure to mention it to your brother. Mr Wickens was never a true victim,' he went on. 'Miss Hemmings wrote that letter for him so that he could hide behind it.'

  'Very effectively,' conceded Henry 'I'm shocked to learn that Peter was behind the whole thing. We've shared such jolly times together.'

  'There was nothing jolly about the way that Gabriel Cheever was murdered,' said Jonathan. 'Thanks to you, his father was almost killed as well.'

  'Dear God!' said Henry, contrite for once. 'What did I do?'

  'Your brother will call later, sir. He asked me to explain what occurred yesterday. Mr Redmayne did call here last night but he was told that you were celebrating with friends.' He drew himself up. 'I think that those celebrations were premature.'

  Henry nodded in agreement. 'I was too impulsive.'

  'Think more clearly next time, sir.'

  'I will.'

  They were standing in the hall and Henry was feeling profoundly guilty. While he and his friends were carousing the previous night, Christopher was engaged in a desperate fight with Peter Wickens, having saved Sir Julius from certain death. The fact that he had unwittingly alerted W
ickens made Henry squirm inwardly. He looked at his visitor.

  'Did you find out the name of the assassin?' he asked.

  'Reresby, sir,' said Jonathan. 'Caleb Reresby. A discharged soldier.'

  'Who hired him? Peter or Celia Hemmings?'

  'Mr Wickens. All three will stand trial together.'

  'They deserve no less. They put me through an ordeal.' Sensing Jonathan's disapproval, he reined in his self-concern. 'Not that my woes compare with those of Gabriel's widow, of course,' he said, sounding a compassionate note. 'I am free to carry on as before while the Cheever family remains in mourning.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Henry could see why his brother had sent Jonathan Bale to break the news to him. The constable was like a figure of doom. His presence was unnerving in a house that was an indictment of all the principles for which he stood. Christopher knew that his friend would make Henry feel at least partially remorseful. In asking Jonathan to visit his brother, Christopher had been playing a joke on him for as serious purpose. Henry was cowed and ashamed. It was only when his visitor was about to take his leave that he remembered something.

  'Did Christopher say anything about a letter of mine?' he said anxiously.

  'No, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Ah.'

  'Though he did take one away from the house in Covent Garden,' recalled Jonathan. 'I believe that it had something to do with you, sir.'

  'It had everything to do with me!' said Henry under his breath. 'Where is it?'

  'Your brother talked about returning it to the person to whom it belonged.'

  'That would be cruel!' howled Henry.

  'Discuss it with him when he comes, sir.' He opened the front door and bells were heard chiming nearby. 'You may not know this, Mr Redmayne,' he said, noting Henry's dazed expression, 'but it happens to be Sunday.'

  Henry blinked in surprise. 'Is it really?'

  'Church is the best place for repentance, sir. Goodbye.'

  Work began on the new house a few days later. Christopher Redmayne's face was no longer quite so battle-scarred and the wound on Sir Julius Cheever's head was starting to heal. Wearing hats to conceal their injuries, both men were in Westminster to watch the foundations being dug under the vigilant gaze of Sidney Popejoy.