The Repentant Rake Page 8

  'You must not let him intimidate you so,' said Brilliana, snipping another rose to place in her basket. 'Stand up to him for once.'

  'Sir Julius has such a strong personality,' complained her husband.

  'At your age, you should not be afraid of the sound of thunder.'

  'It's the flashes of lightning that disturb me.'

  Lancelot Serle was a tall, thin, nervous man in his thirties with a handsome face stained by a small red birthmark on his cheek that looked like a permanent dribble of strawberry juice from his mouth. He dressed fashionably but his apparel always seemed faintly too big for him. His wife, Brilliana, had no visible defects. A striking woman with a beauty that kept time at bay, she was wearing the plain dress she reserved for any exploits in the garden. While gathering flowers, she did not even spare her husband a glance. Serle hovered ineffectually at her side.

  'They could be here as early as tomorrow,' he opined.

  'They?'

  'Well, I have every hope that Sir Julius will bring your sister with him. Susan is a godsend on such occasions. She knows how to cope with your father.'

  'Nobody copes with him better than I do, Lancelot,' said his wife peevishly 'Susan is too inclined to let him have his own way I challenge him at every turn.'

  'I know, but it does make for a lot of discord, my dear.'

  She rounded on him. 'Are you censuring me?'

  'Heaven forbid!'

  'Father only respects those who argue with him.'

  Serle gave a sigh. 'Whenever I try to argue, he beats me down.'

  'Offer your opinions with more force, Lancelot.'

  'I prefer a quiet life.'

  She gave a snort of disgust and resumed her snipping. They were in the formal garden at the rear of their house in Richmond. It was Brilliana's domain. Watched over by their mistress, a large team of gardeners kept the grass cut, the flowerbeds free of weeds, the topiary trimmed to perfection, the paths clear and the ponds uncluttered with extraneous matter. Trees and bushes had been artfully used to create avenues, glades and endless secret places. Statuary was placed to best effect. Running to well over two acres, the garden was a special feature of the fortified manor house that had been in Serle's family for almost two centuries. Brilliana Cheever had coveted it enough to accept its owner's tentative proposal of marriage. Experience had taught her that she had been too headstrong. Instead of being her pride and joy, the garden at Serle Court was now her only consolation.

  'What shall we do with him, Brilliana?' wondered Serle.

  'Keep him firmly in his place.'

  'Sir Julius will be our guest. How will we entertain him?'

  'Father is not coming here to be entertained, Lancelot,' she said, cutting the stem of a white rose. 'He is only tolerating our company so that he can venture into London to discuss this new house of his with an architect.'

  'When that is built, he will be our neighbour.'

  'Hardly.'

  'The city is not far away, Brilliana. We shall see much more of him.'

  'On the contrary,' she retorted, 'we shall see much less. Why have a house built at all when he could easily stay here while Parliament is sitting? Father likes to order everyone around and he can never do that to me.'

  'I sometimes think you are too harsh on him.'

  'Would you rather I just grinned obsequiously at him - as you do?'

  Serle was hurt. 'I like to be on good terms with my father-in- law.'

  'A wife should surely take precedence.'

  'Of course, Brilliana.'

  'Then stop letting me down when he is here,' she snapped. 'Behave more like the master of Serle Court and less like one of its servants.'

  'What an unkind remark!' he protested.

  'Unkind but not inaccurate,' she said, facing him again. 'Your ancestors fought hard to build up this estate, Lancelot. Prove that you are a worthy successor. When Father comes, do not accede to his every request. Be your own man.'

  'That is what I am.'

  'Only to a degree.'

  Her basket full, she headed back towards the house. Serle fell in beside her. He ducked under some fronds of willow that overhung the path and raised a new topic.

  'What is the likelihood of your sister's coming?' he asked.

  'Why?'

  'We must take care not to neglect Susan.'

  'You can leave my sister to me, Lancelot. We will take the coach into the city and visit the shops. Susan will like that,' she said with a patronising smile. 'She is a country mouse, remember. London is a source of continual wonder to her.'

  'Susan must envy you so much, Brilliana.' He did not see the sneer that rose to her lips. 'Indeed, it is with that in mind that I have a suggestion to put. For reasons that I fail to understand, my beautiful sister-in-law is neither married nor even betrothed. I know that she has rejected the cream of Northamptonshire's bachelors and wondered if we might not find one more acceptable to her.'

  'We?'

  'There are plenty of eligible young men we could invite to the house.'

  'Why?' she said with contempt. 'So that she may run her eye over them like a farmer at a cattle market? It is not our task to find her a husband.'

  'A helping hand is all that I am advocating.'

  'Offer that and you'll get little thanks from Susan.'

  'Why?'

  'My sister has true Cheever spirit. She insists on making her own decisions.'

  'Your brother made his own decisions,' he said ruefully, 'and look what happened to him.'

  'Lancelot!' she exclaimed.

  'Gabriel had rather too much of the Cheever spirit.'

  'That's a dreadful thing to say.'

  'Yet it contains a measure of truth.'

  Brilliana was quivering with anger. 'Gabriel chose his path in life and he must suffer the consequences. We no longer accept him as a member of the family, as you know only too well. Why do you vex me by mentioning his foul name?'

  'He is your brother, my dear,' he said weakly.

  'He was, Lancelot, but I refuse to acknowledge him now. So does Father.'

  'I learned that to my cost.'

  'Then why touch on a subject you know will offend me?'

  'No offence was intended.'

  'As far as I am concerned' she emphasised, 'Gabriel does not even exist any more. My brother might just as well be dead.'

  Instead of returning to Fetter Lane to collect his horse, Christopher decided to make the journey on foot. The long walk to Addle Hill gave him time to reflect. He was puzzled by the second letter sent to his brother, reasoning that it had to come from someone who was party to Gabriel Cheever's murder because nobody else knew about it. Henry had flown into a panic but the death threat did not entirely convince Christopher. A man who was trying to squeeze money from a victim by means of blackmail would not toss away all hope of profit by killing that victim. Yet that was what was implied by the mention of Gabriel Cheever. Had he foolishly resisted blackmail demands? According to Henry, Cheever had been a single-minded young man with a forceful character. He had clearly inherited some of his father's traits. Unlike Henry Redmayne, he did not sound like a natural target for blackmail. Why choose someone who would surely never cave in to demands for money? And how could anyone blackmail a man who, it transpired, was so careless of his reputation that he gloried in his debauchery? The rakehell described by Henry would have no qualms whatsoever if his amours became public knowledge. He was impervious to extortion.

  Something else worried Christopher about the second letter. It was not written by the same person as the first one. Accomplices were at work. One of them had the most graceful handwriting. Jonathan Bale had explained that Gabriel Cheever's assassin must have been a powerful man. Was a vicious killer capable of such stylish calligraphy? The more Christopher thought about it, the more persuaded he became that the blackmail emanated from someone within Henry's circle. The problem was that the circle was rather large. His brother had now provided him with a list of over thirty close fr
iends. A supplementary list of acquaintances included the name of Gabriel Cheever. To pick a way through the complex private life of Henry Redmayne was a formidable task.

  As Christopher entered the city through Ludgate, his thoughts turned to Susan Cheever. The death of her brother would be a bitter blow to her and she would be agonised when she learned the nature of that death. How her father and her sister would react, Christopher did not know. His only concern was for the young woman who had made such a deep impression on him during his visit to Northamptonshire. It grieved him that they had parted on such an awkward note. He did not relish passing on the grim tidings. A mere question about her brother had been enough to upset her. News of his murder might destroy her completely Christopher resolved to choose his words with utmost care. Eager to see Susan Cheever again, he wished that he could meet her in any circumstances but the present ones.

  She remained at the forefront of his mind until he turned into Addle Hill.

  'Mr Redmayne!'

  'Good day to you, Mrs Bale.'

  'It is so nice to see you again, sir.'

  'The pleasure is mine, I assure you.'

  Though she had only met him on a handful of occasions, Sarah Bale was very fond of Christopher. He was always polite, charming and kind to her children. Having heard that he was due to call, she made sure that she answered the door to him. Once she had shown him into the parlour, however, she left him alone with her husband. They had serious business to discuss and she did not wish to hold them up. Christopher was touched that he had been invited to the house. It was a sign of friendship. Whether out of resentment or from feelings of social inferiority, Jonathan Bale had always been unhappy about his earlier visits, but those objections seemed to have disappeared. Christopher was welcomed and shown to a seat. Turning down the offer of refreshment, he plunged straight into the matter in hand.

  'I believe that I know who killed Gabriel Cheever,' he began.

  Jonathan was delighted. 'You have a name?'

  'Not yet, Mr Bale, but I have critical evidence. The person behind the murder is the same man who has been trying to extort money from my brother.'

  After swearing the constable to secrecy, Christopher gave him an abbreviated account of the two blackmail letters, tactfully omitting any scurrilous details about his brother's indiscretions. Jonathan listened with fascination. He was especially attentive when given more details about the murder victim. One fact was pounced upon.

  'Gabriel Cheever lived in Knightrider Street?' he said.

  'Not necessarily,' warned Christopher. 'Someone claims to have seen him there, that is all. There's no guarantee that he had lodgings there.'

  'On the other hand it does establish a possible link with this ward.'

  'Granted.'

  'Knightrider Street is not far from Paul's Wharf.'

  'It might be worth knocking on some more doors.'

  'Yes,' said Jonathan. 'Tom Warburton can try his luck there.'

  'What of your news?'

  'I got to the morgue just in time to stop them arranging a burial. The body will be held until a family member can identify and reclaim it. If Gabriel Cheever is a resident of Knightrider Street, he should be buried in the cemetery of the parish church.'

  'That is something for his family to decide.'

  'I thought that he had broken with them.'

  'Not all of them, Mr Bale.'

  'Oh.'

  'Leave the family to me,' said Christopher. 'Sir Julius has a married daughter who lives in Richmond. He gave me her address. I plan to ride there first thing in the morning to break the news to her and to find out when her father is expected.'

  'Would you like me to come with you, Mr Redmayne?'

  Christopher smiled. 'No, thank you. But it's a kind offer, particularly when it comes from a man who hates riding as much as you do.'

  'Nature did not intend me to sit astride a horse.'

  'You prefer to keep your feet on the ground, Mr Bale. In every sense.'

  'What can I do in the meantime?'

  'Speak to some of the people on this list that Henry gave me,' said Christopher, taking it from his pocket. 'Start with Arthur Lunn. He was closer to Gabriel Cheever than anyone. See what he can tell you about the dead man.'

  'How will I find the gentleman?'

  'At his favourite coffee house. Sir Marcus Kemp may be there as well. He was the man who claimed to have seen Cheever in Knightrider Street. Between the two of them, they should be able to give you much more information about him.'

  'And this… other matter?' asked Jonathan discreetly.

  Christopher was decisive. 'Make no mention of it, Mr Bale. Keep my brother's name out of it at this stage. It will be enough for them to know that a friend of theirs has been murdered. That will secure their interest.'

  'Arthur Lunn and Sir Marcus Kemp.'

  'Both amiable fellows but neither destined for sainthood.'

  'I had already decided that,' said Jonathan seriously. 'Well, I'll speak to them at their coffee house and see what I can learn. What of you, Mr Redmayne?'

  'The person I intend to meet does not appear on this list.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because she is not one of my brother's inner circle,' explained Christopher. 'But she may be able to tell me things about Gabriel Cheever that nobody else knows.'

  'Who is the lady?'

  'Miss Celia Hemmings.'

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  Sir Julius Cheever set out for London earlier than planned. Having made the decision to go, he saw no reason for delay and he took his younger daughter with him for company Susan could read his moods with great accuracy. She knew when to talk, when to listen and most important of all, when to do neither. If he drifted off into a reverie, Sir Julius did not like to be interrupted and she had thoughts of her own in which to lose herself for long periods. Their coach rocked its way noisily over a track hardened by the hot sunshine. Sleep was out of the question but they learned to adjust their bodies to the jolting rhythm and that brought some comfort. They made good speed. Susan judged the moment to break the silence.

  'We should have ridden there,' she said.

  'Why sit on two horses when we can be pulled by four?'

  'Because we would have travelled more quickly, Father.'

  'Only if we had found enough companions to ensure safety on the journey. Besides,' argued Sir Julius with rough-hewn gallantry, 'I could not ask a delicate young lady like yourself to spend two whole days in the saddle.'

  Susan was firm. 'I am not delicate and I love riding. Nothing would have pleased me more than to make the entire journey on horseback.'

  'And arrive at Serle Court covered in dirt and perspiration?'

  'Travel always imposes penalties.'

  'Then the sensible thing is to lessen their number, Susan. Take your ease,' he advised. 'As much as this coach allows you to, that is. We've kept up a steady pace so far. When we arrive in Richmond tomorrow, we'll be fresh and unsullied.'

  'Apart from the occasional bruise,' she added with a smile.

  'You would insist on coming with me.'

  'I wanted to see Brilliana.'

  Sir Julius snorted. 'You'd hardly be subjecting yourself to this in order to see your brother-in-law. Why, in God's name, did she have to wed that drooling imbecile?'

  'Lancelot is an intelligent man,' she said loyally.

  'Then he has a wonderful gift for disguising that intelligence.'

  'Don't mock him, Father.'

  'The fellow is so irredeemably fatuous.'

  'Brilliana chose him and for her sake, we must learn to love him.'

  'Love him?' exploded Sir Julius. 'What is there to love?'

  Susan was tactful. 'You'll have to ask my sister that.'

  'Brilliana long ago abandoned the pretence that she actually loved that booby. She married him for his house and his wealth. Not that I quibble with that,' he said, lifting a palm. 'Those are perfectly sound reasons for a young lady to w
ed but not if it means enslaving yourself to a fool like Lancelot Serle.'

  'I don't think that anyone would enslave Brilliana,' observed Susan tartly.

  'No, she takes after me.'

  'We all do, Father.' He shot her a warning glance and she regretted having included her brother in the reference. 'Well, perhaps not all.'

  One of the wheels suddenly explored a deep pothole and the whole coach lurched over to the right. The occupants reached out to steady themselves, and Sir Julius thrust his head through the window to berate the driver.

  'Watch where you're going, man!'

  'I'm sorry, Sir Julius,' replied the other. 'I didn't see it until it was too late.'

  'Are you blind?'

  'I'll be more careful from now on.'

  Sir Julius lapsed back into his seat with a thud. Susan watched him for a moment.

  'Father,' she said at length, 'what do you hope to achieve in Parliament?'

  'I mean to introduce a measure of sanity.'

  'Can one man exert any real influence there?'

  'The Lord Protector did,' he said proudly.

  'Times have changed since then,' she pointed out.

  'More's the pity!'

  Susan was worried. 'You will be circumspect?'

  'Circumspect?' he repeated with disgust.

  'Hot words might land you in trouble, Father.'

  'Parliament needs someone to speak his mind and that's what I intend to do. Circumspect, indeed! They'll not gag me, Susan. I fear nobody.'

  'That's my chief concern.'

  He was reproachful. 'What do you know of politics, anyway?'

  'I know that they can mean danger and even death,' she said levelly. 'I was only a girl when the war raged but I remember the damage it did. Northamptonshire saw more than its fair share of suffering. It taught me to be fearful of politics.'

  'Your mother was the same. Neither of you understood what it was all about.'

  'Be careful, Father. That is all I ask.'

  'I'm a soldier,' he said with a proud chuckle. 'You achieve little on a battlefield if you simply exercise care. To strike a decisive blow you have to go boldly to the heart of the action. That is where I long to be. On my feet in the Commons, demanding justice.'