The Frost Fair

Chapter Eight

Jonathan Bale always felt uncomfortable when he visited the house in Fetter Lane. It was spacious, well-furnished and filled with the individual touches that only a man of artistic talent could devise. It made his own home seem small, bare and lacking in any real character. The presence of a servant was another factor that set the two abodes apart. Employing someone to cook, clean and run the house was a concept that Jonathan would never have considered, even if he could have afforded the expense. There was streak of self- reliance in him that rebelled against the very notion. While he liked Jacob Vout as a person, therefore, the man's role as a servant made their relationship uneasy for him. The constable was soon shuffling his feet.

'I'd best be on my way,' he decided.

'Mr Redmayne will be back very soon,' said Jacob.

'I'll call again later.'

'Why bother when you can see him now? He's eager to speak to you, Mr Bale.'

'And I wish to speak to him, Jacob.'

'Then try to be patient. You'll not have long to wait.

Jonathan sat back in the chair but he could not relax. Anxious to pass on what he had learned, he had called at Christopher's house that afternoon and been disappointed that his friend was not there. Twenty minutes had elapsed so far and he was increasingly restless. Since he had no interest in the architectural beauties of Europe, the paintings that covered the walls held little charm for him. Holding his hat between his knees, he played nervously with the brim. It was left to Jacob to strike up a conversation.

'How is your son, Mr Bale?' he asked.

'Which one?' replied Jonathan. 'I have two.'

'His name is Richard, I think. He found the body in the ice.'

'Oh, yes. He did, alas, and the memory still haunts him.'

'Have you told him that a man has been arrested for the crime?'

'Yes,' said Jonathan, 'but Richard does not know his name. I see no reason why he should, unless the prisoner is convicted of the murder. The boy has been shocked enough already. He'd be even more upset if he realised that it was Mr Redmayne's own brother who is held in Newgate. That's why I kept it for him. Richard has great respect for your master.'

'Mr Redmayne speaks fondly of both your children.'

'There may come a time when the truth can no longer be suppressed.'

'In other words, you believe in his brother's guilt.'

'I've yet to be persuaded of his innocence, Jacob. What about you?'

'I've no opinion to offer, Mr Bale.'

'But you must incline one way or the other.'

Jacob was discreet. 'I'm just grateful that I serve one brother and not the other.'

'They are hardly like two peas in a pod,' said Jonathan. 'I've never known two brothers have so little in common. My sons look, talk and think alike. It's only natural that they should do so. But your master is so different from Henry Redmayne that the two of them might be complete strangers.'

'Adversity brings out family feeling.'

'True. And I admire Mr Redmayne for standing by his brother.'

'Even though you believe that he is wasting his time?'

'I can only follow my instinct, Jacob.'

'Then I'll do the same,' said the old man, moving to the front door as he heard the sound of hoof beats in the street. 'Unless I'm very much mistaken, Mr Redmayne has come home at last.'

Jacob opened the door in time to see his master dismounting from his horse. Hearing that he had a visitor, Christopher handed the reins to his servant and went straight into the house. After an exchange of greetings, he sat opposite Jonathan.

'I'm sorry to keep you waiting,' he said with a gesture of apology, 'but it's been a busy day. As soon as I got back from Richmond, I had to call on Martin Crenlowe and, after that, I spent an hour or so with the lawyer I've engaged to represent my brother.'

'Did you learn anything of value from Mr Crenlowe?'

'A great deal, Jonathan. He was much more helpful than Sir Humphrey Godden. It was good to meet someone who's wholeheartedly on my brother's side.' He saw his friend wince slightly. 'Crenlowe even took the trouble to visit Henry in Newgate. I'll go there myself this afternoon.' Christopher leaned forward. 'But what of you?' 'I've not been idle, Mr Redmayne.'

'You wouldn't know how to be. Did you speak to Captain Harvest?'

'Yes,' said Jonathan, 'and I also tracked down the watchman who helped your brother to his feet that night. I was glad that I did so. Many new facts came to light.'

Christopher was hopeful. 'Did they help to change your mind?'

'I fear not.'

"Then they confirmed your opinion that Henry is guilty?'

'In some ways.'

'Oh. I see.' He was crestfallen. 'Well,' he said, rallying quickly, 'perhaps the evidence that I gathered will persuade you.'

'I long to hear it, Mr Redmayne.'

Christopher sat back in his chair and gave him a succinct account of his respective visits to Sir Humphrey Godden and Martin Crenlowe. He did not pretend to like either man though he had found the latter far more pleasant. Jonathan listened intently and waited until his friend had finished before he offered any comment.

'Sir Humphrey Godden was adamant that your brother is innocent?'

'Yes, Jonathan.'

'It did not appear so from your description of what was said.'

'He was in something of a hurry when I questioned him.'

'That should not prevent him from coming to the defence of a friend.'

'Martin Crenlowe assures me that he and Sir Humphrey are of the same mind.'

'But that's not quite the same thing as hearing it from the man himself,' said Jonathan. 'According to you, Sir Humphrey accepts that your brother had reason enough to kill Signor Maldini and even thinks him capable of murder. It's only the nature of the fatal wound that makes him believe the crime was the work of someone else.'

'Sir Humphrey was with Henry that night. He knew my brother's frame of mind.'

'Drink can have strange effects on a man.'

'It left my brother tottering down the street.'

"That's not the picture that I was given, Mr Redmayne.'

'Oh?' 'When the watchmen found him on the ground, your brother was nowhere near the place that he claimed to be. He was able to walk better than you imagine.'

'Are you certain?'

'I can only tell you what Balthazar Pegge told me.'

It was Jonathan's turn to present his findings. He talked about his conversation with Captain Harvest, the subsequent disappearance of the soldier from his lodging and the time spent in the company of the two old watchmen. His recital was more laboured and methodical than Christopher's but the salient facts were all there. They caused a shift of perspective in his friend's thinking.

'Henry lied to me,' he complained. 'He swore that he was set upon by Signor Maldini, somewhere in Fenchurch Street. How did he get so close to the river?'

'How did he lose his dagger?'

'What do you mean?'

'Could it be that he lied to you about that as well?'

'No,' said Christopher, groping for an explanation. 'He was probably too drunk to remember the details with any clarity. The main part of his story is true. Let's give him credit for that. Henry was found by a watchman and sent home in a carriage. His servants confirm it.'

'It's what happened earlier that matters, Mr Redmayne.'

'I agree.'

'Did you brother mention that he mistook the watchman for Jeronimo Maldini?'

'No,' admitted Christopher.

'Or that he wrestled with Mr Pegge and threatened to kill him? That, too, seems to have slipped his mind. Unless, as you say, drink blinded him so completely that he did not know what he was doing. It clearly left him with enough strength to attack an old man, I know that. If he can brawl with one person and forget all about it, could he not have done the same with Signor Maldini himself?'

'I suppose so.'

'Mr Pegge told me that your brother had obviously been in a fight of some sort. His hat was off, his wig askew, his clothes dishevelled. He seemed tired rather than dazed. As soon as he was lifted to his feet, he became violent.'

"That does not sound like Henry.' 'How well do you know your brother?'

'Not as well as I thought, it seems,' conceded Christopher. 'But it's this Captain Harvest who interests me. Did he flee from his lodging in order to avoid paying his rent or has he quit the city before the trial is held?'

'Why should he vanish from London?'

'Because he's afraid to be cross-examined in court by a barrister.'

'He's already given sworn evidence that he heard your brother threaten the life of Signor Maldini. He was not too frightened to do that. I've met Captain Harvest. He's the sort of man who's not afraid of anything.'

'Except paying his landlord.'

Jonathan smiled. 'I fancy that he makes a habit of changing his lodgings.'

Christopher was lost in thought for a moment. 'I still feel that he's more involved in this whole business than we realize,' he said at length. 'Everything you've told me agrees with Mr Crenlowe's view of the man and he knew him better than any of us. Could it really be the case that Captain Harvest arranged the encounter between Henry and the fencing master?'

'To what end?'

'Provoking them into a duel.'

'But your brother would stand no chance against Signor Maldini.'

'Unless the Italian were also drunk or disabled in some other way. Or perhaps,' Christopher went on, offering another possibility, 'this mischievous soldier brought the two enemies to the verge of a duel then took a hand in the proceedings himself.'

Jonathan was startled. 'Captain Harvest may have been the killer?'

'It would not be the first time he had blood on his hands.'

'But he stood to lose most from Signor Maldini's death,' argued Jonathan. 'The two men were friends. Captain Harvest worked at the fencing school. He earned his keep there. Why murder a man who employed him and who often loaned him money?'

"There has to be a reason, Jonathan.'

'I fail to see it.'

'Perhaps he wanted to take over the fencing school himself. Perhaps he had a disagreement with Signor Maldini. Perhaps he owed the man far more than he could ever repay. All kinds of motives may have impelled him,' said Christopher. 'What we do know is that he has no affection for my brother.'

'He spoke very slightingly of him, Mr Redmayne.'

'And is now openly proclaiming Henry's guilt. What better way to throw suspicion off himself than by accusing another man? That must be the answer.'

'I have my doubts.'

'Don't you see?' asked Christopher, excited by the idea. 'He instigated a duel between Signor Maldini and my brother to act as a shield for his own designs. Henry was used. Captain Harvest must have followed him that night, knowing that the Italian was lying in wait for him.' He was dismayed by Jonathan's obvious lack of enthusiasm for the theory. 'You must confess that it's possible.'

'Anything is possible.'

'You met the fellow. You said that he was untrustworthy.'

'That's a far cry from accusing him of murder.'

'Why is he the only one of the three who is not supporting my brother?'

'I prefer to ask another question, Mr Redmayne,' said Jonathan calmly. 'Why has neither Sir Humphrey nor Mr Crenlowe suggested that Captain Harvest is involved in some way? I only met him once. They've shared his company many times. So has your brother, for that matter. Did he tell you that he was the victim of a plot that was hatched by the captain?'

Christopher heaved a sigh. 'No, Jonathan,' he confessed, 'he did not. And I apologise for letting my imagination run away with me. I'm so desperate to help my brother that I'm confusing possibility with proof. However,' he continued, 'I do think that Captain Harvest will bear more examination.'

"That's why I went in search of him again.'

'I'd like to speak with the gentleman myself.'

'He's an affable character, Mr Redmayne.'

'Yet rather slippery.'

'Captain Harvest is a man who lives on his wits.'

'So I gathered,' said Christopher. 'But I'd like your opinion of the other witnesses as well. Mr Crenlowe is an approachable man. I'm sure that he'd be prepared to talk to you about the case.'

'What of Sir Humphrey Godden?' 'Choose the time you call on him with care.'

'You'll need to furnish me with their addresses.'

'And I'll require some guidance to find Captain Harvest. Where might he be?'

'In one of his favourite taverns, I daresay.'

'Give me a list of them before you go.'

'I will, Mr Redmayne. Did you say that you'd visit your brother today?'

'I must,' replied Christopher. 'Henry is suffering badly in Newgate. There are no friendly faces to comfort him in prison. I'll take food and drink, and do my best to instil some hope into him.'

'Will you tax him about his hatred of Signor Maldini?'

'In what way?'

'Well,' said Jonathan, getting to his feet, 'your brother told you that it was because the Italian cheated at cards.'

'Sir Humphrey Godden supplied another reason. He said that Henry was ridiculed at the fencing school by Signor Maldini. That would inflict a terrible wound on his pride.'

'Captain Harvest took a different view.'

'So you said.'

'He insisted that a third party was involved. According to him, a certain lady was the real cause of dissension between the two men.' There was a note of profound disapproval in Jonathan's voice. 'I wonder why your brother never even mentioned her.'

Christopher swallowed hard. 'It's something that I intend to ask him.'

The first time they carried a litter past his cell, the corpse was not even covered. As he looked through the grill, Henry Redmayne saw the body of a woman, dressed in rags, misshapen by age and skeletal from hunger, being borne away by two of the turnkeys. Her face was so disfigured by disease that Henry turned away in disgust. Gaol fever had claimed another victim. On the second occasion, the body was hidden beneath a shroud that was sodden with blood around the neck and chest. Henry was at the grill again. Seeing his face, the bearers of the litter stopped briefly outside his cell so that he could look more closely at the cadaver.

'What happened?' asked Henry.

'He took the easy way out of Newgate,' replied one of the turnkeys.

'How did he do that?'

'With a razor. He cut his throat.'

Henry recoiled. 'Why?'

'He wanted to cheat the hangman.'

'And he took his own life?'

The turnkey grinned. 'You'll warm to the notion yourself before too long.'

They went on their way and left Henry to meditate on horror of what the other prisoner had done. He was sufficient of a Christian to know that suicide was an unforgivable sin. The dead man would be denied the privilege of being buried in hallowed ground and would never go to meet his Maker. What had forced the man to take such a wild and irrevocable step? What was his crime? How had he come by the means to kill himself? Did he have any family and friends to grieve for him? Henry was so preoccupied with the misery of another prisoner's lot that he all but forgot his own. Then a rat ran across his foot and made him yelp. He looked round the four bare walls that hemmed him in. The straw in his cell was clogged with filth and the prison stench was now so strong that it made him retch. His clothing was in an appalling state. The shirt on which he had spent so much money was caked with grime and his breeches were badly torn. He looked worse than the meanest beggar.

Henry curled up in a corner to reflect on the malignity of fate. An hour crawled slowly past. He was still cursing his misfortune when something was dropped through the grill on to the straw. He groped about in search of it then drew his hand away sharply as it made contact with the blade. Someone had tossed a razor into his cell but it was not to help him shave. It had already drawn blood from his finger and he licked it hard. On impulse, he picked the razor up and went to push it back through the bars then something stopped him. The razor was a weapon of last resort. He did not feel the need of it now but it would be foolish to spurn it altogether. Suicide would be less painful than execution. He understood that very clearly. One swift slice with the razor across his throat and he would bleed to death quietly in the privacy of his cell. If he slit his wrists first, he would die even more quickly. Set against the ignominy of a trial and the agony of a public hanging, suicide began to have a growing appeal.

Propped against the wall, he considered his future. It was grim.

He had been locked up for days like a common criminal with nothing to soften the wretchedness of his day. Those who were working for his release had obviously had no success and he had come to accept that perhaps he was, after all, the man who ended the life of Jeronimo Maldini. He had certainly been involved in a fight of some sort on the night in question and he did remember reaching for his dagger. How it had got into the Italian's back, he did not know. His fear was that he would go to his grave without ever learning the truth. His brother and two of his friends might believe in his innocence but they were not judge and jury in the case. Men had been hanged on less evidence than that presented against him. Henry was so dejected that he could not even entertain the vague possibility of release. What obsessed him was the image of a noose being put around his neck to strangle the life slowly and painfully out of him in front of a jeering crowd.

The razor was his only means of escape. He held it tentatively against his throat. Knowing in his heart that it was wrong, he nevertheless felt that it was necessary. His hand shook and the blade brushed gently against his skin. Henry steeled himself. Before he could discover if he had the courage to take his own life, however, he heard the sound of the key in the lock and dropped the razor into the straw. The door opened to admit his brother. Henry leapt to his feet to embrace him.

'Christopher!' he shouted. 'I thought you'd forsaken me.'

'I'd never do that, Henry,' said his visitor, lifting up the bag that he was carrying. 'I've brought you decent food and good wine. And I've bribed the prison sergeant to let you have fresh water to wash and shave.'

Henry ran a hand across his face. 'I'll not touch a razor while I'm in here,' he said, ashamed of his earlier impulse to commit suicide.

'Take a pride in your appearance. You always did in the past.'

'It's another world in here, Christopher.' He looked at the provisions. 'I thank you for these. When I tried the prison gruel, I thought they were trying to poison me.'

'I'll bring food every day from now on.'

'That means there's no chance of my release.'

'Not in the immediate future,' admitted Christopher, 'but I promise you that we are all working hard to that end.'

'We?'

'Myself, your lawyer and your friends.'

'Have you spoken with Martin Crenlowe?'

'Yes, he told me about his visit here. I called on Sir Humphrey Godden as well.'

'What about Captain Harvest?'

'I left him to Jonathan Bale.'

'What!' exclaimed Henry, pulsing with anger. 'You let that sour- faced Puritan know about my disgrace? How could you? Keep him away, Christopher. I want none of the fellow. His solemnity oppresses me.'

'Jonathan is a good friend.'

'Not to me.'

'He's also a constable with a keen eye and a good brain.'

'Yes,' said Henry bitterly, 'but he employs them both in the prevention of harmless pleasures. If he had his way, we'd all be in a state of never-ending penitence, wearing sackcloth and ashes as we shuffle our way to church. Jonathan Bale is helping me?' he cried in disbelief. 'He's more likely to turn public executioner for the privilege of putting a rope around my neck.'

'You do not know the man.'

'I know what he thinks of me. I see it in that ugly face of his. Nothing will convince me that that gloomy constable has my best interests at heart. He despises all that I stand for. Be honest, Christopher,' he urged. 'Does the fellow really believe in my innocence?'

'Not entirely,' said his brother.

'So what have you done? Hired him to prove my guilt?'

'No, Henry.'

'Then what?'

'I need to lean on his experience.'

'Even though loathes me?'

'Henry-'

'Why must you torment me like this?'

He burst into tears and flung himself into his brother's arms. Henry was more despondent than ever now. Hoping that some progress had been made towards securing his release, he had learned of major setbacks. Christopher waited until the sobbing had stopped before he spoke. He eased his brother gently away from him.

'The person who can help you most is yourself,' he said.

'Me?'

'Any new detail you can remember about that night may be crucial.'

'I've tried and tried,' said Henry, wiping tears away with the back of his hand. 'But my mind is a very blur. This is no place for contemplation, Christopher. It's worse than Bedlam.'

'Is there nothing that you can recall?'

'Nothing at all. But I must tell you this,' said Henry, grabbing him by both arms. 'It may help in my defence. Granted, I could have killed that posturing Italian. But I'm sure that I did not because I feel no remorse. Do you see what that means? If I'd done the deed, I'd have felt sorry afterwards, when my anger had subsided. But I feel nothing. I neither rejoice in his death nor regret it. Explain that, if you will,' he demanded, releasing Christopher. 'How can a person of high emotion like me feel nothing whatsoever?'

'No twinges of conscience?'

'None.'

'No satisfaction that a despised enemy was killed?'

'That would only come if I'd been the one lucky enough to kill him.'

Christopher was alarmed. He hoped that his brother would never have to go to trial but it was a contingency that had to be taken into account. Henry's comments might persuade him of his own innocence but they would hardly sway a jury in his favour. His last remark had made his brother blench. Uttered in the courtroom, it would suggest a heartless man with a burning hatred of the murder victim. Christopher knew that he had to mix strictness with his sympathy.

'You did not tell me the whole truth, Henry,' he chided.

'I did. I told you all.'

'Not according to Sir Humphrey Godden.'

'Does he call me a liar?'

'No,' said Christopher, 'he merely doubted that his alleged cheating at cards was enough to make you turn against Signor Maldini. Apparently, you were exposed to scorn at the fencing school.'

'I prefer to forget that shameful episode.'

'It's important, Henry.'

'Is it?' 'It provides you with a motive. Tell me what happened.'

'Must I?'

'Yes,' insisted his brother. 'If I'm to help you, I must know everything.'

'Very well,' said Henry with a sigh of reluctance. 'I was the victim of the most dreadful act of spite at that fencing school one day. It was utterly humiliating. I'm no mean swordsman, as you know. I've worked hard to master all the accomplishments of a gentleman - fencing, dancing, drinking and gambling.'

Christopher was sardonic. 'Not to mention the arts of the bedchamber.'

'I had a natural excellence in that direction.'

'What did Signor Maldini do?'

'He set me up so that he could cut me down, Christopher. He waited until the school was full then chose me for a demonstration. I was flattered at first. That illusion did not last,' he said with rancour. 'While I had a rapier, Jeronimo Maldini seemed to have a magic wand in his hand. It did whatever he wished. He slashed my sleeves open, hacked off my buttons and made me look such a blundering clown that everyone jeered at me. It was quite insupportable.'

'Why do you think he did that?'

'To prove that he was the superior swordsman.'

'That was evident before you started. Why pick on you, Henry?'

'To vent his dislike of me.'

'Was there not another reason as well?'

'Not that I know of.'

'Think again.'

'He simply wanted to shame me.'

'And we both know why,' suggested his brother. 'You talked of cheating at cards and Sir Humphrey Godden mentioned this bout at the fencing school, but there was another cause of strife between you.' He lowered his voice. 'What was her name?'

Henry was shaken. 'I've not the slightest idea of what you are talking about,' he said, trying to muster some indignation. 'This conversation has taken an unsavoury turn.'

'Who was the lady, Henry?'

'What lady?'

'The one who came between you and your fencing master.'

"There's no such person.' 'Who was she?'

Henry faltered. 'That's a personal matter and has no relevance here.'

'So you confess that there was someone?'

'Place what construction you will on my statement.'

"Then I can only believe that you actually welcome trial and conviction,' said Christopher levelly, 'for you shun what might be significant evidence in your favour. Does it not occur to you that this lady may be in a position to save your life?'

'She'd be more inclined to break my heart.'

'Is that what she did when she went off with Signor Maldini?'

'He tricked her,' yelled Henry turning on him. 'He used every foul device he knew to woo her away from me. When he'd done that, when he'd lured her with false promises, when he'd sneaked his way into her bed and taken his evil pleasures, he cast her aside like a broken doll.' His face went blank. 'I loved her, Christopher,' he said in a hollow voice. 'I loved her as I've never loved anyone else. Yes,' he went on before his brother could interrupt, 'I know you've heard me say that before but this time it was different. It was not mere lust disguised as love. It was true passion of a kind I'd not felt before.' He bit his lip and shook his head. 'I loved her, I swear it.'

'What was her name?'

'Forget her. Please. It's all in my past.'

'But she may be able to have some influence on your future as well,' reasoned Christopher. 'She'll have intelligence about your rival that nobody else has. It may help you. And, I daresay, the lady will be overcome with regret at the way she treated you. Let me speak to her, Henry.'

'It would serve no purpose.'

'Are you afraid of what she might tell me?'

Henry sagged. 'I still care, Christopher. I want to spare her any more pain.'

'That's a laudable objective but not a very practical one. It was Captain Harvest who revealed the existence of the lady. He would not divulge her name but he'll have no choice if he's put under oath in the witness box.' Christopher put a hand on his arm. 'Who is she, Henry, and where do I find her?'

'I dare not tell you.'

'Why not?' 'Because you've always taken such a critical view of my amours.'

'Only when they have deserved my reproach. More often than not, you pay for your pleasures then profess to love the lady, even though her favours are for hire. I'm bound to look askance at that, Henry.'

'This time it was different.'

'Then I'm pleased for you,' said Christopher with a kind smile. 'I'm delighted that you found someone who rescued you from that dark and licentious world that you inhabit and taught you the value of true love. Who was she?'

'I'll not betray her name.'

'Captain Harvest will have no compunction in doing so.'

'Damn the fellow!'

'Let me speak to her.' His brother turned away. 'I'll be discretion itself.' Henry shook his head. 'What is holding you back?'

'Fear of your censure.'

'But I've already told you how thrilled I am that you found someone who could inspire such feelings in you. The lady must be special indeed if she could make you think of romance instead of mere conquest. Why should I be censorious?'

'Because she is married.'

'Oh,' said Christopher.

'Unhappily married to a brute of a husband,' continued Henry, anxious to justify his behaviour. 'It would have been cruel to have let her suffer his ill-treatment of her without offering some relief. I felt honour bound to go to her aid.'

'You intended to rescue her from her marriage?'

'No, from her unhappiness.'

'It sounds to me as if you might well have increased it, Henry. Think of the danger you would have put her in if her husband had discovered the truth.'

'The old fool suspected nothing.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'He was always too caught up in his own affairs.'

'I need to speak to her,' said Christopher. 'I need to speak to everyone who may be in a position to help you in some way. The lady must have cared for you.'

'She did - until that snake of an Italian took her from me.'

'Tell me her name.' 'Only if you promise not to rebuke me.'

'You have my word, Henry.'

'Then know the worst.' He hesitated for a moment as he wrestled with some inner demon. Then he braced himself. 'Her name is Patience Holcroft.'

Christopher was astounded. 'Lady Patience Holcroft?'

'I knew that you would chide me,' protested Henry.

'It's surprise more than reproof,' said his brother. 'Her husband is a man of consequence. Sir Ralph Holcroft is a power in the land.'

'That does not entitle him to abuse his spouse. Patience only married him out of sympathy when his first wife died. He offered her all manner of inducements and swore that what he sought was companionship. Sir Ralph is thirty years her senior.'

"That gave you no right to intrude on their marriage.'

'Patience appealed for my help.'

'You were playing with fire, Henry.'

'That was part of the excitement,' said his brother wistfully. 'Surely, you understand that. Have you never cared for someone who was put beyond your reach?'

'Yes,' said Christopher, thinking of Susan Cheever, 'I confess that I have.'

'Then you'll know the wonderful thrill that danger brings, the joy of meeting in secret. Forbidden love is the highest form of pleasure.'

'I'll speak to the lady.'

'Be careful with her, Christopher. Ask her not to think badly of me.'

'From what you say, her regrets concern Signor Maldini. But do not worry. I'll impress upon her that you are completely innocent. It will be the way to win her confidence.'

Henry was agitated. 'Nobody else must know about this.'

'I'll be as close as the grave.'

'Find some way to muzzle Captain Harvest. We must not let him blurt out her name. And most of all,' he pleaded, 'do not let Father get wind of this. He has enough reasons already to disown his elder son.'

'Father would never disown you, Henry.'

'Does he know of my arrest?'

'I felt obliged to write to him.' His brother's face was contorted with pain. 'It could not be kept from him, Henry, and I wanted him to hear it from me rather than from someone else. I, at least, was able to assure him of your innocence.'

'He'll be on his way to London even now.'

'I expect that he will.'

'Help me!' implored Henry, grabbing him. 'Please keep Father away from me.'

Christopher shook his head. 'Only God could do that.'

It was some years since the Reverend Algernon Redmayne had been in the saddle. Since his elevation to the Deanery, he felt that riding a horse was beneath his dignity and only travelled by coach or, at the very least, by pony cart. None were available at short notice and the situation called for an immediate response. As soon as he read Christopher's letter, the old man confided in his bishop, was given permission to leave and, in the interests of safety, joined a party of merchants who were on their way to London. It was the fastest way to reach the capital but, as he soon discovered, it was also the most uncomfortable. Muscles that had grown slack with age now ached and burned. Buttocks that invariably had a cushion beneath them when he sat in the cathedral were bounced and bruised until he was in agony. The Dean rode on without complaint.

During their second day on the road, they paused near a stream to water the horses and stretch their legs. One of the merchants watched the old man dismount in obvious pain. He took pity on him.

'We are riding too hard for you,' he said solicitously.

'No, no,' replied the Dean. 'I can keep up.'

'Perhaps you should move at a more sedate pace. When we reach the next town, wait for travellers who are in less of a hurry to reach London.'

'I prefer your company, sir.'

'But we are men of business with a need to get there soon.'

'I, too, have my needs,' said the old man. 'And I'll not be deflected by any aches and pains. In some ways, I welcome them.'

The merchant was amazed. 'You welcome them?'

'Indeed, I do.'

'But you've been in distress since we left Gloucester. You can barely walk.'

'It's a judgment on me,' said the Dean, 'and I accept God's punishment gladly.'

'Why should He punish a man like you?'

'That is what I am going to London to find out. And I mean to get there, sir,' he added with fierce determination. 'Even if I have to be tied across the saddle.'