The Frost Fair

Chapter Nine

Christopher Redmayne left the prison in a daze. The visit had been a revelation. His faith in Henry's innocence had not wavered but he wished that his brother had been more honest from the start. It was disturbing to hear it confirmed that the real cause of enmity with the fencing master had been rivalry for the hand of a woman, and it was even more alarming to discover her name. Lady Patience Holcroft was a noted beauty, a young lady of good family, who had dismayed her many admirers by accepting a proposal from a most unlikely suitor. In choosing Sir Ralph Holcroft, she had married wealth and political influence, making light of the substantial difference in their years and, it had seemed, enjoying her new status in society. Christopher did not mix in the same circles as the couple but even he had heard the gossip about the crusty old politician with the radiant young wife. Envy and curiosity kept that gossip bubbling away.

That his brother was involved with the lady was deeply worrying to Christopher. He could imagine how they met, for Henry mixed with the elite of society, and he could easily understand why he conceived a passion for her. What baffled him was that Patience Holcroft took the slightest interest in him, let alone reached the stage of requiting his love. Henry had had many dalliances in the past and his brother took care to know as little about them as possible. As a rule, they followed a familiar course from infatuation to conquest, and on to bitter recrimination. It pained Christopher to admit that, in matters of the heart, his brother had the ruthlessness of a true rake, luxuriating in the chase for its own sake before casting the object of his affection carelessly aside. This had patently not been the case with Patience Holcroft. Genuine love was actually involved for once. Henry was truly committed to the lady. To have her stolen away from him must have been a harrowing experience. It was no wonder that he harboured a grudge against Jeronimo Maldini.

As he walked home, Christopher wished that the lady could have been anyone else but Lady Holcroft. Her marital situation made it impossible for him to approach her directly. The irony was that she lived in a magnificent house in Fleet Street that he would pass on his way to Fetter Lane but he could hardly present himself at her front door. If her husband were there, Christopher could find himself in an embarrassing position and, even if he were not, the servants would be so loyal to their master that they would report the visit of a man with a name that had acquired a sudden notoriety. Henry Redmayne's arrest made his brother an outcast in the eyes of those who assumed the prisoner's guilt before it was proved in court. If Henry's relationship with the wife of Sir Ralph Holcroft were to come to light, there would be a huge scandal. Christopher knew that immense tact was required.

What Henry had flatly refused to tell his brother was how he had developed the acquaintance with Lady Holcroft into something far deeper. An intermediary must have been used and secret assignations made. Where had they taken place and who had carried messages between the two lovers? It was puzzling. Christopher was reminded that Henry's courtship had been ruined by the intervention of a rival. That raised the question of how Jeronimo Maldini contrived to meet and ensnare the lady. He had none of Henry's connections yet he managed somehow to supplant him in Lady Holcroft's affections. How were their secret meetings arranged and why did the Italian tire of her? Evidently, there was a way to communicate with her somehow. Christopher had to find it.

Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Susan Cheever. The few snatched moments he had shared with her in Richmond had given him the most intense pleasure. Whatever happened to his brother, she had emphasized, would make no difference to her feelings about Christopher. It was the most heartening news he had received since the arrest. Sir Julius Cheever had turned his back on the architect, as had Brilliana Serle and her husband, but Susan's fidelity was unshaken. In order to see him, she had risen at dawn and sneaked out of the house to the stables. A grave risk had been taken on his behalf and that added a decided spice to their encounter. Henry had talked about the thrill of the forbidden. Given the fact that he had savoured that thrill himself, his brother could hardly blame him for following the dictates of his heart. Susan Cheever might not be married to a politician of high standing but she was being deliberately kept away from Christopher. There was a deep satisfaction in being able to circumvent the efforts of her family.

What he had learned at Newgate made it even more imperative to find Captain Harvest. The man was in possession of information that could spark a scandal and cause greater hardship for Henry. If he had been such a close friend of Signor Maldini, the captain would be able to tell Christopher much more about the Italian than he had so far managed to establish. The three people who had talked to him about the fencing master had painted a picture of a vain, unfeeling, duplicitous man whom they had each left in turn, yet many other people had remained as pupils at the school and its reputation was high. When he put his mind to it, Jeronimo Maldini was clearly able to retain the custom of those he instructed. Christopher hoped that Captain Harvest would be able to tell him how he did it and, in the process, add a few kinder brush strokes to the communal portrait of the dead man.

A stiff breeze made him turn up his collar and lengthen his stride. Temperatures were milder but nobody could doubt that it was winter. Though the frost had abated and the ice was cracking up on the Thames, the citizens still had enough cause to grumble about the cold. Afternoon had shaded into evening by the time that Christopher turned into Fetter Lane and a gloom had descended. It was only when a pedestrian or a rider passed close by him that he could see them properly. He cheered himself with the thought of the warm fire that Jacob would have lit. It made him quicken his pace even more. So eager was he to get back to his house that he did not see the man who was lurking in the shadows nearby. When Christopher let himself in and closed the front door behind him, the man came out of his hiding place. He stared at the house with a smouldering hatred.

Brilliana Serle's headache was a boon to Susan. After exacting as much sympathy as she could, she retired to bed and left her sister alone in the parlour with her husband. Lancelot Serle was full of concern.

'Brilliana is rather prone to headaches,' he said.

'Has she discussed it with her doctor?' asked Susan.

'Endlessly. He's prescribed a medicine that she finds too unappetising to take.'

'Medicines are not supposed to be appetising, Lancelot.'

'My wife believes that they should be. At all events,' he went on with a reassuring smile, 'Brilliana will not be indisposed for long. The headaches rarely persist.'

'That's good to hear.'

Having spent the whole day under her eye, Susan Cheever was relieved by her sister's departure. It not only gave her a sense of freedom, it enabled her to have a private conversation with her brother-in-law. Lancelot Serle was a much more intelligent man than her father ever cared to appreciate. His breeding and his politics would never commend themselves to a gruff Parliamentarian like Sir Julius, who felt that his elder daughter was throwing herself away on a worthless fool. In fact, Serle was cultured, well-informed and effortlessly polite in a way that only served to enrage his father- in-law. Though he would never be her choice for a husband, Susan was very aware of his finer qualities and he, by the same token, recognised her virtues. It enabled them to be friends.

'Father will be back in Northamptonshire by now,' she noted.

Serle pulled a face. 'I can still hear his strictures of me.'

'Take no notice, Lancelot. He's critical of everybody.'

'But he saves his real venom for me. I pretend that it does not hurt, of course, but the wounds do smart. After all this time, I'd hoped that Sir Julius would have accepted me into the family.'

'Well, I do,' said Susan. 'Without complaint.'

'Thank you.'

'I did not believe that anyone could make Brilliana happy. Yet you've done so.'

'It does require hard work,' he confided, 'and considerable patience.'

'You have that in abundance.'

'And so do you, Susan,' he complimented. 'I marvel at the way you handle Sir Julius. It's astonishing. I could never do it. I must confess that he frightens me.'

'Father still has too much of the soldier in him.'

'I agree. His tongue is a deadly weapon.'

'He's fighting battles that were over long ago.'

'Nobody seems to have told him that we are ruled by a King once again.'

'Oh, he's been told many times, Lancelot, but he refuses to believe it.' They shared a laugh. Susan began to probe. 'We are having visitors tomorrow, then?' 'Yes,' he replied. 'Eight in all.'

'Anyone I might know?'

'I doubt it, Susan. Though your sister is anxious that you should meet one of them and I'm equally keen that he should meet you.'

'Why?'

'Because I think that you'll get on splendidly.'

'Who is the gentleman?'

'Jack Cardinal. He's as decent a fellow as you could imagine. His father died a few years ago and he's devoted himself to looking after his ailing mother. Their estate is four or five miles away. Jack is so modest by nature. You'd never guess that he's the best shot in the county or that he can handle a sword as if he were born with it in his hand.'

'What age is Mr Cardinal?'

'A little above my own. Brilliana thinks him more handsome than me.'

'How can she be so disloyal?'

'It was only said to taunt me,' he explained with an uxorious smile. 'But she does admire Jack. What mystifies her - and me, for that matter - is why the fellow has never married. It's noble of him to put his mother first but he deserves rather more out of life.'

Susan frowned. 'I can see why Brilliana wants to dangle me in front of him.'

'Oh, you'll take to Jack Cardinal and he'll certainly adore you.'

'I do not think that I want to be adored, Lancelot.'

'Every woman wants that.'

'Only if the adoration comes from the right source,' she replied with a slight edge in her voice. 'The truth is - and I made this plain to Brilliana - that I'm not in the market for a husband.'

Serle grinned proudly. 'Neither was your sister until she met me.'

Susan did not wish to disillusion him. Unbeknown to Serle, his wife had two broken engagements in her past and there had been a bevy of proposals that she had turned down. From an early age, Brilliana had dedicated herself to finding the right husband and her sister had watched the various suitors come and go with depressing regularity. One of the reasons why Susan had been so unwilling to encourage the attentions of any young men in the area was the likelihood that they already been tested, found wanting, then rejected, by her sister. Out of kindness to her brother-in- law, Susan resolved to conceal the details of Brilliana's previous entanglements.

'We thought that you and Jack would have so much in common,' said Serle.

'In common?'

'You look after a difficult father while he takes care of a sick mother.'

'You are surely not suggesting that we marry the two of them off?' she said waspishly. 'Much as I love Father, I'd not undertake the role of matchmaker for him. I don't think the wife exists who could endure his bad temper and his idiosyncrasies. Mr Cardinal's ailing mother would be the last person to tempt him.'

'Stop these jests,' he chided with a laugh. 'What I meant - as you well know, Susan - was that you and Jack Cardinal have similar interests.'

'I doubt that. I've never fired a gun and have no skill at fencing.'

'But you like books, do you not?'

'So?'

'Jack is also prodigious reader.'

'What does he read?' she asked. 'Books about firearms or manuals on the finer points of swordsmanship?' She fixed him with a stare. 'Answer me this, Lancelot. Does this friend of yours know why he's been invited here?'

'No, Susan. I merely requested the pleasure of his company.'

'Mr Cardinal is not coming to look me over like a prize heifer, then?'

'Heaven forbid!' he exclaimed. 'That's a monstrous notion! If Jack thought that he was being asked to do such a thing, he'd refuse to come anywhere near Serle Court.

'That's a relief.'

'Apart from anything else, he's a rather shy man.'

'It's difficult to be shy with a gun in your hand.'

'That's how he expresses himself, don't you see? By means of his sporting prowess, for he's a wonderful horseman as well. But it's with a rapier in his hand that he's really at his best. Egerton discovered that.'

'Egerton?'

'Egerton Whitcombe. The son of Lady Whitcombe.'

Susan sat up with interest. 'Lady Whitcombe, who lives in Sheen?' "The same. Have you met her?'

'No, but I've heard of her,' she said, remembering that Christopher Redmayne had been engaged to design a house for the lady. 'What sort of person is she?'

'Very grand. Her late husband was a member of the Privy Council.'

'And is Lady Whitcombe among the guests you've invited?'

'Dear me, no!' he said. 'We are not on visiting terms.'

'You mentioned a son named Egerton.'

'Yes, Susan. He's a surly young man, with little respect for others. There's the essential difference between them. Jack Cardinal is a sterling fellow, who puts his mother first at all times. Egerton Whitcombe is a wastrel, who deserts his family whenever he can. I gather that he's in France at the moment. The pity of it is,' he sighed, 'that Lady Whitcombe indulges him ridiculously. She seems quite blind to his faults.'

'What's the connection between her son and Mr Cardinal?'

'Why, the duel, of course.'

'Duel?' she said. 'They fought each other?'

'Only in the spirit of competition,' he told her. "There was no animus involved. At least, there was none on Jack's side. He only consented to a bout because Egerton pestered him so much. Jack Cardinal has a reputation in the locality, you see.'

'What happened?'

'Egerton Whitcombe thought that he could damage that reputation. In fairness, he's a fine swordsman in his own right and he'd been taking lessons from a fencing master in London to sharpen his skills. He felt that he was ready to topple Jack.'

'And was he?'

'Not from what I heard, Susan. They were well-matched at first, it seems, and Egerton did not disgrace himself but Jack was too quick and guileful for him. He vanquished yet another challenger, leaving his reputation untarnished.'

'I see.'

'Egerton took the defeat badly but that was only to be expected. No,' he went on, 'Lady Whitcombe and her family are not in our circle. Quite candidly, we are relieved.'

'Relieved?'

Egerton Whitcombe is no gentleman. He's brash, boastful and ungracious. He's certainly not fit company for you, Susan. Put him out of your mind,' he advised. 'He's one suitor that Brilliana would never inflict on her sister.'

A choppy sea and a biting wind had made the crossing from Calais particularly unpleasant. When he disembarked at Dover, the young man was in a foul mood. He adjourned to the nearest inn, hired a room and sent for a flagon of wine. When the satchel containing writing materials was brought in, he dashed off a letter to his mother to inform her that he would be in London the next day His servant came up the steps, struggling with the last of the baggage. Egerton Whitcombe thrust the letter at him.

"This must reach my mother as soon as possible,' he ordered.

Jonathan Bale was not looking forward to talking to either of the other witnesses but he had given his word. Accordingly, he called on Martin Crenlowe that evening as the goldsmith was about to close up his shop. When he heard why Jonathan had come, he invited him reluctantly into the building and took him to his private office. Crenlowe was civil rather than welcoming.

'I'll not be able to give you much time, Mr Bale,' he said. 'I'm expected at home.'

"Then I'll be brief, sir. You are a friend of Henry Redmayne.'

'And proud to be so.'

'Do you believe him to be innocent of this crime?'

'Yes, I do.'

'On what evidence?'

'My knowledge of the man.'

'You heard him threaten the murder victim. His dagger was in the man's back.'

'I refuse to believe that Henry put it there,' said Crenlowe. 'It's no secret that he and Signor Maldini fell out - I had no time for the fellow myself - but that does mean he was driven to murder. You see, Henry Redmayne is temperamental.'

'I've met the gentleman, sir.'

'Then you know that he's a creature of moods. Older friends like myself and Sir Humphrey Godden are accustomed to his ways. Others are not. That's why Henry tends to lose as many acquaintances as he makes. He is always parting with someone or other.

Goodness!' he said with a throaty chuckle, 'If Henry killed every man with whom he had a quarrel then you'd need to build a new cemetery to hold them all.'

'One death alone concerns me, Mr Crenlowe.'

'I understand that.'

"Then perhaps you'll tell me what happened on the night in question.'

'I've already given a sworn statement,' said Crenlowe with impatience, 'and spoken to Henry's brother on the subject. Do I really need to go through it all again?'

'There might be some tiny details that you missed earlier.'

'I doubt that. I have an excellent memory.'

'Yet you had been drinking that night, sir.'

'I can hold my wine, have no qualms on that score.'

Jonathan waited. The goldsmith was not as friendly as he had been led to suppose. He could understand why. Martin Crenlowe could be open with Christopher Redmayne because he part of his brother's circle and because he felt that he and the architect were on the same social footing. A lowly constable was a different matter, especially when he exuded such obvious disapproval. Crenlowe ran a searching eye over him.

'You've come to the wrong place, Mr Bale,' he said quietly. 'If you look for evidence that will help to hang a dear friend of mine, you are wasting your time here.'

'All that I seek is the truth, sir.'

'I sense that you've already made up your mind.'

'Change it for me,' invited Jonathan, folding his arms.

'Very well,' said Crenlowe after a long pause. 'I'll try.'

His narrative was short but lucid. He described the quarrel that had flared up between Henry Redmayne and the fencing master, then talked about the meal that four of them had shared at the Elephant. He explained how they had each gone off in a different direction. Jonathan was motionless throughout.

'When did you next see Henry Redmayne?' he asked.

'Not for some days.'

'Did he make any mention of that evening you all spent together?'

'None, Mr Bale.'

'So the name of Signor Maldini never came into the conversation?' 'Why should it?'

"The gentleman must have been missed by then.'

'Only by his friends and we did not count ourselves in that number.'

'Captain Harvest did.'

'James is a law unto himself.'

'Did he not tell either of you that Signor Maldini had disappeared?'

'No, we never saw him. James is not part of our inner circle. Besides, he comes and goes to suit himself. Sometimes, we do not catch sight of him for weeks on end.'

'I spoke to Captain Harvest.'

'Then you'll have some idea of his character.'

'Robust and forthright.'

'A little too hearty for my taste but he can be amusing company.'

'He insists that Mr Redmayne was the killer.'

'He would. He never liked Henry.'

'Captain Harvest is the only person I've met who mourns his friend.'

'Do not expect us to shed tears for him,' said Crenlowe sharply. 'Jeronimo Maldini was a snake in human guise. He got close to people in order to strike at their weak points. He upset me, he insulted Sir Humphrey and he outraged poor Henry.'

'Why did the three of you go to him in the first place?'

'Because of his reputation. He was a brilliant swordsman.'

'With a rapier?'

'With any weapon that man could devise. I've seen him use broadsword, rapier, Toledo, spontoon and backsword with equal proficiency.'

'What of Mr Redmayne? How proficient was he?'

'Henry was the best of the three of us, no question of that. We live in a dangerous city, Mr Bale, as you well know. Wise men learn how defend themselves. Henry was more than capable with sword and dagger.'

'Dagger?' said Jonathan pointedly.

'I was speaking about practice bouts at the fencing school.'

'But he knew how to use the weapon?'

'We all do, Mr Bale.'

'Not as well as Henry Redmayne, it seems.'

Crenlowe angered. 'I can see that you've not been listening to me,' he said with asperity. 'You claim to seek the truth but your mind remains obstinately closed to it. No more of it, sir. I resent the time you've taken up and I must ask you to leave.'

'There's one more question I have to put.'

'Good day to you, Mr Bale.'

'If Mr Redmayne is innocent, then someone else must be guilty of the crime.'

'So?'

'Is it conceivable that the killer could be Captain Harvest?'

Crenlowe was taken aback. He was obviously surprised by the suggestion and needed some time to assess its value. Jonathan could see his brain working away. The goldsmith was uncertain at first but the expression on his face slowly changed.

'Yes,' he concluded. 'I suppose that it is.'

Captain Harvest had a gift for being at ease in any surroundings. Whether mixing with aristocracy or consorting with the lower orders, he felt completely at home. He was also quick to make new friends, mastering their names with disarming speed and finding a way to be on familiar terms without causing the slightest offence. The three men with whom he was playing cards had been total strangers to him an hour earlier but Harvest chatted to them as if had known them for years. They sat around a table in the corner of the tavern, drinking beer and using a large candle to illumine their game. The Hope and Anchor was not the most salubrious inn along the riverbank. In the main, it catered for sailors, watermen, lightermen and others who earned their living from the Thames. The atmosphere was rowdy, the air charged with pipe tobacco. Wagers were only small but they mounted up as the evening progressed. Hitting a rich vein of luck, Harvest scooped the winnings time and again but he was generous with his gains. The beer that he bought for his companions kept them at the table to lose even more to him. Eventually, their purses could withstand no more assaults by the soldier and so they peeled away. Their place at the table was immediately taken by someone else.

'Captain Harvest, I believe,' said Christopher Redmayne.

'At your service, sir,' replied the other. 'How did you know my name?'

'You are not difficult to recognise.'

Harvest peered at him. 'Nor are you, my friend, unless I'm deceived. I see a distinct family likeness to a certain gentleman who is at present domiciled in Newgate prison. Am I right, Mr Redmayne?'

'You are, indeed. I'm Henry's brother, Christopher.'

"Then you've obviously not come to play cards with me.'

'I've been warned against that.'

'Rightly so,' said Harvest with a chuckle. 'Well, sir, I can guess why you are looking for me. I'm also mightily impressed that you found me. For a whole host of reasons, I like to cover my tracks.'

'Jonathan Bale discovered that.'

'Ah, yes. The earnest constable.'

'He gave me a list of your haunts. One led on to another.'

'You've been a veritable bloodhound, Mr Redmayne.'

'Mr Bale told me that I would have to be,' said Christopher, realising how exact his friend's description of the captain had been. 'He spoke with your landlord today. It seems that you quit your lodgings and forgot to pay your rent.'

'That oversight will soon be repaired,' promised Harvest, tapping his purse. 'One good day with pack of cards can make all the difference.' He moved the candle nearer to Christopher so that it lit up his face. 'Yes, there's a definite likeness but it's not strong. You look so much healthier than your brother. Henry boasted about you from time to time. An architect, I hear.'

'True.'

'An honourable profession. Unlike the one that your brother follows.'

'He does valuable work at the Navy Office.'

'On the rare occasions when he actually goes there. It's no wonder that the Dutch surprised us in the Medway if the fate of our navy is in the hands of people like Henry Redmayne.' He gave a snort of disgust. "Thank Heaven that we have an army!'

'You fought against the Dutch?'

'That's how I earned my commission.'

"Then I'm surprised you do not choose a tavern frequented by soldiers,' said Christopher, glancing round. 'If you have such a low opinion of the navy, why do you come to the Hope and Anchor?'

'I told you, Mr Redmayne. I like to cover my tracks.' 'Are you hiding from someone?'

'Only my creditors.'

'Mr Bale tells me that you are denouncing my brother at every opportunity.'

'It's my bounden duty to expose him for the brutal killer that he is.'

'Did you witness the murder, Captain Harvest?'

'Not with my own eyes.'

"Then how can you be so certain that my brother is the culprit?'

'Call it a soldier's instinct.'

'I'd prefer to call it an unfair and over-hasty judgement.'

'Henry left that tavern with one thing on his mind, Mr Redmayne. I know when a man is about to kill. He'd spent the whole evening working himself up to it.'

'Yet you did nothing to stop him?'

Harvest spread his arms. 'What could I do?'

'Prevail upon him to see sense,' said Christopher. 'Made sure that he went home afterwards or, at the very least, stayed with him to calm him down.'

'Calm him down? He was well beyond that. Besides, I had somewhere else to go.'

'Signor Maldini was your friend. Did you not try to warn him?'

'Of what?'

'My brother's intentions.'

'It was Henry that I warned. Even when he was sober, he was no match for Jeronimo. What chance did he stand against him when he was drunk?'

'In other words, you let my brother go in the belief that he would be the one to suffer in any duel. You've a strange idea of friendship,' said Christopher with sudden passion. 'You sup with my brother yet you do nothing to prevent him from engaging in a brawl that could well lead to his death.'

'Henry was never a real friend.'

'So you deliberately sent him off after Signor Maldini?'

'It was no concern of mine. I had somewhere else to go.'

Christopher was scornful. 'Yes, Captain Harvest. I'm sure that you did. No doubt you had to cover your tracks.'

'You are beginning to annoy me, sir,' said the other, bristling.

'Then I have something in common with my brother, after all.' 'Rather too much, for my liking.'

'Why did you despise him so much?'

'Henry?' said the other, playing with his beard. 'Chiefly, because of the way that he treated other people. He was cold and patronising. I've learned to love my fellow men. Henry loathed them, unless they could carouse with him through the night. Look at those closest to him,' he sneered. 'Martin Crenlowe and Sir Humphrey Godden, each as supercilious as the other. What right had they to look down on Jeronimo Maldini? Yet they treated him like dirt. Sir Humphrey was the worst. He hates foreigners. He was happy enough to take lessons from Jeronimo because he thought he might learn something, even though he believed that, as an Italian, the man was beneath contempt.'

Christopher nodded. 'I've heard Sir Humphrey's views on foreigners.'

'Martin Crenlowe shares them.'

'I found him the more amenable of the two.'

'Neither of them would earn my admiration.'

'Yet you were ready to spend time with them and with my brother.'

Harvest gave an elaborate shrug. 'One has to eat.'

'Who paid for your meal that evening, Captain Harvest?'

'What does it matter,' said the other with a wolfish grin, 'as long as I did not have the inconvenience of doing it myself?'

The man was shameless. Christopher could see how he had ingratiated himself with Henry and the others. Captain Harvest had a devil-may-care charm that would have had a surface appeal to men bent on pleasure. The soldier was urbane and quick-witted. Most of those whose friendship he courted would not even realise that he was an amiable parasite. Yet he was loyal to the people he really cared about. Christopher felt obliged to approve of that.

'Tell me about Signor Maldini,' he said.

'Why?'

'Because nobody else had a good word to say for him.'

"Then you've been talking to the wrong people,' said Harvest. 'Most of his pupils at the fencing school worshipped him. Jeronimo was supreme at his trade.'

'Is that why you liked him?'

'No, Mr Redmayne. It was because I sensed that we were two of a kind, men who had not been blessed at birth and who therefore had to make their own way in the world. I know what it is to live in a foreign country where most people turn instinctively away from you. That's what it was like for Jeronimo at first,' he said. 'But he worked hard to master the language and soon began to win people over.'

'Some people.'

'Your brother and his friends were always beyond his reach.'

'He loaned you money, I understand.'

'He did more than that,' replied Harvest. 'He gave it to me out of love.'

'Could he afford to be so generous?'

'He ran the most popular fencing school in the city, Mr Redmayne. That's why he employed me as his assistant. There were too many pupils. Jeronimo was never short of funds, in spite of his weakness.'

'Weakness?'

'He was an Italian. He adored women.'

'I gathered that.'

'Romance costs money,' said Harvest, 'and he had many romances.'

'There's only one that interests me. According to my brother, a certain lady was the real cause of the rift between him and his fencing master.'

'You do not need to tell me that.'

'What did Signor Maldini do?'

'He took pity on her, Mr Redmayne. He rescued her from Henry's clutches.'

'That's not how my brother describes the situation.'

Harvest laughed aloud. 'You surprise me!'

'Did your friend confide in you?'

'Only up to a point. He was very discreet where ladies were concerned. But this case was slightly different.'

'Why?'

'There was an element of revenge,' explained the soldier. 'Jeronimo felt that your brother had slighted him. What better way to get his own back? He could sport with the lady and enrage Henry at the same time.'

'It was no true romance, then?'

'Only for her.'

'And who might she be?' 'Your brother will tell you that, Mr Redmayne.'

'He prefers to protect the lady's reputation.'

'He'd have done that best by leaving her well alone for she was married.'

'That did not seem to hinder Signor Maldini.'

'Jeronimo is like me,' said Harvest, reaching for his tankard. 'He takes his pleasures where he finds them. That's what I meant when I said we were kindred spirits,' he went on, downing his beer in one gulp. 'We are both soldiers of fortune.'

'You did not give me the lady's name,' pressed Christopher.

'Why are you so eager to learn it?'

'So that I can tax my brother with it.'

'I would have thought he has enough troubles, as it is. Why remind him of a lady who was snatched away from beneath him? It would only torment him.'

'You are doing that by spreading lies about him, Captain Harvest.'

'Take care, sir,' warned the other, sitting up. 'I'll brook no insults.'

'You are quick enough to hand them out.'

'I speak as I find.'

'Was Signor Maldini as hot-blooded as you? Is that why you liked him?'

'We understood each other, Mr Redmayne.'

'You both preyed on innocent women, you mean?'

Harvest beamed. 'Jeronimo's conquests were not innocent,' he said. 'Far from it. He had a preference for married women and they for him. Take the lady whom your brother was sniffing after. She deliberately cuckolded her husband.'

'Why?'

'Because Jeronimo wooed and won her. He was a very handsome man.'

'And a vengeful one, too. He made sure that my brother knew about it.'

'I applauded that.'

'What happened to the lady afterwards?'

'Who knows?' asked Harvest with a shrug. 'Who cares? Such dalliances come to a natural end. Jeronimo simply walked away and never looked back.'

'But she must surely have loved him to take such a risk.' 'She was obsessed with him.'

'Then it would be a kindness to let her know of his fate,' said Christopher. 'If she was truly enamoured of him, it's only fair to let her mourn him.'

"That thought never struck me,' he admitted, 'but you are right.'

'Tell me the lady's name and I'll apprise her discreetly of the facts.'

'I'd do that myself, if I could.'

'What prevents you?'

'Jeronimo never told me who she was, Mr Redmayne. Only what she was.'

Christopher was relieved. After only a minute in the company of Captain Harvest, he knew that he could never gag the man. If he were asked in court what was the source of discord between the prisoner and the fencing master, Harvest would not lie. He would disclose a possible motive for murder. But he would not be in a position to create additional scandal by naming the lady in question. It was compensation for the effort that Christopher had put into finding the man that evening.

Captain Harvest got to his feet. When Christopher rose, he saw for the first time how brawny the man was. The soldier glared at him with a mixture of hostility and amusement.

'Go your way, sir. I'll not help your brother to escape the gallows.'

'You still think him guilty?'

'Yes, Mr Redmayne. Guilty of murdering a good friend of mine.'

'Yet when he left you in Fenchurch Street, my brother could barely stand.'

'He was not too drunk to stab a man in the back.'

'Perhaps not,' said Christopher, 'but I very much doubt if he could then carry a dead body to the river and have the presence of mind to throw it in.'

'I agree with you.'

'Then why do you still name him as the killer?'

'Have you not worked it out yet?' taunted Harvest. 'Henry had an accomplice.'