The Frost Fair

Chapter Two

When he alighted from his coach, Sir Julius Cheever used a stick to support himself. A thaw had set in but the streets were still treacherous. On the journey from his house in Westminster, the coach had slid from side to side and the horses had occasionally lost their footing. Sir Julius was a big, strapping man of sixty with the physique of a farmer dressed incongruously in the apparel of a gentleman. If he slipped and fell, his weight would tell against him. The walking stick was therefore a sensible accessory. It was also useful for rapping hard on the door of the house in Fetter Lane that he was visiting. His imperious summons was soon answered. The servant who opened the door gave him a deferential smile of recognition.

'Good morning, Sir Julius,' he said.

'Is your master in?'

'Mr Redmayne is working in the parlour.'

"Then don't keep me shivering out here, man,' said Sir Julius, using the end of the stick to move the servant aside. 'Let me in.'

'Yes, Sir Julius.'

Opening the door to its full extent, Jacob Vout, the old servant who was butler, cook, chambermaid, ostler and everything else in the household, stepped back to admit the visitor. He did not need to announce the man's arrival. The booming voice of Sir Julius Cheever had already brought Christopher Redmayne out of his parlour. Pleased to see his former client, the architect was disappointed that he had not brought his daughter with him. After an exchange of greetings, he conducted Sir Julius into the room where the drawing on which he had been working all morning was spread out on the table. His visitor gave it a cursory glance before choosing the most comfortable chair into which to lower his bulk. He held his hat in his lap.

'You are designing a new house, I see.'

'Yes, Sir Julius. I have a commission from Lady Whitcombe.'

'Whitcombe? That name sounds familiar.'

'She is the widow of the late Sir Peregrine Whitcombe,' explained Christopher. 'In his time, he was a distinguished Member of Parliament.'

Sir Julius was scornful. 'There's no such thing as a distinguished Member of Parliament. They are all such dolts, rogues or charlatans that I can scarce forbear knocking their heads together. Whitcombe, eh?' he went on, scratching a bulbous nose. 'I remember the fellow now. A damnable Cavalier. He fought at Naseby and at Worcester, as did I. On both occasions, I thank God, we gave his army a bloody nose. I'm sorry to hear that you are working for the family of such a despicable creature.'

'The war is long over,' said Christopher tactfully.

'Not to me. It continues in other ways.'

Christopher did not argue with him. Sir Julius was an unrepentant Roundhead who still talked of Cromwell with affection. Knighted by the Lord Protector, he ignored the taunts that came from those whose honours had been bestowed by royal patronage and who therefore felt them to be superior. In addition to the battles he had mentioned, he had also fought at Bristol, Preston and Dunbar, liberally donating his blood to the soil in all three places. Sir Julius carried the scars of battle with pride. In his own mind, he was still a colonel in a victorious army.

'May I offer you some refreshment?' asked Christopher.

'No, no. This is only a brief visit.'

'At least, remove your coat.'

'There is no point,' said Sir Julius. 'The first thing that I must do, Mr Redmayne, is to thank you. Susan has told me what transpired at the frost fair. In keeping her away from the horror that you uncovered, you acted like a true gentleman.'

"There was no need for her to view such a hideous sight.'

'Susan has always been far too curious.'

'Yes,' said Christopher with a fond smile. 'Your daughter was determined to see the body for herself. I had some difficulty persuading her that it would be unwise for her to do so. Most young women would be too squeamish even to make the request. That was not the case with her.'

'She has a headstrong streak, I fear,' said her father, 'though I cannot imagine from whom she got it. Her mother was a docile woman and I am known for my gift of restraint.' He gave a chuckle. 'Except on a battlefield, that is.'

Christopher had never met anyone less restrained than Sir Julius but he made no comment. As he looked into the face of his visitor with its surging brow, its rubicund cheeks, its wild eyes and its square chin, he could see that Susan's beauty had certainly not come from her father. His features were arresting but hardly prepossessing. What she had inherited from him was an iron determination and a sense of independence.

'My real concern was for Richard,' he said. 'Jonathan Bale's younger son. He actually chanced upon the body. It will give him nightmares for a long time to come.'

'Mr Bale is a good man. He fought with us at Worcester.'

"That will not advantage his son.'

'It will,' insisted Sir Julius. "The boy has his father's blood in his veins. He'll be able to look on death without turning a hair.'

'The poor lad was crying like a baby. It was a dreadful shock for him.'

'He'll soon get over it.'

'I beg leave to doubt that.'

'Be that as it may,' said the other irritably. 'I did not come here to talk about a small boy who stumbled upon a corpse. I simply wanted to thank you for the way you behaved towards Susan and to acquaint you with the fact that, as soon as the roads are passable, I will be quitting London.'

Christopher was upset. 'For how long, Sir Julius?'

'Until the King sees fit to recall Parliament.'

'But that may be months away.'

'I do have an estate in Northamptonshire to run.'

'Naturally,' said Christopher, trying to conceal his fear that he and Susan might be parted for a considerable time. 'But I hope that you'll not neglect the many friends you have here in the capital.'

'I entered Parliament to clean up this city, not to sink into its corruption myself.'

'Do not judge the whole of London society by its more wayward members.'

'Prejudice has not made me that blind, sir.'

'I trust that you'll be able to dine here before you depart,' said Christopher, anxious to arrange at least one more meeting with Susan. 'It may be a week or so before the ice has completely thawed.'

Sir Julius rose to his feet. 'It's a tempting invitation,' he said, 'but I'll have no time to take advantage of it. There's too much work to do before I leave. I've letters to write, reports to deliver and committee meetings to attend. Because I consider you one of the few decent men in this cesspool of a city, I felt that I owed you the courtesy of telling in person about my decision.'

'I appreciate that, Sir Julius.'

'One day, perhaps, we can lure you back to Northamptonshire.'

'This commission will keep me in London for the time being.' said Christopher, indicating his drawing, 'but the situation may ease in the springtime. I'd be happy to come then.'

'Our door is always open to you.'

'I'm flattered.'

'A word of advice, Mr Redmayne,' said Sir Julius, tossing a disapproving glance at the table. 'Reject this approach from Lady Whitcombe. You are far too talented an architect to be short of work. Choose clients whom you can respect, not those who bear the names of confounded Royalists.'

'I make no distinctions.'

'You should, man.'

'I disagree.'

'What scoundrel introduced you to this particular lady?'

'You did, Sir Julius.'

'Me?' protested the other. 'But I've never even met the woman.'

'It makes no difference,' said Christopher, amused at his reaction. 'Indirectly, you were responsible for my coming to Lady Whitcombe's attention. When she was driven through Westminster, she was so impressed with the town house I built for you that she demanded the name of the architect. I was promptly engaged to design something similar, though on a larger scale, for her.'

'Do you mean that she's copying my house?' demanded Sir Julius. 'I'll not allow it, do you hear? Is the lady incapable of having ideas of her own?'

Christopher smiled ruefully. 'Far from it. Lady Whitcombe invents new refinements every time we meet. Her house will be no slavish copy of yours. The façade has a superficial resemblance to your own,' he continued, looking down at the drawing, 'but there are features that set the two properties far apart. Between the two interiors, there will be little comparison.'

'I still feel that you should refuse her tainted money.'

'Architects do not make moral judgements about their clients.' "They ought to.'

'Then our commissions would be few and far between.'

'But you'd have the reward of a clear conscience.'

'My creditors prefer to be paid in coin.'

'I took you for a man of principle.'

'Then you were right to do so, Sir Julius,' said Christopher. 'Nobody adheres so closely to the principles of architecture as I do. The first principle is that an architect must have food, drink and a roof over his head in order to pursue his profession. I'm grateful to anyone who makes that possible.'

'So be it,' said the visitor, putting his hat on. 'I'll waste no more breath on you.'

'I wish you a safe journey.'

'And I wish you a better class of client.'

Turning on his heel, Sir Julius made his way to the front door. Christopher did not want them to part on such a sour note. When his guest tried to open the door, he put a restraining hand on it.

'How shall I know when you leave London?' he asked.

Sir Julius snorted. 'The city will sink back into a morass of depravity.'

'I'd like to be there to see you off, Sir Julius.'

'There's no need for that.'

'I could wish you both God-speed.'

'I abhor the sight of well-wishers,' said Sir Julius, opening the door, 'however well-meaning they may be. Besides, I'll simply go when the moment is right. There'll be no time to advertise my departure.'

'I see.'

'Good day to you, sir.'

'Thank you again for taking the trouble to call.'

'I had to,' said Sir Julius, walking to his coach. He paused at the door held open by his coachman. 'Dear me!' he added with a wry grin. 'I all but forgot the main reason that brought me here. While I will be shaking the dust of London from my feet, Susan will not. She's decided to stay with her sister at Richmond.'

Christopher's spirits were lifted. 'This is excellent news!'

'I thought it might be.'

'I'm doubly grateful that you came, Sir Julius.'

'Then repay me in the best possible way,' said the old man with a twinkle in his eye. 'While I'm away, look after Susan for me. It will bring me some comfort to know that she has such a reliable friend in London. Do I ask too much of you?'

'Not at all. No request could be more welcome.'

'Then let me burden you with a second one.'

'As many as you wish, Sir Julius.'

'Since that body was discovered in the ice, Susan has taken a personal interest in the crime. I'd like that interest to be firmly discouraged. It's not right for a young lady to concern herself with such things.'

'I understand.'

'Has the body been identified yet?'

'Not to my knowledge.'

'When it is,' said the other, 'confide no details in my daughter. Susan is showing an unhealthy curiosity in the whole business. I trust that I can depend on you to keep her ignorant of any developments.'

'I'll do my best, Sir Julius,' Christopher promised.

But he doubted if he would be able to keep his promise. But he doubted if he would be able to keep his promise.

Jonathan Bale got back from his patrol that evening to find that his children were already in bed. Sarah was in the kitchen, preparing a meal for her husband. Like all the other properties in Baynard's Castle Ward, their little house in Addle Hill had been burned to the ground in the Great Fire but it was among the first to be rebuilt. Grateful to have their home back again, they treated it with exaggerated care, keeping it spotlessly clean and making sure that their sons showed it due respect. Every night, they prayed that their house would never again be destroyed by flames.

Jonathan went into the kitchen and gave his wife a token kiss on the cheek.

'Are the boys asleep?' he asked.

'No,' she replied. "They are waiting for you to read to them.'

'I'll go up in a moment. How is Richard?'

'He's still very upset. I spent most of the afternoon cuddling him.'

'Poor lad! He was all but frightened out of his skin.'

'I know,' she said, putting the food on the table for him. 'Richard has hardly slept a wink since. Thank heaven that Oliver did not have to see that gruesome sight!' 'I made sure of that, Sarah.'

'If only you'd been able to keep everyone away.'

'Yes,' he sighed, 'but that was impossible. As soon as word spread, the ghouls came in their hundreds to peer at the corpse as if it was part of the frost fair laid on for their pleasure. In truth, it made me ashamed of my fellow men.'

'There were a few women in that crowd as well.'

'They were among the worst offenders.'

'So I saw.' She folded her arms. 'Did you call on the coroner today?'

'I spent an hour with him this afternoon.'

'Does he know how the body got into the water?'

'Not by accident,' said Jonathan sadly. 'That much is certain. There were stab wounds in the man's back, it seems. He was dead before he was thrown into the Thames. What the killer did not anticipate was that the river would freeze over. The ice preserved the body in a better state than might have been the case. Most corpses that are hauled out of the water are bloated beyond all recognition.'

Sarah gave an involuntary shiver. 'So this man was murdered?'

'I fear so.'

'Do they have any idea who he might be?'

'Yes,' he said. 'The coroner has no doubt on that score. The man had been reported missing and, even in their sorry condition, his brother was able to identify the remains. My ears pricked up when I heard that the murder victim had lived in this ward.'

'Who was the man?'

'His name was Jeronimo Maldini.'

'An Italian?'

'Yes, Sarah. A fencing master by profession and one with a fine reputation, I gather. In short, a man who was well able to defend himself. It would have taken a cunning swordsman to get the better of him.'

'Is that what happened?'

'Who knows?' said Jonathan. 'I mean to look closely into the matter.'

'Why?'

'Because I feel involved. It was my son who first saw the body.'

'I doubt if he'll ever forget that.'

'The man lodged no more than a few hundred yards from here. I've probably passed him in the street a number of times without realising who he was. Baynard's Castle Ward is very precious to me,' he went on with a proprietary glint in his eye. 'It's my territory, Sarah. If someone is murdered here, I want to do everything possible to catch the culprit.'

'Be careful,' she said, putting an affectionate hand on his arm.

He kissed her gently. 'I always am.'

'Sit down and eat your supper, Jonathan.'

'Let me read to the boys first. Where's the Bible?'

'In their bedroom.'

'Good,' he said, moving to the door. 'I must find a passage that will help to still Richard's fears. He needs a lot of love and attention.'

'That was Mr Redmayne's view.'

'Mr Christopher Redmayne?'

'Yes, Jonathan.'

'How do you know?'

'He called in this afternoon to see how the boys were,' she said, her face beaming at the memory. 'Mr Redmayne is such a kind man. He brought presents for both of them to cheer them up. They've grown very fond of him. And so have you,' she continued with a smile, 'if only you had the grace to admit it.'

Jonathan was impassive. 'Mr Redmayne has many good qualities,' he said. 'I respect him for that. But he and I live in different worlds. You may choose to forget that but I'm unable to do so. There is a gulf between us as wide as the Thames.'

'Even when the river is frozen?'

'Even then, Sarah.'

An evening out with friends imposed a whole set of decisions on Henry Redmayne. He had to make up his mind where to go, how best to get there and what to wear in order to achieve the maximum effect. An hour at least was devoted to the selection of his apparel. Henry had a large wardrobe and, in spite of his tendency to leave his tailors' bills unpaid, he was always adding to it, desperate to keep abreast of the latest fashion. No less than four mirrors adorned the walls of his bedchamber and he examined himself meticulously in each one before settling on a particular garment. Thomas, his long- suffering valet, was a martyr to Henry Redmayne's vanity.

'How does this look, Thomas?' asked his master, parading in a lime green coat.

'It becomes you, sir.'

'You said that about the red one.'

'They suit you equally, sir.'

'How can they,' complained Henry, 'when they are so different in colour, cut and finish? Damnation, man! Green and red are opposing hues. One must surely flatter my complexion more than the other.'

'Then it must be the green, sir,' said Thomas, ready to agree with him on any choice. 'It makes you look handsome and elegant.'

'Everything I wear does that.'

'It goes without saying, sir.'

'I'm reminded of it every time I court a looking glass.'

Henry preened himself in front of the largest mirror, twisting around so that he could see himself from various angles and adjusting his coat as he did so. Thomas waited patiently. A short, neat, alert man in his fifties, the valet knew the ritual all too well. The secret was to watch his master get to the verge of a decision before applying the gentle pressure needed to help him actually make it. Having got him as far as the coat, Thomas felt that he was doing well.

'No,' said Henry, clicking his tongue. 'I think that I prefer the blue one, after all.' He held out both arms. 'Take this one off, Thomas.'

'Is that wise, sir?'

'I can hardly put on a blue coat until a green coat has been removed. Would you have me wear two at the same time and be the laughing stock of London?'

'No, sir,' said Thomas. 'I merely question the wisdom of dispensing with the green coat. The colour is ideal for you. Change to the blue and we have to replace both the shirt and the waistcoat for neither will match it.'

'Could we not try the combination?'

'We've already done so three times, sir.'

'Ah,' said Henry. 'In that case, perhaps it's time to settle for the green.'

'It was my choice from the start.'

"Then why lead me astray by letting me try of every other coat in my wardrobe?'

Henry appraised himself once more in the mirror. Now in his thirties, he was tall, slim and striking with a long face that was pitted with the signs of dissipation and hair that was vanishing so rapidly that its remaining wisps were hidden beneath an expensive periwig. Henry Redmayne shared little with his younger brother, Christopher, beyond a surname and one surviving parent. While the architect would spend the evening working on his drawings by the light of candles, Henry intended to sit at a gaming table with his friends and, in all probability, run up even more debts that he could not afford to pay. One brother lived for his profession but his older sibling dedicated himself exclusively and unashamedly to pleasure.

'The green coat, it will be,' announced Henry, fiddling with his wig. 'All that remains is to choose a hat and cloak.'

'I believe that they will choose themselves, sir,' said Thomas.

'Every last detail must enhance the whole.'

'Shall we descend?'

Relieved to have come through another ordeal of indecision in the bedchamber, the valet led the way downstairs to the hall. The house in Bedford Street was large and its ornate furniture and rich hangings reflected the taste of its owner. Some of the paintings that covered the walls were by maritime artists but the majority featured buxom young women in a state of undress. Among ships and nude females, Henry felt supremely at home. In the spacious hall was a cupboard that contained a wide selection of hats, cloaks and canes as well as variety of swords and daggers. Thomas opened the doors so that his master could survey the possibilities. From the street outside came the sound of approaching horses.

'I believe that the coach is here to pick you up, sir,' said Thomas.

'Then it can wait.'

'You were asked to be ready at eight o'clock, sir.'

'I'll not be rushed into a wrong decision, Thomas,' said Henry, taking out the warmest cloak he could find and handing it to his valet. 'Put that around my shoulders so that I can judge its relation to the rest of my attire.'

Thomas did as he was bidden. There was a loud knock at the door. A nod from Henry sent him off to open it. Expecting to see a friend on his doorstep, Henry swung round with a smile of welcome, only to find himself confronted by four officers of the law. Their grim expressions suggested that it was not a social visit. One of the men stepped past Thomas and waved a scroll at the master of the house.

'Mr Henry Redmayne?' he enquired.

'Away with you, man! How dare you enter my home like that?'

'I have a warrant here for your arrest, sir.'

'Is it a crime to choose a cloak that does not match this green coat?' asked Henry, removing the cloak with a flourish and hanging it back in the cupboard. 'For that is the only misdemeanour of which I've been guilty today.'

"This is no occasion for levity, Mr Redmayne.'

'Then take yourself off at once.'

'You have to come with us, sir,' said the man with calm authority. 'I must warn you that we'll brook no delay.'

'Is this some kind of jest?'

'No, sir. I arrest you, Henry Redmayne, on a charge of murder.'

'But that's utterly ludicrous!'

'Reserve your protestations for the judge.'

'Murder?' said Henry with disdain. 'You accuse a decent, honest, respectable, peace-loving, law-abiding man like me of murder? It's quite absurd. Who on earth am I supposed to have killed?'

"The victim's name is Jeronimo Maldini.'

Henry was struck dumb. His righteous indignation was quickly replaced by a mingled surprise and apprehension. His eyes filled with horror, his mouth was agape. Thomas had never seen his master tremble so violently before. When he saw him begin to sway, the valet rushed forward. He was just in time to catch Henry as the latter collapsed in a dead faint.