The Frost Fair

Chapter Seven

Balthazar Pegge was a retired brick maker with such a strong sense of civic duty that he took on the thankless task of being one of London's watchmen. While the majority of people were at home with their families, visiting friends or revelling in a tavern, Pegge and his companion spent the night trudging the streets of the capital in their distinctive garb. Each had a lantern and they took it in turns to carry the large bell that they used to warn citizens of their approach. Pegge also took a staff on his patrols but it was less a weapon than a means of steadying him on his spindly legs. Allan Kiffin, his fellow-watchman, always bore a halberd even though he had never been called upon to use it. Old, tired, slow and with failing eyesight, the two men were out in all weathers, admired by few, ridiculed by many and ignored by most, yet confident that their very presence helped to ensure a degree of safety in the city of their birth.

When they turned into Fenchurch Street that evening, they were accosted by a burly figure that came out of the gloom ahead of them. Pegge rang the bell but the man stood his ground. Fearing confrontation, the watchmen slowed their pace but there was no danger. The stranger's voice was very friendly and their lanterns soon revealed him to be a parish constable.

'A word with you, good sirs,' he said.

'We've plenty to spare,' replied Pegge, weighing up the newcomer.

'My name is Jonathan Bale and I need your help in the pursuit of a murderer.'

'It's yours for the asking, Mr Bale.'

'To whom do I speak?'

'I'm Balthazar Pegge,' replied the other, turning to his colleague, 'and this is Allan Kiffin, as fine as fellow as you could hope to meet.'

'Thank you, Balthazar,' said Kiffin.

'How can we help, Mr Bale?'

'Do you walk down this street every night?' asked Jonathan.

'Without fail,' said Pegge proudly. 'Around this time, you'll always find us here or hereabouts. We know every inch of Fenchurch Street even though it's changed a lot since the Great Fire.'

'Then you must be familiar with the Elephant.'

The watchman gave a dry cackle. 'Everyone knows the Elephant, sir. Those who built it were schooled in their trade. The stone they used was so thick and solid that the Elephant did not fall to the fire. The Mitre did, more's the pity. I remember seeing Daniel Rawlinson, who owned it, crying as he stood in the ruins. Other taverns were turned to cinders as well.'

'My only interest is the Elephant.'

'Why is that, Mr Bale?'

'Because a certain person supped there some weeks ago,' said Jonathan. 'When he left the tavern, he went looking for a calash to take him home and claims that he was ambushed by a man who brandished a sword. All that he can remember after that is that he was picked up from the ground by a watchman.'

'Drunk, sir?'

'Very drunk, Mr Pegge.'

'Then he could be any one of a dozen fellows we've helped to their feet.'

'Cold weather drives people to drink,' observed Kiffin darkly.

"This gentleman was in a bad state,' said Jonathan.

'They always are after a night at the Elephant.'

"The landlord serves good wine and strong ale,' added Pegge. 'Some people, alas, never know when they've had too much. We see them stumbling out of there as if their legs did not belong to them.'

'I think you'll remember this particular gentleman,' said Jonathan.

'Oh?'

'The watchman who got him to his feet also found a carriage to take him home to Bedford Street. He'd never have got there otherwise.'

'Bedford Street?' repeated Pegge, scratching his straggly grey beard. 'Now, that does sound familiar. Where have I heard that address before, Allan?'

'Why ask me, Balthazar?' said Kiffin. 'It's new to my ears.'

'I told a driver to go to Bedford Street. When was that?'

'Who knows? We've put many a man into a carriage.'

'This one would have been tall, slim and extravagantly dressed,' said Jonathan. 'He was probably wearing an expensive periwig. An arrogant fellow in every way. Even when drunk, he'd have had airs and graces.' 'They often do,' said Kiffin before spitting philosophically on to the ground.

'His name was Henry Redmayne.'

'Bless you, sir,' said Pegge, leaning on his staff. 'Most of the gentlemen that we help to their feet can barely remember what day it is. As like as not, they've forgotten their names and everything else about them.'

'Mr Redmayne did manage to give his address.'

'Yes, it's Bedford Street that sticks in my mind somehow. I wonder why that is.' He snapped his fingers. 'You are right, Mr Bale. I did ask a driver to take a gentleman back there one night.'

'When?'

'Weeks ago, I fancy.'

'Where did you find him?'

'Not here, sir,' said Pegge.

'But if he came out of the Elephant,' argued Jonathan, looking towards the tavern, 'this is where he would have searched for a lift back home. He was in no condition to walk far from Fenchurch Street.'

'You are mistaken there, sir.'

'What do you mean?'

'If it's the man I believe it was, we found him much nearer the river.'

Jonathan blinked in surprise. 'Are you sure, Mr Pegge?'

'Dead certain. Allan will bear me out.'

'Will I?' asked Kiffin, mystified.

'We found him in that alley off Thames Street,' recalled Pegge, nudging him. 'He was lying face down and we thought at first he'd been attacked by thieves. His hat had been knocked off and his wig was all askew, but he still had his purse about him.'

Kiffin's face lit up. 'I think that I remember him now, Balthazar.'

'Drunk as a lord, he was.'

'I held your lantern while you got him off the ground.'

'I soon began to wish I'd not bothered.'

'Why?' asked Jonathan.

'Because he tried to punch me,' said Pegge ruefully. 'When I got him upright, he lashed out at me with both fists. Drunk he might be, but he was still strong. I had a job to hold him and I'm no weakling, Mr Bale. Forty years of making bricks for a living has left some muscle in these old arms.'

'So you overpowered him?' 'I had to. He'd else have knocked me down.'

'I never took him for a violent man,' said Jonathan.

'You'd not have called him peaceable that night. And the worst of it was, he kept calling me by this strange name. It was an odd, curious, foreign sort of name.'

'Maldini, by any chance?'

'Yes,' said Pegge. 'Or something very much like it. He swore he'd kill me.'

'You or this fellow, Maldini?'

'He took us for one and the same.'

'What happened then?'

'Well, sir, when I'd got the better of him, I stood him against a wall and asked him where he lived. He mumbled what sounded like Bedford Street so that's where I sent him. To be honest, I was glad to see the back of him.'

'So was 1,' agreed Kiffin. 'Watchmen deserve more respect.'

'You'll get it from me,' promised Jonathan. 'You do a valuable job, my friends. As for this fight, it all took place some distance away from here, you say?'

'Close by Thames Street.'

'Could you show me the place?'

'We'll take you there now, Mr Bale,' volunteered Pegge, pleased that he might be able to furnish useful evidence in a murder enquiry. 'This way, sir.' Jonathan fell in beside them as they headed towards the river. 'What did you call the gentleman?'

'Mr Redmayne,' said the constable. 'Mr Henry Redmayne.'

Night was an unrelieved torment. Noises that were unsettling during the day became unbearable during the hours of darkness. Cries of pain and howls of anguish echoed throughout Newgate. Sounds of a violent argument would erupt when least expected and rise in volume until those involved in the brawl were beaten into submission by brutal turnkeys. Eerie silences then followed before a fresh clamor would arise. Female screams could last for an hour. Though he kept his hands over his ears, Henry Redmayne could not shut out the prison cacophony He began to think that he was locked in a madhouse. Money had bought him a flickering candle that he set in his lap, grateful for its tiny warmth as much as for its light. It was his only source of consolation.

Martin Crenlowe's visit seemed an eternity away now. Henry had eaten all the food that his friend had brought and drunk all the wine, hoping that the latter would dull his senses enough to allow him to sleep. It did not happen. Part of his punishment, he now understood, was being forced to stay awake, listening to the deafening protests of other prisoners and reflecting on his fate. He also came to realise how dependent he was on other people for his welfare. When Henry was in his own house, a servant woke him and brought him breakfast, a barber arrived to shave him and a valet helped to dress him. There were no servants, barbers or valets in Newgate. Henry was hungry, unshaven and wearing soiled clothes. A more immediate problem troubled him. Since he had no access to a privy, he had to relieve himself in a corner of the cell and share his space with his own excrement. Unaware how privileged he had been, he had taken for granted the perfumed elegance of his normal life. To be reduced to the level of a caged animal was a horrifying experience for him.

The longer he stayed in Newgate, the more certain he became that he would end his life on the gallows. His brother had sworn to work for his release but there had been no sign of Christopher for days. Martin Crenlowe might profess to believe in his friend's innocence yet his evidence had been partially responsible for Henry's incarceration. The same could be said of Sir Humphrey Godden, another member of his circle. Crenlowe had at least come to offer his sympathy and bring some welcome gifts. Sir Humphrey had done neither, nor had Captain Harvest, a man who was reportedly informing the world aloud of Henry's guilt. The last time he had seen the three of them, they had been sitting at a table with him at a tavern in Fenchurch Street, enjoying a delicious meal, albeit spiced with an argument. Now he was entombed in a cold, filthy, noisome prison with a rat as his only companion. Henry wondered what he had done to deserve such a reversal in his fortunes.

His trial was yet to come but the judge he feared most was his father. No leniency would be shown by the Dean of Gloucester, no appeals for mercy would be heeded. The Reverend Algernon Redmayne would surely have heard the grim tidings about his elder son by now. He would be on his way to London to administer his punishment. Henry could almost hear his voice and see his raised finger. The only way that he had remained on speaking terms with his father was to conceal from him the true nature of his life in London, giving him instead the impression that he was a model of Christian sobriety and industriousness. That illusion could no longer be sustained. His father would see him as the feckless and decadent spendthrift that he really was. Unable to defend or excuse himself, Henry would be exposed as a complete rake whose habit of drinking to excess had led him down the path to damnation. He shuddered so violently that the flame he nursed was blown out, plunging him into complete darkness. Shrieks and bellows from other cells reached a new pitch of intensity. Henry added his own impassioned yell to the general tumult.

'Christopher!' he shouted. 'Where are you?'

Having retired to bed early at the Falcon Inn, he fell asleep almost immediately. So deep was his slumber that the lusty crowing of the cock failed to rouse him at dawn, as did the sound of a cart rumbling out of the courtyard. It was only when the landlord's strong fist thundered on his door that he was brought awake.

'Mr Redmayne!' called a voice.

'Yes?' said Christopher, opening a bleary eye.

'You asked to be woken, sir.'

'Thank you.'

Annoyed that he had overslept, Christopher hauled himself out of bed and reached for his clothes. He had planned to be on the road at daybreak and had lost valuable time. His body might have needed the rest but his mind was full of self-reproach. Spurning breakfast, he gathered up his things, paid for his room then made for the stables. He was just leaving the inn when he heard the drumming of hooves behind him. Christopher turned to see a rider emerging from a copse nearby. When he recognised who it was, he could not believe his eyes. Riding sidesaddle and cantering towards him, Susan Cheever waved a hand in greeting. When she brought her horse to a halt beside him, her face was flushed with pleasure.

'Thank heaven I got here in time!' she said.

'Yes,' he agreed. 'I'd intended to be miles away by now.'

'I'll not hold you up. I just wanted to speak to you.'

'Detain me for as long as you wish, Susan.'

Christopher dismounted and helped her down from her own saddle. After tethering the horses to a fence that ran alongside the inn, they stepped into the shadow of one of the outbuildings. He feasted his eyes on her.

'Brilliana misled you,' she began.

'I knew that you were at the house.'

'I was in the parlour when you came and overheard you speaking to my sister. I could have joined you both there and then but that would have led to a fierce argument with Brilliana, and you would have been shown the door.'

Christopher smiled wryly. 'Your sister was a harsh porter,'

'When I heard you mention the Falcon Inn, I saw my opportunity'

'I'm so pleased that you took it.'

'Nothing would stop me. I had to see you, Christopher.'

'Supposing that I'd already left?'

'Then I'd have tried to overhaul you,' she said. 'I'm no stranger to a saddle. If at all possible, I ride every day.' Susan lowered her eyes. 'I must apologise for Brilliana.'

'There's no need.'

'She was rude and inconsiderate.'

'Your sister was only responding as many others have done. The name of Redmayne is not as welcome as it was on some doorsteps.'

'Well, it's still a welcome sound in my ears,' she affirmed, looking up at him again. 'That's what I needed to tell you, Christopher. I can only imagine the pain you've suffered these past few days.'

'My problems are nothing compared with those endured by Henry.'

'I refuse to believe that he's guilty of the crime.'

'Thank you,' he said, touching her arm in gratitude. 'I, too, am persuaded of his innocence and not merely because he's my brother. I'll do all in my power to secure his release and to vindicate the reputation of the family name.'

'Even if he did commit a murder - and I'm convinced he did not - it would make no difference to my opinion of you, Christopher. I wanted you to know that.'

Christopher was moved. 'Such sentiments are the breath of life to me.'

'Unfortunately, Brilliana does not share them.'

'Nor, I suspect, does Sir Julius.'

'Father tried to forbid me to see you,' she confessed. 'He would not leave the house in Westminster until he'd handed me over to my brother-in-law, for fear that I might try to reach you.'

'Would you have done so?'

'Most assuredly.'

'That gladdens my heart.'

'I'd hoped to inveigle Lancelot into stopping his coach in Fetter Lane but Father was wise to that possibility. He warned my brother- in-law accordingly.'

'I do not blame Sir Julius,' said Christopher resignedly. 'In his view, he's only trying to protect you. So are your sister and brother-in-law.'

'I need no protection from any of them.'

'They see me as a corrupting influence.'

'Only because they do not know you as well as I do.'

'Their opinions may change when Henry's innocence is established.'

'How soon will that be, Christopher?'

He grimaced slightly. 'I wish that I knew. At the moment, the evidence points to my brother as the culprit. The surest way to exonerate him is to find the real killer.'

'Have you made any progress in that direction?'

'Very little,' he admitted. 'Being called out of London was an interruption that I could not afford, though it's had a happy conclusion. This brief meeting with you has made the whole journey worthwhile.'

'But you need to get back to the city.'

'As fast as I can, Susan.'

"Then you must be on your way,' she said, 'and so must I. If I ride hard, I can be back at Serle Court before Brilliana and Lancelot have even risen.'

'I'd hate the thought that coming to see me would get you into trouble'

'They'll not even know that I've left the house.'

'I know,' he said fondly, 'and I'll not forget this kindness.'

He tin tied her horse then helped her to mount the animal, enjoying the momentary contact with her body. Susan looked down at him with a wan smile.

'Remember that I'll be thinking of you, Christopher.'

He grinned. 'You'll be in my thoughts as well, have no fear.' After a frugal breakfast of bread and whey, Jonathan Bale set out early from his house in order to have another meeting with Captain James Harvest. His intention was to get to the man's lodging before he went off on his morning peregrinations. Jonathan felt that there was much more still to be learned from, and about, the genial soldier. Harvest worried him. He had a surface charm that hid his true character and a fondness for drink that did not impress a Puritan constable. There was also something faintly shabby about him and Jonathan was bound to ask how a man who earned a little money by giving impromptu fencing lessons in a tavern courtyard could afford to consort with people like Henry Redmayne and his friends. It was only one of many questions he wished to put to Captain Harvest. In the event, he was baulked.

'Not here?' he said with disappointment. 'Then where is he?'

'That's what I'd like to know.'

'What do you mean?'

'He's flown the coop, Mr Bale. During the night.'

'Are you sure?'

'Why else should he take all his belongings with him?'

The owner of the house was a short, stubby man in his fifties with a world-weary expression on his whiskered face. Captain Harvest had been his lodger for over six months and given him no indication that he wanted to leave. Jonathan guessed the reason for the sudden departure.

'Was there any rent outstanding?' he asked.

'A month in total.'

'And before that?'

'Captain Harvest always paid eventually,' said the other. 'I liked him, sir, that's the sad part of it. I made allowances for the captain I'd not make for all my lodgers. He was such pleasant company. Well, if you've met him, you know how engaging a fellow he was. It was worth having him here just to listen to some of his tales.'

'Tales or excuses?'

'Yes,' sighed the landlord, 'we had our share of those as well.'

'Yet he always gave you the rent in the end?'

'Either him or his friend.'

'Friend?'

'An Italian gentlemen, Mr Bale. A handsome fellow with a fine tailor, judging by his apparel. I believe that Captain Harvest worked for him from time to time.' 'Then it must have been Jeronimo Maldini.'

'That was the name,' confirmed the other. 'Maldini. He called here once or twice and the captain got him to settle his debts. They seemed quite close.'

'How well did you know Captain Harvest?'

'Not well enough, it seems.'

'Did he ever borrow any money from you?'

'Occasionally.'

'Has it all been paid back?'

'No, Mr Bale. I was a fool to trust him, I see that now.'

'Was he a creature of habit?'

'Oh, yes. He always left the house early and came back late. If he came back at all, that is, for sometimes he was out all night.'

'I can well imagine it.'

'The captain was very popular with ladies.'

'Did he ever invite any of them here?'

'No,' said the landlord, glancing over his shoulder. 'It's a decent house, as you see, but he only rented two rooms from me and they were rather small. He'd not wish to entertain female company in there.'

'Yet he brought friends like Signor Maldini here.'

'That's true.'

'Can you remember any others?'

'Only the gentleman with the coach.'

'Coach?'

'He came more than once to drop him off. It's not often you see a coach as fine as that in this street. Captain Harvest had some wealthy friends. No mistake about that.'

'Can you recall the name of this particular friend?'

'Oh, yes.'

'Well?'

'It was Godden,' said the other. 'Sir Humphrey Godden.'

After calling at his house to let Jacob know that he was back, Christopher Redmayne rode on to the address that had been left by Martin Crenlowe. It was not far from Foster Lane, where the Goldsmiths' Hall had once stood, and Christopher was interested to see that it was in the process of being restored after the ravages of the Great Fire. The premises occupied by Crenlowe were in a lane nearby and the first thing that Christopher noticed was the solidity of the doors and shutters. Constructed of stout timber, they had iron strap hinges and thick bolts. When he knocked, a grill was opened in the door so that he could be questioned by an apprentice whose face peered through the bars. It was only when he gave his name and stated his business that Christopher was admitted. He was conducted past the workshop at the rear of the building and into the room that served as Crenlowe's office. Attention had been given to security here as well. There were iron bars at the window and the heavy chest that stood in the corner had no less than six large locks along its edge. Christopher was in the presence of gold.

'I'm so pleased to see you, Mr Redmayne,' said Crenlowe, shaking his hand. 'Pray, take a seat. I'm sure that we have much to discuss.'

'Thank you, Mr Crenlowe,' said Christopher, sitting in the chair in front of the long table that served the goldsmith as a desk. 'I'm sorry not to come earlier but business called me out of the city for a day.'

'You are a celebrated architect, I hear.'

'I aspire to be one but it may take several years yet.'

'London has need of your skills now that so much of it is being rebuilt.'

'I hope to make a small contribution to that work. But I did not come here to talk about my career, Mr Crenlowe. That's in abeyance from now on until I've managed to rescue my brother from the appalling situation in which he finds himself.'

'Naturally.'

'You visited him in Newgate, I believe?'

'I did,' said Crenlowe with a look of distaste, 'and took some food and wine with me. Henry was in a dreadful state. I hardly recognised him as the man I knew.'

"The shock of imprisonment has been too much for him.'

'He was so obviously ashamed to be seen like that.'

'Most of us would be, Mr Crenlowe.'

'I was not allowed to stay long,' said the goldsmith, 'but I think I was able to give him fresh heart. The wine, especially, would have been a treat for him.'

'It was thoughtful of you to take it.'

'I just wanted him to know that we had not abandoned him.'

'We?'

'His friends, Mr Redmayne. We're standing by him. Neither of us will accept that Henry is capable of a foul murder. He's a man of hot words rather than rash deeds. Sir Humphrey and I in agreement on that.'

'How long have you known Henry?'

'Some years.'

'Long enough to understand his failings, then.'

'And to appreciate his virtues, for he has those as well.'

Christopher appraised him. In appearance and inclination, Sir Humphrey Godden had seemed a natural companion for his brother but the goldsmith somehow did not. He seemed too quiet, intelligent and responsible. Unlike many of Henry's friends, Crenlowe worked for a living and clearly made a good profit by doing so. Looking at him now, Christopher had to remind himself that the man had been a pupil of the Italian fencing master and spent the evening with Henry on the night of the murder.

'I've spoken with Sir Humphrey Godden,' said Christopher.

'What did he tell you?'

'Almost nothing of value, Mr Crenlowe. Indeed, he was loath to talk to me at all as he was late for an appointment. You've shown Henry true friendship, and I'm grateful to you for that, but I saw little of it when I visited Covent Garden.'

'Sir Humphrey can be brusque at times.'

'This was one of them.'

'Do not be deceived by his manner. He's very fond of your brother.'

'I saw no desire in him to work for Henry's release.'

'That will surely come when the facts emerge.'

'It was those same facts that landed him in prison in the first place.'

'Henry is the victim of circumstance,' said Crenlowe, stroking his double chin. 'It was his misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

'And why was that?'

'Because we all went our separate ways in Fenchurch Street.'

'Yes,' said Christopher, 'but Sir Humphrey travels by coach. Bedford Street is not far from his own home. He could easily have given my brother a lift, could he not?' 'He offered to do so, Mr Redmayne.'

'Then why did Henry not accept?'

'Because he was in a contentious mood,' explained the goldsmith. "The meeting with Jeronimo Maldini had stirred up his ire. Throughout the meal, Henry could talk of nothing else but settling a score with the fencing master. Sir Humphrey had no love for the fellow but even he tired of hearing the endless rant. He wanted to leave. When he suggested that Henry should go with him, he was waved away so off he went.'

'What of you and Captain Harvest?'

'We, too, had places to go. My wife was waiting up for me and James - Captain Harvest, that is - had promised to call on friends. We urged Henry to find a carriage to take him home.'

'Then walked off and left him.'

'Unhappily, yes. I've been writhing with guilt ever since.'

'My brother was not your responsibility.'

'I should have done something, Mr Redmayne. Henry had drunk far too much. He was in a dangerous mood. The least I could have done was to make sure that he was driven home.'

'What of Captain Harvest?'

'He went off in the other direction.'

'Did he not think of taking care of my brother?'

'I fear not.'

"Why was that?'

'Because he was a good friend of Jeronimo Maldini. The rest of us had fallen out with him but James still went to the fencing school and even taught there. That was part of the trouble,' said Crenlowe with a sigh. 'He came to his friend's defence when Henry started to attack Signor Maldini. That only enraged your brother the more. He accused James of being in league with the Italian against him. Henry's language became very intemperate.'

'How did Captain Harvest respond?'

'He tried to laugh it off, as he always does. But he was angry, I could see that.'

'What did he do?'

'Stalked off as soon as we left the tavern.'

'Henry can look for no support from him, then?'

'On the contrary,' said Crenlowe, shaking his head, 'he'll get nothing but abuse. James is voicing it abroad that your brother was the killer. Jeronimo Maldini was more than a friend of his, you see. He was source of income for James. He borrowed a little money from me and even more from Sir Humphrey, but it was the fencing school that allowed him an income of sorts. Signor Maldini was generous to his friends. I know that he loaned James money on several occasions.'

'Was it ever paid back?'

'Oh, yes. James often had a run of luck at the card table.'

'Henry says that he cheated.'

"That was his opinion.'

"There's no truth in the charge?'

'Not as far as I know,' said the goldsmith. 'James had a knack for card games, there's no doubt about that. I've seen him win five hundred guineas in a night.'

'What did he do with his money?'

Crenlowe laughed. 'Lose it just as quickly the following day.'

'That was very careless of him.'

'James is a soldier of fortune,' said the goldsmith with grudging admiration. 'He takes life as it comes and makes the most of it. Rich or poor, he's happy with his lot. It's not an existence that I envy, Mr Redmayne.'

'I can see that.'

Christopher was glad that he had decided to call on Martin Crenlowe. There was a quiet complacency about the goldsmith that made it impossible to like him but he was much more forthcoming than Sir Humphrey Godden. He also evinced far less hostility towards the murder victim. Christopher wondered why.

'What did you make of Signor Maldini?' he asked.

'I respected him greatly as a fencing master.'

'And as a man?'

'I had less time for him. He was not the most appealing individual.'

'Did he ever try to humiliate you at the school?'

'Yes,' said Crenlowe with a frown. 'He goaded me unmercifully. You can see from my shape that I'm no swordsman of note. Jeronimo Maldini was and he made me look ridiculous in front of my friends.'

'Is that why you left the school?'

'It was, Mr Redmayne. I like to be treated with respect.' 'Henry, too, suffered at his hands.'

'Even more than I did. He was livid. He talked of shooting Signor Maldini.'

'But not of stabbing him in the back.'

'He could never do that,' asserted Crenlowe, rising to his feet. 'Henry Redmayne is first and foremost a gentleman. You, above all people, should know that.'

'I do,' said Christopher loyally. 'I can see that you're a busy man, Mr Crenlowe, so I'll not impose on you for much longer. But I would like to ask about that evening when the four of you had a meal together.'

'Ask anything you wish.'

'Henry told me that you had a chance meeting with Signor Maldini?'

'And so we did. It was not far from Fenchurch Street.'

'So the four of you were walking along together when you were accosted by the fencing master. Is that what happened?'

'No, Mr Redmayne.'

"Then perhaps you could explain what did.'

'Certainly,' said the other. "There were only three of us strolling along that evening - Sir Humphrey Godden, Henry and myself.'

'Where was Captain Harvest?'

'He arrived with Jeronimo Maldini.'

Christopher was astonished. 'Even though he knew how much you all disliked his friend? Some people might say that that was an act of provocation.'

'James said that he had met Signor Maldini by accident. He'd arranged to meet us at the tavern and did not expect to encounter the three of us in the street. In fairness to him, when the argument started, James was the one who tried to quell it.'

'Do you believe that the meeting with his friend was accidental?'

'I did at the time.'

'And now?'

'I think that James was lying,' said Crenlowe seriously. 'He merely pretended to intervene in a quarrel that he had deliberately set up. Henry Redmayne and Jeronimo Maldini were like two fighting cocks. Captain James Harvest was the man who sharpened their spurs.'