The Repentant Rake

Chapter Five

Christopher Redmayne was distressed by his visit to Bedford Street and vowed to help his stricken brother in every possible way. At the same time, however, he could not neglect the work in which he was engaged, marking, as it did a major advance in his career. It was not merely the first commission to come his way as a result of a property he had already designed, it was also the first to allow him a free hand in the choice of builder. Earlier clients had reserved the right to select their own men and this had sometimes created problems. The builder foisted on him by Jasper Hartwell, for example, had been able but obstructive and though the house he built was substantially the one that Christopher had designed, he had criticised the architect at every stage and made the project an unnecessarily difficult one. It was a relief to know that this time he could engage a builder who would work with him rather than against him. The choice, in fact, had already made itself. Having found a congenial partner during the construction of Elijah Pembridge's new bookshop, Christopher sought out the same man in the hope that he would be available for hire again. Like most reputable builders, Sidney Popejoy was extremely busy, but his admiration for the architect was such that he promised to recruit additional men in order to take on the project.

They adjourned to the site itself to take stock of any potential hazards.

'A tidy piece of land' observed Popejoy. 'At a tidy price, I dare say.'

'Sir Julius is a wealthy man.'

'He must be if he can afford to build a house that he'll rarely use.'

'Except when Parliament sits,' said Christopher.

Popejoy grinned. 'Sits and sleeps, from what I hear.'

'Not while Sir Julius Cheever is around. His voice would wake the dead.'

'What sort of client will he be, Mr Redmayne?'

'One that expects to get exactly what he pays for.'

'As long as he's not looking over our shoulder every hour of the day.'

'No danger of that, Mr Popejoy,' said Christopher. 'Once my drawings have met with his approval, he'll leave us alone to get on with our work. Sir Julius hates London. It's taking a huge effort of will on his part to move here.'

'But he's not really in London,' noted Popejoy. 'Westminster is a city in itself.'

'It's all one to him. An object of scorn and derision. He wanted a house built here so that it was convenient for his visits to Parliament. Our job is to answer his needs.'

Popejoy gave a shrug. 'I foresee no problems there.'

The two men were standing in a tree-lined road that ran north from Tuthill Street. A number of properties had already been built there but the new house would still allow Sir Julius an uninterrupted view of St James's Park. It was a bonus for a man accustomed to look out on appealing landscapes. Popejoy strode slowly around the site, measuring it out and kneeling down to take a closer look at the ground on which he was to build. He was a short, thickset man with black hair and bushy eyebrows that arched so expressively above his bulbous eyes that he seemed to be in a continual state of surprise. Christopher had the highest respect for him. He had seen how Popejoy could bring the best out of his men. When the builder rejoined him, he nodded towards the park.

'Sir Julius will be able to see the King taking his morning walk.'

'That's the last thing he wishes to do, Mr Popejoy,' said Christopher with a smile. 'Left to him, there would be no King.

Unless he went by the name of Oliver Cromwell.'

'What a sour-faced ruler he turned out to be!'

'Not in the opinion of our client. He more or less worshipped the man. Whatever else you do,' he cautioned, 'make no comment about politics to Sir Julius or it will set him off. He's fanatical in his beliefs. Disparage the Lord Protector and he's likely to tear up your contract to build his house.'

Popejoy nodded. 'I know when to keep my mouth shut, Mr Redmayne. I've been employed by men of every political persuasion and I made sure that I never spoke a word out of place to any of them. I prefer to sweeten a client. They pay better that way.'

'I agree,' said Christopher. 'Well, have you seen enough, Mr Popejoy?'

'I think so.'

'Do you have any questions?'

'Only one of significance. When do we start?'

'As soon as Sir Julius is satisfied with my design. He plans to be in London very soon and will call on me at the earliest opportunity. It is simply a case of standing by.'

'I'm not one to stand by, Mr Redmayne,' said the builder, eyebrows reaching an even higher altitude. 'I've other work to supervise. When the time comes, that's where you'll find me. Keeping an eye on my men.'

'As I would expect.'

They mounted their horses and rode back in the direction of the city, discussing the purchase of materials and the need to safeguard them at night while they were stored on site. After trading farewells, they parted in The Strand. Christopher went on to Fleet Street at a brisk trot and turned his horse into Fetter Lane. When he reached his door, Jacob came hurrying out to take charge of the animal and to pass on some unexpected information.

'Someone has called to see you, Mr Redmayne,' he said.

'My brother?'

'No, sir. Your friend the constable.'

Christopher was astonished. 'Jonathan Bale?'

'He has been here the best part of an hour.'

'Then it must be important,' decided Christopher, dismounting and handing over the reins. 'He's ill at ease after two minutes under my roof. To endure it any longer is a sign of real urgency.'

He went in through the door, found Jonathan in the parlour, and waved him back to his seat when he tried to rise. The visitor was patently uncomfortable in a house that was so much larger and better furnished than his own. Notwithstanding his friend's ill-concealed prejudices and dour manner, Christopher had grown fond of Jonathan Bale. Chance had thrown them together on more than one occasion and forged a bond that neither would have believed possible. While Christopher was ready to acknowledge that bond with a cordial smile, the constable was less forthcoming.

'I am sorry to disturb you, Mr Redmayne,' he began solemnly.

'Not at all. I'm always glad to see friends.'

'I come on an errand.'

'So I assumed.'

'Thus it stands.' Jonathan did not linger over the social niceties. As soon as his host was seated opposite him, he gave him a brief account of the murder investigation and explained why he had such a personal commitment to it.

'You have a protective instinct,' remarked Christopher.

'Do I?'

'You guard that ward of yours like a mother hen watching over her brood.'

Jonathan was blunt. 'I won't stand for murder on my doorstep.'

'Nor should you, Mr Bale. But how can I help?'

'By speaking to your brother, Mr Redmayne.'

'Henry?'

'He may just have the answers I need.'

'Don't bank on that,' warned Christopher. 'Henry is not at his most approachable at the moment. He's rather preoccupied.'

'All I am asking is that you tell him the name of the deceased. I have a strong suspicion that the man may have been at Court. In which case, your brother might actually know him.'

'That's not impossible. Henry is a gregarious fellow. Inquisitive, too. He likes to keep abreast of all the Court gossip.'

'Will you take me to him, please?'

Christopher hesitated. 'It might be better if I passed on your request to him. My brother is indisposed. I'm the only visitor he'll permit. Will that content you?'

'It must.'

'Tell me name of the murder victim?'

'Gabriel Cheever.'

'Cheever!'

Christopher was stunned. Mouth agape, he sat there with his mind in turmoil. Could the man possibly be the estranged son of Sir Julius Cheever? If so, how would the latter react when he heard the news? But the question that really skewered its way through Christopher's brain was how the lovely Susan Cheever would respond. Her brother might have shaken the dust of Northamptonshire from his feet but she still recognised him as her sibling and, Christopher suspected cared for him a great deal. She would be devastated by the news and he hoped that he would be able to soften its impact by being the person to break it to her.

'Of course,' said Jonathan on reflection, 'that may turn out to be a false name. He certainly left a false address with his shoemaker. I found that out.'

'He gave his real name,' murmured Christopher

'What makes you think that?'

'I've heard of Gabriel Cheever and my brother knew him well.'

Jonathan brightened. 'Will he have an address for the man?'

'Perhaps.'

'How soon can you get it for me?'

'I'll walk to Bedford Street this morning, Mr Bale.'

'Are you all right?' asked Jonathan, peering at him with concern. 'You look pale, Mr Redmayne. Have these tidings come as a shock to you?'

'A profound shock,' admitted Christopher. 'When you arrived here, I was inspecting a site with a builder. I've been commissioned to design a house for a client called Sir Julius Cheever.'

'A relation?'

'His father, I believe.'

'The fog is starting to clear at last,' said Jonathan gratefully. 'The father deserves to be informed at once so he can identify the body for certain. Can you tell me how to find him?'

'He is probably on his way to London even as we speak, Mr Bale.'

'Good.'

'Though I can't guarantee that he'll shed too many tears over his son's demise,' said Christopher sadly. 'The two of them had fallen out, apparently. Sir Julius is a man of high principles. He was knighted by the Lord Protector for his services during the war.' Jonathan's eyes ignited with interest. 'You would have much in common with him, Mr Bale, but not, I would guess, with his son. Gabriel Cheever led the kind of existence that appalled his father so much that he virtually disowned him.'

'I see.'

'But grief might well dissolve their differences. I pray that it does. Every son deserves to be mourned.' He became thoughtful. 'Where is the body?'

'At the morgue.'

'Can you make sure that it remains there until the family has been told?'

'Yes, Mr Redmayne.'

'It would be a cruelty if they arrived to find that Gabriel Cheever had been buried in an unmarked grave because nobody came forward to claim the body. Even if Sir Julius himself does not wish to take responsibility, others in the family may do so.'

Jonathan got up. 'I'll return to the morgue at once and leave instructions.'

'Do that, Mr Bale,' said Christopher, rising from his own chair. 'Meanwhile, I'll repair to my brother's house to see what I can learn about the deceased. He and Henry sound as if they might have been birds of the same feather.'

'The thought had crossed my mind,' said Jonathan quietly.

'Let's about our business.' Christopher led the way to the door, arranged to meet his friend later on then sent him on his way. Having stabled the horse, Jacob was returning to the house.

'I have to go out again, Jacob,' Christopher told him.

'On foot?'

'In the first instance.'

'When shall I expect you back, sir?' asked Jacob.

'It's impossible to say. I may be some time. At all events, prepare no food for me. I'll not be dining at home today.'

'But I understood that you were to work on your drawings.'

Christopher winced. 'That project is in abeyance, I fear.'

Buoyed up by his brother's visit on the previous day, Henry Redmayne resolved to adopt a more positive attitude. He would no longer be cowed into submission by the threats of a blackmailer. Courage and forbearance were needed. It was important for him to resume his normal life in order to show his anonymous tormentor that he was not so easily alarmed. Instead of hiding himself away, therefore, he spent his usual daily eternity in front of the mirror, preening himself and adjusting his periwig, then selected a hat for his walk along The Strand. Before he could even reach the front door, however, the bell rang and it shattered his fragile confidence at once, sending him back into the dining room where he skulked in a corner. He heard the door open and, almost immediately, close again. His servant's footsteps approached the dining room. Henry made an effort to compose himself, one hand on the back of a chair and the other on his hip. When the man entered, he looked down his nose at him.

'Well?' he asked.

'A letter has come for you, Mr Redmayne.'

'Set it down on the table.'

The man did so and went out, shutting the door behind him. Henry's bold front collapsed again. It was a letter that had transformed his life so dramatically and he feared another from the same hand. Should he open it or should he send for Christopher to do so? If he read the missive, he risked inflicting further misery on himself. Yet, if he ignored it, he might imperil himself by disobeying orders. Eyes on the letter, he walked round the table as if skirting a dangerous animal that was liable to attack him. There was, he tried to tell himself, no certainty that it came from the blackmailer. It might be from a friend a colleague at the Navy Office, or even - the thought depressed him - from his father. One glance at the neat calligraphy eliminated the Dean of Gloucester from the list of potential correspondents. He could not identify the hand at all. It was reassuring. Whoever had written the letter, it was not the man who had issued the dire warnings.

Henry relaxed slightly. Summoning up the vestiges of his resolve, he picked up the missive. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the letter to read it, then reached out desperately for the support of the chair. Only one sentence had been written on the paper but it was as chilling as it was mystifying. Though penned by a different hand from the one responsible for the first letter, the second clearly came from the same source. Henry lowered himself into a chair and suffered an outbreak of prickly heat. He was still transfixed by the single sentence when the front door bell was rung again. It made him sit up guiltily, and he thrust the letter into his pocket.

When there was a knock on the door he expected his servant to enter, but it was Christopher who came surging into the dining room. Henry almost swooned with relief.

'Forgive this intrusion,' said Christopher.

'You are more than welcome, brother!'

'I need your assistance, Henry.'

'Not as much as I need yours,' said the other, pulling the letter from his pocket. 'This came only minutes ago. Quite what it bodes I cannot tell, but it gave me a turn.'

'Why?'

'Read it for yourself.'

Christopher took the letter and unfolded it. The message jumped out at him. Pay what I ask or suffer the same fate as Gabriel Cheever.

'What does it mean?' asked Henry. 'How is Gabriel Cheever involved here? Has he been receiving blackmail demands as well?'

'If he did,' said Christopher, 'he refused to give in to them. Gabriel is dead.'

'Dead?'

'His body was found a few nights ago at Paul's Wharf.'

Henry quailed. 'He was murdered?'

'Strangled, apparently, then stabbed through the heart. It's the very matter that brought me here this morning, Henry. My friend Jonathan Bale stumbled upon the body with a fellow constable.'

Henry was not interested in the details. The fact that Gabriel Cheever had been killed was enough to throw him into a panic. Leaping to his feet, he wrung his hands in despair and darted to and fro like a trapped deer waiting for the huntsmen to strike. The letter contained no idle threat. It was not only Henry's reputation that hung in the balance: his life was now at risk. When he had worked himself up into a lather of apprehension, he flung himself at Christopher and grabbed him by the coat.

'He's going to kill me!' he cried.

'Calm down, Henry.'

'How can I be calm when someone is plotting my murder?'

'It could be an empty threat,' argued Christopher. 'If you were to die, he loses all hope of getting any money out of you. Why sacrifice that? No, Henry. I spy a ruse here. It is simply a means of frightening you into complying with his demands.'

'Cheever was murdered,' said Henry, releasing him to circle the room. 'If he can be killed, then so can I. This is no ruse, Christopher. Do you want a constable to find my dead body on Paul's Wharf?'

'Of course not.'

'Then take the letter seriously.'

'I do,' said Christopher, setting it down on the table. 'It's valuable evidence. With your permission, I'd like to show it to Jonathan Bale.'

Henry was outraged. 'Never!'

'But it's relevant to his enquiries.'

'It's much more relevant to my life, Christopher!' shouted his brother. 'I don't want that narrow-minded constable prying into my personal affairs. You swore that you'd divulge my situation to nobody and I hold you to that vow.'

'Circumstances have changed, Henry.'

'Yes, I've been threatened with murder.'

'Come and sit down,' soothed Christopher, taking him by the arm. 'Nothing will be gained by this frenzy. Take a deep breath and sit still while you hear me out.' He lowered Henry on to a chair. 'We have to look at this dispassionately.'

'Someone is after my blood!' howled Henry.

'I doubt that very much. Now, be still. We're in a position to help each other.' He held up a hand to stifle Henry's rejoinder then sat beside him. 'That letter does much more than threaten you,' he said reasonably. 'It gives us a vital clue to the identity of Gabriel Cheever's killer. Don't you see, Henry? Murder and blackmail are the work of the same man.'

Henry was sarcastic. 'Am I supposed to draw comfort from that?'

'No,' replied Christopher. 'You're supposed to realise that, by helping to snare a killer, you will get rid of the menace of blackmail. The two crimes are linked. Solve one and we solve them both. In short, take Jonathan Bale into your confidence.'

'No. I'll not have a Puritan sitting in judgement on me.'

'He's a dedicated officer of the law. Look what he has achieved in the past.'

'Only because you worked beside him.'

Christopher was determined. 'I intend to do so again, Henry,' he insisted. 'The three of us are in this together. You have received threats of blackmail. Jonathan is investigating a murder. And I am employed by a man whose son has been killed in the most brutal fashion.'

Henry shrank back. 'Spare me the details.'

'Let me at least tell you how I was drawn into this.' Christopher gave his brother a succinct account of the constable's visit to his house and stressed the need for further information about Gabriel Cheever. He was gently persuasive. Slowly but surely, he began to break down Henry's resistance. One point was made with particular emphasis.

'I am not suggesting for one moment that you show Jonathan that first letter. The fact of its existence will be enough for him to know. Details of your private life will not be disclosed, Henry. They would, in any case, be superfluous.'

'What do you mean?'

Christopher smiled. 'Jonathan is unlikely to mistake you for an ascetic.'

'The pursuit of pleasure is the aim of every man.'

'Perhaps,' agreed his brother, 'but we do not all derive pleasure from the same things. Mine comes from my work and Jonathan Bale's from doing his duty. Your pleasures are more unashamedly sensual.'

'Why else were we put upon this earth?'

'If you seek a theological dispute, talk to Father.'

'Keep the old gentleman out of this,' begged Henry, clutching at his chest. 'I have had scares enough for one day.'

'Then let us dispose of the first,' said Christopher, indicating the letter. 'A serious threat has been issued. I believe it to be groundless but I understand that you wish to take no chances. So,' he went on, 'adopt sensible precautions. You're safe enough here with your servants about you and you would hardly be attacked on the street in daylight. This killer works by night. That much we do know.'

'I'll not stir from the house until he is caught.'

'That would be foolish. Go armed and keep your wits about you.'

'Gabriel Cheever was a finer swordsman than me yet he was struck down.'

'Only because he was taken unawares, Henry You will be more watchful.'

'Even I do not have eyes in the back of my head.'

'Take a servant with you, then. Or walk abroad with a friend. Now,' he said earnestly, 'tell me all you know about Gabriel Cheever. Where does he live?'

Henry looked blank. 'I have no idea.'

'I thought he was an acquaintance of yours.'

'He was. We saw a lot of each other at one time; Gabriel had lodgings in Covent Garden in those days. That was before he disappeared.'

'Disappeared?'

'Yes,' said Henry.' 'It was quite strange. Nobody sought pleasure more ardently than Gabriel Cheever. Yet, all of a sudden, he seemed to vanish. He spurned all of his favourite haunts. I remember commenting on it to Arthur Lunn.'

'Why to him?'

'Because he knew Gabriel better than anyone.'

'What did he say?'

'Arthur was as baffled as the rest of us. For some reason, Gabriel quit his lodging and went to ground. Arthur wondered if he had left London altogether.'

'Did nobody see any sign of him?'

'No.' Henry shook his head. 'Sir Marcus Kemp thought he caught a glimpse of him in Knightrider Street but he could easily have been mistaken. Sir Marcus does not have the keenest eyesight.'

'Knightrider Street?' said Christopher. 'That might put him in Jonathan's ward.'

'Sir Marcus would not swear that it was Gabriel.'

'But it could have been?'

'Conceivably.'

'When he was in Covent Garden, did he live alone?'

'His bed was rarely empty,' said Henry enviously, 'but his guests did not usually stay for any length of time. The only woman with whom I saw him on anything like a regular basis was Celia Hemmings and that association broke up some time ago.'

'Might she know the address to which he moved?'

'It would be worth asking her. I can tell you where to find her.'

'Thank you,' said Christopher. 'I'll want to meet anyone who knew Gabriel well.'

Henry smirked. 'Celia knew him as well as his Maker.'

'What manner of man was he, Henry? You told me that he was a rakehell but there must have been other sides to his character. Have you any notion what brought him to London in the first place?'

'Oh, yes. The same thing that brought me here, Christopher.'

'The lure of pleasure?'

'No,' said Henry. 'Fear of a tyrannical father.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

'They?'

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

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

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

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

'Heaven forbid!'

'Father only respects those who argue with him.'

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

'Offer your opinions with more force, Lancelot.'

'I prefer a quiet life.'

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

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

'Keep him firmly in his place.'

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

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

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

'Hardly.'

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

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

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

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

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

'A wife should surely take precedence.'

'Of course, Brilliana.'

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

'What an unkind remark!' he protested.

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

'That is what I am.'

'Only to a degree.'

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

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

'Why?'

'We must take care not to neglect Susan.'

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

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

'We?'

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

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

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

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

'Why?'

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

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

'Lancelot!' she exclaimed.

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

'That's a dreadful thing to say.'

'Yet it contains a measure of truth.'

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

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

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

'I learned that to my cost.'

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

'No offence was intended.'

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

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

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

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

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

'Mr Redmayne!'

'Good day to you, Mrs Bale.'

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

'The pleasure is mine, I assure you.'

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

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

Jonathan was delighted. 'You have a name?'

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

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

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

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

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

'Granted.'

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

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

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

'What of your news?'

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

'That is something for his family to decide.'

'I thought that he had broken with them.'

'Not all of them, Mr Bale.'

'Oh.'

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

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

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

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

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

'What can I do in the meantime?'

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

'How will I find the gentleman?'

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

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

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

'Arthur Lunn and Sir Marcus Kemp.'

'Both amiable fellows but neither destined for sainthood.'

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

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

'Why not?'

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

'Who is the lady?'

'Miss Celia Hemmings.'