The Repentant Rake

Chapter Six

Sir Julius Cheever set out for London earlier than planned. Having made the decision to go, he saw no reason for delay and he took his younger daughter with him for company Susan could read his moods with great accuracy. She knew when to talk, when to listen and most important of all, when to do neither. If he drifted off into a reverie, Sir Julius did not like to be interrupted and she had thoughts of her own in which to lose herself for long periods. Their coach rocked its way noisily over a track hardened by the hot sunshine. Sleep was out of the question but they learned to adjust their bodies to the jolting rhythm and that brought some comfort. They made good speed. Susan judged the moment to break the silence.

'We should have ridden there,' she said.

'Why sit on two horses when we can be pulled by four?'

'Because we would have travelled more quickly, Father.'

'Only if we had found enough companions to ensure safety on the journey. Besides,' argued Sir Julius with rough-hewn gallantry, 'I could not ask a delicate young lady like yourself to spend two whole days in the saddle.'

Susan was firm. 'I am not delicate and I love riding. Nothing would have pleased me more than to make the entire journey on horseback.'

'And arrive at Serle Court covered in dirt and perspiration?'

'Travel always imposes penalties.'

'Then the sensible thing is to lessen their number, Susan. Take your ease,' he advised. 'As much as this coach allows you to, that is. We've kept up a steady pace so far. When we arrive in Richmond tomorrow, we'll be fresh and unsullied.'

'Apart from the occasional bruise,' she added with a smile.

'You would insist on coming with me.'

'I wanted to see Brilliana.'

Sir Julius snorted. 'You'd hardly be subjecting yourself to this in order to see your brother-in-law. Why, in God's name, did she have to wed that drooling imbecile?'

'Lancelot is an intelligent man,' she said loyally.

'Then he has a wonderful gift for disguising that intelligence.'

'Don't mock him, Father.'

'The fellow is so irredeemably fatuous.'

'Brilliana chose him and for her sake, we must learn to love him.'

'Love him?' exploded Sir Julius. 'What is there to love?'

Susan was tactful. 'You'll have to ask my sister that.'

'Brilliana long ago abandoned the pretence that she actually loved that booby. She married him for his house and his wealth. Not that I quibble with that,' he said, lifting a palm. 'Those are perfectly sound reasons for a young lady to wed but not if it means enslaving yourself to a fool like Lancelot Serle.'

'I don't think that anyone would enslave Brilliana,' observed Susan tartly.

'No, she takes after me.'

'We all do, Father.' He shot her a warning glance and she regretted having included her brother in the reference. 'Well, perhaps not all.'

One of the wheels suddenly explored a deep pothole and the whole coach lurched over to the right. The occupants reached out to steady themselves, and Sir Julius thrust his head through the window to berate the driver.

'Watch where you're going, man!'

'I'm sorry, Sir Julius,' replied the other. 'I didn't see it until it was too late.'

'Are you blind?'

'I'll be more careful from now on.'

Sir Julius lapsed back into his seat with a thud. Susan watched him for a moment.

'Father,' she said at length, 'what do you hope to achieve in Parliament?'

'I mean to introduce a measure of sanity.'

'Can one man exert any real influence there?'

'The Lord Protector did,' he said proudly.

'Times have changed since then,' she pointed out.

'More's the pity!'

Susan was worried. 'You will be circumspect?'

'Circumspect?' he repeated with disgust.

'Hot words might land you in trouble, Father.'

'Parliament needs someone to speak his mind and that's what I intend to do. Circumspect, indeed! They'll not gag me, Susan. I fear nobody.'

'That's my chief concern.'

He was reproachful. 'What do you know of politics, anyway?'

'I know that they can mean danger and even death,' she said levelly. 'I was only a girl when the war raged but I remember the damage it did. Northamptonshire saw more than its fair share of suffering. It taught me to be fearful of politics.'

'Your mother was the same. Neither of you understood what it was all about.'

'Be careful, Father. That is all I ask.'

'I'm a soldier,' he said with a proud chuckle. 'You achieve little on a battlefield if you simply exercise care. To strike a decisive blow you have to go boldly to the heart of the action. That is where I long to be. On my feet in the Commons, demanding justice.'

'For whom?'

'The people of this country, Susan. Taxes are bleeding us dry. And where does all the money go?' he asked wagging a finger. 'To the King. So that he can fight his wars abroad and keep his mistresses in style. Someone must speak out against him.'

Susan said nothing. There was no point in stirring him up even more. Sir Julius was still fighting battles that had already been won and lost many years earlier. Rooted in the past, he wanted a say in the future, but his language was hortatory rather than persuasive. His fellow Members of Parliament would soon become familiar with the sound of his ranting. Susan let her mind drift to something else. When her father had calmed down enough to permit a civilised conversation, she put her thoughts into words.

'Are you pleased with the design of the new house, Father?'

'I should be. I more or less drew up the plans for it myself.'

'With the help of Mr Redmayne,' she reminded him.

'Well, yes,' he agreed. 'Redmayne actually did the drawings but they were based on ideas that were entirely my own. If I must have a house in London, it must conform exactly to my specifications. Redmayne appreciates that.'

'He seems a most obliging young man.'

'Obliging and capable.'

'Have you seen anything that he designed?'

'Only that bookshop of his,' said Sir Julius. 'It may be small but it's the finest building in Paternoster Row. Elijah Pembridge was thrilled with it and rightly so. He could not speak too highly of Christopher Redmayne.'

'What else has he designed?' asked Susan.

'A couple of houses in London, both far larger than the one I've commissioned.'

'Where exactly are they?'

'Why do you ask?'

'I thought it might be amusing to take a look at them when I go into the city with Brilliana,' said Susan, trying to hide her curiosity. 'Mr Redmayne talked so fervently about his work that he aroused my interest.'

'When was this? You hardly spoke to the man.'

'I heard his voice through the door.'

Sir Julius grinned. 'Eavesdropping, were you?'

'Not at all,' she said without conviction. 'I just happened to be passing when the two of you were discussing the new house. It was impossible not to catch what he was saying about his work. Evidently, it's a labour of love.'

'That's why I chose him. Redmayne has passion.'

'Could you find out where these other houses are?'

'Oh, I think you should do that for yourself, Susan.'

'What do you mean?'

'I may be old,' he said with a paternal smile, 'but I've not lost all my faculties yet. Talk to the fellow in person. Why pretend to be interested in architecture when your real interest is in the architect himself?'

Christopher arrived just in time. Celia Hemmings was on the point of leaving her house in Bow Street when he presented himself at her door. She was a slim woman of medium height, impeccably attired in a low-necked, full-sleeved dress of pink satin with a billowing skirt that opened at the front to reveal an underskirt of a darker hue. Her face was heart-shaped her lips red and her eyes sparkling. Christopher could see what had attracted Gabriel Cheever to her. After introducing himself, he asked her to give him a few minutes alone in private.

She was cautious. 'I am not in the habit of inviting strangers into my house.'

'The news I carry ought not to be divulged on a doorstep,' he explained.

'Why not, sir?'

'I fear that it is of too heavy a nature.'

'What does it concern?' she said.

'A friend of yours - Gabriel Cheever.'

She tensed. 'You have bad tidings of Gabriel?'

'The worst, alas.'

Celia Hemmings was alarmed. She invited him into the house and took him into the parlour. Christopher suggested that she sat down before he broke the news. Still wearing her wide-brimmed hat, she perched on the edge of a chair and waited with trepidation. Christopher lowered his voice.

'Gabriel Cheever has passed away, I fear.'

'Never!' she cried, hands moving involuntarily to her throat.

'It happened a few days ago, Miss Hemmings.'

'But Gabriel was so strong and healthy.'

Christopher tried to be gentle. 'He did not die a natural death.'

'He was murdered?'

'I'm afraid so.'

The woman was so shaken that he thought she was about to keel over, and he reached out a steadying hand. Seizing a handkerchief from her sleeve, she buried her face in it and sobbed uncontrollably Christopher was unable to console her. It was minutes before she dabbed at her eyes and looked up at him.

'Forgive me, Mr Redmayne,' she said. 'Gabriel was a dear friend of mine.'

'That is why I felt you had a right to know.'

'What brought you to me?'

'I came at my brother's suggestion. I believe you know Henry.'

'Henry Redmayne?' she muttered. 'Yes, of course. I have met him on occasion.' She got up from the chair. 'But who committed this terrible crime? And why? Gabriel was the sweetest man in the world. Nobody could want to kill him. Has anyone been arrested? Tell me all.'

Christopher gave her nothing but the details he had rehearsed on his way there, stressing the need for her help if the killer was to be brought to justice. Eyes still moist, she nodded her consent. The self-possessed young woman he had met at the door now looked weak and vulnerable. He persuaded her to resume her seat, and she removed her hat.

'When did you last see Gabriel?' he asked.

'Some months ago. We reached the parting of the ways.'

'So I understand.'

'It was not a sad event, Mr Redmayne,' she said. 'Gabriel Cheever was unlike any other man I know. There were no violent arguments or bitter recriminations. Thanks to him, it was almost painless. We parted on the most amicable terms.'

'Did you keep in touch with him?'

'Only through mutual friends. Then that suddenly stopped.'

'Why?'

'Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to disappear completely. I wondered if he had gone back home to Northamptonshire,' she said wistfully. 'He always talked about being reconciled with his father one day.'

'I know Sir Julius Cheever.'

'Then you will understand why he disapproved of his son.' She gave a wan smile. 'He would certainly have disapproved of me as well, but that does not worry me. I loved Gabriel. When we were together, I'd gladly accept anyone's condemnation.'

'Did he have any enemies, Miss Hemmings?'

'None that I knew of.'

'He must have had rivals.'

'Dozens of them, but they sought to gain advantage over him at a card table, not in some dark alley. That was where he blossomed, Mr Redmayne. In a gaming house.'

'So my brother tells me.'

'Gabriel had the most uncommon skill at cards.'

'Henry described it as damnable luck.'

'It was much more than that, believe me,' said Celia loyally. 'Gabriel had expensive tastes. Since his father had cut him off without a penny, he had to find an income from somewhere. The card table was the making of him.'

'It's been the ruin of my brother.'

'Perhaps he should drink less and concentrate more.'

'How true!' sighed Christopher. 'Henry will over-indulge. But coming back to Gabriel's family, I know that he and Sir Julius were not on speaking terms, but what about his relationship with his sisters?'

'The elder one, Brilliana, was as stubborn as her father.'

'And his other sister, Susan?'

'He always spoke with such affection of her.'

'I can imagine that,' said Christopher, conjuring up her face in his mind. 'Did he ever correspond with her?'

'From time to time.'

'How did he contrive that?'

'His letters were sent to a neighbour and Susan retrieved them from there. It would have been far too dangerous to send them directly to the house. Had her father discovered the truth, Susan would have been in serious trouble. She's very brave.'

'Did you ever meet her?'

'Alas, no,' she said, 'but Gabriel managed to see her when she came to London. She gave her sister the slip one afternoon and spent an hour with him. It meant so much to Gabriel,' she remembered 'though I suspect that Susan would have been given a stern reprimand for wandering away. Gabriel told me that Brilliana has a vicious tongue.'

Once started, Celia Hemmings was willing to produce many fond recollections of her former lover and Christopher was able to build up a clearer picture of the man in his mind. Much of what she said accorded with Henry Redmayne's description, but she added an important new dimension to the portrait.

'Gabriel hated farming,' she went on. 'He thought there should be more to life than running an estate in Northamptonshire. But that was not the only reason that he and his father fell out. Gabriel had ambitions that could only be fulfilled in London.'

'It sounds to me as if he fulfilled them with zest.'

'No, Mr Redmayne. You misjudge him. He was a much more serious person than anyone realised. The gaming houses may have provided him with his money but it was never frittered away. Gabriel saved it for a purpose.'

'And what was that?'

'To buy himself time.'

'Time?'

'Yes. In order to pursue his real interest.'

'What was that, Miss Hemmings?'

'Poetry,' she said. 'Gabriel wanted above all else to become a poet. He showed me some of his work. He had real talent. When we were together, he was also writing a play. In fact,' she confessed 'that's what I thought he might be doing when he vanished. Turning his back on us all so that he could write all the things that were bursting to come out of him. That was the true Gabriel Cheever,' she asserted. 'He was not just another unprincipled rake in search of pleasure but a conscientious author who would get back to his lodgings in the early hours of the morning and take up his pen. That's the man I shall remember.'

Jonathan Bale was not looking forward to his assignment. He headed for Holborn without enthusiasm. The constable was much more accustomed to breaking up brawls in rowdy taverns than to venturing into the privileged world of a coffee house. When he found the place, he hesitated at the door, reluctant to enter an establishment where men with whom he would not normally consort were consuming a liquid that he disdained to touch. The smell of tobacco smoke was another deterrent to him but he forced himself to go on. The coffee house was large and well appointed. It buzzed with conversation. Smoking pipes and dispensing gossip, fashionably dressed men lounged at their tables over cups of coffee. Jonathan, patently, did not belong. He collected several disapproving stares and a few unflattering comments, but he was in luck. When he spoke to the owner, he learned that Arthur Lunn was actually there. Seated alone at a table, the man was sipping a cup of coffee while he waited for a friend. When Lunn was pointed out to him, Jonathan went over to introduce himself.

'Whatever's brought you here?' asked Lunn cheerily. 'Am I under arrest?'

'No, sir, but I'm hoping that you may be able to give me information that may in time lead to an arrest. Mr Henry Redmayne said that I might find you here.'

Lunn was surprised. 'You're a friend of Henry's?'

'Not exactly,' said Jonathan. 'I know his brother.'

'Ah, the aspiring young architect.'

'He thought that you might be able to help me.'

'Very well,' said Lunn offhandedly, 'but at least sit down. You're attracting far too much attention, Mr Bale, and I hate it when someone looms over me like that.'

Jonathan lowered himself uneasily into the seat and glanced around. He was an outsider and the other customers were letting him know it in all manner of subtle ways. He turned back to Lunn.

'I believe that you knew Gabriel Cheever,' he said.

'Yes. A wonderful fellow. Why do you ask?' Lunn chuckled. 'Has the law finally caught up with Gabriel? I knew that it would one day.'

'Mr Cheever has been murdered.'

'What?' Lunn was startled. 'Can you be serious?'

'I was there when the body was found, sir.'

'When was this?'

'Earlier in the week.'

'Where?'

'Paul's Wharf.'

'What on earth was Gabriel doing there?'

'We have no idea as yet, Mr Lunn. Can you offer any opinion?'

'No,' said the other, still dazed by the news. 'To be frank, I rather lost sight of Gabriel. It must be months since we last met. He was living in Covent Garden then but he quit his lodgings one day without telling anyone where he was going.'

'How well did you know him, sir?'

'Extremely well. We were good friends. In the circumstances, that was a miracle.'

'A miracle?'

'Yes, Mr Bale. Gabriel Cheever was the king of the card table. I must have lost a small fortune to him over the years but I never resented it somehow. Gabriel had such charm. He made you feel that it was a kind of honour to lose to him.'

'Is that how he made his money?' said Jonathan with a note of censure. 'By playing games of chance?'

'There was no chance when Gabriel was at the table.'

Arthur Lunn launched into some rambling reminiscences. Jonathan was torn between curiosity and revulsion. Valuable facts about the murder victim were emerging but the world in which he had moved was anathema to the constable. He schooled himself to memorise the information without making any moral judgement. Whatever kind of existence he had led, Gabriel Cheever deserved to have his killer caught and punished. Lunn was in full flow. Most of his revelations were shocking to the ears of a Puritan but he did not even notice the effect he was having, and surged on regardless. As other names surfaced, Jonathan tried to make a mental note of them in case one or two were not on the list that Christopher Redmayne had acquired. Every tiny scrap of information needed to be hoarded. It might all be relevant. By the time Lunn stopped, his voice was maudlin. His affection for the dead man was apparent. Jonathan seized on the name that had been repeated most often.

'You mentioned Sir Marcus Kemp, sir.'

'He and I spent much time in Gabriel's company.'

'I would value a word with him.'

'Sir Marcus will be horrified when he hears the news.'

'Is he here at the moment?' asked Jonathan, looking around.

'No, Mr Bale,' said Lunn. 'It's far too early for him to be up and about. Sir Marcus carouses until dawn as a rule. My guess is that he's still asleep in his bed.'

Sir Marcus Kemp ignored the bell and pounded on the door with his fist. He was a tall, stooping, lean individual in his thirties with a long, sallow face and large, mournful brown eyes. With his periwig resting on his shoulders like huge hairy ears, he had the appearance of an oversized spaniel suffering from distemper. When the door did not open immediately, he attacked it with more vigour. It swung back on its hinges. Pushing the servant aside, he stormed into the hall.

'Where is Henry?' he demanded.

'Mr Redmayne is not receiving visitors today, Sir Marcus,' said the servant.

'He'll receive me.'

'I have instructions to let nobody in.'

'Damn it, man! Do I have to search the house myself?'

The servant weakened. 'Let me speak to him, Sir Marcus.'

'Just tell me where he is.'

'Mr Redmayne is dining at home, but-'

Sir Marcus Kemp cut him off in mid-sentence by thrusting him aside for the second time. He strode to door of the dining room and flung it open. Seated at the table, Henry was picking at the meal set out before him. He looked up in surprise as his visitor descended on him. The hapless servant appeared in the doorway to signal his apologies.

'There you are, Henry!' said the newcomer. 'Thank heaven!'

'This is an inopportune moment, Marcus,' said Henry.

'I do not care two hoots for that, man. I am in despair.'

He sank into a chair. Henry waved his servant away and the man closed the door behind him. Seeing the look of terror in his friend's face, Henry poured him a glass of wine and passed it across to him. The visitor downed it in one eager gulp.

'What is the matter?' asked Henry.

'I'm staring death in the face.'

'In what way?'

'The worst possible way, Henry,' said the other. 'Do you recall a night we spent some months ago, enjoying the hospitality of Mrs Curtis?'

'We spent many such nights together.'

'This one was rather special. Two young ladies obliged us in the most wonderful fashion. All four of us shared such harmless delight in that bed.' His voice darkened. 'But it was not as harmless as I thought, Henry,' he said, extracting a letter from his pocket. 'This came for me this morning. It's a demand for money. Among other things, that glorious night we all spent together in the same bed is described in frightening detail.'

'Do not remind me,' said Henry. 'I have seen that particular description.'

'I'm being blackmailed!'

'You are not alone, Marcus.'

'What do you mean?'

Henry heaved a sigh. 'Have some more wine.'

The ride to Richmond on the following morning gave Christopher Redmayne the chance to review the situation in depth. Events had moved fast. Having returned to London with a prized commission in his pocket, he was now faced with the task of breaking news of a family tragedy to the very person who employed him. The death of Gabriel Cheever was unlikely to stop the new house from being built in Westminster but he did not relish his role as a messenger. Sir Julius was a proud and implacable man. Christopher anticipated trouble both from him and from his elder daughter. The tidings that he carried might well meet with a frosty reception at Serle Court. Gabriel Cheever only had one remaining friend in his family and she was the person Christopher was most anxious not to upset. Yet that was unavoidable. As he thought of Susan

Cheever, he was not sure if he wanted her to be at Serle Court or not. Any pleasure that her presence might give him would be offset by the pain he inflicted on her.

The information garnered from Celia Hemmings had been invaluable. She had confirmed that Susan had maintained contact with her brother, albeit under difficult conditions. It only served to increase Christopher's respect for the beguiling young lady he had met in Northamptonshire. Celia Hemmings had also revealed things about her former lover that nobody else had even suspected, and he had been forced to adjust his view of the dead man. Life on a country estate was not the ideal milieu for someone with ambitions to publish his poetry and write plays for the theatre. Nor would Sir Julius Cheever have looked kindly on activities that had a Cavalier tinge to them. He had willingly supported the closure of all theatres during the Commonwealth. That his only son rejected him and his principles so totally must have rankled with the old man. To a lesser extent, it was a situation replicated in Christopher's own family and he was very conscious of the fact. Henry Redmayne's private life was an act of defiance against the Dean of Gloucester but he was careful to hide it from his father. If sordid details of his sybaritic existence were made public, as threatened, there would be severe repercussions inside one of England's most stately cathedrals.

Christopher was still sceptical about the suggested motive for the murder. Everything he had heard about Gabriel Cheever indicated a young man who would meet blackmail demands with contempt. What could possibly be disclosed that he would find at all embarrassing? The irony was that the only things he kept secret were his literary aspirations and they would hardly be a source of blackmail. Christopher decided to keep an open mind about the reasons that prompted someone to kill him. What had altered the situation slightly was the intelligence, confided by his brother on the previous day, that Sir Marcus Kemp was also a victim of attempted extortion, with one significant difference. In the latter case, no death threat had been received. Why had Henry Redmayne been singled out for additional pressure, if, indeed, that is what had happened? Christopher could not exclude the possibility that others might also have been the target for blackmail and, perhaps, for a secondary threat. One thing seemed incontrovertible. The man behind the letters was an insider. He was part of the social circle that embraced Henry Redmayne, Sir Marcus Kemp and Gabriel Cheever. It was not a world in which Jonathan Bale would be able to operate with any ease. Christopher knew that he would have to take much of the investigative burden on himself.

Following the Thames south as it snaked through the verdant acres of Surrey, he travelled without incident and kept up a steady pace. There was an incidental bonus. His journey took him past Richmond Palace and he paused to enjoy the architectural refinements of a building that dated, for the most part, back to the reign of the first Tudor monarch. Though he had seen it several times before, he feasted his gaze on its sheer splendour. Particular interest was reserved for Trumpeters' House. It was situated off the Green behind Old Palace Yard and Christopher admired its elegant lines for a long while, knowing that he would never be able to design a royal residence but wishing that he might one day be able to put his name to a house as fine as the one before him. The vain thought was soon dismissed. Chiding himself for being deflected from his purpose, he swung his horse round and kicked it into a canter.

Serle Court was little more than a mile away. Set on a rise in rolling countryside, it was an imposing sight from a distance. Closer inspection revealed its shortcomings. Its turrets looked faintly ridiculous, its battlements ugly and the tiled areas of roof at war with the larger expanse of thatch. Its scale was its chief recommendation. Christopher wished that he could strip away the fortifications to let the manor house stand on its own merits again. Everything else about the estate was impressive. The grounds of the house were well kept, the landscape offered pleasing prospects on all sides and the fountain in the forecourt was a positive delight. What gave him a sudden thrill of recognition was the sight of the coach that was being taken round to the stable yard. Christopher was certain that he had seen it once before in Northamptonshire.

Dismounting from his horse, he handed the reins to an ostler who came running towards him, then presented himself at the front door. He was invited in and asked to wait in the hall. News of his arrival provoked an immediate response. Sir Julius came strutting out to offer him a gruff welcome and to demand what he was doing there.

'I was hoping that you might be here, Sir Julius,' explained Christopher.

'Yes,' said the other, 'but not to discuss business, man. That is best done at your own house in London. This is a family visit. I resent any intrusion.'

'It was forced upon me, I fear.'

'Oh?'

'I have sad tidings to impart.'

The old man started. 'Are you trying to wriggle out of our contract?'

'No, Sir Julius,' said Christopher. 'This has nothing to do with your new house. It's a personal matter.' There was a long pause. 'It concerns a member of your family.'

'What on earth are you talking about?'

'Your son, Gabriel.'

Sir Julius turned puce. He was on the point of issuing a stinging rejoinder when he was interrupted by a voice behind him. Susan Cheever was standing in the doorway of the parlour, composed yet apprehensive.

'Good day to you, Mr Redmayne!' she said politely.

'And to you, Miss Cheever,' he returned.

'Did I hear you mention my brother?'

'Yes, you did.'

'I'll not hear a word about him,' warned Sir Julius angrily. 'If you bring a message from him, Mr Redmayne, you are wasting your breath.'

'What is going on?' said Brilliana, sweeping into the hall past her sister. 'Why is Father shouting like that?' She glared at Christopher. 'Who might you be, sir?'

'My architect,' snapped Sir Julius. 'At least, he was,' he added with a warning glance. 'Whatever blandishments you have brought, you may take them away at once. And you may tell the person who sent you that I never wish to see him again.'

Lancelot Serle now joined the group in the hall, standing beside his wife with his usual expression of bafflement. Sir Julius was exuding hostility. Brilliana had turned to ice. Susan was clutching her hands together. Christopher was left with no alternative to blurting out his news.

'Your son is dead Sir Julius.'

The effect on his hearers varied. Sir Julius turned away in disgust, Brilliana stared accusingly at the visitor, Serle dithered helplessly and Susan was so shocked that she had to support herself on the door frame. Wanting to rush across to her, Christopher had to restrain himself and wait for the opportunity to deliver an even more crushing blow. It was Brilliana who first found a voice.

'I can hardly say that I am surprised' she said without sympathy.

'Brilliana!' cried her sister.

'Those who follow such a despicable life must suffer its consequences.'

Susan was trembling. 'That's a horrible thing to say.'

'It has a degree of truth in it,' ventured Serle, eager to support his wife.

'I would dispute that, sir,' said Christopher defensively. 'Gabriel Cheever did not die in the way that is implied. He was murdered in cold blood.'

The announcement set off another series of reactions. Sir Julius turned back with incredulity on his face, Serle began to gibber wildly and his wife had the grace to look saddened by the news. Christopher was not interested in them. His attention was fixed on Susan Cheever, who took a few uncertain steps towards him then collapsed in a dead faint. He ran across to kneel beside her, slipping a hand under her head. The emergency seemed to bring out the best in the other members of the family. Sir Julius suggested that she be carried into the parlour, Serle helped Christopher to lift the limp body and Brilliana summoned a servant and gave crisp orders. By the time she began to recover, Susan was lying on a couch while her sister held a cup of brandy to her lips. Christopher had been relegated to a position at the rear of the group clustered around her but it was his eyes she sought. Aided by her father, she sat up and waved the brandy away.

'I do not want that,' she said.

'Let me send for a doctor,' said Brilliana.

'There's no need.'

'I am sorry that I gave you such a shock, Miss Cheever,' said Christopher.

'It was not your fault, Mr Redmayne.'

'Would you rather I withdrew?'

'That might be a sensible notion,' decided Brilliana.

'No,' said Susan, raising a hand. 'I am recovered now. Do not leave us, Mr Redmayne. I want to hear what happened.'

'And I wish to know how you came by this gruesome intelligence,' said Sir Julius, clearly shaken.

Lancelot Serle made his first useful contribution by inviting them all to take a seat. Christopher found himself in a chair at the centre of the room. He looked around the expectant faces. Susan was tearful, Brilliana watchful and her husband solemn. Sir Julius was trying to appear detached but his eyes betrayed him. Christopher was tactful. Eliminating the most distressing details and making no reference to his brother's predicament, he explained how Gabriel Cheever's body had been found and why he had been drawn into the investigation. After admitting that no suspects had yet been arrested, he made an attempt to end on a positive note.

'In a sense, it was a blessing that the constable turned to me for help.'

'Blessing?' echoed Sir Julius in a hollow voice.

'Had the body not been identified' Christopher argued, 'it would have been buried in an unmarked grave with nobody to mourn over it. That would have been very sad.'

'Where is it being held?'

'At the city morgue, Sir Julius. Awaiting the decision of the family.'

That decision, he saw, would not be easy to make. Sir Julius was caught up in a welter of emotions, Brilliana was wrestling with her own feelings and her husband was awaiting her cue so that he could agree with her. Only Susan Cheever knew what she wanted and she feared that her wishes might be overruled.

Christopher rose to his feet. 'I'll trespass no longer on your grief,' he said. 'All that I can do is offer you my profound condolences. If there is anything further that I may do - anything at all - please do not hesitate to call on me.'

'Thank you, Mr Redmayne,' whispered Susan.

'Yes, thank you,' said Sir Julius awkwardly. 'I am sorry to give you so uncivil a welcome. It was good of you to ride all this way with such dreadful tidings. I do appreciate that. Needless to say, this may alter my plans somewhat.'

'Of course, Sir Julius,' said Christopher. 'Our business can wait. Do excuse me.'

He gave a farewell nod and headed for the door. Serle followed him into the hall to add his personal thanks and to wave him off. Christopher departed reluctantly. He wanted to offer some consolation to Susan Cheever but that was impossible while she was surrounded by the others. All that he could do was slip quietly away. When the front door was closed behind him, he looked up at the house and regretted that he had brought such unhappiness to it. He walked slowly to the stables to find his horse, and was about to mount up when a figure suddenly appeared in front of him. Susan Cheever was breathless from her dash to find him.

'Thank goodness I caught you!' she said between gasps.

'Get your breath back before you speak further,' he advised. 'I cannot tell you how grieved I am to be the bearer of such tragic news, but I felt that you should hear it as soon as was conceivably possible.'

'That was very considerate of you, Mr Redmayne.'

'I wish that you could have been spared the shock.'

Susan took a moment to regain her composure then gave a little smile. 'You deserve my thanks,' she said.

'For what?'

'Omitting something from your account of Gabriel's death.'

'I thought it a kindness to do so.'

'I'm not talking about details that might have upset us, Mr Redmayne. You were discreet in another way. I'm grateful to you.'

'It's not for me to pry into your family affairs.'

'You knew,' she said quietly, 'yet you did not expose me.'

'All I know is that you loved your brother as a sister should, Miss Cheever.'

Susan heaved a sigh. 'Father would disagree.'

'Sir Julius may one day come to admit that he did have a son.'

'Gabriel's name will always fester in his memory.'

'And in that of your sister, I fancy,' he observed sadly.

'Brilliana and Gabriel were never close,' recalled Susan. 'When he left home, she spurned him as readily as Father. I could never do that.'

'So I've learned.' Alarm came into her eyes. 'Have no fear,' he soothed. 'I'll not betray you, Miss Cheever. I applaud your courage. You've done what any true sister would have done.'

Susan looked at him with mingled doubt and affection. She searched his face to see if she could trust him. Christopher was calm beneath her scrutiny. Even at such a difficult time, it was a joy to be close to her again. When she made up her mind, Susan checked to see that nobody could overhear them then stepped closer to him.

'There's something I must tell you, Mr Redmayne,' she began. 'Something which has to be kept from the rest of the family.'

'With good reason, I suspect.'

'It may help with your enquiries.'

'Anything that does that is welcome, Miss Cheever.'

She lowered her head. 'Though it will mean more pain and distress.'

'For whom?'

'Someone I have never even met.'

'You are being very mysterious.'

'How much have you found out about Gabriel?' she asked, looking up.

'Precious little,' he confessed. 'I know that he spent most of his time in the gaming houses and enjoyed an astonishing run of luck at cards. But I also know that he was no mere pleasure-seeker. Your brother had serious literary ambitions.'

'He did. Writing was his first love.'

'I am told that he had exceptional talent.'

'What else were you told?' she wondered. 'Do you know where he lived?'

'No, Miss Cheever. That has been a stumbling block to us. We have no address for him. He lodged in Covent Garden at one time but disappeared from there without warning some months ago. None of his friends had any idea where to find him.'

'I did, Mr Redmayne.'

'Was he still in London?'

'Oh, yes. Gabriel had no urge to leave.'

'Where did he go to ground?'

'At a house in Knightrider Street. I can furnish you with the number. But there is something you must know before I do so.'

'Indeed?'

'Gabriel was not living alone,' she said quietly. 'He was enjoying true happiness for the first time in his life. I dare say that you can guess why.'

Christopher was taken aback. 'He was married?'

'Her name is Lucy. Be gentle with her when you break the news.'