Edward Marston - The Frost Fair

'Were you able to speak to him alone?'

'Yes, I was. Thanks to a bribe.'

'Did he plead his innocence?'

'No,' said Christopher, shaking his head, 'that was the strange thing.'

Jonathan was astonished. 'He confessed to the murder?'

'Not exactly. What Henry admitted was the possibility that he might have been guilty of killing Jeronimo Maldini. He was not entirely certain.'

'He must have been. Either he stabbed the victim or he did not.'

"There was more than just stabbing involved,' Christopher reminded him. "The body was dropped into the freezing water of the Thames and that's one charge that could never be laid at Henry's door.'

'Why not?'

'Because he was too drunk to walk properly, let alone carry a dead body.'

'I thought that drink might be involved,' said Jonathan ruefully.

'Henry's eternal weakness, I fear. One of them, anyway,' added Christopher sadly, 'for my brother is liberal in his choice of vices.'

'They appear to have caught up with him at last, Mr Redmayne.'

'Newgate has certainly been a sobering experience for him.'

Christopher was standing behind the table on which his latest architectural drawing was set out. Lying on top of it was a piece of paper that he used to make some jottings. He picked it up to glance at what he had written.

'What's convinced you that your brother is innocent?' asked Jonathan.

'His account of what happened.'

'It sounds as if he's very confused.'

'Henry is completely bewildered.'

'Rumour has it that he and the murder victim were arch enemies.'

'They were certainly not the best of friends. Thus it stands,' said Christopher, keen to rehearse the facts for his own benefit as much as for that of his visitor. 'Henry was enjoying the pleasures of the town one evening when he happened to cross the path of Signor Maldini. There was a violent argument – in front of witnesses – during which my brother became so incensed that he threatened to kill the man.'

'Is he in the habit of issuing such threats?'

'No, Jonathan, that's what makes this so worrying.'

'What was it about the Italian gentleman that enraged him so much?'

'Henry believed that he cheated at cards.'

'Is that reason enough to murder him?'

'To threaten him with murder,' said Christopher. 'And the answer is yes. Cheating is a cardinal sin to those who wager large amounts on the turn of a card. But there were other reasons why my brother disliked the fellow so intensely. I've yet to drag all of them out of him.'

'Go on,' encouraged Jonathan. 'I'm sorry to interrupt.'

'Signor Maldini was a hot-blooded man. When Henry threatened him, he drew his sword and would have attacked my brother there and then if the others had not pulled him away. It was, apparently, an ugly scene.'

'What happened then?'

'Henry and his friends rolled on to a tavern for supper. If they were not drunk when they went in there, they certainly were by the time they came out. They split up and went their separate ways. My brother had forgotten all about the quarrel with Jeronimo Maldini. The gentleman himself, however, had not.'

'He was lying in wait for your brother,' guessed the constable.

'Yes,' said Christopher, 'and he, too, was emboldened by drink.'

'It's the root of so much crime and evil in this city.'

'Henry went in search of a calash to take him home. Out of the shadows came Signor Maldini, still shaking with fury and demanding satisfaction. He was waving his rapier in the air.'

'Duelling is against the law.'

'That will not prevent it, Jonathan.'

'Did your brother draw?'

'He wore no sword,' said Christopher, 'and even if he had done so, he would have thought twice about taking on a fencing master in a duel. The only way he could defend himself was with his dagger and he remembers taking that out. In fact, it's one of the last things that he does remember.'

'Why?'

'He passed out. Whether from drink or fear or a combination of both, he does not know. Henry has a vague memory of a pain at the back of his head before falling to the ground so he might have been struck from behind.'

'By an accomplice of Signor Maldini?'

'Possibly.'

Jonathan pondered. 'It's not a convincing story,' he said at length. 'A man as skilful with a sword as a fencing master would not need a confederate. It would be a matter of pride to him to dispatch an enemy on his own.'

'Yet he left Henry untouched.'

'When did your brother recover his senses?'

'A watchman found him and helped him to his feet,' said Christopher, resuming the tale. 'There was no sign of the Italian. Henry's only concern was to get home safely so the watchman summoned a calash for him. When he got back to Bedford Street, the servants put him to bed.' He pursed his lips. 'They've had plenty of practice at that, I fear.' He tossed the piece of paper on to the table. 'I think I know what you are going to ask me, Jonathan.'

'Where was your brother's dagger?'

'It disappeared along with Signor Maldini.'

'According to the coroner, he was stabbed to death before he went into the river.'

"The dagger was still embedded in his back,' said Christopher. 'It bore my brother's initials and Henry was forced to identify it as his own. Yes,' he continued when he saw the doubt in his friend's eyes, 'I know that it's telling evidence against him but you have to remember the condition that my brother was in at the time.' 'Too sodden with drink to know whether or not he stabbed a man in the back.'

'He'd never do that, Jonathan.'

'Not even in self-defence?'

'What chance would a dagger have against a rapier?'

'Very little if the two men faced each other,' said Jonathan. 'However, if your brother chanced upon his adversary from behind, it would be a different matter.'

'I can see that you're not persuaded of his innocence.'

'I'd need far more evidence to do so.'

'Let me speak to Henry again. Newgate will have jogged his memory.'

'With respect, Mr Redmayne, it would be foolish to rely only on what your brother tells you. Drink befuddled his mind. That much is beyond question. You'll never get the truth out of a man who does not know it himself.'

'So what do you suggest that I do?'

'Speak to the witnesses who were present when the argument flared up. They may be able to shed more light on why your brother and Signor Maldini hated each other so much. Do you have their names?'

'They are here before me,' said Christopher, indicating the piece of paper. 'When I got back from the prison, I made a note of everything that Henry told me, incoherent as it may be. But he did remember who his companions were that night.'

'How many of them were there?'

'Three.'

'Begin there,' counselled Jonathan. 'And when you have finished with his friends, track down this watchman who discovered your brother lying on the ground. He might yield some valuable information.'

Christopher was resolute. 'I'll do all that I can to save Henry,' he affirmed.

'If he is innocent.'

'If he is guilty, he deserves to suffer the full rigour of the law. If my brother killed a man in a drunken brawl, I would hesitate to lift a finger in his defence. But that's not the case, Jonathan,' he argued. 'Henry could not have committed this crime and I'll not rest until I've proved that.' He looked deep into his friend's eyes. 'Will you help me?'

'I am already making enquiries that relate to this investigation.'

'I know,' said Christopher. 'Signor Maldini lodged not far from you. But I would ask you to go further afield. This watchman, for instance. You'll find him much quicker than I would and win his confidence more easily.'

Jonathan was cynical. 'The right coins will do that.'

'I need a partner in this enterprise. I'm too guided by filial love to see everything as clearly as I should. That's why your help would make such a difference, Jonathan. You are cool, detached and objective.'