Edward Marston - The Frost Fair

'Never mind about that.'

'I want to know, Father.'

'You know too much already.'

It was not the only reason that he held back the name of Henry Redmayne from his son. Both boys were very fond of Henry's brother. Christopher had been very kind to them and, on one occasion, even read to them from the Bible when they were in bed. To tell them that the murder suspect was his elder brother would be to destroy their faith in the architect and Jonathan did not want to do that. If and when Henry was convicted, it might be impossible to keep the name from them. Until that time, however, Jonathan wanted the suspect to remain anonymous.

'Did you help to catch him, Father?' asked the boy.

'No, Richard.'

'But you're helping in some way?'

'That's part of my job.'

'When are they going to hang him?'

"There has to be a trial first.'

'But they know that he did it.'

'They believe that they do,' corrected Jonathan. 'There's evidence against him and it will be presented in court in due course.'

'Will they hang him then?'

'If he's found guilty.'

'Oliver wants to be there,' said the boy. 'So do I. Will you take us, Father?'

'No!'

'But we'd like to see him hang for what he's done.'

'You'll do nothing of the kind,' said Jonathan sternly, 'and you're not to talk about it with Oliver ever again. Do you understand? As far as you're concerned, the matter is over and done with. Forget all about it, Richard. Pretend that it never happened.'

It was late afternoon before Christopher Redmayne finally rode away from Whitcombe Manor and it required an effort of will to do so. Lady Whitcombe had pressed him to stay, offering him a bed for the night and doing all she could by way of persuasion. It was a tempting offer. Under other circumstances, he might have accepted since he felt far too weary to travel back to London but something prompted him to leave. During the long discussion they had over dinner about the new house, Christopher became aware of Letitia's growing fondness for him. It became so obvious that it was embarrassing. Letitia praised his drawings, hung on his every word and never took her eyes off him. Every time she giggled aloud at one of his remarks, he cringed. What convinced him that he should depart was the fact that Lady Whitcombe quit the table at one point and left him alone with the daughter. Letitia was too gauche and unsophisticated to initiate an intelligent conversation herself so she merely agreed enthusiastically with everything that he said. Christopher's discomfort increased markedly. It was one thing to be promoted from architect to friend of the family but Letitia, abetted by her mother, seemed to have an even closer relationship in mind for him. Escape was imperative.

Back in the saddle, he rode swiftly in the direction of Richmond. When he came to a wayside inn, he stayed long enough to reserve a room for the night before continuing his journey. Silhouetted against the darkening sky, Serle Court eventually came into sight on its high eminence. Christopher was not impressed with it as a piece of architecture. It looked striking from afar but had too many contradictory elements in it to appeal to his taste. Its jagged outline was a denial of symmetry. He felt such a great need to see Susan Cheever once more that he did not even think of postponing his visit until the following morning when he would be in a better physical condition. At such a difficult time, Christopher sought the warmth of her friendship and the reassurance of her support.

Reaching the house, he dismounted, tethered his horse and rang the bell. The prospect of meeting her again helped him to shrug off his exhaustion. When the door was opened, Christopher introduced himself to the manservant and asked if he might see Susan. He was invited into the hall while the man went off to pass on his request. It produced an immediate response. The door of the parlour opened and a woman came bustling out but it was not Susan Cheever. It was her sister, Brilliana, and her mood was anything but hospitable.

'What on earth are you doing here, Mr Redmayne?' she asked indignantly.

'I was hoping to see your sister.'

'You came all the way from London for that purpose?'

'No, Mrs Serle,' he explained. 'I was visiting a client in Sheen. As I was so close, I thought I would take the liberty of calling here.'

'I suggest that you think twice before you do so again.'

'All that I wanted was a chance to speak to Susan.'

"That's impossible,' she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. 'She's not here.'

'But your servant gave me the impression that she was.'

'He was mistaken.'

'Sir Julius talked of leaving London as soon as the weather improved.'

Her eyes flashed. 'Pray, sir, do not concern yourself with the travel arrangements of our family. I should have thought that it was your own family that required your attention. As it happens, my father has indeed quit the city.'

"Then Susan must have come to Richmond.'

'I've told you she is not here and that is all I'm prepared to say.'

Christopher could see that she was lying but he did not dare to challenge her. Brilliana's hostility was so blatant that she had obviously heard about the arrest of Henry Redmayne. Her response was no surprise to him and he sensed that it would identical to that of her father. Polite withdrawal was the only option for him.

'As you wish,' he said, backing away. 'If, by any chance, your sister arrives this evening, be so good as to tell her that I'll be staying overnight at the Falcon Inn, a few miles from here.'

'I'll do no such thing,' said Brilliana with vehemence. 'You are not welcome here, Mr Redmayne, for reasons that I need hardly explain. The next time you come knocking on our door, you'll not be admitted. My husband and I have no wish to see you and neither, I am sure, does my sister. I bid you farewell, sir.'

When Christopher backed out, she closed the door firmly in his face.

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.