Edward Marston - The Frost Fair

'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?'