Edward Marston - The Frost Fair

'Martin was good enough to visit me.'

'Do not rely on the same consideration from Sir Humphrey. Though he supports you to the hilt, he is too full of his own affairs to come and see you. I had the impression that he was a fastidious man who'd never dare to let the stink of prison enter his nostrils.'

'Sir Humphrey has a fondness for perfumes and powders.'

'And an even greater fondness for himself.'

'He's good company when you get to know him properly, Christopher. Sir Humphrey Godden is cheerful, amusing and generous to a fault. I've lost count of the number of times his purse has bailed me out.'

'He loaned money to Captain Harvest as well, I believe.'

'Most people in London have done that,' said Henry with a cynical smile. 'A few of them have even had it repaid. James is a worthless hanger-on. This business has shown him in a true light.'

'He's the only one of the three who's turned against you.'

'Good riddance to him!'

'Sir Humphrey seemed to think him a likeable rogue,' said Christopher. 'Having met the captain myself, I saw a more sinister streak in him. Of the four of you who shared a meal that night, Captain Harvest was the most likely back-stabber.'

Henry was astonished. 'Do you believe that he killed Jeronimo Maldini?'

'Someone did, Henry, and it was not you.'

'But James and the Italian were on friendly terms.'

'How reliable is Captain Harvest's friendship? You've seen how quickly he's turned against you. Martin Crenlowe and Sir Humphrey were both disgusted by that.'

'No,' said Henry. 'I refuse to accept that James was involved. He had somewhere else to go that night. I watched him stride off down Fenchurch Street. Martin, too. He was eager to go home to his wife.'

'What of Sir Humphrey? Does he have a wife?'

'Oh, yes. And a comely creature she is.'

'Why did you not travel in his coach when he went back to Covent Garden that night?' wondered Christopher. 'His house is not far from Bedford Street and I understand that he offered you a lift. Why turn him down?'

'Because he was not going back home,' said Henry. 'Sir Humphrey wanted us to go elsewhere in order to carouse until dawn. I was in no mood for that. I preferred to make my own way back to Bedford Street.'

'But you were intercepted by Signor Maldini.'

'Yes, Christopher. Not far from the tavern.'

'That was in Fenchurch Street. How do you explain the fact that you were found by two watchmen much closer to the river?'

Henry blinked. 'Was I?' he asked in surprise. 'How did I get there?'

'I was hoping that you could tell me that.'

'It's all so vague. The truth is that I'm not sure what I remember about that night beyond the fact that I was seething with rage at that glib Italian.'

Christopher did not press him. Whether from drink or as a result of a blow he might have received to the head, his brother was genuinely confused about events. It made the task of defending him that much more difficult. The door was unlocked as a signal that it was time for the visitor to leave. Christopher gathered up the discarded clothing and made sure that the two razors were not left in the cell.

'Thank you for everything,' said Henry, embracing him again. 'I'm sorry that you've been dragged into this mess. It must perforce have dulled your own lustre.'

'Do not worry about me.'

'But I do. One act of folly from me will inflict damage on your career as well. Instead of being a successful architect, you'll be pointed at as the brother of a killer.'

'Not by people whose opinion I value,' said Christopher. 'I'll admit that I had fears in that direction but they've proved groundless. My latest commission is quite unthreatened by what's happened to you.'

"Then your client must not yet know about my disgrace.'

'I believe that she does, Henry. She hinted as much to me.'

'Oh?'

'Lady Whitcombe is given to impulses. When she sets her heart on something, she means to get it whatever the obstructions. I feel secure in her employ. She is so eager for me to design her new house in London that I fancy she'd not dismiss me even if my brother had assassinated the entire royal family.'

'But how can you attend to her needs when you are entangled with mine?'

'Forget her,' soothed Christopher. 'Lady Whitcombe is in Sheen and unlikely to stir from there until building gets under way. That will not happen until the Thames unfreezes completely, for the stone we require for the house will have to come by water. No,' he said confidently, 'I do not expect to see Lady Whitcombe for weeks.'

The coach moved slowly along the rutted track so that the occupants were not bounced about too much. Supported by cushions,

Lady Cecily Whitcombe sat in the coach with a blanket over her knees. Her daughter, Letitia, also wrapped up in warm clothing, was seated beside her. In spite of their discomfort, the two women were excited.

'I'm so pleased that Egerton has come back at last,' said Lady Whitcombe. 'He's been away too long. I've missed him terribly.'

'So have I, Mother. Life is so dull without Egerton to brighten our day. But I'm even more pleased that he wishes to stay in London,' said Letitia with a giggle. 'It gives us an excuse to visit him there.'

'Egerton is not the only person we'll visit, Letitia.'

'I know. I have every hope that we'll see your architect again.'

'Be assured of that.'

'Will I be able to meet him?'

'I'll insist on it.'

"Thank you, Mother.'

'Do you like Mr Redmayne?'

'Very much.'

'I could see that he's taken to you,' said the older woman complacently. "Though you must strive for more composure in his presence. You giggle far too much. That's irritating. It shows a lack of maturity. Mr Redmayne is a serious young man. Try to impress him.'

'It's he who impresses me. What an imagination he must have!'

'That's why I chose him, Letitia.'

'He's so clever and yet so modest. I love being close to him.'

'Good,' said Lady Whitcombe, patting her hand with maternal approval. 'That's as it should be. I'm sure that Egerton will get on with him as well.'

'Nobody could take a dislike to Mr Redmayne.'

'Precisely. He is truly exceptional. There are lots of people we shall call on while we are in London and Christopher Redmayne will certainly be among the first.'

The coffee house was in a street behind Charing Cross. Jonathan Bale had walked past it many times without daring to venture in but he had no choice on this occasion. One of the customers was just arriving in a sedan chair. He was an elderly man with a walking stick and a servant had to help him up the stairs. The constable followed them. Before he even stepped into the room itself, he could hear the babble of voice and smell the aroma of coffee mingling with that of tobacco smoke. Jonathan was relieved to see that the place was half-empty at that time of the morning. It lessened the degree of discomfort he felt and made it easier to pick out the man he sought. The room was long and narrow with tables set out in parallel lines along both walls. It was an exclusively male preserve for fashionable Londoners. He could see why coffee was sometimes called politicians' porridge for the snippets of conversation he heard from nearby all concerned the affairs of the day. Christopher Redmayne had given him an accurate description of the customer he was looking for so Jonathan soon identified Sir Humphrey Godden. Seated alone at a table in the corner, the man was taking snuff from a silver box.

Jonathan approached him, introduced himself and explained the purpose of his visit. Sir Humphrey was not pleased to be accosted by a parish constable.

'How did you know that I'd be here?' he said with indignation.

'I called at your house,' explained Jonathan. 'I was told that you always visited this coffee house at a certain time of the morning.'