Edward Marston - The Frost Fair

'I prefer this one,' said Letitia. 'It feels so homely.'

'It's also my place of work.'

'That's why I like it so much. Was our house designed in here, Mr Redmayne?'

'On that very table,' he said, pointing to it. 'But it was not so much designed as recreated to your mother's specifications. Lady Whitcombe is rare among clients in that she knows exactly what she wants.'

'Oh, I do,' said the older woman.

Christopher felt uncomfortable at the way that Letitia was staring at him with a fixed grin on her face. Lady Whitcombe seemed to have brought her daughter there for his approval and it unsettled him. He sought a way out.

'I don't wish to be inhospitable,' he said, rising to his feet, 'but I have to visit my brother this morning. Is there anything else we need to discuss?'

'Not for the moment,' said Lady Whitcombe. 'Since we are in London for a few days, there'll be other opportunities for talking to each other.'

'Oh, yes!' agreed Letitia.

'How is your brother, Mr Redmayne?' 'Bearing up well, Lady Whitcombe,' said Christopher.

'I must confess that I was shocked to hear of his arrest.'

'I'm grateful that you did not seize on it as an excuse to rescind our contract.'

'Heavens!' she protested. 'I'd never do that. My late husband taught me to be sceptical about the law. Justice is blind, he told me, and it often fails to see the truth. The guilty people are not always the ones who are locked up in prison. From what you say, your brother has been arrested by mistake.'

'Yes, Lady Whitcombe.'

'Innocence is its own protection.'

'It does need some help occasionally,' said Christopher. 'I've vowed to do everything in my power to restore his reputation.'

'That's very noble of you, Mr Redmayne,' said Letitia.

'And just what I would expect of you,' added Lady Whitcombe. 'Your father must have heard the tidings by now. Have you had any response from him?'

'The clearest possible,' replied Christopher. 'Father is not a young man but he endured days in the saddle to get here in order to lend his support to Henry. Had you come earlier, you'd have met him.'

Lady Whitcombe was delighted. "The Dean of Gloucester is here? Then we must have the pleasure of meeting him.'

'Not for a while, perhaps. Circumstances are not entirely propitious.'

'Of course. He has other preoccupations at the moment.'

'When will your brother be set free?' asked Letitia.

'As soon as we can arrange it.'

'I'd be thrilled to meet him as well.'

'Yes,' said her mother, getting up from her seat and motioning Letitia up at the same time. 'We'd like to get to know all of your family, Mr Redmayne. It's not often that your father is in the city, I daresay, so we must not miss the opportunity.'

'I'll make sure that you don't,' said Christopher, anxious to be rid of them.

'Where is the reverend gentleman now?'

'At the prison, Lady Whitcombe. He's trying to comfort my brother.'

During his years as a priest, the Reverend Algernon Redmayne had often been called upon to visit parishioners who had fallen foul of the law and finished up in Gloucester gaol. It was part of his ministry and he discharged that particular aspect of it extremely well. What he did not envisage was that he would one day be obliged to visit one of his own sons in the most infamous prison in London. Its sheer size was forbidding, its history was a black and direful catalogue of the worst crimes ever perpetrated by the human hand. To realise that the name of Redmayne had been entered in the prison records made the old man quiver with indignation. It was a foul blot on the family escutcheon and he wanted it removed. When he was escorted through Newgate, therefore, he was in a mood of quiet determination. His composure was soon shaken.

'Saints above!' he exclaimed as he was let into the cell. 'This is worse than a pigsty! Can they find you no accommodation other than this, Henry?'

'No, Father. This is one of the better rooms.'

'Then I feel sympathy for the poor souls elsewhere. The place stinks.'

'Newgate does not have an odour of sanctity.'

'Do not be so blasphemous!'

'I was endeavouring to be droll.'

'Droll?' The Dean was aghast. 'In here?'

'I can see that my remark was misplaced.'

Wishing to greet his brother, Henry was startled when his father stepped into the inadequate confines of the prison cell. He backed away instinctively and yet he felt, after the initial shock had worn off, oddly reassured by the arrival of his visitor. He knew the effort it must have taken the old man to reach London and the embarrassment there must have been when the Dean confided to his bishop the reason for his journey. His father plainly shared his suffering. Henry noted how stooped he had become.

'How are you, Father?' he asked.

'Wearied by travel,' replied the other. 'I'm far too old ride a horse across four or five counties.' He rubbed his back. 'It feels as if I've been in the saddle for a month.'

'See it as a form of pilgrimage.'

'If only I could, Henry! But this is a hardly a holy shrine.'

'No, Father.'

'What have you to say for yourself?'

Henry lowered his head. 'I'm deeply sorry about all this.'

'I did not come for an apology,' said the Dean, 'but for an explanation. Your brother assures me that you are completely innocent of the charge but I want to hear it from your own lips. Look at me, Henry.' The prisoner raised his eyes. 'Did you or did you not commit a murder?'

'I do not believe so, Father.'

'Is there the slightest doubt in your mind?'

'No,' said Henry, trying to sound more certain than he felt. 'The taking of a man's life is anathema to me. That was inculcated in me at an early age. I've obeyed all your precepts, Father. I've done my best to live a Christian life.'

"There's no room in Christianity for over-indulgence.'

'I strive to be abstemious.'

'You have patently not striven hard enough. How often have I warned you about the danger of strong drink? It leads to all manner of lewd behaviour.'

'That's why I only touch wine in moderation, Father.'

'You should only ever taste it during communion.' He leaned forward. 'You do attend a service of holy communion every Sunday, I hope?'

'Unfailingly,' lied Henry. 'I've become very devout.'

'I see precious little sign of it.'

He peered at his son and noticed for the first time how pinched and sallow Henry was. There was a day's growth of beard on his face, his hair was unkempt and the clean apparel he had put on the previous day was already creased and soiled. Sympathy welled up in the old man. Putting his hands on Henry's shoulders, he closed his eyes then offered up a prayer for his son's exoneration and release. Henry was moved.

"Thank you, Father.'

'Bishop Nicholson is praying for you daily. He, too, has faith in you.'

'That's good to hear.'

'Christopher tells me that your friends are standing by you as well.'

'Some of them.' Henry became worried. 'What else has Christopher told you?'

'Far too little. I had a distinct feeling that he might be concealing certain facts from me out of consideration for you. I want nothing hidden. In order to make a proper judgement, I need to hear all the relevant information. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Father.'

"Then tell me what happened, in your own words.'

Henry had looked forward to his father's visit with trepidation. Now that the old man had actually arrived, however, it was not as bad as he had feared. Life in prison had stripped him of his sensibilities and habituated him to pain. What helped him was the fact that he felt sorry for his father. He could see the anguish in his eyes and the awkwardness with which he held himself. On this occasion, the Dean of Gloucester was too fatigued to carry his pulpit with him. Henry would be spared a full homily. With that thought in mind, he told his story with more honesty than he had ever used in front of his father before.