Edward Marston - The Frost Fair

In the intimacy of the cell, Algernon Redmayne listened with the watchful attentiveness of a priest receiving confession from a sinful parishioner. Though he said nothing, his eyebrows were eloquent. When the recital came to an end, he let out a long sigh and searched Henry's face.

'Is that all?' he asked.

'It's all that I can remember.'

'I'm surprised that you remember anything after so much drink.'

'I was led astray, Father. It's unusual of me to imbibe so much.'

'At least, you now know what horrors can ensure. A sober man would not have behaved the way that you did, my son. He would not be under threat of death in a prison.'

'I know that,' said Henry. 'I rue the day when I picked up that first glass of wine.'

'You are too weak-willed.'

'It was an unaccustomed lapse, Father. I hope that you believe that.'

'I trust the evidence of my own eyes and they tell me that you are much too fond of the fruit of the vine. You look haggard and dissipated.'

'Even you would look like that after a few days in here.'

'No, Henry. I might pine and grow thin but I would not be so unwholesome.'

'If you saw me in my periwig, you'd think me the healthiest of men.'

'Never,' said the other. 'I've seen too much decadence to mistake the signs. If and when you are delivered from this hellish place, you and I must have a long talk, Henry. The time has come to mend your ways.' His son gave a penitential nod. 'Thank you for what you told me. You spoke with a degree of sincerity that I had not anticipated and it was a consolation. But there is one point on which you were not entirely clear.'

'What was that, Father?'

'Your reason for hating this Italian fencing master so much.'

'I told you,' said Henry. 'I heard that he cheated at cards.'

'Heard? Or did you sit opposite him at the card table and witness the act?'

'Drink, I admit to, Father, but gambling has never had much appeal for me.'

'So why were you so outraged that this fellow should cheat?'

'Because it's a dishonourable act.'

'It was not your place to correct him for it.'

'There was more to it than that,' conceded Henry. 'Jeronimo Maldini was not merely a cheat and a villain. He exposed me to ridicule at the fencing school by demonstrating his superiority with a sword.'

'That might anger you,' said his father, 'but it was surely not enough to implant murderous thoughts in your mind. And you did say that, in the middle of an argument, you threatened to kill the man.'

'I did, I did – to my eternal shame!'

'So what really made you despise this man?'

Henry blenched beneath his father's gaze. The cell suddenly seemed much smaller. In spite of the cold, sweat broke out on Henry's brow and his collar felt impossibly tight. There was no way that he could tell his father about the woman who had been stolen from him by his rival. The Dean of Gloucester would neither understand nor countenance the idea of sexual passion. It was something that he appeared never to have experienced and Henry had come to believe that he and Christopher had been conceived in random moments of religious ecstasy that had long been buried under years of monkish chastity. To explain to his father that he had loved and courted a married woman would be to show contempt for the bonds of holy matrimony. The name of Lady Patience Holcroft had to be kept out of the conversation altogether.

'Well,' pressed his father. 'I'm waiting for an answer.'

'I've already given it,' replied Henry. 'I was goaded by Jeronimo Maldini.'

'But why did he pick on you? There must have been a reason.'

'He took it with him to the grave, Father.'

The old man stepped back and nodded sagely. Henry had been let off the hook.

'I hope that you realise how much you have to thank your brother for,' said the Dean with solemnity. 'Christopher has dedicated himself to your cause.'

'I do not know what I would have done without him.'

'You came perilously close to finding out.'

'What do you mean?'

'An attempt was made on Christopher's life yesterday.'

'Where?'

'On the riverbank. He was pushed into the water.'

'Did he survive?' asked Henry, becoming agitated. 'What happened? Was he hurt? This is terrible news, Father. Who was responsible?'

'Christopher believes the attack was linked to the crime for which you were arrested. He was drenched by the incident but is otherwise unharmed. I'm telling you this so that you'll not give way to feelings of self-pity. You at least are safe in here, Henry,' he pointed out. 'But in trying to help you, your brother has put his life in danger.'

The man watched the house in Fetter Lane from the safety of a doorway farther down the street. He had been reassured when he saw an old man in clerical garb come out of the property with a servant who then hailed a carriage for him. It suggested that a priest had come to offer condolences. Shortly afterwards, three people went into the house. The young man was the first to leave and the two ladies followed some time afterwards. Too far away to see the expressions on their faces, he hoped that the visitors were also there out of sympathy for a bereavement. After an hour in the chill wind, he decided that he would leave but the front door of the house opened again and a sprightly figure stepped out. The man cursed under his breath. Christopher Redmayne was still alive.

Captain Harvest arrived on horseback at the tavern in Whitefriars. Before he could dismount, however, he saw that Jonathan Bale was approaching him. He gave a cheery wave with a gloved hand.

'Good day to you, my friend!'

'Good morning, Captain Harvest.'

'You are getting to know my habits. That worries me.'

'There are a few things that worry me as well, sir,' said Jonathan. 'I wonder if I might take up a little of your time?'

'By all means, my friend.'

The soldier dismounted and held the bridle of his horse. Jonathan noticed the beautiful leather saddle. Harvest looked even more shabby and disreputable than before. There was mud on his boots, a tear in his waistcoat and the vestiges of his breakfast were lodged in his red beard. He gave the constable a mock bow.

'I'm always ready to assist an officer of the law,' he said.

'Your landlord seemed to think you would run from the sight of me.'

'Which landlord?'

'The one you fled because you owed him rent.'

Harvest laughed. 'More than one landlord could make that claim,' he admitted. 'But I do not only pay in money, you see. I reward them with something far more valuable. They have the pleasure of my company and no man could set a price on that.' His eyelids narrowed. 'I hope that you've not come to arrest me for debt. If that's the case, I've money in my purse to pay the fellow.'

'He'd rather have it from your hand than mine,' said Jonathan. 'No, Captain Harvest, I'm not here to arrest you on the landlord's behalf. I came to ask you a few more questions about the murder.'

'You know my view. Henry Redmayne is guilty.'

'I talked to Mr Crenlowe and Sir Humphrey Godden on the subject.'

'Then they doubtless swore that he was innocent.'

'Mr Crenlowe did rather more than that, sir.'

'Oh?'

'He wondered who the real killer might be.'

'You already have him in custody.' 'Not according to Mr Crenlowe and he struck me as an intelligent man. He said that you are a more likely assassin than Mr Redmayne.'

'Me?' He gave a laugh of disbelief. 'Why ever should Martin think that?'

'He was making a judgement of your character.'

'Did Sir Humphrey agree with him?'

'No,' said Jonathan. 'He could not see that you'd have a motive.'

'Nobody had a stronger motive than me to keep Jeronimo Maldini alive,' asserted Harvest, tapping his own chest. 'His fencing school was a godsend to me in many ways. I not only earned some money there, I made the acquaintance of the kind of people I like.'