Edward Marston - The Frost Fair

Inevitably, Susan Cheever soon displaced everyone else in his mind. He remembered the courage she had shown to make contact with him in Richmond and the risk she had taken to visit him that afternoon. Christopher hoped that the time would soon come when their friendship was not so beset with obstacles. When he had asked her for a favour, she had agreed to grant it before she even knew what it was. Everything now turned on the way that she did the favour. All that he had asked her to do was to give a letter, in strictest privacy, to Lady Patience Holcroft. Susan had not even pressed him for details and he had been spared the embarrassment of telling her about Henry's romantic interest or of compromising the lady's reputation.

Reaching the house, he could see candlelight through the gap in the shutters. Since Jacob did not come out to greet him, he surmised that his servant was attending to their guest who must surely have returned from his visit to the bishop. Christopher decided to stable the horse by himself. He dismounted and led the animal down the passageway at the side of the house. Jacob had lit a lantern and it was hanging from a nail outside the stable. Opening the door, Christopher patted the horse and it went through into the stall. Before he could follow it, he heard hurried footsteps behind him.

Christopher swung round to see a figure hurtling towards him out of the shadows.

He was too slow. His attacker had the advantage of surprise. Before he could even draw a weapon to defend himself, Christopher was hit on the side of the head with a cudgel. Though his hat softened the blow, it still dazed him slightly. He put an arm up to ward off the next few blows and bunched his other fist so that he could throw a punch at the man who was belabouring him. It caught his adversary on the chest and sent him a yard backwards, but he flung himself at Christopher again with renewed energy and knocked his hat from his head. Using both arms to defend himself, Christopher was beaten back against the stable door. Resistance was being bludgeoned out of him. When he felt blood oozing down the side of his face, it prompted his instinct for survival. Christopher tensed himself. As the cudgel descended again, he grabbed the man's wrist and twisted hard but the weapon was not dislodged. It flailed around in his face. With a supreme effort, Christopher swung the man's arm against the wall so that the cudgel was dashed from his hand.

Letting out a cry of pain, his attacker pushed him away and ran back down the passageway. Christopher flung back his cloak and groped for his sword but the man did not want to duel with him. Instead, he pulled a dagger from his belt and threw it hard. Christopher dodged in the nick of time. After missing his face by inches, the dagger embedded itself in the side of the stable with a thud. The man took to his heels. Christopher was too groggy to give pursuit but he staggered out into Fetter Lane in time to see him mounting a horse before riding off at speed.

It had all happened so quickly that Christopher did not get a chance to look properly at the man. All that he knew was that his adversary was young, slim and wiry with a hat pulled down over his face. One thing was evident. It was certainly not the man he had known as Captain Harvest. As he swayed uncertainly on his feet, he did not know whether to be reassured or disappointed by that fact. A moment later, Jacob came hurrying out of the house with a lantern in one hand and a dagger in the other. He saw the blood on his master's face.

'What happened, Mr Redmayne!' he exclaimed.

'Someone was lying in wait for me, Jacob.'

'Are you badly hurt, sir?'

'I'm bruised and bloodied, but it could have been far worse.'

'It's my fault,' wailed Jacob. 'I meant to come out when I heard the horse but your father was busy giving me instructions. Come inside, Mr Redmayne. I'll clean that the wound for you and bind it up.'

'See to the horse first,' said Christopher, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. 'I'm not sure that I can manage that just yet. Oh, there's something I forgot,' he added, going back to the stable to retrieve the dagger. 'This was meant for me.'

Jonathan Bale's visit to the house in Covent Garden had been instructive. Sir Humphrey Godden had denied any knowledge of the whereabouts of the former Captain Harvest with such vehemence that the constable knew that he was lying. That meant either that the impostor had already been to him in the hope of borrowing money, or, more worryingly, that Sir Humphrey was somehow working in league with the man. If the latter were the case, Jonathan decided, it explained why Sir Humphrey had insisted that his friend could not be guilty of the crime. He would have been deliberately shielding an accomplice. There was no doubting the intensity of Sir Humphrey's open hatred of the Italian fencing master. It gave him an obvious motive for murder.

The important thing was to catch the bogus soldier as soon as possible. Jonathan did not think that the man would necessarily leave London. Someone who could evade a succession of creditors with such ease knew how to lose himself in the populous city. As long as he had money to sustain himself, he might go to ground somewhere. Jonathan set out in search of him, having first called at his house to change his clothing. It was an occasion when a common man would be more likely to gather intelligence than a constable. His long black coat was therefore replaced by the garb that he had once worn as a shipwright. It would help Jonathan to blend in more easily.

Since he had twice found his quarry at a tavern in Whitefriars, he knew that the man would not return there. Instead, he went to the Hope and Anchor, the riverside inn where Christopher Redmayne had encountered the quondam Captain Harvest. It was only half-full but the atmosphere was still rowdy. A fierce quarrel was taking place between two watermen who berated each other with mouth-filling oaths. Another man was arguing over the price that an ageing prostitute was putting on her dubious favours. Three drunken sailors were singing out of tune. Jonathan ordered a tankard of beer and bided his time. When the noise finally died down a little, he sidled across to the innkeeper.

'I was hoping to see a friend of mine in here,' he said, looking around.

'And who might that be?' asked the other, a stocky man with bulging forearms.

'Captain Harvest. We agreed to play cards in here this evening.'

The innkeeper smirked. 'Oh, I think that the captain has another game in mind.'

'Does he often come in here?'

'Only when he needs some money and some comfort.'

'Comfort?'

'Captain Harvest has an eye for the ladies, sir,' said the man. 'One in particular brings him to the Hope and Anchor. She's done it time and again.'

'Who is she?'

'That would be telling.'

'If he's not coming in this evening, I need to get a message to him.'

'Leave it with me. I'll pass it on.'

'How will you do that?' The innkeeper ignored him and used a cloth to wipe the counter between them. 'I've good news for the captain,' resumed Jonathan. 'It could bring him some money.' He put his hand on his purse. 'There'd be something in it for you, my friend, if you could tell me where he is.'

The innkeeper was suspicious. 'Who are you?' he asked.

'I told you. I'm a friend of Captain Harvest.'

'What's your trade?'

'I'm a shipwright.'

'Oh?' said the innkeeper, looking him up and down. 'A shipwright, eh? You've the hands for it, I grant you, but that proves nothing. Which ships have you worked on?'

'The last was the Mercury,' said Jonathan, naming a vessel that had been launched only months ago. 'We needed the oak from almost six hundred trees to build her. It was nearer seven hundred for the Silver Spirit. I was working at Chatham when we built her. I could tell you exactly how we constructed the hull. Would you like me to take you through the mysteries of my trade?'