Edward Marston - The Frost Fair

The compliment was blurted out so quickly that he felt slightly embarrassed about it and turned away. Susan glanced down the table. Lady Holcroft was listening to an anecdote from her host and laughing obligingly. All that Susan could see was the back of her head. Cardinal looked past her.

'Sir Ralph Holcroft is a fortunate man,' he observed. 'His wife is a perfect example of the trappings of power. Lesser beings would not get near her.'

'You make her sound very calculating, Mr Cardinal.'

'Far from it. I think the calculation was on her husband's part.'

'Does it not encourage you to go into politics?'

'No, Miss Cheever. I'd be bored within a week. I'm very happy with my life as it is. Power and position are such temporary things. They rest on so many imponderables. I'm old enough to remember a time when we had no King on the throne. What happened to those who held sway then'

'Do not put that question to my father,' she cautioned. 'His answer is apt to be rather trenchant. He'd not approve of his daughter, sitting at such a table as this.'

'I cannot imagine disapproving of you, whatever you did.'

The compliment went unheard. Susan had noticed that Lady

Holcroft had just excused herself from the table. As she walked past, she deliberately looked at Susan before moving on. The signal was unmistakable. After waiting a full minute, Susan made her apologies and rose to leave. She found Lady Holcroft waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase. Susan hurried over to her.

'Where is that letter?' asked the other.

'In my room,' said Susan. 'Shall I fetch it, Lady Holcroft?'

'I'll come with you.'

They went upstairs together and slipped into the bedchamber at the end of the passageway. Susan retrieved the letter from the valise in which she had concealed it then handed it over. She moved towards the door.

'Wait,' said Lady Holcroft. 'There's no need to leave.'

'I don't wish to intrude.'

'Please stay, Miss Cheever.'

Turning away so that Susan could not see her face, she broke the seal and read the letter. Susan watched her shoulders tighten. Evidently, it was a long missive that provoked serious thought. It was some time before Lady Holcroft faced her again. When she did so, her expression gave nothing away.

'What sort of man is Mr Christopher Redmayne?' she asked.

Christopher had never before been so relieved to see his servant. When Jacob returned to the house, bowed down with produce from the market, Lady Whitcombe was poring over the table with her master as they studied the design for her house. Christopher broke away at once, glad to escape from the rub of her shoulder against his and to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that he was, in some sense, a victim of intended blackmail. Lady Whitcombe was quite ruthless. Having commissioned a new home, she decided to acquire the architect as well. Jacob's return made further progress impossible for her and she soon withdrew, confident that she had achieved her objective.

It was not long before the Reverend Algernon Redmayne came back from his second visit to the prison. Over dinner together, he told Christopher how ill and forlorn his elder son had looked. Henry had been perplexed to hear of the latest assault on his brother and sent his deepest apologies. What pleased the Dean was that the prisoner seemed to be showing genuine remorse at last. He was taking responsibility for his actions and vowed to make amends if the chance were granted to him. It had obviously been a harrowing encounter for father and son, but the old man left with a degree of hope. Acknowledgement of sin was the first step towards redemption. His elder son, he felt, had finally taken that step.

Christopher intended to visit his brother as well but he had another call to make first. Wearing sword and dagger, he rode off in the direction of Sir Humphrey Godden's home to see if his own impression of the man matched that of Jonathan Bale. He got within thirty yards of the house when two figures emerged and had what appeared to be a lively argument. Sir Humphrey was gesticulating angrily and Martin Crenlowe was wagging a finger at him. At length, the goldsmith raised his palms to calm his friend then backed away. Christopher waited in the angle of a building so that Crenlowe did not see him as his carriage rolled past.

Sir Humphrey, too, was dressed to go out. Before he could walk off in the opposite direction, Christopher trotted up beside him and leaned over in the saddle.

'Good afternoon, Sir Humphrey!' he said, touching his hat.

'Ah, it's you,' grunted the other, coming to a halt.

'May I have a moment of your time?'

'If it really is a moment, Mr Redmayne.'

'I saw you talking to Mr Crenlowe just now,' remarked Christopher, dismounting from the horse. 'I thought the two of you were good friends.'

'We are, sir.'

'It did not look like it from where I was standing.'

'A slight difference of opinion, that's all,' said Sir Humphrey. 'When we meet again, it will all be forgiven and forgotten.'

'Which one of you has to forgive and forget?' He collected a glare by way of an answer. 'I gather that my friend, Jonathan Bale, called on you again.'

'Yes, Mr Redmayne. Is there any way that you can keep the fellow away from me? I find him the most unpleasant individual. He's so grim and tenacious.'

'He takes his work very seriously.'

"There's nothing more I can tell him.' His manner softened slightly. 'I was sorry to hear that you'd been attacked beside the river,' he said. 'Do you have any idea who the man was?'

'No, Sir Humphrey, but he was not content with giving me a dip in the Thames. If my guess is correct, he came back yesterday and attacked me with a cudgel. I still have the bruises to show for it.'

'Two assaults on you? Why?'

'To stop me finding out the truth about the murder.'

'You think that he was the killer?'

'I did, Sir Humphrey, but I'm not so sure now.' He appraised the other man. 'You look as if you are off on a pleasant afternoon stroll,' he observed. 'Nobody would suspect that one of your friends was rotting in Newgate on a charge of murder.'

'A false charge, Mr Redmayne.'

'It feels authentic enough to Henry. Why not go and ask him?'

'That's what Martin was saying to me. He may have been but I see no virtue in going to a prison. Henry knows that I'll back him. I stand by my friends.'

'Does that go for Captain Harvest as well?' He saw the other man tense. 'Jonathan must have told you how he ripped the mask off him. That's the value of being grim and tenacious, Sir Humphrey. You sniff out fraud. How much money did you give to your friend?'

'Nothing, sir.'

'Mr Crenlowe was certain that he'd come cap-in-hand to you first.'

'I've seen no sign of James – or whatever his name is.'

'Would you have told me, if you had?'

'No,' snapped Sir Humphrey. 'It's no business of yours.'

'It is if your friend was implicated in the murder of Signor Maldini.'

"That's an absurd notion.'

'Mr Crenlowe shares it. Is that what the two of you were arguing about?'

'No!'

'Or was he reproaching you for lending money to a proven impostor?'

'What Martin and I said is a matter between the two of us.' He made an effort to rein in his temper. 'Listen, Mr Redmayne. I admire you for what you are doing and I'll be the first to congratulate Henry when this ridiculous charge is finally exposed for what it is. Beyond that, there's nothing I can do.'

'You might try telling the truth, Sir Humphrey.'

'That's an insult!'

'It was not meant to be,' said Christopher. 'It's a heartfelt plea for information that can lead us to the man who did kill the fencing master. You may choose to absolve the man known as Captain Harvest but I'd not dispense with him so easily. He has much to answer for, Sir Humphrey. Where can we find him?'