Edward Marston - The Repentant Rake

They adjourned to the site itself to take stock of any potential hazards.

'A tidy piece of land' observed Popejoy. 'At a tidy price, I dare say.'

'Sir Julius is a wealthy man.'

'He must be if he can afford to build a house that he'll rarely use.'

'Except when Parliament sits,' said Christopher.

Popejoy grinned. 'Sits and sleeps, from what I hear.'

'Not while Sir Julius Cheever is around. His voice would wake the dead.'

'What sort of client will he be, Mr Redmayne?'

'One that expects to get exactly what he pays for.'

'As long as he's not looking over our shoulder every hour of the day.'

'No danger of that, Mr Popejoy,' said Christopher. 'Once my drawings have met with his approval, he'll leave us alone to get on with our work. Sir Julius hates London. It's taking a huge effort of will on his part to move here.'

'But he's not really in London,' noted Popejoy. 'Westminster is a city in itself.'

'It's all one to him. An object of scorn and derision. He wanted a house built here so that it was convenient for his visits to Parliament. Our job is to answer his needs.'

Popejoy gave a shrug. 'I foresee no problems there.'

The two men were standing in a tree-lined road that ran north from Tuthill Street. A number of properties had already been built there but the new house would still allow Sir Julius an uninterrupted view of St James's Park. It was a bonus for a man accustomed to look out on appealing landscapes. Popejoy strode slowly around the site, measuring it out and kneeling down to take a closer look at the ground on which he was to build. He was a short, thickset man with black hair and bushy eyebrows that arched so expressively above his bulbous eyes that he seemed to be in a continual state of surprise. Christopher had the highest respect for him. He had seen how Popejoy could bring the best out of his men. When the builder rejoined him, he nodded towards the park.

'Sir Julius will be able to see the King taking his morning walk.'

'That's the last thing he wishes to do, Mr Popejoy,' said Christopher with a smile. 'Left to him, there would be no King.

Unless he went by the name of Oliver Cromwell.'

'What a sour-faced ruler he turned out to be!'

'Not in the opinion of our client. He more or less worshipped the man. Whatever else you do,' he cautioned, 'make no comment about politics to Sir Julius or it will set him off. He's fanatical in his beliefs. Disparage the Lord Protector and he's likely to tear up your contract to build his house.'

Popejoy nodded. 'I know when to keep my mouth shut, Mr Redmayne. I've been employed by men of every political persuasion and I made sure that I never spoke a word out of place to any of them. I prefer to sweeten a client. They pay better that way.'

'I agree,' said Christopher. 'Well, have you seen enough, Mr Popejoy?'

'I think so.'

'Do you have any questions?'

'Only one of significance. When do we start?'

'As soon as Sir Julius is satisfied with my design. He plans to be in London very soon and will call on me at the earliest opportunity. It is simply a case of standing by.'

'I'm not one to stand by, Mr Redmayne,' said the builder, eyebrows reaching an even higher altitude. 'I've other work to supervise. When the time comes, that's where you'll find me. Keeping an eye on my men.'

'As I would expect.'

They mounted their horses and rode back in the direction of the city, discussing the purchase of materials and the need to safeguard them at night while they were stored on site. After trading farewells, they parted in The Strand. Christopher went on to Fleet Street at a brisk trot and turned his horse into Fetter Lane. When he reached his door, Jacob came hurrying out to take charge of the animal and to pass on some unexpected information.

'Someone has called to see you, Mr Redmayne,' he said.

'My brother?'

'No, sir. Your friend the constable.'

Christopher was astonished. 'Jonathan Bale?'

'He has been here the best part of an hour.'

'Then it must be important,' decided Christopher, dismounting and handing over the reins. 'He's ill at ease after two minutes under my roof. To endure it any longer is a sign of real urgency.'

He went in through the door, found Jonathan in the parlour, and waved him back to his seat when he tried to rise. The visitor was patently uncomfortable in a house that was so much larger and better furnished than his own. Notwithstanding his friend's ill-concealed prejudices and dour manner, Christopher had grown fond of Jonathan Bale. Chance had thrown them together on more than one occasion and forged a bond that neither would have believed possible. While Christopher was ready to acknowledge that bond with a cordial smile, the constable was less forthcoming.

'I am sorry to disturb you, Mr Redmayne,' he began solemnly.

'Not at all. I'm always glad to see friends.'

'I come on an errand.'

'So I assumed.'

'Thus it stands.' Jonathan did not linger over the social niceties. As soon as his host was seated opposite him, he gave him a brief account of the murder investigation and explained why he had such a personal commitment to it.

'You have a protective instinct,' remarked Christopher.

'Do I?'

'You guard that ward of yours like a mother hen watching over her brood.'

Jonathan was blunt. 'I won't stand for murder on my doorstep.'

'Nor should you, Mr Bale. But how can I help?'

'By speaking to your brother, Mr Redmayne.'

'Henry?'

'He may just have the answers I need.'

'Don't bank on that,' warned Christopher. 'Henry is not at his most approachable at the moment. He's rather preoccupied.'

'All I am asking is that you tell him the name of the deceased. I have a strong suspicion that the man may have been at Court. In which case, your brother might actually know him.'

'That's not impossible. Henry is a gregarious fellow. Inquisitive, too. He likes to keep abreast of all the Court gossip.'

'Will you take me to him, please?'

Christopher hesitated. 'It might be better if I passed on your request to him. My brother is indisposed. I'm the only visitor he'll permit. Will that content you?'

'It must.'

'Tell me name of the murder victim?'

'Gabriel Cheever.'

'Cheever!'

Christopher was stunned. Mouth agape, he sat there with his mind in turmoil. Could the man possibly be the estranged son of Sir Julius Cheever? If so, how would the latter react when he heard the news? But the question that really skewered its way through Christopher's brain was how the lovely Susan Cheever would respond. Her brother might have shaken the dust of Northamptonshire from his feet but she still recognised him as her sibling and, Christopher suspected cared for him a great deal. She would be devastated by the news and he hoped that he would be able to soften its impact by being the person to break it to her.

'Of course,' said Jonathan on reflection, 'that may turn out to be a false name. He certainly left a false address with his shoemaker. I found that out.'

'He gave his real name,' murmured Christopher

'What makes you think that?'

'I've heard of Gabriel Cheever and my brother knew him well.'

Jonathan brightened. 'Will he have an address for the man?'

'Perhaps.'

'How soon can you get it for me?'

'I'll walk to Bedford Street this morning, Mr Bale.'

'Are you all right?' asked Jonathan, peering at him with concern. 'You look pale, Mr Redmayne. Have these tidings come as a shock to you?'

'A profound shock,' admitted Christopher. 'When you arrived here, I was inspecting a site with a builder. I've been commissioned to design a house for a client called Sir Julius Cheever.'

'A relation?'

'His father, I believe.'

'The fog is starting to clear at last,' said Jonathan gratefully. 'The father deserves to be informed at once so he can identify the body for certain. Can you tell me how to find him?'