Edward Marston - The Repentant Rake

Caught up in his admiration of a fellow architect, Christopher did not notice the young boy who came trotting up to him. He was a tall, thin lad with tousled hair. His clothing was shabby and his manner obsequious.

'Are you from Sir Marcus Kemp, sir?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Christopher, seeing him for the first time.

The boy held out his hand. 'I am to take what you have, sir.'

'Who sent you?'

'A gentleman, sir. Give it to me or I get no reward.'

'Which gentleman?'

'In the market.'

'Where? Point him out.'

'Please, sir. He'll not wait.'

'Did he give you a name?'

'No, sir.'

Christopher showed him the purse. 'Point him out and you shall have the money.'

'There, sir,' said the boy, indicating a tall man in the crowd.

'Where?'

'Beside that stall.'

Having distracted Christopher, the boy grabbed the purse and went haring off.

'Wait!'

Christopher's shout was drowned beneath the sea of voices in the square. Though he tried to keep track of the boy, he soon lost him in the melee. The lad disappeared into the heart of the market and for a moment Christopher feared that Jonathan Bale might have missed him as well, but he trusted in the constable's vigilance. Whichever way the boy went, the constable would somehow follow him. All that Christopher could do was wait outside the church until his friend returned with information about the whereabouts of the blackmailer. It might even be that an arrest would already have been made. He wondered if he should slip into the church and offer up a prayer for the capture of the man who had caused such grief to so many people. Inevitably, his thoughts settled on Susan Cheever.

He did not have long to wait. As soon as he saw Jonathan Bale emerging from the throng, however, he knew that there were bad tidings. The constable was alone. When he reached Christopher, he lifted his broad shoulders in apology.

'He was too quick for me, Mr Redmayne.'

'That lad could certainly run.'

'Not him, sir,' explained Jonathan. 'The man we're after. He's more cunning than I bargained for. My legs are not that slow. I caught the lad before he got to The Strand. He was eating an apple that he bought with the money he earned.'

'Where was the purse?'

'He was paid to slip it to another boy by one of the stalls.'

'Which stall?'

'He could not remember,' said Jonathan sadly, 'and there was no point in trying to shake the truth out of him. The lad was an innocent pawn in all this. He did not even get a proper look at the man who employed him.'

'It was cleverly done, Mr Bale.'

'I know. He took the purse from you, darted into the crowd, and gave the money to a second boy who then passed it on to the man we want. The villain was taking no chances. He used two boys as his couriers and watched it all from safety.'

'Yes,' sighed Christopher. 'We were outfoxed.'

'Only because we were expected, Mr Redmayne.'

'Expected?'

'The blackmailer realised that a trap was being set for him.'

'How?'

'I have no idea,' said Jonathan, 'but that lad did not pick you out by chance.'

'What do you mean, Mr Bale?'

'It was one thing I did squeeze out of him.'

'Well?'

'He knew your name, Mr Redmayne. Someone recognised you.'

Christopher felt as if he had just been kicked hard in the stomach.

Celia Hemmings was writing a letter when she heard the doorbell ring. Pleased to learn that the visitor was Christopher Redmayne, she asked that he should be shown into the room at once. She gave him a cordial welcome and swept aside his apologies.

'If you are in the area, call at any time,' she said.

'That's most kind of you, Miss Hemmings,' said Christopher, taking the seat that was offered 'but I would hate to impose on you.'

'From what I hear, Mr Redmayne, you impose on nobody.'

'Who told you that?'

'Your brother. You were mentioned in passing on more than one occasion by Henry. As someone who cheerfully loathed the very notion of work, he simply could not comprehend how you could enjoy it.'

'I luxuriate in it, Miss Hemmings.'

'Quite, sir. So I need hardly fear a daily visit from you.'

'No,' said Christopher pleasantly. 'Once we have solved this murder, I will be spending all of my time on the new house for Sir Julius Cheever.'

'He is not at all as I imagined,' she observed. 'Gabriel had painted him as a monster yet he seemed like a dignified old man when I saw him at the funeral.'

'His son's death mellowed him considerably.'

'Then he really does breathe fire?'

'Not exactly, Miss Hemmings,' replied Christopher with a smile, 'but he can singe your ears if he has a mind to do so.'

'I hope he does not even know of my existence.'

'I am certain that he does not.'

'Good.'

'I must say that I was touched to see you at the funeral. Did you get back safely from Northamptonshire?'

'Eventually,' she said. 'Arthur Lunn took us by the most roundabout route.'

Christopher was critical. 'I did not detect any real sorrow in Mr Lunn.'

'Expressing his emotions is something that Arthur regards as beneath him. I dare say that he had sincere regrets about Gabriel's death but he would never admit to them. He was there to make it possible for me to attend.'

'I appreciate that, Miss Hemmings.'

Christopher was glad that he had succumbed to the impulse to call on her. After the setback he had just suffered in Covent Garden, he was in search of consolation. Since she lived so close to the square, he hoped that he might find it at her house. Wondering why he had come, Celia Hemmings subjected him to a searching gaze. Bereavement left her subdued but there was the faintest hint of flirtatiousness in her eye. She adjusted her position in the chair. Unlike Lucy Cheever, she was very conscious of her charms and knew how to make the most of them. The chasm between the two women was deep and wide. Christopher wondered afresh how Gabriel had bridged it so successfully.

'Did you see what you wanted at the funeral?' he asked quietly.

'I went to see Gabriel being buried, Mr Redmayne,' she said sharply, 'and not to peer at his widow.'

'That's not what I meant.'

'Oh?'

'I assumed that you would be interested to take a look at the house where he had lived and the family he had talked so much about. You must have been curious.'

Her tone softened. 'I was and I'm sorry that I misunderstood you. As it happens, Arthur and I did take the trouble to ride out to the estate. It's a beautiful house but I can see why Gabriel ran away from it. There's nothing to look at but sheep.'

'I don't believe that it was the sheep who drove him away.'

'No, it was his father. You have a troublesome client, Mr Redmayne.'

'I can cope with him, Miss Hemmings.'

'I think that you can cope with anything,' she said with a warm smile.

The glint came into her eye again and it made him slightly uncomfortable. There was a directness about Celia Hemmings that he found both attractive and disturbing. He moved on quickly to the questions that took him there in the first place.

'You and Gabriel were very close,' he began.

'Intermittently,' she said. 'I loved him dearly but we never lived together for any length of time. Gabriel was too shy of commitment.'

'Did he discuss his writing with you?'

'From time to time. He read a few of his poems to me once.'

'What about his diary?'

She looked blank. 'Diary?'

'Were you aware that Gabriel was keeping a diary?'

'No, Mr Redmayne.'

'Did you not see him making entries?'

'This is the first that I've heard about it,' she said. 'What sort of diary was it?'

'A revealing one, by all accounts. He recorded his exploits in full.'

Celia grew angry. 'Are you telling me that / am mentioned in this diary? That would be disloyal as well as disgusting. It would be unforgivable. No,' she decided, calming down at once, 'Gabriel would never do that to me. I trust him.'