Edward Marston - The Repentant Rake

'No, Mr Lunn. I merely craved a word with you.'

'Speak up, then.'

'Gabriel Cheever once lodged with you, I gather.'

'All the world knows that.'

'Had he started to write at that time?'

'Why, yes,' said Lunn, adjusting his periwig. 'He scribbled away whenever he could. I thought that he was writing letters to his sister but he had literary ambitions.'

'Did he show you any of his work?'

'Bless you, no! Why should he?'

'You were close friends.'

'We drank, played cards and whored together, perhaps.'

'There was more to it than that, Mr Lunn. He lived under your roof.'

'Only until he made enough money to afford lodgings of his own.' Lunn gave a sudden chortle. 'As it happens, most of that money came from me at the card table. Even when he moved out, I was still helping to pay for his accommodation.'

'Did you resent that?' asked Christopher.

'A little, perhaps.'

'Was there anything else you resented about Gabriel?'

'Of course not,' replied the other. 'Why should there be?'

'He did vanish without trace,' Christopher reminded him.

Lunn was rueful. 'That's true. And I admit I was a trifle irritated by that.'

'I suggest that it was rather more than irritation, Mr Lunn.'

'What do you mean?'

'It must have been galling to be abandoned like that,' said Christopher.

'I was not abandoned!' retorted Lunn.

'Then why did Gabriel give no warning of his departure?'

'Who knows?'

'You must have felt badly let down.'

'That's my business,' snapped Lunn, temper starting to show.

'Why did you go to the funeral?' prodded Christopher.

'Celia Hemmings told you that. I was there to act as her escort.'

'I think you may have had a more personal reason, Mr Lunn.'

Lunn flared up. 'It was not for the pleasure of meeting you, Mr Redmayne.'

'Was it remorse that took you to Northamptonshire?' said Christopher. 'Or were you simply there to gloat over the dead body of a friend who deserted you?'

'I was gloating over nobody.'

'Are you pretending that you actually cared for Gabriel?'

'What is it to you?'

'I am curious, Mr Lunn. As you so rightly pointed out,' he said, waving a hand to include the whole room, 'this is not my world. But it is yours. A man who likes pleasure as much as you do would need a very strong motive to brave the highways of England for two whole days in order to spend a mere half an hour at a funeral.'

'Why are you pestering me like this?' demanded Lunn.

Christopher was calm. 'I am putting some simple questions to you, that is all.'

'Do not expect any answers from me, sir.'

'Why not? Do you have something to hide?'

'No,' snarled Lunn, jumping to his feet. 'Now leave me be.'

'If you tell me one last thing.'

'I'm rapidly losing my patience with you, Mr Redmayne.'

Christopher stood up. 'How much of Gabriel Cheever's diary did you read?'

Arthur Lunn turned purple and started to bluster. Mastering the urge to lash out at Christopher, he instead turned on his heel and stalked away. Henry sidled over to his brother with a look of alarm on his face.

'You upset him,' he said.

'I know, Henry. That was the intention.'

Lucy Cheever sat motionless in the chair. Her eyes were open but she was quite unaware of the fact that her sister-in-law sat directly opposite her. Susan waited patiently. It was not the first time that Lucy had been in the grip of her memories. A smile occasionally brushed her lips but sadness prevailed. When she finally shook herself awake, she was overcome with guilt at ignoring her guest.

'I am so sorry,' she said, reaching out to touch Susan. 'Do forgive me.'

'There is nothing to forgive.'

'I was daydreaming.'

'It's too late for daydreams, Lucy,' said Susan. 'Night is starting to fall.'

'Heavens! Have I been that long? You should have given me a nudge.'

'Why? You were exactly where you wanted to be.'

'I invited you here so that we could get to know each other better,' said Lucy apologetically. 'And all I do is forget all about you.'

'You need some time alone with your memories.'

'I had that while you went to visit Mr Redmayne.' Interest brought a proper smile to her face. 'Was he pleased to see you, Susan?'

'Very pleased.'

'I thought he would be.'

'Mr Bale is the person to thank. He took me all the way.'

'And who brought you back?'

'Mr Redmayne himself. He insisted that I sit on his horse while he led it along.'

'I told you that he was a gentleman.'

'Every inch,' agreed Susan.

'What did you want to ask him?'

'Oh, there were a number of things, Lucy.'

'Did you find out if he knew a Henry Redmayne?'

'It's his brother, it seems. He leads a somewhat dissolute life, which is how he got into Gabriel's diary. Christopher and Henry Redmayne may be related,' she said, 'but they are different in every way. Like me and Brilliana.'

'Nobody would take you for sisters.'

'There are times when Brilliana denies the connection.'

Lucy gave a little laugh. 'I'm glad I did not invite her to stay.'

'She would have made quite an impact on this house, believe me.'

'Brilliana likes to be in charge.'

'Yes, Lucy. Given that urge, I believe that she married the right man.'

'And what about you?'

'Me?'

'When will you find the right man?'

'Oh,' said Susan, tossing her head. 'I doubt if I shall ever marry. Father has pushed many suitors in my direction but none of them has been remotely appealing.'

'Perhaps you should look further afield.'

'Young ladies are not supposed to look, Lucy. We take what is offered.'

'Or remain single.'

'Quite,' replied Susan. 'It is an attractive option in many ways.' She sat back and regarded Lucy with curiosity. 'You still have not told me how you met Gabriel. All that you would say was that it was a chance encounter.'

'It was, Susan. In a churchyard.'

'A churchyard? Why there?'

Lucy became nostalgic. 'I happened to be taking a short cut through it when I saw this handsome young man bending down in front of one of the gravestones. At first, I thought he was paying respects to a family member, then I realised what he was doing.'

'And what was that?'

'Copying the inscription,' said Lucy. 'Reading the words that had been carved into the stone. I was so surprised that I stopped to watch him. We began to talk. Gabriel was searching for interesting epitaphs,' she went on, the memory bringing some light into her eyes. 'That was his first commission as a poet, you see. To write epitaphs.' She gave another little laugh. 'Imagine that, Susan. You know the kind of wicked life he was leading yet they paid him to write epitaphs. Gabriel told me that he had not been near a church for months until he got the commission. We talked for ages.'

'What happened?'

'I made sure that I took that short cut whenever I could.' Tears threatened and she bit her lip. 'I met him in one churchyard and bade him farewell in another.' Susan moved over to put an arm round her. 'He always wanted to write his own epitaph, you know.'

'In a sense, he did,' said Susan. 'With that diary of his.'

Lucy turned to her. 'Do they know who killed him, Susan?'

'No, but they are getting closer to him all the time.'

'What did Mr Redmayne say?'

'That he is making steady progress. However,' Susan continued, 'he is still collecting evidence. What he really needs to know is where Gabriel was likely to have been on the night he was killed. Do you have any idea, Lucy?'

'He should have been here.'

'He was somewhere else. Mr Redmayne is certain of it. Where was it?' Lucy shook her head. 'You must do all you can to help. Where did Gabriel go?'

'How would I know?' said Lucy, breaking away to get up. 'He might have gone out for a walk. He worked all day but he was not chained to the house.'