Edward Marston - The Repentant Rake

'It's so unlike him to go missing.'

'Forget your servant,' said Jonathan. 'Tell me about your visit to Mr Wickens.'

'He was reluctant to show me his anonymous letter at first. It's understandable, I suppose. No man wants his vices to be put on display like that, though I suspect that Peter Wickens had less to hide than Sir Marcus Kemp. In any case,' said Christopher, 'we persuaded him eventually and he allowed me a glimpse of the letter.'

'Was it written by the person who sent your brother's demand?'

'Yes, Mr Bale. The hand was identical to that which penned the second letter to Henry. A different correspondent wrote the original demand. Someone with a bolder and more looping style.'

'So we are looking for two people.'

'Three, at least,' corrected Christopher. 'You forget my midnight companion. He did not strike me as the kind of man who dashes off a neat letter. His task is to carry out the threats, not to frame them in the first place.'

'How long do you think he was following you?'

'From the time we left that gaming house, probably. Henry and I were too busy talking to notice him and he could hardly make his move while we were together. No,' he said running a finger round his sore neck, 'my guess is that he lurked outside the house when we called on Peter Wickens. Then he shadowed us all the way back and waited until I was on my own.'

'But why attack you, Mr Redmayne? Your brother received the death threat.'

'I'm the one investigating the murder. Being ambushed like that was not the most pleasant experience,' said Christopher, 'but there is one compensation.'

'You survived.'

'That was an additional bonus. No, Mr Bale, we should take it as a sign that we are making good progress. They know that we are after them and sense that we are closing in. That's why I was attacked,' he concluded. 'They are afraid.'

Before Jonathan could reply, he heard the front door opening and the sound of footsteps in the hall. Jacob had returned. Christopher was about to rebuke his servant when someone else came into the room ahead of him. Susan Cheever made no attempt to hide the affection beneath her anxiety. Hurrying across to his chair, she looked down at Christopher with consternation.

'Jacob tells me that you were attacked, Mr Redmayne,' she said.

Astonished to see her, all that Christopher could manage was a nod. He tried to catch Jacob's eye but the servant slipped off into the kitchen without looking at him. Susan was taking a rapid inventory of his face and neck. She winced when she saw his raw knuckles.

'Are you badly hurt?'

'No,' he said, relishing her proximity. 'I'll live to fight another day. But do sit down, Miss Cheever. You know Mr Bale, of course.'

Susan gave the constable a nod of recognition. When she came into the room, Jonathan had risen to his feet. As she sat down, he resumed his seat. Susan had not come to see him. Her attention was fixed solely on Christopher.

'What happened?' she said. 'Jacob would not give me any details.'

'I do not remember very much,' replied Christopher. 'It was over in a flash.'

'I do not believe you. Tell me the truth.'

He blinked at her directness. 'There is not much to tell.'

'Yes, there is,' she insisted. 'You did not get those injuries in the space of a few seconds. I think that you are trying to fob me off again, Mr Redmayne. Have you so soon forgotten your promise to tell me everything?'

'Mr Bale has heard it all before. It would bore him.'

'Not at all,' said Jonathan. 'I'd be glad to listen again, sir. Some small details may emerge that you forgot the first time. I am used to taking statements and I always make witnesses go over the story at least twice. There is usually something new that comes out and it is often crucial.'

Christopher turned back to Susan. Worried and attentive, she was also determined to hear the full truth. He could not hold things back from her again. Making light of the courage he had shown, he gave her a lucid account of the attack and assured her that his injuries looked far worse than they really were. Susan was not reassured.

'We are to blame for this,' she said guiltily. 'If you had not been trying to help my family, you would have been perfectly safe.'

'I'm acting on behalf of my brother as well, remember.'

'Someone tried to kill you, Mr Redmayne. I feel responsible.'

'Needlessly.'

'You took the most appalling risks to track down the man who murdered Gabriel.'

'He tracked me down, Miss Cheever.'

'That's what alarms me.'

Christopher did his best to calm her down and Jonathan repeated his pledge to act as a bodyguard in future. She was only partially mollified. Jacob came into the room and stood beside his master.

'Shall I bring in some refreshments, sir?' he enquired.

'What I need from you,' said Christopher, 'is an explanation.'

The old man beamed. 'Do you have a complaint, sir?'

'No, Jacob, but I want you to follow instructions in future.'

'I felt that Miss Cheever ought to know what had transpired.'

'Thank you,' she said. 'I'm very grateful to you, Jacob.'

Christopher smiled. 'Well, yes,' he said on reflection. 'I suppose that I, too, am grateful. Perhaps you acted wisely, after all.'

Jacob was basking in their approval when there was a loud knock at the door. He hurried out into the hall to see who had called. He returned almost at once and handed a letter to Christopher.

'This is from your brother, sir,' he said. 'His servant awaits your answer.'

Breaking the seal, Christopher read the brief note and got to his feet.

'Tell him that we will come immediately.' While Jacob went off to relay the message to the servant, Christopher turned to Susan. 'Forgive us, Miss Cheever. We will have to leave you for a while. But do please remain here. We may have important news for you when we return.' He smiled at Jonathan. 'Give me a few minutes to get properly dressed and I'll gladly employ your services as a bodyguard.'

Sir Marcus Kemp moved between recrimination and dejection with no intervening stage. One minute, he was berating the Redmayne brothers; the next, he was imploring Henry to come to his aid. His lightning shifts of mood were bewildering. The two men were in the parlour of the house in Bedford Street. Shaved dressed and wearing his wig, Henry felt in a better position to cope with his ambivalent visitor. Kemp's plight somehow made his own troubles seem less immediate.

'In your position, I'd refuse to pay the thousand guineas,' he said airily.

'Even if it means public vilification and certain divorce?'

'Play for time, Marcus.'

'The letter insists on immediate payment.'

'Then give this bloodsucker a small amount by way of deposit and tell him that you will pay the rest in instalments. Yes,' said Henry, pleased with the notion, 'that will remove the threat and give you space in which to breathe. It will also give my brother more time to hunt this villain to his lair.'

'As long as he does not offer to hand over my money again,' said Kemp with asperity. 'I can do without any assistance from Christopher Redmayne.'

'But he is only our hope.'

'Then we are truly doomed.'

'Have more faith in him. After all, he is a Redmayne.'

'That means he has the mark of failure on him.'

Henry was offended. 'The Redmayne family is known for its resilience.'

'It has brought me nothing but misery,' insisted the other, lapsing back into deep gloom. 'There is no hope. The net is closing in remorselessly.' The sound of the doorbell injected some rancour back into him. 'That will be your brother now,' he said. 'I'll warm his ears until they burst into flame. Christopher Redmayne is a bungler!'

Taking a stance with his hands on his hips, Kemp was ready to fire a verbal broadside the moment Christopher entered, but he was taken aback at the sight of the lacerated face and bruised cheekbone. The presence of Jonathan Bale also helped to silence him. After staring in horror, Henry rushed across to his brother.