Edward Marston - The Repentant Rake

'You say that he had a rough manner?'

'Mr Henshaw meant that he was uneducated Miss Cheever. He spoke less like a master than a servant. That may be a valuable clue.'

It was late morning and the three of them were sitting in the parlour of the house in Fetter Lane. Jonathan was anxious to continue their investigation but Christopher felt that they had to report back to Susan first. He had not forgotten the way she had surged into the room to enquire after his health. It was almost worth taking a beating to enjoy the sheer luxury of her concern. Since she had appeared, his injuries no longer caused him the slightest twinge of pain.

'What will you do now, Mr Redmayne?' she asked.

'First, I will tell Jacob to escort you safely home.'

'Must I go?'

'You can remain here if you wish but it may be a long wait. Mr Bale and I have so much more to do. Besides,' said Christopher reasonably, 'your sister-in-law will be wondering what happened to you. It must have been a great shock to her when you suddenly left.'

'It was.'

'Go back and reassure her.'

'What shall I say to her?'

'Tell her that her husband's death will soon be explained.'

'Am I allowed to mention the attack on you, Mr Redmayne?'

'No,' he said. 'It would only upset her needlessly She has enough things to worry her as it is. Say nothing about me, Miss Cheever. Try to get her to do the talking.'

'I will.'

'Are you making any headway on that front?'

'I think so,' she said. 'Lucy is close to confiding in me.'

'Then it is important for you to stay with her.'

'I suppose so.'

'She needs your support.'

Susan gave a nod of agreement. Reluctant to leave, she accepted that she had to go. She had travelled to London at her sister-in- law's express request and could not desert her for any length of time. The visit to Fetter Lane had served to deepen the unspoken affection between her and Christopher. While she waited for him to come back, she had learned a great deal more about him simply by sitting in his house and imbibing its atmosphere. It was an interesting place and it reflected his character with accuracy. Jacob had even let her see some of his master's drawings. Marvelling at Christopher's skills, she was grateful that her father had retained him as an architect. It was her one source of consolation. She rose sadly to her feet.

'Yes,' said Christopher, reading the query in her face. 'I promise that we will keep you informed of any progress we make. It's a blessing that Mr Bale's house in Addle Hill is so near to Knightrider Street.'

'I hope that you will find time to come yourself, Mr Redmayne.'

'Of course.'

'I still believe that you may be the one to gain Lucy's confidence.'

'As long as I have yours,' he said.

'You do,' she assured him.

Jacob was summoned and given instructions. All four of them soon left the house together. Pausing in the street, Susan bestowed a valedictory smile on Christopher.

'Where will you go now?' she asked.

'To pay a call on a man who will not be pleased to see us.'

'Who is that, Mr Redmayne?'

'Mr Arthur Lunn.'

'Are we to search the coffee houses for him?' said a worried Jonathan.

'No, Mr Bale,' said Christopher, 'we'll call at his home first.

Even if he is not there himself, we may find out something of crucial importance.'

'What is that?' said Susan.

'If he has a servant with a wounded arm and a broken nose.'

Fleet Lane was well outside Tom Warburton's territory but he could not refuse his colleague's request. He had been with Jonathan Bale when the dead body was discovered and he had the same commitment to finding the killer. Choosing a vantage point with care, Warburton kept the printing shop under surveillance. His dog, Sam, seemed to realise the significance of the assignment. Instead of wandering off to forage, he stayed close to his master's feet, curling up and falling asleep. The constable's orders were simple. He was to watch customers going in and out of the shop and await a signal from the printer. Miles Henshaw had given him a description of the wanted man so he knew his salient features.

It was a lengthy wait. Several customers appeared but none of them resembled the person that Warburton was after. He stamped his feet to fight off cramp. Sam opened an eye to see if he was needed then closed it again. A group of people sauntered down the lane towards them. A young man, who had attached himself to the rear of the group, suddenly peeled off and went into the shop. Warburton took close interest. One glimpse of the customer alerted him. Nudging the dog awake, he kept his gaze on the printer's shop. The latest customer was inside for some time. When the man emerged Miles Henshaw came out with him to trade a few words before waving him off. Warburton moved forward, ready to break into a trot at the printer's signal. Sam emitted a low growl. But it was all to no avail. As soon as the customer had gone a few yards, Henshaw turned to the constable and shook his head vigorously. It was not the wanted man. Warburton drew back and Sam curled up again. The dog was soon fast asleep.

When he opened the front door, the servant was taken aback to see a burly constable standing there with a young man whose face was covered in lacerations. He recovered quickly and looked from one to the other.

'May I help you, gentlemen?' he said.

'We have called to see Mr Lunn,' said Christopher. 'Is he at home?'

'Yes, sir, but Mr Lunn is not receiving visitors today.'

'Tell him it's a matter of some urgency.'

'I will pass that message on to him' said the man, dismissing them with a cold smile. 'Good day, gentlemen.'

'Wait!' ordered Jonathan. 'Close that door in our faces and you'll answer to me.'

'My master is not available today, sir.'

'Tell him that Mr Redmayne and Mr Bale wish to speak to him.'

'It would make no difference,' said the man with exasperation.

'We'll not be denied,' warned Christopher.

'I never admit strangers.'

'We are both known to Mr Lunn. I was with him at a gaming house last night and Mr Bale here has shared a table with him at a coffee house.'

Jonathan winced at the reminder. 'I come on official business,' he said. 'If you try to turn us away, I'll fetch a warrant to gain entry. What will your master say to that?'

The man's certainty slowly vanished. He could see how determined the visitors were. Leaving them at the door, he risked his master's displeasure and went to report the request. When he returned he had a hangdog expression.

'You are to come in,' he mumbled, 'but Mr Lunn can spare you very little time.'

'We will not require much,' said Christopher.

They were conducted into a large hall with a high ceiling. The floor was marble and a marble staircase curled its way upwards. Located in St James's Square, the house was bigger and more sumptuous than those of either Sir Marcus Kemp or Peter Wickens. Christopher estimated the number of servants it would take to run such an establishment. Arthur Lunn was in the dining room, seated at the head of a long table with writing materials set out in front of him. He was still in his dressing gown but he wore his periwig. His paunch was accentuated, his swarthy face darkened even more by a scowl. When the visitors entered he gave them no word of greeting. He stared at Christopher's injuries without comment then glowered at Jonathan.

'What is this nonsense about a warrant?' he demanded.

'It did not prove necessary,' said Jonathan.

'I'll not have you upsetting my servants.'

'How many do you have here, Mr Lunn?' asked Christopher.

'That's none of your damn business, Mr Redmayne.'

'Is one of them nursing a wounded arm?'

Lunn's eyes bulged even more recklessly. 'Wounded arm?' he said. 'Is that why you came here – to discuss the condition of my servants?'