Edward Marston - The Repentant Rake

'I apologise for my appearance, Lady Ulvercombe,' he said politely, 'but I was attacked in the street last night.'

She was unsympathetic. 'Did you bear any resemblance to your brother before that incident?' she said. 'I can discern none whatsoever now. Where is he?'

'Unable to come.'

'Does he not understand the importance of the summons?'

'Only too well, Lady Ulvercombe. He was aware that the letter had gone astray.'

'How?'

'Henry is being blackmailed.'

Her poise wavered. 'Somebody has the letter?' she asked. 'That was my fear.'

'It is causing my brother rather more than fear,' said Christopher. 'If you would care to sit down, I will explain. These injuries you see,' he added, indicating his face, 'are a small part of the explanation.'

'Henry should be here to give it in person.'

'Bear with me, Lady Ulvercombe, and you will understand why he is not.'

She regarded him with a blend of interest and unease. His bearing was impressive and his voice persuasive but she was distressed that he knew about an item of intimate correspondence. If his brother had confided in him, then he had to be trustworthy, she hoped but she would need reassurance on that score. Crossing to a chair, she lowered herself into it and assumed another pose. Christopher had a vision of Henry and his mistress together, preening themselves in front of each other and attaching far more importance to outward show than to any emotional commitment. He took a seat.

'It is a long story, I fear,' he began.

'Must I hear it all?' she sighed.

'It started with a brutal murder, Lady Ulvercombe.'

She jerked backwards in alarm. Having secured her attention, he did not pause. He described the circumstances of Gabriel Cheever's death and, while refraining from giving any names, told her of the people who were being blackmailed by means of extracts from a secret diary. In showing her that the disappearance of her letter was only one detail in a much larger picture, Christopher expected to shake her self-absorption but he was mistaken. All that concerned her was her own situation.

'I have never met this Gabriel Cheever,' she said haughtily. 'Who was he?'

'A friend of my brother's.'

'His death is unfortunate but irrelevant to me.'

'I would dispute that, Lady Ulvercombe.'

'Is there any reference to me in his scandalous diary?'

'Not as far as I know.'

'Then let us forget it, Mr Redmayne,' she insisted, 'and turn our attention to the missing letter. Did Henry give you any indication as to its contents?'

'He did not need to, Lady Ulvercombe,' said Christopher with gallantry. 'I have only to look at you to understand the nature of the communication. Henry was rightly devoted to you.' His flattery drew a thin smile from her. 'The important thing now is to save your reputation.'

'I could not agree more.'

'To do that, I need to ask some personal questions.'

'Not too personal, I trust,' she warned.

'Where was the letter kept, Lady Ulvercombe?'

'I have a small cabinet in my bedchamber.'

'Is the cabinet locked?'

'Most of the time.'

'Did you ever take the missive out to read it through?'

'Really, sir!' she rebuked. 'What a lady does with her keepsakes is her own affair. If your questioning is to take this turn, I'll no more of it.'

'I'm sorry, Lady Ulvercombe,' he said. 'I'm simply trying to establish when it went astray. It was well over a week ago that Henry received the blackmail demand. Think back, if you will. Were you absent from the house for any period of time?'

She pondered. 'As a matter of fact, we were.'

'Oh?'

'My husband and I stayed with friends in Sussex.'

'How long were you away?'

'Several days, Mr Redmayne.'

'And when did this visit take place?'

'A fortnight or so ago,' she recalled. 'Are you suggesting that the letter was stolen from the house while we are away?'

'Unless you took it with you, Lady Ulvercombe.'

She flared up. 'You are starting to irritate me again, sir.'

'There are only two possibilities here,' he said. 'The first is that you had it in your possession and mislaid it. That, I know,' he went on swiftly, 'is well nigh impossible as you would never be so careless.'

'Or so foolish.'

'Then we have to accept the second possibility. It was stolen from you.'

'Why?'

'In order to blackmail Henry and embarrass you.'

'But nothing else was taken,' she argued, 'and I have a whole drawer of keepsakes. The house is well guarded while we are away. There were no reports of a burglary when we returned.'

'Then we must look elsewhere, Lady Ulvercombe.'

'Elsewhere?'

'At your servants.'

Her eyes flashed again. 'I refuse even to countenance that suggestion. Each and every one of them is above reproach, Mr Redmayne. They have been with us for years.' She remembered something. 'With one exception, that is.'

'Who might that be?'

'A chambermaid we took on six months ago.'

'I see.'

'But I would exempt her from any suspicion,' said Lady Ulvercombe. 'She came to us with the highest recommendation. The girl was formerly in the employ of one of your brother's friends, as it happens.'

'A friend of Henry's?' said Christopher, his curiosity aroused.

'I mentioned that my steward was looking to engage a new chambermaid.'

'And Henry found one for you?'

'The girl was looking for a new post.'

'Who was this friend of his?'

'Miss Hemmings,' she said. 'Celia Hemmings.'

The afternoon sun beat down on Fleet Lane and made their protracted vigil even more uncomfortable. Both men were sweating profusely. Jonathan Bale was hungry, Tom Warburton was bored and the dog had grown restless. There were several hours to go before the printer's shop closed and they would have to resume their position early next morning if they were to be there when Miles Henshaw opened for business. Warburton was fractious.

'We could be here for days, Jonathan.'

'If that is what it takes, I do not mind waiting.'

'You are not even sure he will come.'

'No, Tom. I am following my instinct.'

'I would rather follow my belly.'

Jonathan smiled. 'So would I, but someone has to keep watch. Leave me here on my own. You and Sam have done your share. The pair of you deserve some solid food.'

'Shall we bring something back for you?'

'No, Tom. But you might give a message to Sarah.'

'Her husband is starving?'

'Just tell her that I may be late back.'

'I will.'

Having elected to go, Warburton nevertheless loitered for a while, torn between a sense of duty and the need to eat. Eventually, he decided to make his move. The dog jumped eagerly to his feet. Before they could leave, however, Jonathan motioned in the direction of the printer's shop. A young man was approaching on a horse. They were too far away to see his face beneath the broad- brimmed hat but they saw how gingerly he carried his right arm. Looped round his neck was the strap of a leather satchel. The man dismounted, tethered his horse, took off the satchel and went into the shop. Neither Warburton nor Sam wanted to go now. They waited as patiently as Jonathan.

A quarter of an hour passed before the customer reappeared. Miles Henshaw came out with him, ostensibly to wave him off but really in order to give a signal to the watching constables. Jonathan anticipated it. Before Warburton could move, Jonathan came out of hiding and strode purposefully towards the shop. Henshaw saw him coming and squandered the element of surprise. When he saw the expression on the printer's face, the customer became suspicious and glanced over his shoulder to see a constable bearing down on him. Pushing the printer away, the man rushed to mount his horse, using his left hand to help himself up into the saddle.