The Frost Fair Part 2

Jonathan went into the kitchen and gave his wife a token kiss on the cheek.

'Are the boys asleep?' he asked.

'No,' she replied. "They are waiting for you to read to them.'

'I'll go up in a moment. How is Richard?'

'He's still very upset. I spent most of the afternoon cuddling him.'

'Poor lad! He was all but frightened out of his skin.'

'I know,' she said, putting the food on the table for him. 'Richard has hardly slept a wink since. Thank heaven that Oliver did not have to see that gruesome sight!' 'I made sure of that, Sarah.'

'If only you'd been able to keep everyone away.'

'Yes,' he sighed, 'but that was impossible. As soon as word spread, the ghouls came in their hundreds to peer at the corpse as if it was part of the frost fair laid on for their pleasure. In truth, it made me ashamed of my fellow men.'

'There were a few women in that crowd as well.'

'They were among the worst offenders.'

'So I saw.' She folded her arms. 'Did you call on the coroner today?'

'I spent an hour with him this afternoon.'

'Does he know how the body got into the water?'

'Not by accident,' said Jonathan sadly. 'That much is certain. There were stab wounds in the man's back, it seems. He was dead before he was thrown into the Thames. What the killer did not antic.i.p.ate was that the river would freeze over. The ice preserved the body in a better state than might have been the case. Most corpses that are hauled out of the water are bloated beyond all recognition.'

Sarah gave an involuntary shiver. 'So this man was murdered?'

'I fear so.'

'Do they have any idea who he might be?'

'Yes,' he said. 'The coroner has no doubt on that score. The man had been reported missing and, even in their sorry condition, his brother was able to identify the remains. My ears p.r.i.c.ked up when I heard that the murder victim had lived in this ward.'

'Who was the man?'

'His name was Jeronimo Maldini.'

'An Italian?'

'Yes, Sarah. A fencing master by profession and one with a fine reputation, I gather. In short, a man who was well able to defend himself. It would have taken a cunning swordsman to get the better of him.'

'Is that what happened?'

'Who knows?' said Jonathan. 'I mean to look closely into the matter.'

'Why?'

'Because I feel involved. It was my son who first saw the body.'

'I doubt if he'll ever forget that.'

'The man lodged no more than a few hundred yards from here. I've probably pa.s.sed him in the street a number of times without realising who he was. Baynard's Castle Ward is very precious to me,' he went on with a proprietary glint in his eye. 'It's my territory, Sarah. If someone is murdered here, I want to do everything possible to catch the culprit.'

'Be careful,' she said, putting an affectionate hand on his arm.

He kissed her gently. 'I always am.'

'Sit down and eat your supper, Jonathan.'

'Let me read to the boys first. Where's the Bible?'

'In their bedroom.'

'Good,' he said, moving to the door. 'I must find a pa.s.sage that will help to still Richard's fears. He needs a lot of love and attention.'

'That was Mr Redmayne's view.'

'Mr Christopher Redmayne?'

'Yes, Jonathan.'

'How do you know?'

'He called in this afternoon to see how the boys were,' she said, her face beaming at the memory. 'Mr Redmayne is such a kind man. He brought presents for both of them to cheer them up. They've grown very fond of him. And so have you,' she continued with a smile, 'if only you had the grace to admit it.'

Jonathan was impa.s.sive. 'Mr Redmayne has many good qualities,' he said. 'I respect him for that. But he and I live in different worlds. You may choose to forget that but I'm unable to do so. There is a gulf between us as wide as the Thames.'

'Even when the river is frozen?'

'Even then, Sarah.'

An evening out with friends imposed a whole set of decisions on Henry Redmayne. He had to make up his mind where to go, how best to get there and what to wear in order to achieve the maximum effect. An hour at least was devoted to the selection of his apparel. Henry had a large wardrobe and, in spite of his tendency to leave his tailors' bills unpaid, he was always adding to it, desperate to keep abreast of the latest fashion. No less than four mirrors adorned the walls of his bedchamber and he examined himself meticulously in each one before settling on a particular garment. Thomas, his long- suffering valet, was a martyr to Henry Redmayne's vanity.

'How does this look, Thomas?' asked his master, parading in a lime green coat.

'It becomes you, sir.'

'You said that about the red one.'

'They suit you equally, sir.'

'How can they,' complained Henry, 'when they are so different in colour, cut and finish? d.a.m.nation, man! Green and red are opposing hues. One must surely flatter my complexion more than the other.'

'Then it must be the green, sir,' said Thomas, ready to agree with him on any choice. 'It makes you look handsome and elegant.'

'Everything I wear does that.'

'It goes without saying, sir.'

'I'm reminded of it every time I court a looking gla.s.s.'

Henry preened himself in front of the largest mirror, twisting around so that he could see himself from various angles and adjusting his coat as he did so. Thomas waited patiently. A short, neat, alert man in his fifties, the valet knew the ritual all too well. The secret was to watch his master get to the verge of a decision before applying the gentle pressure needed to help him actually make it. Having got him as far as the coat, Thomas felt that he was doing well.

'No,' said Henry, clicking his tongue. 'I think that I prefer the blue one, after all.' He held out both arms. 'Take this one off, Thomas.'

'Is that wise, sir?'

'I can hardly put on a blue coat until a green coat has been removed. Would you have me wear two at the same time and be the laughing stock of London?'

'No, sir,' said Thomas. 'I merely question the wisdom of dispensing with the green coat. The colour is ideal for you. Change to the blue and we have to replace both the shirt and the waistcoat for neither will match it.'

'Could we not try the combination?'

'We've already done so three times, sir.'

'Ah,' said Henry. 'In that case, perhaps it's time to settle for the green.'

'It was my choice from the start.'

"Then why lead me astray by letting me try of every other coat in my wardrobe?'

Henry appraised himself once more in the mirror. Now in his thirties, he was tall, slim and striking with a long face that was pitted with the signs of dissipation and hair that was vanishing so rapidly that its remaining wisps were hidden beneath an expensive periwig. Henry Redmayne shared little with his younger brother, Christopher, beyond a surname and one surviving parent. While the architect would spend the evening working on his drawings by the light of candles, Henry intended to sit at a gaming table with his friends and, in all probability, run up even more debts that he could not afford to pay. One brother lived for his profession but his older sibling dedicated himself exclusively and unashamedly to pleasure.

'The green coat, it will be,' announced Henry, fiddling with his wig. 'All that remains is to choose a hat and cloak.'

'I believe that they will choose themselves, sir,' said Thomas.

'Every last detail must enhance the whole.'

'Shall we descend?'

Relieved to have come through another ordeal of indecision in the bedchamber, the valet led the way downstairs to the hall. The house in Bedford Street was large and its ornate furniture and rich hangings reflected the taste of its owner. Some of the paintings that covered the walls were by maritime artists but the majority featured buxom young women in a state of undress. Among ships and nude females, Henry felt supremely at home. In the s.p.a.cious hall was a cupboard that contained a wide selection of hats, cloaks and canes as well as variety of swords and daggers. Thomas opened the doors so that his master could survey the possibilities. From the street outside came the sound of approaching horses.

'I believe that the coach is here to pick you up, sir,' said Thomas.

'Then it can wait.'

'You were asked to be ready at eight o'clock, sir.'

'I'll not be rushed into a wrong decision, Thomas,' said Henry, taking out the warmest cloak he could find and handing it to his valet. 'Put that around my shoulders so that I can judge its relation to the rest of my attire.'

Thomas did as he was bidden. There was a loud knock at the door. A nod from Henry sent him off to open it. Expecting to see a friend on his doorstep, Henry swung round with a smile of welcome, only to find himself confronted by four officers of the law. Their grim expressions suggested that it was not a social visit. One of the men stepped past Thomas and waved a scroll at the master of the house.

'Mr Henry Redmayne?' he enquired.

'Away with you, man! How dare you enter my home like that?'

'I have a warrant here for your arrest, sir.'

'Is it a crime to choose a cloak that does not match this green coat?' asked Henry, removing the cloak with a flourish and hanging it back in the cupboard. 'For that is the only misdemeanour of which I've been guilty today.'

"This is no occasion for levity, Mr Redmayne.'

'Then take yourself off at once.'

'You have to come with us, sir,' said the man with calm authority. 'I must warn you that we'll brook no delay.'

'Is this some kind of jest?'

'No, sir. I arrest you, Henry Redmayne, on a charge of murder.'

'But that's utterly ludicrous!'

'Reserve your protestations for the judge.'

'Murder?' said Henry with disdain. 'You accuse a decent, honest, respectable, peace-loving, law-abiding man like me of murder? It's quite absurd. Who on earth am I supposed to have killed?'

"The victim's name is Jeronimo Maldini.'

Henry was struck dumb. His righteous indignation was quickly replaced by a mingled surprise and apprehension. His eyes filled with horror, his mouth was agape. Thomas had never seen his master tremble so violently before. When he saw him begin to sway, the valet rushed forward. He was just in time to catch Henry as the latter collapsed in a dead faint.

Chapter Three.

Over the years, Christopher Redmayne had seen his brother in many embarra.s.sing situations. He had watched Henry being pursued by creditors, hara.s.sed by discarded lovers, thrown out of gaming houses, afflicted by shameful diseases, mocked by his colleagues at the Navy Office and, on more than one occasion, so hopelessly drunk that he could barely recall his own name. There was also a time when Henry was subjected to a violent a.s.sault that put him in bed for a week and gave him the perfect excuse to whinge, whimper and feel thoroughly sorry for himself. He had been battered and bruised enough to arouse anyone's sympathy. Nothing he had seen before, however, prepared Christopher for the image that he beheld in Newgate prison that morning. Henry Redmayne was in despair.

Locked in a tiny, dark, dank cell, he was sitting on the ground beneath a barred window with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around his shins. His face was drawn, his eyes rimmed with fatigue. In spite of the cold, he wore nothing but a shirt, breeches and stockings, all of them sullied with filth. Without his wig, he looked a decade older than his true age. Henry was so caught up in his tragedy that he did not seem to notice the stink that pervaded his cell nor the rat that was rustling the straw. When the turnkey showed the visitor in, the prisoner did not even raise his eyes. It was only when the heavy door clanged shut that he came out of his reverie.

'I want no food,' he declared. 'I'd sooner starve than eat that offal.'

'Henry,' said his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. 'It's me, Christopher.'

'Thank G.o.d!'

'How came you to this sorry state?'

'You may well ask!'