The Frost Fair Part 32

'No, Mrs Cardinal.'

'It's perhaps as well that he's not here now.'

'Why?'

'We'll be dining tomorrow with some of the people he would consider blockheads. Three of them sit in the House of Commons so they may know the name of Sir Julius Cheever.'

'It might be more tactful to keep it from them.'

'I hoped at one time that Jack might enter politics but he has no stomach for it.'

'Then he's wise to stay well clear of that world.'

'We'll all be pitched into the middle of it tomorrow,' said Mrs Cardinal. 'They'll be talking politics all around us at dinner. Lady Eames is the only person who'll be spared. Deafness has its compensations. But I'll expect you to talk to Jack,' she said. 'I'll make sure that you sit next to him so that he does not have to listen to all that earnest discussion of the state of the nation. Will you do that for me?'

'With pleasure,' replied Susan, guessing that there was another reason behind the request. 'You told me earlier that one of the guests was Sir Ralph Holcroft,' she went on, keen to know more about him after her visit to Fetter Lane. 'What manner of man is he?'

'Shrewd and sagacious, by all accounts.'

'Did you not say that he had a young wife?'

'Patience is the envy of his friends,' said Mrs Cardinal. 'Sir Ralph is over thirty years older and not the handsomest of men, yet he was her choice of a husband. He claims that she is a greater gift than his knighthood.'

'Have you met his wife before?'

'Only once but that was enough. Her reputation as a beauty is well-earned. She would dazzle in any a.s.sembly. Jack was rather overwhelmed by her but every other man in the room gazed at her in adoration. Patience Holcroft is a rare woman.'

'I look forward to meeting her.'

'You may have difficulty getting close enough,' warned Mrs Cardinal with a chuckle. 'The men will crowd around her and I daresay that Lord Eames will have her sitting at his elbow during dinner.'

'Does her husband not mind the attention that she gets?'

'He revels in it, Miss Cheever.'

'What about his wife?'

'Patience, by name and by nature. She endures it all without protest. But enough of our friends,' she decided, adjusting her skirt. 'You have your own. We long to meet people in your circle as well.'

'It's very small, I fear.'

'No matter. Your sister told us that you had made some good friends in London. Jack and I will insist on being introduced to them.' Her good humour suddenly vanished. 'With one glaring exception, that is.'

'Exception?'

'Brilliana mentioned a young architect named Christopher Redmayne.'

'Yes,' said Susan proudly. 'Mr Redmayne is a friend of mine.'

"Then I'd advise you to sever the relationship at once. His brother, as I hear, has been arrested on a charge of murder.'

'Mistakenly, it seems.'

'Not according to common report. I tell you this for your own sake, Miss Cheever. End your friendship with this architect at once. When his brother is convicted of murder,' she insisted, her eyes rolling, 'the name of Redmayne will be a form of leprosy.'

It was dusk when Christopher left the goldsmith's shop to ride back home. He was glad that he had visited Martin Crenlowe again. There had been a subtle change in the man's manner that he did not understand but he was nevertheless pleased to spend time with someone who had such complete faith in his brother's innocence. As he picked his way along the crowded thoroughfare, he sifted through what the goldsmith had told him, feeling that there was something that he had missed. Christopher did not neglect his personal safety. He was alert, sword and dagger within easy reach.

Inevitably, Susan Cheever soon displaced everyone else in his mind. He remembered the courage she had shown to make contact with him in Richmond and the risk she had taken to visit him that afternoon. Christopher hoped that the time would soon come when their friendship was not so beset with obstacles. When he had asked her for a favour, she had agreed to grant it before she even knew what it was. Everything now turned on the way that she did the favour. All that he had asked her to do was to give a letter, in strictest privacy, to Lady Patience Holcroft. Susan had not even pressed him for details and he had been spared the embarra.s.sment of telling her about Henry's romantic interest or of compromising the lady's reputation.

Reaching the house, he could see candlelight through the gap in the shutters. Since Jacob did not come out to greet him, he surmised that his servant was attending to their guest who must surely have returned from his visit to the bishop. Christopher decided to stable the horse by himself. He dismounted and led the animal down the pa.s.sageway at the side of the house. Jacob had lit a lantern and it was hanging from a nail outside the stable. Opening the door, Christopher patted the horse and it went through into the stall. Before he could follow it, he heard hurried footsteps behind him.

Christopher swung round to see a figure hurtling towards him out of the shadows.

Chapter Fourteen.

He was too slow. His attacker had the advantage of surprise. Before he could even draw a weapon to defend himself, Christopher was. .h.i.t on the side of the head with a cudgel. Though his hat softened the blow, it still dazed him slightly. He put an arm up to ward off the next few blows and bunched his other fist so that he could throw a punch at the man who was belabouring him. It caught his adversary on the chest and sent him a yard backwards, but he flung himself at Christopher again with renewed energy and knocked his hat from his head. Using both arms to defend himself, Christopher was beaten back against the stable door. Resistance was being bludgeoned out of him. When he felt blood oozing down the side of his face, it prompted his instinct for survival. Christopher tensed himself. As the cudgel descended again, he grabbed the man's wrist and twisted hard but the weapon was not dislodged. It flailed around in his face. With a supreme effort, Christopher swung the man's arm against the wall so that the cudgel was dashed from his hand.

Letting out a cry of pain, his attacker pushed him away and ran back down the pa.s.sageway. Christopher flung back his cloak and groped for his sword but the man did not want to duel with him. Instead, he pulled a dagger from his belt and threw it hard. Christopher dodged in the nick of time. After missing his face by inches, the dagger embedded itself in the side of the stable with a thud. The man took to his heels. Christopher was too groggy to give pursuit but he staggered out into Fetter Lane in time to see him mounting a horse before riding off at speed.

It had all happened so quickly that Christopher did not get a chance to look properly at the man. All that he knew was that his adversary was young, slim and wiry with a hat pulled down over his face. One thing was evident. It was certainly not the man he had known as Captain Harvest. As he swayed uncertainly on his feet, he did not know whether to be rea.s.sured or disappointed by that fact. A moment later, Jacob came hurrying out of the house with a lantern in one hand and a dagger in the other. He saw the blood on his master's face.

'What happened, Mr Redmayne!' he exclaimed.

'Someone was lying in wait for me, Jacob.'

'Are you badly hurt, sir?'

'I'm bruised and bloodied, but it could have been far worse.'

'It's my fault,' wailed Jacob. 'I meant to come out when I heard the horse but your father was busy giving me instructions. Come inside, Mr Redmayne. I'll clean that the wound for you and bind it up.'

'See to the horse first,' said Christopher, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. 'I'm not sure that I can manage that just yet. Oh, there's something I forgot,' he added, going back to the stable to retrieve the dagger. 'This was meant for me.'

Jonathan Bale's visit to the house in Covent Garden had been instructive. Sir Humphrey G.o.dden had denied any knowledge of the whereabouts of the former Captain Harvest with such vehemence that the constable knew that he was lying. That meant either that the impostor had already been to him in the hope of borrowing money, or, more worryingly, that Sir Humphrey was somehow working in league with the man. If the latter were the case, Jonathan decided, it explained why Sir Humphrey had insisted that his friend could not be guilty of the crime. He would have been deliberately shielding an accomplice. There was no doubting the intensity of Sir Humphrey's open hatred of the Italian fencing master. It gave him an obvious motive for murder.

The important thing was to catch the bogus soldier as soon as possible. Jonathan did not think that the man would necessarily leave London. Someone who could evade a succession of creditors with such ease knew how to lose himself in the populous city. As long as he had money to sustain himself, he might go to ground somewhere. Jonathan set out in search of him, having first called at his house to change his clothing. It was an occasion when a common man would be more likely to gather intelligence than a constable. His long black coat was therefore replaced by the garb that he had once worn as a shipwright. It would help Jonathan to blend in more easily.

Since he had twice found his quarry at a tavern in Whitefriars, he knew that the man would not return there. Instead, he went to the Hope and Anchor, the riverside inn where Christopher Redmayne had encountered the quondam Captain Harvest. It was only half-full but the atmosphere was still rowdy. A fierce quarrel was taking place between two watermen who berated each other with mouth-filling oaths. Another man was arguing over the price that an ageing prost.i.tute was putting on her dubious favours. Three drunken sailors were singing out of tune. Jonathan ordered a tankard of beer and bided his time. When the noise finally died down a little, he sidled across to the innkeeper.

'I was hoping to see a friend of mine in here,' he said, looking around.

'And who might that be?' asked the other, a stocky man with bulging forearms.

'Captain Harvest. We agreed to play cards in here this evening.'

The innkeeper smirked. 'Oh, I think that the captain has another game in mind.'

'Does he often come in here?'

'Only when he needs some money and some comfort.'

'Comfort?'

'Captain Harvest has an eye for the ladies, sir,' said the man. 'One in particular brings him to the Hope and Anchor. She's done it time and again.'

'Who is she?'

'That would be telling.'

'If he's not coming in this evening, I need to get a message to him.'

'Leave it with me. I'll pa.s.s it on.'

'How will you do that?' The innkeeper ignored him and used a cloth to wipe the counter between them. 'I've good news for the captain,' resumed Jonathan. 'It could bring him some money.' He put his hand on his purse. 'There'd be something in it for you, my friend, if you could tell me where he is.'

The innkeeper was suspicious. 'Who are you?' he asked.

'I told you. I'm a friend of Captain Harvest.'

'What's your trade?'

'I'm a shipwright.'

'Oh?' said the innkeeper, looking him up and down. 'A shipwright, eh? You've the hands for it, I grant you, but that proves nothing. Which ships have you worked on?'

'The last was the Mercury,' said Jonathan, naming a vessel that had been launched only months ago. 'We needed the oak from almost six hundred trees to build her. It was nearer seven hundred for the Silver Spirit. I was working at Chatham when we built her. I could tell you exactly how we constructed the hull. Would you like me to take you through the mysteries of my trade?'

'No, sir,' said the other. 'I believe you. But I had to make sure.'

'You were right. Never trust a stranger. It's a good rule.' He put some coins on the counter. 'But I'd still like to speak to Captain Harvest.'

The innkeeper eyed the money. 'I'm not sure where he is this evening.'

'But you have some idea, I can see that. Who is this particular lady you speak of?'

"That would be Hannah Liggett.'

'Does she work here?'

'Yes,' said the man, 'that's why the captain always comes back when he needs a bed for the night. Hannah is sweet on him. He'll leave her for months on end but she never turns him away when he shows up here.'

'Where is she now?' asked Jonathan.

'Hannah won't be in for days yet.'

'Does that mean she's with the captain?' The innkeeper was staring at the money. Jonathan added two more coins. 'How would I find this Hannah Liggett?'

The man swept up the money. 'She lives no more than a short walk away.'

When Jacob had cleaned him up, Christopher Redmayne still looked in a sorry state. His father stood over him and clicked his tongue in consternation.

'Attacked on your own doorstep!' he said. 'What a violent city this is!'

'Violence is everywhere, Father,' said Christopher, seated on a chair while Jacob bound his head with a strip of linen. 'You have your share of it in Gloucester, I daresay.'

'Not on this scale. Bishop Henchman was complaining about it earlier. He told me that he feels like a King Canute, vainly trying to hold back the tide of villainy. We have our malefactors in Gloucester but they do not try to murder you outside your own house. That is insupportable.'

'I managed to fight him off.'

'But look at the injury he inflicted on you.'

Christopher winced at the reminder. The scalp wound smarted and his arms and shoulders ached from the bruising blows. He was glad that Susan Cheever could not see him at that moment. He felt battered.

'We'll pray together later,' said the Dean, 'and thank G.o.d for your deliverance.'

'Yes, Father.'

'Bishop Henchman will hear of this.'

'You must not trouble the Bishop of London with my misfortunes.'

'But he's taken an interest in Henry's case. The bishop was very sympathetic to our cause. By the time I had finished talking to him, he was prepared to accept that Henry might be innocent of the crime.' Having finished doctoring his patient, Jacob went off into the kitchen. The Dean put a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. 'Who was the rogue who a.s.saulted you?'

'A henchman of a different kind, Father.'

'Henchman?'

'I believe that he may be working for someone else, a swaggering fellow who called himself Captain Harvest to conceal his real name and character. When I talked about the murder with him, he told me that an accomplice was involved. I did not realise that he might have been the person who employed him. Captain Harvest is a genial parasite,' he explained. 'He uses his charm and cunning to live off others.'

'Henry mentioned his name. He thought the captain was a friend of his.'

'Not any more, Father.'

'How did he fall in with such bad company?'

'He's not the only person to be tricked by Captain Harvest. Dozens more were deceived by his plausible manner and smooth tongue. Had it not been for my friend, Jonathan Bale, the captain would have continued his deception unchecked and, I fear, have got away with murder.'

'It's shameful!' said the old man with bitterness. 'All this stems from Henry's reprehensible way of life. That is the fans et origo of this succession of horrors. Because your brother is so easily led by false friends, he is now in prison and you have twice escaped attempts on your life. It's unpardonable! I was far too soft on Henry at the prison. When I return tomorrow, I'll make him see the evil consequences of his behaviour.'

'No, Father. Do not mention what happened to me today.'