The Frost Fair

    Christopher could see that she was lying but he did not dare to challenge her. Brilliana's hostility was so blatant that she had obviously heard about the arrest of Henry Redmayne. Her response was no surprise to him and he sensed that it would identical to that of her father. Polite withdrawal was the only option for him.

    'As you wish,' he said, backing away. 'If, by any chance, your sister arrives this evening, be so good as to tell her that I'll be staying overnight at the Falcon Inn, a few miles from here.'

    'I'll do no such thing,' said Brilliana with vehemence. 'You are not welcome here, Mr Redmayne, for reasons that I need hardly explain. The next time you come knocking on our door, you'll not be admitted. My husband and I have no wish to see you and neither, I am sure, does my sister. I bid you farewell, sir.'

    When Christopher backed out, she closed the door firmly in his face.

Chapter Seven

    Balthazar Pegge was a retired brick maker with such a strong sense of civic duty that he took on the thankless task of being one of London's watchmen. While the majority of people were at home with their families, visiting friends or revelling in a tavern, Pegge and his companion spent the night trudging the streets of the capital in their distinctive garb. Each had a lantern and they took it in turns to carry the large bell that they used to warn citizens of their approach. Pegge also took a staff on his patrols but it was less a weapon than a means of steadying him on his spindly legs. Allan Kiffin, his fellow-watchman, always bore a halberd even though he had never been called upon to use it. Old, tired, slow and with failing eyesight, the two men were out in all weathers, admired by few, ridiculed by many and ignored by most, yet confident that their very presence helped to ensure a degree of safety in the city of their birth.

    When they turned into Fenchurch Street that evening, they were accosted by a burly figure that came out of the gloom ahead of them. Pegge rang the bell but the man stood his ground. Fearing confrontation, the watchmen slowed their pace but there was no danger. The stranger's voice was very friendly and their lanterns soon revealed him to be a parish constable.

    'A word with you, good sirs,' he said.

    'We've plenty to spare,' replied Pegge, weighing up the newcomer.

    'My name is Jonathan Bale and I need your help in the pursuit of a murderer.'

    'It's yours for the asking, Mr Bale.'

    'To whom do I speak?'

    'I'm Balthazar Pegge,' replied the other, turning to his colleague, 'and this is Allan Kiffin, as fine as fellow as you could hope to meet.'

    'Thank you, Balthazar,' said Kiffin.

    'How can we help, Mr Bale?'

    'Do you walk down this street every night?' asked Jonathan.

    'Without fail,' said Pegge proudly. 'Around this time, you'll always find us here or hereabouts. We know every inch of Fenchurch Street even though it's changed a lot since the Great Fire.'

    'Then you must be familiar with the Elephant.'

    The watchman gave a dry cackle. 'Everyone knows the Elephant, sir. Those who built it were schooled in their trade. The stone they used was so thick and solid that the Elephant did not fall to the fire. The Mitre did, more's the pity. I remember seeing Daniel Rawlinson, who owned it, crying as he stood in the ruins. Other taverns were turned to cinders as well.'

    'My only interest is the Elephant.'

    'Why is that, Mr Bale?'

    'Because a certain person supped there some weeks ago,' said Jonathan. 'When he left the tavern, he went looking for a calash to take him home and claims that he was ambushed by a man who brandished a sword. All that he can remember after that is that he was picked up from the ground by a watchman.'

    'Drunk, sir?'

    'Very drunk, Mr Pegge.'

    'Then he could be any one of a dozen fellows we've helped to their feet.'

    'Cold weather drives people to drink,' observed Kiffin darkly.

    "This gentleman was in a bad state,' said Jonathan.

    'They always are after a night at the Elephant.'

    "The landlord serves good wine and strong ale,' added Pegge. 'Some people, alas, never know when they've had too much. We see them stumbling out of there as if their legs did not belong to them.'

    'I think you'll remember this particular gentleman,' said Jonathan.

    'Oh?'

    'The watchman who got him to his feet also found a carriage to take him home to Bedford Street. He'd never have got there otherwise.'

    'Bedford Street?' repeated Pegge, scratching his straggly grey beard. 'Now, that does sound familiar. Where have I heard that address before, Allan?'

    'Why ask me, Balthazar?' said Kiffin. 'It's new to my ears.'

    'I told a driver to go to Bedford Street. When was that?'

    'Who knows? We've put many a man into a carriage.'

    'This one would have been tall, slim and extravagantly dressed,' said Jonathan. 'He was probably wearing an expensive periwig. An arrogant fellow in every way. Even when drunk, he'd have had airs and graces.' 'They often do,' said Kiffin before spitting philosophically on to the ground.

    'His name was Henry Redmayne.'

    'Bless you, sir,' said Pegge, leaning on his staff. 'Most of the gentlemen that we help to their feet can barely remember what day it is. As like as not, they've forgotten their names and everything else about them.'

    'Mr Redmayne did manage to give his address.'

    'Yes, it's Bedford Street that sticks in my mind somehow. I wonder why that is.' He snapped his fingers. 'You are right, Mr Bale. I did ask a driver to take a gentleman back there one night.'

    'When?'

    'Weeks ago, I fancy.'

    'Where did you find him?'

    'Not here, sir,' said Pegge.

    'But if he came out of the Elephant,' argued Jonathan, looking towards the tavern, 'this is where he would have searched for a lift back home. He was in no condition to walk far from Fenchurch Street.'

    'You are mistaken there, sir.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'If it's the man I believe it was, we found him much nearer the river.'

    Jonathan blinked in surprise. 'Are you sure, Mr Pegge?'

    'Dead certain. Allan will bear me out.'

    'Will I?' asked Kiffin, mystified.

    'We found him in that alley off Thames Street,' recalled Pegge, nudging him. 'He was lying face down and we thought at first he'd been attacked by thieves. His hat had been knocked off and his wig was all askew, but he still had his purse about him.'

    Kiffin's face lit up. 'I think that I remember him now, Balthazar.'

    'Drunk as a lord, he was.'

    'I held your lantern while you got him off the ground.'

    'I soon began to wish I'd not bothered.'

    'Why?' asked Jonathan.

    'Because he tried to punch me,' said Pegge ruefully. 'When I got him upright, he lashed out at me with both fists. Drunk he might be, but he was still strong. I had a job to hold him and I'm no weakling, Mr Bale. Forty years of making bricks for a living has left some muscle in these old arms.'

    'So you overpowered him?' 'I had to. He'd else have knocked me down.'

    'I never took him for a violent man,' said Jonathan.

    'You'd not have called him peaceable that night. And the worst of it was, he kept calling me by this strange name. It was an odd, curious, foreign sort of name.'

    'Maldini, by any chance?'