The Repentant Rake

    'You may soon have company.'

    'Company?'

    'Yes,' said Christopher. 'A person or persons capable of murder will be ruthless in extorting money from their victims. Compromising material may well exist about others in your circle, Henry. They, too, may receive anonymous demands.'

    'Poor devils!'

    'See what you can find out.'

    Henry was petulant. 'That will not be easy, you know. I can hardly go up to every one of my friends and ask them to their faces if they have had any unsavoury correspondence lately. It would be in the worst possible taste,' he said haughtily. 'They are bound to ask me why I frame such a question and I have no wish to expose my own wounds to the world.'

    'Your friends may come to you. Sir Marcus Kemp did.'

    'Only because one of the incidents mentioned involved the two of us.'

    'The four of you,' corrected Christopher.

    'One of those damnable women betrayed us.'

    'Unless Mrs Curtis was listening at the door.'

    'I would not put that past her, Christopher. She likes to make sure that her charges are giving satisfaction. I dare say that Mrs Curtis is no stranger to eavesdropping or to peeping through keyholes.' A thought struck him. 'Could she be party to this blackmail?'

    'You would be in a better position than me to discover that, Henry.'

    'Oh, no!' moaned his brother. 'I'll not go near her or any other woman again until this villain is caught. Sir Marcus and I both agreed on that.'

    'Then you are aping Gabriel Cheever.'

    'In what way?'

    'You are a repentant rake.'

    'I repent nothing!' declared Henry.

    'Not even your flagrant indiscretions?'

    'No, Christopher. Repentance takes the edge off pleasure. I'll none of it.'

    Christopher was glad to find his brother in more buoyant spirits but saddened that his predicament had not forced Henry to view his past actions with at least a modicum of shame. The first letter had contained lubricious details about his private life and he was embarrassed that Christopher had to see them, but he would make no effort to reform. When the crisis was over, Henry would become an impenitent voluptuary once more. That fact did not lessen his brother's urge to help him.

    'I'll to the morgue,' said Christopher.

    'Whatever for?' asked Henry with distaste.

    'To see if Sir Julius has been there to identify the body.'

    'Gabriel's wife could have done that, surely?'

    'No,' said Christopher. 'It would be far too harrowing for her.'

    'What if Sir Julius refuses to acknowledge his son?'

    'Oh, he will.'

    'You sound very certain of that,' Henry remarked.

    'My guess is that even his flinty old heart will melt,' said Christopher. 'Besides, if he refuses to go to the mortuary, someone else will go in his place.'

    'Someone else?'

    'His younger daughter, Susan.'

    Though the circumstances might have dictated a more sedate pace, Sir Julius Cheever insisted that the coachman keep his team of horses moving at speed. Not for him a funereal approach to the city. When they left Richmond, they almost tore through the countryside. It made for an uncomfortable journey. Susan Cheever and her father were jostled so violently that leisured conversation was well nigh impossible. They did not object to that. Sir Julius wanted to wrestle with his ambivalent feelings in silence and Susan was content to let fonder memories of her brother preoccupy her. When the city eventually rose up before them, however, they found their tongues again.

    'Where will we stay, Father?' asked Susan.

    'Anywhere but Serle Court. We go from one morgue to another.'

    'That's unkind. Brilliana and Lancelot did everything to make us feel welcome.'

    'Then why am I so relieved to quit the place?' said Sir Julius sourly. 'It will be late evening when we finally arrive. That's a wonderful excuse to stay away from Richmond for a night.'

    Susan winced. 'I'd not call Gabriel's death a wonderful excuse.'

    'Nor I,' he said, immediately contrite. 'Forgive me, Susan. I was trying to find some small glimmer of light in the darkness that has just descended on our family. I am quite lost. Gabriel is dead?' he said wonderingly. 'At such a young age? Why? What on earth did he do to deserve such a sorry end?'

    'He did not deserve it, Father.'

    'Only time will tell that.'

    She gazed through the window. 'Do you know a suitable inn?' she said.

    'There are dozens at our disposal.'

    'So you have nowhere particular in mind?'

    'No, Susan.'

    'Perhaps Mr Redmayne can recommend somewhere,' she suggested casually, still looking out at the passing fields. 'He lives in London. He will know where we might find some proper accommodation.'

    'I'm sure that he would.'

    'May we call on him?'

    'I meant to do so in any case.'

    'Did you?' She turned back to him. 'Where does he live?'

    'Fetter Lane.'~

    'We can visit him when our business is done.'

    'Before that,' he decreed.

    'Before?'

    'With Mr Redmayne's permission, I will leave you there while I go to the morgue to identify the body and make arrangements to have it moved.'

    'But I wish to be there with you, Father,' she protested.

    'No, Susan.'

    'Gabriel is my brother.'

    Sir Julius was peremptory. 'He's my son and I must take full responsibility. A morgue is no place for you, Susan. The stink of death would stay in your nostrils for weeks. After all my years as a soldier, I am used to it. You are not. Besides,' he continued as a distant grief finally started to break through, 'I want to be alone with Gabriel. I need to make my peace with him.'

    When Christopher finally got back to his house, Jacob was ready to look after him. After unsaddling and stabling his horse, the old servant prepared him some food, explained what had happened during his absence and generally fussed over him. Over an hour had passed before Christopher was able to set out his materials on the bare table and do some more work on the drawings of the new house. His hand moved with intermittent fluency. Dark thoughts kept invading him. What distracted him most was a consideration of how differently people had reacted to the news of Gabriel Cheever's unnatural death. Celia Hemmings had been rocked to the core, moving between anguish and disbelief. Susan Cheever had fainted, her father had turned away, her sister had made a callous remark and Lancelot Serle had been wholly unequal to the situation. Most astonishing, however, had been Lucy Cheever's response. She was a defenceless young woman who had made immense sacrifices to marry the man she loved and might have been expected to collapse totally when she heard that he was lost to her for ever. Yet she had shown a resilience that was extraordinary.

    Jonathan Bale had been impressed by it as well. The two men had no doubt that, when they left the house in Knightrider Street, the sorrow would be too much for her to bear and she would feel the full weight of her loss. While they were there, however, Lucy had borne up remarkably. There was an inner strength that sustained her and it must have been one of the qualities that attracted her husband to her in the first place. As he reflected on the character of the three women closest to the deceased, Christopher could see that Gabriel Cheever must have been a young man of unusual charm. His wife and his former mistress had almost nothing in common yet both loved him devotedly. Though his elder sister had rejected him, Susan patently adored him, providing, as far as she was able, the familial love that the others denied him. Three disparate characters each found something irresistible about Gabriel. They were now united by a shared pain.