The Repentant Rake

    'Why not? You turn me away.'

    'That's not what I'm doing. Stay if you must, Henry. I'll even surrender my own bed to you, if it means so much to you. All I am saying is that this is not the most convenient time. You must appreciate that.'

    'Why talk of convenience when my life is at stake?' complained Henry.

    'Hush!' said Christopher with a finger to his lips. 'You'll wake them. I promise you this. If you're too nervous to continue on home yourself, I'll act as your bodyguard and deliver you safely to Bedford Street.' He patted his brother's arm. 'Now, why not tell me exactly what happened tonight and why you believe that you are being followed?' He indicated the bottle. 'Help yourself to more brandy.'

    Henry was slightly mollified. After draining his glass, he poured himself another drink then launched into his tale. His evening at the gaming house had been extended well into the night by Sir Marcus Kemp, who refused to quit the table while he was winning. Banking on his friend's company, Henry had eventually been forced to ride home alone and found that someone was lurking outside to trail him.

    'The villain might have struck at any moment!' he concluded.

    'Then why didn't he?'

    'He was biding his time.'

    'It's more likely that he was thinking twice about attacking you when he saw that you carried a sword. You called him an assassin,' said Christopher reasonably, 'but he could just as easily have been a robber, waiting to pounce on some unwary gentleman who was rolling home alone with too much drink inside him.' He gave a smile. 'Or he might just have been someone travelling harmlessly in the same direction as you.'

    'There was nothing harmless about this man, Christopher.'

    'How do you know?'

    'I could feel his menace.'

    'Henry, you would feel menaced if a cat followed you home.'

    'That's a heartless thing to say!' protested Henry. 'Do you want your brother to be stabbed in the back only yards from his own front door?'

    'No,' said Christopher, 'but then, that would never happen. Why wait until you reach Bedford Street before attacking you when you've already ridden past a dozen more suitable places for an ambush? Nobody is trying to kill you, Henry. I am sure of that.'

    'You saw that letter.'

    'It achieved what it intended. To give you a fright.'

    'It certainly did that. I've had enough, Christopher.'

    'Enough?'

    'I'm inclined to pay the money and have done with the whole thing!'

    'That's the last thing you must do.'

    'My life is more important to me than five hundred guineas.'

    'But that will not buy you peace of mind,' asserted Christopher. 'It's only a first instalment. When he's squeezed one payment out of you, the blackmailer will have you at his mercy. The demands will never cease.'

    'The first letter promised that they would.'

    'How much faith can you put in the word of a man like that?'

    Henry was still trembling. 'It's the only hope I have of staying alive.'

    'That death threat was hollow,' said Christopher positively. 'I'm certain of it.'

    'Gabriel Cheever was killed because he did not pay what was demanded;

    'No, Henry. There was no attempted blackmail where Gabriel was concerned.'

    'How do you know?'

    'Because I have learned something about his literary endeavours,' said Christopher. 'Gabriel came to London to fulfil his ambition of being an author. He was very talented. As well as writing poems and plays, however, Gabriel kept a diary.'

    'A diary?'

    'A very explicit diary, I gather.'

    'In what sense?'

    'It was a form of confession. A detailed account of all the nights he spent in the company of dissolute revellers like Sir Marcus Kemp, Peter Wickens, Arthur Lunn and of course, Henry Redmayne.'

    Henry was aghast. 'He wrote about me?'

    'My guess is that your name figured quite prominently in the memoir. Do you understand now? All that time that you and your friends got up to your devilish antics, you had a Recording Angel at your shoulder.'

    'That's an appalling thing to do to us.'

    'Gabriel Cheever paid for it with his life.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'That's why he was killed Henry. Not because he refused to give in to any demands. What he wrote from personal guilt,' explained Christopher, 'was a potential source of blackmail. Gabriel was murdered so that someone could steal his diary.'

    Lucy Cheever passed a sleepless night in an empty bed. A room that had been filled with so much love and tenderness now seemed bleak and inhospitable. She could not believe that her husband was dead. Even though she had seen his body laid out at the morgue, she entertained the ridiculous hope that he would somehow return to her. That hope finally shrivelled away in the darkness. By the time dawn came, she knew that he had gone for ever. Eyes red with weeping, she lay on the bed in despair. She and Gabriel Cheever had given up so much in order to be together. Now she was left with nothing.

    Anna was a caring woman. Though Lucy said that she wanted no breakfast, the maidservant coaxed her into eating a little bread and drinking some whey. She also helped to dress her mistress, fearing that she might otherwise simply stay in bed all day and be overcome with grief. Anna had been very fond of her master and was shocked by his death, but the situation compelled her to keep her own emotions under control.

    'They'll find the man responsible for this,' she said.

    'I hope so, Anna.'

    'Put faith in Mr Bale. He'll not rest until the crime is solved.'

    'It's Mr Redmayne that I trust,' said Lucy. 'He was so kind to me when he came here yesterday. He never even knew Gabriel yet he was eager to help in the search for his killer. I put my faith in him.'

    'He and Mr Bale will work together.'

    'Yes.' An upsurge of sorrow made Lucy burst into tears. 'But they'll not be able to bring Gabriel back to me, Anna. My husband is gone.'

    Anna put a consoling arm round her. Lucy dried her tears then detached herself to walk around the bedchamber. It was filled with fond memories. They brought a degree of comfort. She was still grasping at some of them when she heard a noise in the street outside. A coach was rattling along the thoroughfare. Anna crossed to the window.

    'It's stopped outside the house,' she announced.

    'Here?'

    'Someone is getting out, Mrs Cheever.'

    'I'm expecting no visitors.'

    'It's an elderly gentleman and a young lady.'

    'Go and see what they want, Anna.'

    'I'll send them away,' said the maidservant firmly. 'You can't receive anyone.'

    She went bustling out and descended the stairs. Looking at herself in the mirror, Lucy dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and adjusted a curl. When the bell rang below, she heard the door being opened. She moved to the top of the stairs so that she could eavesdrop without being seen.

    'I wish to speak to Mrs Lucy Cheever,' said the man's voice.

    'My mistress is unable to see anyone today, sir,' replied Anna briskly.

    'She may wish to see us.'

    'I doubt that.'

    'Let her know that Sir Julius Cheever has called with his daughter, Susan. I crave a word about my son. We'll not keep her long.'