Выбрать главу

    'What rumour?'

    'We heard a whisper that Gabriel was married.'

    'His widow is here today.'

    'Was she the young lady you helped out of the crypt?' said Celia.

    'Yes,' replied Christopher. 'This has been a dreadful ordeal for her.'

    'I can imagine.'

    'It was something of an ordeal for me,' said Lunn with a sly grin. 'I found it difficult to keep my face straight throughout that peculiar sermon. Did you hear the way the vicar described Gabriel? He made him sound like a minor saint.' He gave a chuckle. 'That's not the Gabriel Cheever that I remember. Nor you, I'll warrant, Celia.'

    'Those days are long gone, Arthur,' she said reprovingly

    'But old memories must have been stirred.'

    'All that I feel is sadness that he's gone and deep sympathy for his family.'

    'Well, yes,' blustered Lunn, 'I feel the same. That goes without saying. But I'll not deny that I had some merry times with Gabriel - and with your brother Henry for that matter,' he added, turning to Christopher. 'Henry and I spent many a night at the card table with Gabriel Cheever.' He chuckled again. 'Much to our cost!'

    'Such thoughts have no place at a funeral,' said Celia with soft reproach. 'Keep them to yourself, Arthur.'

    He gave a bow of mock humility. 'I stand rebuked.'

    'Besides, I think it's time for us to steal quietly away.'

    'Must you?' said Christopher, eager to talk further with them.

    'Yes, Mr Redmayne. You have a place here. We do not.'

    'We do,' insisted Lunn. 'We were Gabriel's best friends.'

    'But not the kind of whom Sir Julius would entirely approve, Arthur. For his sake - and for the sake of Gabriel's widow - we ought to leave now.'

    'Why, Celia?'

    'Before there is any embarrassment.'

    'Nobody can embarrass me,' said Lunn, eyes popping even further out of their sockets. 'I've consorted with His Majesty. Do you think I'll be discomfited by these country cousins with their rural simplicity?'

    Christopher was annoyed. 'That's a gross insult to the Cheever family!' he said sharply. 'Miss Hemmings shows the tact and discretion that you so signally lack, Mr Lunn. It is you who might embarrass the family, sir. You belong to a part of Gabriel's life that his family would rather forget.'

    'Well, I'll not forget it and neither will your brother Henry.'

    'Forgive him, Mr Redmayne,' said Celia. 'Arthur is speaking out of turn.'

    'I'm entitled to my opinion,' asserted Lunn.

    'I only brought him with me to ensure my safety.'

    'How disappointing!' he said with a leer.

    She pulled her companion away. 'It was a big mistake,' she admitted.

    Christopher watched them make their way along the path that wound between the gravestones. Celia Hemmings improved on acquaintance but Arthur Lunn did not. While he had been impressed by the gracious way in which she had conducted herself, Christopher had been irritated by Lunn's remarks and stung by the reminder that Henry Redmayne spent most of his time in the company of such men. If his brother had been more careful in his choice of friends, he reflected, he would not be in such dire straits now. Theirs was a world that had neither charm nor appeal for Christopher, especially now that Gabriel Cheever was such a blatant victim of it.

    'Good day, Mr Redmayne,' said a voice at his elbow.

    He turned to see Susan beside him. 'Miss Cheever,' he said.

    'Thank you for coming.'

    'It was the least I could do.'

    'And thank you for helping Lucy when you did. I could support her no longer.'

    'She did well to hold up as long as she did, Miss Cheever. Where is she now?'

    'The vicar is with her.'

    'Do you know what her plans are?'

    'Father has invited her to stay with us until she's recovered enough to travel.'

    'That's very kind of Sir Julius.'

    'It will give us a chance to get to know her better,' she said with a pale smile. 'There is so much to catch up on. But you are also welcome to stay with us, Mr Redmayne. It will give us an opportunity to repay your hospitality in London. Father asked me to pass on the invitation.'

    'I appreciate his kindness but I must get back to London.'

    'Oh,' she said with evident disappointment.

    'Much as I hate to leave,' he explained reluctance showing in his eyes, 'there is important work that calls me back. Now that your brother has been laid to rest, we must renew our efforts to find his killer.'

    She reached out to grasp his arm. 'Do you have hopes on that score?'

    'Strong hopes, Miss Cheever.'

    'Really?'

    'Yes, but do not worry about that,' he advised. 'Your place is here, mourning with the rest of the family and getting acquainted with your sister-in-law.'

    'I know,' she said releasing his arm.

    'Please thank Sir Julius for his invitation and explain why I'm unable to accept it.'

    'Father will understand.'

    'I'm more concerned that you do, Miss Cheever.'

    The affection in his voice drew another half-smile from her. Both wanted to speak further but they were at the mercy of their circumstances. It was neither the time nor place for conversation. Christopher felt guilty about the pleasure he was deriving from their brief encounter. It seemed wrong. Susan, too, was patently uneasy. Giving her a polite bow of farewell, Christopher took a final look at the bereaved family then made his way out of the churchyard.

    When he came into the room, Sir Marcus Kemp looked even more like a giant spaniel whose paws had been inconsiderately trodden upon. Without being invited, he dropped on to the chair opposite Henry Redmayne and rolled his eyes in despair.

    'I can take no more of it, Henry,' he said dolefully.

    'Then we are two of a kind.'

    'I think not. My plight is far worse than yours.'

    'I doubt that, Marcus.'

    'You are single,' his visitor reminded him, 'whereas I am married.'

    'Yes,' conceded Henry, 'but you have not received a death threat.'

    'Oh, yes, I have!'

    'Another letter?'

    'The ultimate threat - publication!'

    He handed his friend the piece of paper that was flapping in his hand. Henry read it with mounting alarm. A Knight at the Theatre was beautifully printed in bold type. Sir Marcus Kemp was identified by name and a description so cruelly accurate that it provoked a wild grin from Henry. That grin disappeared instantly when he saw his own name linked with that of an actress at the King's House. Sir Marcus was pilloried unmercifully but Henry was not spared.

    'This is disgusting!' he said with righteous indignation.

    'Yet horribly true, Henry.'

    'That's beside the point. Private pleasure should be sacrosanct.'

    'So I thought.'

    'In any case, I did not relieve myself into the coal bucket. It was a china vase.'

    'We are both being pissed upon here.'

    Henry read the account again and shuddered. He thrust the page back at Kemp. The two of them were in the dining room of Henry's house. Work that should have been done at the Navy Office was spread out on the table but he had made only sporadic attempts to address himself to it. Fear kept him immured in his home. Sir Marcus Kemp had just intensified that fear.

    'Is this the only page that came?' he asked.