The Repentant Rake

    'The answer would not have been fit to be heard on hallowed ground.'

    'Perhaps not, Mr Bale, but I admire the woman. She loved Gabriel once.'

    'From what I hear, that young man seems to have had many similar ladies.'

    'Yet he gave them all up to marry Lucy.'

    'It may have been the one sensible thing he ever did.'

    'Yet it may have cost him his life. Still,' said Christopher, 'tell me your news.'

    Jonathan shrugged. 'There's precious little of it, Mr Redmayne.'

    Christopher had been away for the best part of a week. During his absence Jonathan had been far from idle, but he had made scant progress. He had been pursuing lines of enquiry for which he did not feel best suited.

    'Some of your brother's friends look with disdain on constables,' he recalled. 'They have no respect for the law. Or maybe something about me irritates them. Mr Peter Wickens refused to speak to me, Mr Gilbert Sparkish was rude to my face and Sir Thomas Sheasby threatened to set the dogs on me. I had to speak sternly to him.'

    'It sounds to me as if all three of them deserved to have their ears boxed,' said Christopher. 'At what time of day did you seek them out?'

    'Late afternoon.'

    'That was your mistake, Mr Bale. Catch them after dinner and they'll have drunk too much to give anyone a civil answer. No matter,' he continued. 'I'm back to take over the examination of Henry's cronies. I'm on my way to visit one now but I wanted to talk to you first.'

    'Who are you going to see, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Sir Marcus Kemp.'

    'Is he the other gentleman who received a blackmail demand?'

    'He is. Apparently, that demand has been doubled.'

    'Why?'

    'Because he has been too tardy in paying it, Mr Bale. Before I came in search of you, I called on my brother. It seems that Henry had a visit from Sir Marcus earlier today. He brought something with him that had frightened the daylights out of him.'

    'A death threat?'

    'An extract from Gabriel Cheever's diary,' said Christopher. 'One that did not exactly show Sir Marcus in a flattering light. In the hands of his wife, it could become a dangerous weapon.'

    Jonathan was appalled. 'Sir Marcus is married?'

    'Several of Henry's friends are.'

    'Yet they still lead such shameful lives? What of their marriage vows?'

    'They keep them less well than you, Mr Bale.'

    'Such wickedness should not go unpunished.'

    'Oh, Sir Marcus Kemp has been punished' said Christopher wryly. 'According to Henry, his friend has been roasting in the fires of Hell. I hope there's something left of him by the time I get there.'

    Sir Marcus Kemp was in a quandary. He did not know whether to pay the money demanded from him or not. It would cost him a thousand guineas to prevent some highly damaging material about him from being published. Rich enough to afford such an amount, he did not, however, have unlimited wealth. If he had to pay indefinite blackmail demands, he would be driven to financial ruin. The alternative course of action was not appealing. He could defy the blackmailer and try to limit the damage by making a full confession to his wife about his indiscretions after a visit to the playhouse. The notion was immediately dismissed. There was no way that he could bring himself to tell a God-fearing woman who had borne him three children that two naked actresses had entertained Henry Redmayne and him in the most beguiling manner one evening, or that his supposed late nights with parliamentary colleagues were invariably spent in the arms of an expensive whore. The two worlds of Sir Marcus Kemp were set to collide. By keeping them apart, he could inhabit each with unrestrained pleasure. Once they met in opposition, a huge explosion would ensue.

    Lost in thought, he prowled around the room. A tap on the door startled him.

    'Yes?' he snarled.

    'You have a visitor, Sir Marcus,' said the servant from the hall.

    'Send him on his way. I refuse to see anyone.'

    'Mr Redmayne says that it's a matter of urgency.'

    'Redmayne?' said his master, unlocking the door. 'Why didn't you tell me that it was Henry who had called? He's the one man in London I will see.' He flung open the door to see Christopher standing before him. 'You are not Henry!' he protested.

    'There is a family likeness, Sir Marcus. Good day to you.'

    'What are you doing here?'

    'Representing my brother,' said Christopher. 'I may be able to help you with this unfortunate business in which you have become entangled.'

    'Keep your voice down, man!' said Kemp, pulling him into the room and closing the door before locking it again. 'What has Henry been telling you?'

    'Something of your problems.'

    'He swore to keep those secret.'

    'Not from me, Sir Marcus. I am on your side.'

    Before his host could object, Christopher explained how he had become involved in the murder investigation and how he had learned about the theft of Gabriel Cheever's diary. Sir Marcus listened with horrified curiosity. He had met Christopher before and been struck by how much he differed from his brother in appearance and inclinations. His visitor was far too wholesome for his taste. It was unnerving.

    'That is why Henry confided in me,' said Christopher. 'So that I could have all the facts at my disposal. If I can find the killer, Sir Marcus, I can put a stop to these blackmail demands.'

    'I wish that somebody would.'

    'May I see the latest communication?'

    'No!' howled Kemp. 'I could not show you that, Mr Redmayne.

    I only let Henry peruse it because he, too, is mentioned in the piece.'

    'I believe that it is called A Knight at the Theatre.'

    'Its true title is The Death of Sir Marcus Kemp?

    'You exaggerate. Help me to catch the villain and your worries will disappear.'

    'How can I do that?'

    'By lending me this mischievous page from Gabriel's diary.'

    Kemp's face reddened in anger. 'Lending it to you?'

    'It is a piece of evidence, Sir Marcus.'

    'Yes, Mr Redmayne. Evidence of my folly, evidence of my personal proclivities.'

    'I know,' argued Christopher, 'but it's been printed according to Henry. That means the man who sent it engaged a printer. Give the page to me and I'll visit every printer in London until I find the one who accepted the commission.'

    'That's tantamount to publishing it far and wide!'

    'No, Sir Marcus. They will not need to read the contents. A glance will suffice to tell them if it is their handiwork. Once we know who paid to have it printed, we can arrest the villain and you can breathe freely once more.'

    'That document is not leaving this house.'

    'May I at least have a sight of it?'

    'Certainly not.'

    'But it's in your best interests.' Kemp turned away. Christopher went after him. 'I understand that it was accompanied by a letter. Could I please look at that, Sir Marcus? I merely wish to establish if it was written by the same hand that penned Henry's death threat. That will not compromise you, surely?'

    'I'll show you nothing.'

    'Then you must resign yourself to your fate.'

    'No,' said Kemp, swinging round to confront him. 'I'm going to buy my way out of this mess. If I had had the sense to do that at the start, I could have saved myself five hundred guineas. I'll pay up and have done with it.'