The Repentant Rake

    'Did you see what you wanted at the funeral?' he asked quietly.

    'I went to see Gabriel being buried, Mr Redmayne,' she said sharply, 'and not to peer at his widow.'

    'That's not what I meant.'

    'Oh?'

    'I assumed that you would be interested to take a look at the house where he had lived and the family he had talked so much about. You must have been curious.'

    Her tone softened. 'I was and I'm sorry that I misunderstood you. As it happens, Arthur and I did take the trouble to ride out to the estate. It's a beautiful house but I can see why Gabriel ran away from it. There's nothing to look at but sheep.'

    'I don't believe that it was the sheep who drove him away.'

    'No, it was his father. You have a troublesome client, Mr Redmayne.'

    'I can cope with him, Miss Hemmings.'

    'I think that you can cope with anything,' she said with a warm smile.

    The glint came into her eye again and it made him slightly uncomfortable. There was a directness about Celia Hemmings that he found both attractive and disturbing. He moved on quickly to the questions that took him there in the first place.

    'You and Gabriel were very close,' he began.

    'Intermittently,' she said. 'I loved him dearly but we never lived together for any length of time. Gabriel was too shy of commitment.'

    'Did he discuss his writing with you?'

    'From time to time. He read a few of his poems to me once.'

    'What about his diary?'

    She looked blank. 'Diary?'

    'Were you aware that Gabriel was keeping a diary?'

    'No, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Did you not see him making entries?'

    'This is the first that I've heard about it,' she said. 'What sort of diary was it?'

    'A revealing one, by all accounts. He recorded his exploits in full.'

    Celia grew angry. 'Are you telling me that / am mentioned in this diary? That would be disloyal as well as disgusting. It would be unforgivable. No,' she decided, calming down at once, 'Gabriel would never do that to me. I trust him.'

    'So did other people,' he pointed out. 'Henry was one of them. But that did not stop him being mocked in the pages of the diary.'

    'Mocked?'

    'Along with many others in his circle,'

    'Have you seen this diary?'

    'No, Miss Hemmings. I did not even know that it existed until it was stolen from his house in Knightrider Street. It's my belief that his diary was responsible for his death. Someone killed him in order to get their hands on it.'

    'But why?'

    'Because it contains unlimited possibilities of blackmail.'

    Celia Hemmings was shocked. Rising to her feet, she walked around the room in thought before coming back to stand close to Christopher. She looked down at him.

    'Are you saying that someone may try to blackmail me?'

    'I think it highly unlikely.'

    'That's a relief!'

    'What surprises me is that you had no knowledge of the diary.'

    'Gabriel was very secretive about his work, Mr Redmayne. I was only allowed to see what he was prepared to show me. To be candid, it has come as something of a thunderbolt.' She resumed her seat. 'I can imagine the kinds of things that Gabriel put in that diary. He had a malicious pen at times.'

    'Is there anyone else who might have known that he was keeping it?'

    'Anyone else?'

    'Yes, Miss Hemmings,' he said. 'The person who killed him knew exactly where to find the diary and what it would contain. Gabriel must have told somebody.''

    'Well, it was not me.'

    'Then who might it have been?'

    Her brow furrowed. 'I can think of only one person.'

    'Who is that?'

    'Arthur Lunn,' she said. 'Gabriel lodged at his house when he first came to London. They went everywhere together at first. Arthur is definitely no killer,' she affirmed 'but I have to admit this. If anyone knew about that diary, it was him.'

    Arthur Lunn strode into the room and clapped Henry familiarly on the shoulder.

    'Get dressed, Henry,' he announced. 'You are dining at Long's with me.'

    'I've no wish to go out.'

    'What's wrong with you, man?'

    'Until an hour ago, I was twisting and turning on a bed of pain. When I felt better I ventured downstairs, but I gave express instructions that nobody was to disturb me.'

    'Instructions do not apply to friends like me.'

    Henry groaned inwardly. Attired in a garish silk dressing gown, he was reclining in a chair in his parlour when Lunn descended on him. In his present condition, he did not wish to see anybody, least of all an ebullient crony in all his finery. The mourning clothes worn by Lunn at the funeral had been discarded in favour of apparel that made Henry's dressing gown look dull by comparison. Lunn beamed down at the recluse.

    'Where have you been, Henry?' he demanded.

    'Indisposed.'

    'Oh, is that the reason? You've been taking the cure.'

    'No, Arthur. This is not a disease of the body.'

    'It comes to us all at times, no matter how careful we are in our choice of ladies.'

    'I do not have the pox!'

    'Then what is the problem?'

    'I've had… things on my mind,' explained Henry.

    'You always have things on your mind,' said Lunn with a chuckle. 'The same things that occupy my waking thoughts. Good wine, rich food and warm women - with a game or two of cards thrown in for good measure. Come, sir,' he insisted, taking hold of Henry's arm. 'Dine with me.'

    'I intend to eat at home today.'

    'Then I'll come for you this evening instead,' decided Lunn, releasing him. 'We will surrender body and soul to a night of sheer abandon.'

    'Go without me, Arthur.'

    'Why, man?'

    'Because I am not inclined to pleasure.'

    Lunn stared quizzically at him. 'Are you telling me that you've grown impotent?'

    'No!' yelled Henry indignantly.

    'Is that your problem? No more standing of the yard?'

    'It is nothing to do with that.'

    'Prove it by coming to Mrs Curtis with me.'

    'No, Arthur. I am not in the vein.'

    'Then at least sit at the card table with me for an hour.'

    'An hour there and I am doomed for the whole night. Listen,' said Henry, rising to his feet, 'I would be delighted to join you at any other time but not tonight, Arthur. As you see, I'm dressed for bed and will retire there after dinner.'

    Lunn was scandalised. 'Alone?'

    'Just me and my dark thoughts.'

    'What has happened to everybody? Marcus is the same. When I called on him just now, he refused to join me this evening as well. Why?' he wondered spreading his arms. 'It surely cannot be that you have become sated with pleasure. You and Marcus can keep going all night.'