The Repentant Rake

    'And we will again,' predicted Henry. 'Very soon.'

    Lunn strutted around the room in consternation, at a loss to understand why two of his closest friends were shunning the delights of the town. When he came back to Henry, he pointed an accusatory finger at him.

    'You are to stay in bed all afternoon?'

    'All day, I expect,' said Henry.

    'Then I have plumbed your secret,' claimed Lunn with a snigger. 'Who is she, Henry? You have someone tucked away in your bedchamber, I'm sure of it. Do I know her? She must be a nimble filly if she can keep you occupied all day.'

    'There is nobody else here, Arthur!'

    'Do you swear that?'

    'On my father's Bible,' vowed Henry, 'and he is the Dean of Gloucester!'

    'And you'll not come out with me? Even if I bring a coach to pick you up and promise to drop you off again at your doorstep? Think, man,' he urged. 'What better cure for your illness than a bracing game of cards with friends? You only need stay an hour. What harm can there be in that'

    Henry was tempted. The idea that he would be conveyed to and fro in Lunn's coach was very enticing and his enforced exile was taxing his patience. There was another reason that made him consider the offer favourably. His brother was acting as an intercessor between Sir Marcus Kemp and the blackmailer. It might even be that Christopher had apprehended the man by now. At the very least, he would have handed over a thousand guineas and appeased him. With money from one victim in his pocket, the blackmailer might be less likely to exert pressure on Henry. The cloud above Henry's head lifted somewhat and he did miss his old haunts.

    'What do you say, Henry?' pressed Lunn. 'Will you come with me?'

    'Yes, Arthur. Pick me up from here this evening.'

    Sir Marcus Kemp was frothing with impatience. He was offhand with his wife, sharp with his children and almost vicious with his servants. Everyone else in the house chose to keep out of his way. By the time Christopher Redmayne finally arrived, Kemp was in a foul temper. Pulling him into the dining room, he glared at his visitor.

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

    'To Covent Garden,' said Christopher.

    'It is no more than ten minutes' walk away. Why the appalling delay?'

    'I was made to wait outside the church.'

    'But he did come in the end?'

    'No, Sir Marcus.'

    Kemp spluttered. 'No? I am still in danger?'

    'I hope not,' said Christopher. 'I did not deal with the blackmailer himself. He sent a boy to relieve me of the purse. As you requested I handed it over.'

    He gave Kemp a shortened version of events, omitting any reference to Jonathan Bale and the failed plan to ensnare the blackmailer. The visit to Celia Hemmings was described as a chance meeting in the square. Kemp slowly relaxed. His fears, he decided, had been groundless. He even rose to a hollow laugh.

    'So that is it,' he declared. 'I am free.'

    'With luck, Sir Marcus.'

    'He has what he wants. It is only fair that I get something in return.'

    'You presume too much on the blackmailer's notion of fairness.'

    'I feel as if I've been released from a prison!' He looked at Christopher. 'I must thank you for your part in all this, Mr Redmayne. When you first came here I was angry that you even knew about my situation, yet you have been my salvation, / would never have dared to hand over that money in Covent Garden,' he confessed, 'and I could hardly send one of my servants. You saved me, Mr Redmayne.'

    'I am hoping to save my brother as well, Sir Marcus.'

    'Is he going to pay up?'

    'No,' said Christopher, 'he is following a different course of action. But while I am here,' he went on, seeing an opportunity to gather information, 'I wonder if you could tell me something about Arthur Lunn.'

    'Arthur? Why? Has he had blackmail demands as well?'

    'Not that I know of, Sir Marcus.'

    'I think it improbable,' said Kemp. 'He was here just over an hour ago, pressing me to join him for dinner. Since I was waiting for your news, I would not stir from the house so I sent him on his way.'

    'Is it true that Gabriel Cheever once lodged at his house?'

    'Yes, Mr Redmayne. For some months.'

    'So Mr Lunn must have known that he was keeping a diary.'

    Kemp was taken aback. ' 'Sdeath! I never thought of that. I suppose he must. Arthur is the most inquisitive soul alive. He pokes his nose into everything.'

    'I met him at Gabriel's funeral.'

    'What was he doing there?'

    'Ostensibly, he was escorting Miss Celia Hemmings,' said Christopher, 'but he may have had his own reasons for making the journey to Northamptonshire.'

    'You think that Arthur Lunn was somehow involved in this blackmail?'

    'I begin to wonder, Sir Marcus.'

    'But he is the most obliging fellow in London.'

    'Then why did Gabriel break with him? Mr Lunn was his closest friend. Why did Gabriel go into hiding without even telling him where he was?'

    'I've no idea, Mr Redmayne. But I do know that Arthur was very upset.'

    'How upset?'

    'Deeply, I would imagine. It's difficult to say with a man like that who hides his feelings so well. But Arthur Lunn was hurt badly,' he said. 'He was cut to the quick.'

    Christopher speculated on whether or not Lunn was sufficiently wounded to seek revenge. A man who valued his friendships so much would be bruised by the way in which he lost this particular one. It would be worth taking a closer look at Arthur Lunn.

    Kemp reached for his purse. 'What do I owe you, Mr Redmayne?'

    'Owe me?'

    'For the help you gave me today.'

    'You owe me nothing, Sir Marcus.'

    'Come, come, man. You must have some reward for what you did.'

    'If you insist,' said Christopher, 'but I'll not take it in money. All I ask is that you let me see the letters you received. Along with the extract from the diary.'

    'But there is no need now.'

    'There is every need, Sir Marcus. Where are they?'

    'Locked away where nobody will ever find them,' said Kemp. 'I'm sorry, Mr Redmayne. I could not expose myself to ridicule by letting you see them. To be frank, I am tempted to burn them.'

    'No!' implored Christopher. 'You must not do that, Sir Marcus.'

    'But my ordeal is over. So is Henry's, I dare say. All that the blackmailer wanted was to frighten money out of one of us. A thousand guineas would satisfy any man,' he said confidently. 'We are liberated at last. There will be no more blackmail demands.'

    Henry Redmayne was preening himself in the mirror in the hall when he heard the doorbell ring. Believing that Arthur Lunn had come to collect him, he opened the door himself, but his visitor was no beaming crony about to whisk him off to a gaming house. It was Peter Wickens and he glanced furtively over his shoulder before stepping into the hall. Henry had never seen him in such a state of anxiety. Wickens was usually so poised and urbane yet he was now twitching nervously.

    'What is wrong, Peter?' asked Henry.

    'Forgive this intrusion,' said Wickens. 'I simply had to come.' 'Why?'

    'I need your advice.' He took something from his pocket. 'This arrived today.' 'What is it?'

    'Read it, Henry,' he said handing the letter over. 'I am being blackmailed.'