The Repentant Rake

    'It's a quality that runs in the family.'

    'He pulled me out of the pit of despair, Henry.'

    'I wish that he could do the same for me.'

    'Did your brother not tell you how he delivered the money to Covent Garden?'

    'Yes, Marcus,' said Henry. 'When he left you this afternoon, Christopher called on me in Bedford Street but he was not as sanguine as you are about the future. He feels that the extortion is not yet over.'

    'It is in my case.'

    'That's little comfort to me - or to Peter Wickens.'

    'Wickens? How does he come into this?'

    'He received a blackmail demand this very day.'

    'Never!'

    'I saw it with my own eyes, Marcus. Penned by the same hand that wrote one of my letters and both of yours. Peter was utterly desolate,' he said. 'All of his indiscretions were neatly listed. The threat of publication all but deranged him.'

    'How much was the demand?'

    'Five hundred guineas.'

    'Advise him to pay at once or it will be doubled.' He looked around. 'I'll tell him myself. Is Wickens here this evening?'

    'No, Marcus. He is skulking at home just as we did.'

    'I've no need to do that any more.'

    Henry writhed in discomfort. 'Do not rub salt into my wounds.'

    'Be not so full of apprehension,' urged the other. 'Bow to the inevitable and pay for your pleasures. Your suffering will then cease. If you need to borrow the money, I'll gladly offer you a loan. Ah!' he said as a figure approached them. 'Chance contrives better than we ourselves. Here is the very man you will need as your intermediary.'

    Henry was astonished to see his brother there. Christopher was not interested in trying his luck at the card table and he had resisted all his brother's efforts to lure him to various brothels. Henry sensed that Christopher must have a particular reason for venturing into the gaming house. As soon as the social niceties were over, he wanted to know what it was.

    'What brings you here, Christopher?'

    'I was looking for you, Henry.'

    'He knew where to find you,' remarked Kemp with a chuckle. 'Find a card game and you will soon find Henry Redmayne. Excuse me,' he said about to move off.

    'Before you go, Sir Marcus,' said Christopher, blocking his path, 'I wanted to remind you of the bargain we struck.'

    'That's null and void.'

    'Not if you receive another blackmail demand.'

    'But I will not. I'm in the clear.'

    'Wait a while before you celebrate,' advised Christopher. 'All I ask is that you do not destroy the letters or the printed extract. I may need to look at them.'

    'Only if I am harried again and that will not happen.'

    'Promise me that you will not burn the evidence.'

    'I'll do what I please with it, Mr Redmayne,' said Kemp airily.

    He went off to speak to some other friends. Henry looked after him.

    'Sir Marcus assumes that the problem has been solved,' he commented.

    'That's a foolish assumption.' Christopher glanced around. 'Is there somewhere we can talk in private, Henry? I need a word with you.'

    Henry nodded and led him to an empty table. Drinks were served, and Henry lit a pipe. Christopher sat back to avoid the smoke, consoling himself with the fact that his brother was unusually sober. At that time on a normal evening, Henry would be incapable of articulate conversation.

    'I'm glad that you came, Christopher,' he said. 'I have news.'

    'Of what?'

    'Another demand.'

    'You've had a third letter?' asked Christopher.

    'No. Another victim has been singled out.'

    'Who is it?'

    'Peter Wickens.'

    Henry told him about the unexpected visit from Wickens and described the calligraphy and the wording of the letter. Christopher was relieved to hear that his brother had urged his friend not to pay the demand.

    'I knew that there would be more victims,' he said.

    'He has dozens to choose from,' Henry remarked. 'Peter Wickens has had his wilder moments but there are plenty whose antics are far more outrageous than his. Will they be targets as well, do you think?'

    'Most probably. If they appear in Gabriel Cheever's diary.'

    'Who will be next?'

    'Nobody - if we find the blackmailer.'

    'How do we do that?' asked Henry gloomily.

    'We are closer than you imagine,' said Christopher earnestly. 'I still believe that he is one of your own circle. He may even be here this evening. That is what brought me here tonight, Henry. I wish to speak to Arthur Lunn.'

    'Arthur? You surely do not suspect him?'

    'Everyone must be considered.'

    'But he's a good friend to me and Sir Marcus.'

    'Let me probe the strength of that friendship,' suggested Christopher. 'When time serves, invite him over and leave us to talk alone. Do not tell him why I am here. There is no point in putting him on the defensive at the start.'

    Henry shook his head. 'Arthur Lunn? No, I'll not accept it.'

    It was a long wait. Lunn was enjoying himself too much to be drawn away from the table. When he eventually did rise from his seat, Henry moved in swiftly to guide him across to Christopher. Lunn raised a cynical eyebrow.

    'This is hardly your world, Mr Redmayne,' he observed drily. 'Have you come to gape in disgust at us hardened libertines?'

    'No, Mr Lunn. I merely craved a word with you.'

    'Speak up, then.'

    'Gabriel Cheever once lodged with you, I gather.'

    'All the world knows that.'

    'Had he started to write at that time?'

    'Why, yes,' said Lunn, adjusting his periwig. 'He scribbled away whenever he could. I thought that he was writing letters to his sister but he had literary ambitions.'

    'Did he show you any of his work?'

    'Bless you, no! Why should he?'

    'You were close friends.'

    'We drank, played cards and whored together, perhaps.'

    'There was more to it than that, Mr Lunn. He lived under your roof.'

    'Only until he made enough money to afford lodgings of his own.' Lunn gave a sudden chortle. 'As it happens, most of that money came from me at the card table. Even when he moved out, I was still helping to pay for his accommodation.'

    'Did you resent that?' asked Christopher.

    'A little, perhaps.'

    'Was there anything else you resented about Gabriel?'

    'Of course not,' replied the other. 'Why should there be?'

    'He did vanish without trace,' Christopher reminded him.

    Lunn was rueful. 'That's true. And I admit I was a trifle irritated by that.'

    'I suggest that it was rather more than irritation, Mr Lunn.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'It must have been galling to be abandoned like that,' said Christopher.

    'I was not abandoned!' retorted Lunn.

    'Then why did Gabriel give no warning of his departure?'

    'Who knows?'

    'You must have felt badly let down.'

    'That's my business,' snapped Lunn, temper starting to show.

    'Why did you go to the funeral?' prodded Christopher.

    'Celia Hemmings told you that. I was there to act as her escort.'