The Repentant Rake

    'You could, Jonathan. And you'd taught yourself to read the Bible.'

    He took a swig of whey. 'I wanted to be able to read the names of the ships I was helping to build. Knowledge gives you power. You don't have to rely on others. The boys must realise what an advantage they'll have in life by being able to read write and add up properly.'

    'I keep saying that.'

    'Let me have a word with them.'

    'I'd be grateful.'

    He addressed himself to his meal and munched away in silence. Pouring herself a cup of whey, his wife sipped it and watched him. Jonathan was gloomy and preoccupied. Sarah could see that something was troubling him but she knew better than to question him too closely about his work. It was a difficult and often dangerous job and he tried to leave it behind whenever he stepped over the threshold. Home was his sanctuary, free from the worries of the outside world. It was a place where he could relax and recover from the strains of his occupation. When he chose to confide in her, Sarah was always willing to listen but she did not prompt him.

    She waited patiently until he had cleared his platter. 'More bread?' she offered.

    'No, thank you.'

    'I have a fresh loaf.'

    'I can't stay, my love,' he said, getting to his feet. 'I have to pay an early call.'

    'When will I expect you back?'

    'For dinner, I hope. I'll speak to the boys then.'

    'Good. They listen to you.'

    He was about to leave the kitchen when he noticed the quiet concern in her eyes. Feeling that he owed her some kind of explanation, he crossed over to help her up from the table. He pursed his lips as he pondered.

    'I was with Tom Warburton last night,' he said at length.

    'How is he?'

    'As melancholy as ever.'

    'I wondered where you'd got that grim look on your face.'

    Jonathan smiled. 'Tom is not the most cheerful soul at the best of times. But then,' he continued, his expression hardening, 'there was little to be cheerful about. We found a dead body.'

    'Oh dear!'

    'To be truthful, it was Sam who actually found it. Tom's little dog. He was sniffing around a warehouse near Paul's Wharf. Just as well, in a way. We'd have walked right past the place and not known the poor devil was there.'

    'Who was he?'

    'I've no idea, Sarah. That's why I'm going to the morgue this morning. To see what I can find out about the man. One thing is certain,' he said, gritting his teeth. 'He did not die a natural death.' He became proprietorial. 'I don't like murder in my ward. We have enough ugly messes to wipe up around here without finding corpses as well. This crime needs to be solved quickly. I'll make sure of that.'

    'Be careful,' she said, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

    'I always am.'

    'You're too brave for your own good sometimes.'

    He gave a weary smile. 'The bravest thing I ever did was to ask you to marry me, Sarah, and you were foolish enough to accept. That shows how lucky I am.'

    'Lucky and much loved,' she said, kissing him. 'Remember that.'

    'How could I ever forget?'

    He gave her a warm hug, then left the room. A minute later, he was leaving the house in Addle Hill to begin the long walk to the morgue. All trace of fatigue was shaken off now. An officer of the law involved in a murder investigation, Jonathan Bale was as alert and zealous as ever.

    Forsaking the safety of travelling companions and anxious to get back to London as soon as possible, Christopher Redmayne rode south at a steady canter. He reproached himself bitterly for causing Susan Cheever dismay with a tactless remark and believed that he had destroyed all hope of a closer acquaintance with her. At the same time, he had elicited an intriguing piece of information about the family. Sir Julius Cheever had three children, one of whom had been his male heir. What provoked him to disown and, presumably, to disinherit his son, Christopher did not know, but it had to be something serious. Susan, by contrast, had not discarded her brother and he was bound to wonder if the two of them were still in contact. Clearly, it was a source of dispute between father and daughter. He came to understand Sir Julius's suppressed anger a little more. The death of his wife and the estrangement of his son were personal sorrows to be added to the profound distaste he felt for the Restoration and its consequences. The sense of loss was unendurable. It soured him. Sir Julius would be a fiery and malcontented Member of Parliament.

    He might also be a cantankerous client. Christopher accepted that. There were consolations. Not only had the young architect secured a valuable commission to design a house in London, Sir Julius had insisted on giving him a generous down-payment in cash to encourage him. The money was safely stowed away in Christopher's satchel along with the preliminary drawings he had made. There was an additional feature that brought him particular pleasure. This was the first major project he had won entirely on his own merit. His brother, Henry, had been instrumental in finding him his first three clients and, though one of the houses was never actually built, the two mansions that were completed served as a lasting tribute to his talent. By comparison with these undertakings, the design of a new bookshop for Elijah Pembridge was a relatively simple affair that had brought in much-needed money but would hardly enhance his reputation. For that reason, he did not list it among his achievements. Henry Redmayne had been indirectly responsible for that commission as well but he had no connection whatsoever with Sir Julius. Much as he loved his brother, Christopher was grateful to be striking out on his own at last.

    Susan Cheever had been right. Northamptonshire was a beautiful county. In the hectic dash north, Christopher had not taken the trouble to admire the scenery on the way. Now, with two days of hard riding ahead of him, he determined to repair that omission. Heavily wooded in some areas, Northamptonshire was given over almost exclusively to agriculture. The soil was rich but less than ideal for ploughing and grain production, so there was a predominance of dairy farming and sheep-rearing. Herds of cattle and flocks of sheep seemed to be everywhere. Christopher passed the occasional windmill as well. What he noticed was the absence of any major rivers. Since it was largely denied direct access to the sea by means of navigable water, Northamptonshire was curiously isolated. The lack of a major road through the heart of the county was another element that set it apart from its neighbours. On the first stretch of his journey, Christopher was travelling along a small, winding, rutted track. It was only when he crossed the border into Bedfordshire that he found a wider and more purposeful road.

    Not long after noon, he stopped at an inn for refreshment. The Jolly Shepherd was a welcoming hostelry that offered good food and strong drink to its customers. A large party of travellers, all men, occupied three of the tables. Christopher found a seat in the corner and sampled the game pie, washing it down with a tankard of beer. A tall, bearded, well-dressed man in his thirties sauntered across to him with an easy smile.

    'May I share your table, my friend?' he asked.

    'Be my guest,' said Christopher pleasantly.

    'I'm much obliged, sir.' The man sat opposite him and set his own tankard down. 'It's rather quieter at this end of the room. Our fellow travellers are in raucous mood.'

    Even as he spoke, a jesting remark set the entire party roaring in appreciation. Judging by the amount of food and drink in front of them, they would be there for some time. They were patently making the most of their stop.