The Repentant Rake

    Instead of waiting for the next jab, he went on the attack himself, moving round in search of an opening before feinting a thrust at the chest. When his assailant brought up his dagger to parry the strike, Christopher stabbed him in the arm and drew the loudest cry yet from him. His response was immediate and frenzied. Rushing at Christopher and roaring with anger, he slashed wildly at him, forcing him to dodge and weave. Christopher was elusive but the dagger nevertheless sliced open his sleeve, drew blood from his shoulder and grazed his forehead. The man became even more desperate, cursing, jabbing and kicking out simultaneously. He was losing blood freely. As the wound in his arm began to smart unbearably, he shifted his dagger to the other hand and lunged once more. Christopher was ready for him. Parrying the thrust with his own weapon, he seized the man's wrist and swung him in circle so that he could fling him against the wall of a house. The impact stunned the man momentarily and his dagger clattered to the ground. After kicking it away, Christopher threatened him with the point of his own dagger.

    'Who sent you?' he demanded.

    'Nobody,' growled the man.

    'Was it Arthur Lunn?'

    'I'm bleeding to death,' said the other, holding his wounded arm.

    'Tell me the truth.'

    'I need help.'

    'Did you kill Gabriel Cheever?'

    'I'm dying!'

    Nursing his arm, the man bent double. He was obviously in great pain. Christopher relented and let his weapon drop to his side. It was a mistake. Diving straight at him, the man butted him in the stomach and sent him reeling back. It took all the wind out of Christopher. By the time he had recovered himself, it was too late. Abandoning the field the man had sprinted round the corner and disappeared into the night. Christopher tried to give chase but there was no sign of his attacker. His own injuries now made themselves known. His neck was still painful, his face was scratched his shoulder gashed. He could feel a trickle of blood down one cheek. Bruises seemed to be everywhere. Retrieving the rope and the dagger discarded by the man, he picked up his hat and trudged slowly back to his house.

    When Jacob saw his master by candlelight, he made an instant and accurate appraisal.

    'Heavens!' he exclaimed. 'What happened, sir? You look half dead.'

    Henry Redmayne had his first complete night's sleep for over a week. It restored his spirits. Awaking refreshed, he felt much more ready to face the trials of the day ahead. He decided that his brother's advice was sound. Defiance was the watchword. He would not give in to the demands of a blackmailer. As soon as he thought of the repercussions, however, his resolve crumbled. Lord Ulvercombe would come after him. The letter to his wife had boiled over with passion. Henry regretted that he had ever sent it but the lady herself had asked for some sign of commitment. He had given it to her and reaped the reward the same night. In retrospect, it had all been a hideous error. Henry blamed her. If the letter had been so important to Lady Ulvercombe, why had she let it go astray? Her carelessness might land her quondam lover in a duel that he was bound to lose.

    Sitting up in bed, he bewailed his misfortunes, but he was not permitted to wallow in self-pity for long. There was thunderous knocking on the door before it burst open and Sir Marcus Kemp charged into the bedchamber with two servants plucking at his arms as they tried unsuccessfully to restrain him.

    'Whatever is going on?' demanded Henry.

    'Get these lackeys off me!' howled Kemp.

    'I'm sorry, Mr Redmayne,' said one of the men. 'He forced his way in.'

    'Why?' asked Henry.

    'Because I need to see you,' said Kemp.

    'Could you not at least wait until I had risen, Marcus?'

    'No, Henry. This will brook no delay.

    Henry saw the despair in his face. It was the expression of a spaniel that had just been run over by the wheels of one coach and sees another approaching. Snapping his fingers, Henry sent the servants on their way then reached for his wig. Even though he was still in his night attire, he wanted to have a shred of dignity. Kemp stamped across to the bed and glared down at him.

    'Did you know about this, Henry?' he asked.

    'About what?'

    'This brainless scheme of your brother's to catch the blackmailer.'

    'Well, no,' lied Henry. 'What is Christopher supposed to have done?'

    'He has ruined everything,' said Kemp, holding up a letter. 'Instead of simply handing over my thousand guineas, he and an accomplice set a trap and I am the one who has been caught in it.'

    'What do you mean, Sir Marcus?'

    'This letter came this morning. It's another demand for money.'

    'How much?'

    'A thousand guineas.'

    Henry whistled through his teeth. 'Another thousand!'

    'As a punishment, he says. Because I tried to deceive him, I have to pay the amount all over again and this time I have to hand it over in person. Damnation!' protested Kemp, flinging the letter on to the bed. 'I was not responsible for any deception. All that I wanted to do was to buy this rogue off.'

    'Christopher did warn you that there would be another demand.'

    'Only because of his folly.'

    'I disagree, Marcus.'

    'If he had obeyed the instructions, everything would have been fine.'

    'I doubt that.'

    'Take him a message from me!' Kemp ordered.

    Henry shrank back into the pillow. 'Could you stand further off and shout less?' he implored. 'All this commotion is giving me a headache.'

    'What do you think that letter gave me?'

    'Permit me to read it and I'll hazard a guess.'

    Henry picked the letter up and ran his eye over the contents. He soon blenched. The tone was harsh, the demand peremptory. What startled him was that his brother was mentioned by name. He ran a tongue over lips that had suddenly gone very dry.

    'You knew,' concluded Kemp, watching his reaction.

    'Not exactly, Marcus.'

    'You were party to this botched plot.'

    'That's not true.'

    'Why on earth did you inflict that brainless brother of yours on me?'

    'Yesterday, you told me what a sterling fellow he was.'

    'A sterling fool, more like. Did he really think that he could get away with it?'

    'Christopher was only trying to help you.'

    'Help me?' echoed Kemp. 'How does a second demand for money help me? I acted in good faith. It's the Redmayne family that is at fault here.'

    'Moderate your passion a little, Marcus.'

    'I'll moderate nothing.'

    'Then at least exclude me from your rage. I am quite innocent.'

    'Are you?' said Kemp sourly. 'Who was it who foisted his brother on to me in the first place? Who was it who broke a confidence and told that idiot sibling of his that I was a victim of blackmail?'