The Repentant Rake

    'Do not ask me.'

    'But Mr Redmayne needs to know.'

    'Gabriel was killed. That is the only fact that matters to me, Susan.'

    'But you want his killer caught, surely?'

    'Of course.'

    'And you want to save Mr Redmayne from further attack?' She leaned in closer. 'What will happen if the assassin strikes again, Lucy? Think how guilty you will feel if Mr Redmayne is murdered.'

    'It will not be my fault.'

    'I know, but you can at least help to reduce the possibility.'

    'How?'

    'By telling the truth. Not to me,' she added quickly, 'because I can see that I am not the person in whom you will confide. Tell Mr Redmayne. He is such a kind and understanding man. He will respect any confidences. I have not known him long but I have formed the highest opinion of him.'

    'So have I,' said Lucy quietly.

    'He needs all the help that he can get. Why are you holding back?'

    Lucy shrugged helplessly. 'Because I must, Susan.'

    Henry Redmayne pounced on his brother like a hawk swooping down on its prey. 'Where have you been, Christopher?' he said, shaking him vigorously.

    'Here, there and everywhere.'

    'But I needed you beside me.'

    'How can I continue the search if I am trapped here?' asked Christopher. 'You must try to shed this anxiety, Henry. Under your own roof, you are completely safe.'

    'That is what I thought.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'I received another letter.'

    'A blackmail demand?'

    'Of a kind' groaned Henry. 'But first tell me your news. Did you find the man who printed that extract from the diary?'

    'I did. His name is Miles Henshaw.'

    'He deserves to be hanged, drawn and quartered.'

    'No, Henry. He was simply printing what he was given. Mr Henshaw had no idea what cruel use his work would be put to by the blackmailer. Let me explain.'

    Eager to hear his brother's tidings, Christopher gave him only a shortened account of the visits to Elijah Pembridge and to Miles Henshaw. The call on Arthur Lunn was summed up in a few sentences. Henry sank even further into dejection. He had been hoping for results that had simply not materialised. As far as he was concerned, a dangerous killer was still on the loose and he was the man's next target.

    'What about you?' said Christopher, ending his narrative. 'Show me this new letter that you received today.'

    'Even you will not be allowed to see that.'

    'Why not?'

    'Because I've already burned it.'

    'Whatever for, Henry?'

    'It is the only safe thing to do with that particular correspondence.'

    'Who sent it?'

    'Amelia.'

    'Lady Ulvercombe?'

    'Yes. She has only just discovered that my billet-doux is missing. Why has it taken her so long? I thought she had destroyed it, as she vowed she would do, but she clung on to it for sentimental reasons. It was, I have to confess, worded in such a way to excite a lady to the very pitch of delight. But does she read it every day to keep the flame of our romance alive? No, no, no! It takes her well over a week to notice that my deathless prose has been stolen. I am desolate, Christopher. Heavens above! It is insulting. A man is entitled to expect a mistress to drool over his correspondence.'

    'At least, Lady Ulvercombe has learned the worst now.'

    'Not before time.'

    'What did her letter say?'

    'She wants to meet me,' said Henry. 'This very afternoon. How can I venture outside that door when an assassin is lying in wait for me? And why, in any case, should I choose to confront the very woman who landed me in this infernal mess?'

    'No, Henry,' said Christopher firmly. 'You landed yourself in this mess.'

    'Amelia lost the letter.'

    'You wrote it.'

    'Only because she pestered me.'

    'A moment ago, you were boasting about the way you had worded it.'

    'Well, yes,' agreed Henry. 'It was a small masterpiece of its kind. But destined for the eyes of one person only before being consigned to the flames.'

    'Is Lady Ulvercombe afraid that her husband will find out?'

    'She is terrified. He already has suspicions of me. Were that letter to fall into his hands, he would not hesitate to wreak his revenge. Not that Amelia has any concern for me,' he added. 'Her anxiety is for herself.'

    'Go on.'

    'She insists on meeting me to discuss the matter. Otherwise - and this is the most drastic form of blackmail - she will make a full confession to the egregious Lord Ulvercombe and beg his forgiveness.' He flung his hands in the air. 'Where will that leave me?'

    'Reason with her.'

    'Desperate women have no truck with reason.'

    'Assure her that the letter will be recovered somehow.'

    'It may already be on its way to her husband.'

    'I doubt that,' said Christopher. 'Once sent, it loses its power to extract money from you. Lady Ulvercombe must be told how it is being used to blackmail you. It could easily be employed against her in the same way.'

    'Amelia would panic and throw herself on the mercy of that brutish husband.'

    'You must calm the lady down, Henry.'

    'How can I when I dare not leave the house?'

    'You must.'

    'No, Christopher. It is not simply fear that keeps me immured. The truth is that I do not wish to see Amelia again. She unsettles me.'

    'But the two of you were so close at one time.'

    'Revulsion is the Janus-face of romance.'

    'That's not the remark of a gentleman,' said Christopher reproachfully.

    'I'm not talking about my revulsion for her,' explained Henry. 'For my sins, I still have a vestigial affection. It was Amelia who turned against me. I have no idea why. I was encouraged, favoured then summarily discarded. That does not make a man wish to have a rendezvous with a woman he once adored.'

    'If you do not go, Lady Ulvercombe will tell all to her husband.'

    'There's the rub.'

    Christopher pondered. 'Where does she ask you to meet her?' he said at length.

    'At a secret address.'

    'Where is it?'

    'Less than five minutes from here.'

    'Would you meet the lady if I were to accompany you there?'

    'No. I could not bear the embarrassment.'

    'Then I will go in your stead' decided Christopher.

    'You?'

    'Give me the address, Henry. The meeting may prove fruitful.'

    While the two men talked neither took their eyes off the printer's shop owned by Miles Henshaw. Hours had passed since Tom Warburton took up his station nearby. Jonathan Bale was having difficulty replacing him.

    'There is no point in both of us staying, Tom,' he said.

    'I'll linger awhile.'

    'Mr Redmayne asked me to relieve you.'

    'Why?'

    'He felt that you had been here long enough.'

    'I have.'

    'Then go back home and have some dinner. Come back later.'

    'I might miss him.'

    'We have no guarantee that he will come today,' said Jonathan, 'though there is one promising sign. The gentleman we visited this morning has been threatened with publication of shameful details about his private life. Not that he had the grace to be ashamed about them,' he added grimly, 'but we'll let that pass. Those details will need to be printed by Mr Henshaw so that they can be used to cause the gentleman further grief. The commission may come today.'