The Repentant Rake

    'Praise God!' he exclaimed with unaccustomed sincerity. 'You're back.'

    'And I bring glad tidings, Henry,' said Christopher.

    'You found my letter?'

    'No, but I've brought one that may turn out to be far more important. The crisis is past,' he announced. 'You can breathe freely again.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'The killer has been arrested. He's languishing in a prison cell. In addition to that, we've stopped any further extracts from the diary being printed.'

    Henry was not reassured. 'How does that help me?'

    'The death threat has vanished.'

    'Not if my billet-doux finds its way to Lord Ulvercombe.'

    'I doubt if that will happen, Henry,' said his brother. 'The man who has it will be too busy trying to make his escape when he learns that his accomplice is behind bars.'

    'And who is this man?'

    'We are still not quite certain,' admitted Christopher.

    'Then why come rushing in here to announce a false dawn?'

    'Are you not pleased that we have captured a vicious killer?'

    'Of course,' said Henry petulantly. 'The only thing that would make me more pleased would be to hear that Lady Ulvercombe was locked up in the same cell with him. I hear no relief in what you tell me. Whoever has that letter holds the whiphand over me.'

    'Not for much longer.'

    'You do not even know who he is.'

    'I'm fairly certain who his accomplice is. Arrest her and we will get to him.'

    'Her?' said Henry. 'A woman is involved?'

    'That calligraphy was too neat for a man's hand,' explained Christopher. 'When I sniffed the letter sent to Peter Wickens, I caught a faint whiff of perfume.' He clicked his fingers. 'Where are the blackmail demands sent to you, Henry?'

    'Why?' '

    'I need the second one now.'

    'I carry both of them with me,' said Henry, rummaging in his pocket. 'As a penance.' He found the letters and handed them over. 'Take them.'

    Christopher found the second of the two demands and set it on the table, placing the letter to Susan Cheever beside it. There was no possibility of error. The same hand had written both letters. Over his shoulder, Henry noticed a signature.

    'Celia Hemmings!'

    'She got hold of your billet-doux.'

    'How?'

    'By accident, probably,' said Christopher. 'Do you remember putting Lady Ulvercombe in touch with her regarding a chambermaid?'

    'Vaguely.'

    'The girl had worked for Miss Hemmings and her first loyalty was to her. My guess is that she stumbled upon your letter, sensed its potential and gave it to her former mistress. That's putting the kindest construction on it,' he conceded. 'It's just as likely that Miss Hemmings instructed her to look for compromising material. She is clearly well versed in the art of blackmail.'

    'I'll throttle her!' yelled Henry.

    'You'll do nothing of the kind.'

    'Celia Hemmings is a witch!'

    'She's a very cunning woman,' said Christopher with a hint of admiration. 'She took me in completely at first. But you can stay here, Henry. Having finally unmasked her, I insist on being the one to confront Miss Hemmings. Jonathan Bale can have the pleasure of making the actual arrest.'

    'I want to be there, Christopher!'

    'No.'

    'I need to repossess that letter before anyone else sees it.'

    'I'll take care of all your correspondence,' said Christopher, putting all three letters into his pocket. 'Besides, Miss Hemmings may not have Lady Ulvercombe's letter. It may well be kept by her accomplice. I suggest that you stay here and toast your release. Send for the best wine in your cellar, Henry.'

    'I drank it all during my ordeal.'

    'Then send out for more. You can afford it now that you will not have to pay five hundred guineas. Enjoy your freedom.'

    'What I want to enjoy is the sight of Celia Hemmings being apprehended.'

    'Leave that to Mr Bale and me.'

    'Why do you need him? Take me instead.'

    'He's earned the right, Henry, He's also made a new friend in Sir Julius Cheever.'

    'A friend?'

    'Yes,' said Christopher, 'they both fought with Cromwell at Worcester. Jonathan Bale has been sharing memories of the battle with him.'

    'I hope they remembered that the wrong side won,' said Henry sourly. 'Warn your bellicose constable not to compare memories of that undeserved victory with Arthur Lunn or he may stir up a nest of hornets.'

    'Why?'

    'Arthur was captured at the battle and imprisoned in Worcester Cathedral. He's still very bitter about it. So is Peter Wickens, I seem to recall. He lost his only brother in that battle. Mr Bale had better not boast about his military record to them.'

    'Mr Bale boasts about nothing.'

    'You'll not show my letter to him,' said Henry with sudden panic.

    'No, Henry. He would blush to read it.'

    'Let me come with you to make sure.'

    'Stay here and celebrate. This is a wonderful moment for you.'

    'It is at that,' said his brother as the implications began to sink in. 'I feel that I have been reborn. All that I need is to have Celia Hemmings roasting on a spit and my joy would be complete.' He gave a cackle. 'I have just had a wicked thought. Arthur Lunn was so lucky to have been imprisoned in Worcester Cathedral. Had he been incarcerated in Gloucester, our dear father would have bored him to death with his interminable sermons.'

    Jonathan Bale waited at the designated place and hoped that their second visit to Covent Garden would be more profitable than the first. Having set two constables the task of searching for witnesses in Faringdon Ward Within, he had returned to Addle Hill to find that Christopher had left a message for him. Responding to its request, he hurried straight off to Covent Garden and took up his position. The meeting with Sir Julius Cheever had left him feeling oddly satisfied. Though the old man lacked his Puritan restraint, they had much in common. Jonathan had been intrigued to hear how Sir Julius had marshalled his men at Worcester and at some of the battles preceding it. He could understand only too well how a man with such high moral standards would refuse to acknowledge a rakehell like Gabriel Cheever as his son. Jonathan imagined how he would feel if one of his own boys grew up to cast aside every precept he had been taught.

    Christopher Redmayne did not keep him waiting for long. Arriving on his horse, he dismounted to explain to his friend what had happened in his absence. They now had clear proof that Celia Hemmings was involved in the blackmail. When Christopher pointed out her house, Jonathan had some misgivings.

    'Let me wait outside,' he said shifting his feet. 'I am never happy in such places.'

    'I was going to suggest that you go round to the back of the house, Mr Bale. We are dealing with a slippery lady. If she tries to bolt, my guess is that it will be through the rear entrance of the house.'

    Jonathan gave a grim smile. 'I'll be waiting for her, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Do not be too gentle. The lady is an accessary to murder.'

    'I've arrested lots of women before. They sometimes fight harder than the men.'

    Christopher tethered his horse and gave the constable time to get to the back of the house. When he rang the doorbell and gave his name, he was invited into the hall at once. Hearing of his arrival, Celia Hemmings had him shown in and gave him a cordial welcome until she saw his face. She recoiled slightly at the sight of the cuts and bruises but recovered to offer her hand. Christopher took it with gallantry and brushed her fingers with a kiss.