The Repentant Rake

    'Yes. I saw no harm in it. Mr Wickens was very polite.'

    'I know. He has great charm when he wishes to use it.'

    'He went straight off to the King's Head.'

    'Was he on foot?'

    'No, Mr Redmayne. He came on his horse.'

    'Then I had better get after him at once,' decided Christopher, moving swiftly to the front door. 'Whatever else he is, Peter Wickens is no old friend of your father's, Miss Cheever. I believe that Sir Julius may be in danger.'

    Alone in his room, Sir Julius sat on the edge of the bed drumming his fingers impatiently on his knee. He was not used to waiting on the actions of others. Throughout his life, he had always taken the initiative and forced himself to the centre of events. His capacity for leadership and for making prompt decisions had helped his military career to take wing. Promotion had come early and he had gone on to distinguish himself repeatedly in the field. Yet he was now forced to sit in a room at the King's Head, isolated from the action, wondering what was going on and obliged to leave everything to others. His son had come back into his life in the most distressing way. As he reflected on their estrangement, he had to admit that Gabriel was not entirely to blame. It was not simply a case of youthful rebellion that took him to London. Had he shown his son more understanding, Sir Julius could have retained the friendship that had been so important to him in earlier days. He could see that he had been too intractable.

    A sharp knock on the door got him to his feet. He was cautious.

    'Who is it?' he called.

    'My name is Peter Wickens,' came the reply 'Mr Redmayne sent me.'

    'You have a message for me?'

    'Yes, Sir Julius.'

    Unbolting the door, Sir Julius flung it open in the hope of hearing good news. Instead of that, he had a pistol held against his forehead. Wickens pushed him back into the room and closed the door behind him. He guided his captive to a chair. When Sir Julius sat down, Wickens took a step back to appraise him, keeping the pistol aimed at his head. Sir Julius was more curious than afraid.

    'Who are you?' he demanded.

    'I was a friend of your son, Gabriel,' said Wickens. 'In my view, he was the only good thing to come out of the Cheever family, but we had to kill him none the less.'

    Sir Julius was horrified. 'You killed my son?'

    'Not exactly but I was there when it happened. Just to make sure that he was dead, I ran him through with my sword.' He gave a mocking smile. 'He died quite peacefully.'

    'You devil!' said Sir Julius, trying to get up. When the pistol was placed against his skull again, he lowered himself back into his seat. 'What do you want, Mr Wickens?'

    'It's called revenge.'

    'Against me?'

    'Against you and your family, Sir Julius,' said Wickens, stepping back again. 'I came to like Gabriel or I would have killed him much sooner. He bore a name that I've been taught to hate. Then he told me how much he loathed the famous Colonel Cheever and

    I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I spared him until I heard that his father had ambitions to enter Parliament.'

    'It's a foregone conclusion.'

    'Not any more. I could not have you moving to London and living under my nose. The stench would offend my nostrils.'

    'Do you always talk with a pistol in your hand, Mr Wickens?' said Julius, icily calm. 'Put it aside and we can have a proper conversation.'

    Wickens gave a sneer. 'You once had a proper conversation with my brother.'

    'Did I?'

    'His name was Michael Wickens,' said the other. 'Not a name that you would recall, I dare say, because he was only one of many people you killed on the battlefield. Witnesses told me that Michael was shot from close range by a Colonel Cheever. Do you remember the carnage at the Battle of Worcester?'

    'That war is over and done with, sir.'

    'Not as far as I'm concerned.'

    'I fought hard for my side just as your brother must have fought nobly for his.'

    'But you are still alive,' said Wickens darkly. 'Michael is not.' He held the pistol within a foot of his captive's head. 'I felt it only right that you should know why I arranged to have your son murdered and why you must follow him to the grave. Say your prayers, Sir Julius. You are going to join your Maker.'

    Sir Julius closed his eyes and heard the other's soft laughter. He could not believe that he was being called to account for an unremembered incident in the heat of a battle that took place many years before. Evidently, it was remembered only too well by Peter Wickens.

    'You chose an appropriate place, Sir Julius.'

    Sir Julius opened his eyes. 'What do you mean?'

    'The King's Head. Where better for a traitor who helped to remove a king's head to lose his own life? Farewell, Sir Julius. Go off to join the Lord Protector in Hell.'

    He levelled the pistol and took careful aim. Before he could pull the trigger, however, the door burst open and Christopher

    Redmayne came hurtling into the room. Wickens was momentarily distracted. Seeing his chance, Sir Julius swung an arm to knock the barrel of the pistol away from him and the weapon went off, firing its ball harmlessly into the ceiling. Wickens was enraged. He used the pistol to club Sir Julius, opening a deep gash in his head. Christopher was on him at once, diving recklessly at Wickens and knocking him to the ground. The ride from Knightrider Street had given him time to work out that he would be dealing with the very accomplice whose name Celia Hemmings had refused to divulge. Wickens was ruthless. He would not scruple to kill again. Christopher grabbed the wrist holding the weapon and twisted it sharply until his opponent was forced to leave go. Sir Julius had staggered back to the chair, holding the wound on his head as he tried to stem the blood, unable to do anything but look on.

    Wickens was a determined adversary. Deprived of his weapon, he used his hands to punch, push and claw at Christopher. They grappled rolled knocked over a low table then struggled fiercely to get the upper hand. Wickens was spurred on by a combination of revenge and sheer fury but Christopher's will was even stronger. Certain members of the Cheever family helped to fuel his resolve. He was fighting on behalf of a young husband who was murdered in a dark alley. He was representing a helpless widow who saw her happiness cruelly snatched away from her. In Sir Julius himself, he was striving to save a man whom he admired and a client whom he needed. But, most of all, he was there to rescue Susan Cheever from further distress. As Wickens sat astride him and got both hands to his neck, Christopher summoned up extra reserves of energy. He pulled the hands away, threw his man off then hurled himself on top of him. Urged on by Sir Julius, he punched until resistance slowly began to fade.

    Covered in blood and close to exhaustion, Wickens gave up. Christopher pinned him to the floor. The landlord had been roused by the shot and the commotion. He came bustling into the room to see what was happening, and blinked in amazement at the scene.

    'What is going on, sirs?' he asked querulously.

    'Summon a constable,' said Christopher.

    Henry Redmayne was mortified. It was bad enough to be hauled out of his bed by a visitor at that time of morning. After a night of merriment, he had intended to sleep until dinner. When he heard what Jonathan Bale had to say, his misery was compounded. His cheeks were crimson with embarrassment.

    'It was my fault?' he said, swallowing hard.