The Repentant Rake

    'So it appears, sir,' said Jonathan sternly. 'You were the person who told Mr Wickens what had happened. He went charging off in search of Sir Julius Cheever.'

    'How was I to know that Peter Wickens was party to this whole plot?'

    'You acted too thoughtlessly.'

    'I believed that he was a victim like me. Hell's teeth, man!' he exclaimed. 'Peter came here and showed me the letter he had received.'

    'That was to throw us off the scent, Mr Redmayne. Did you never ask yourself why he came to you and not to one of his other friends?'

    'No, Mr Bale.'

    'It was because he wanted us to know. Realising that your brother was hunting for the blackmailers, he showed that letter to you because you were sure to mention it to your brother. Mr Wickens was never a true victim,' he went on. 'Miss Hemmings wrote that letter for him so that he could hide behind it.'

    'Very effectively,' conceded Henry 'I'm shocked to learn that Peter was behind the whole thing. We've shared such jolly times together.'

    'There was nothing jolly about the way that Gabriel Cheever was murdered,' said Jonathan. 'Thanks to you, his father was almost killed as well.'

    'Dear God!' said Henry, contrite for once. 'What did I do?'

    'Your brother will call later, sir. He asked me to explain what occurred yesterday. Mr Redmayne did call here last night but he was told that you were celebrating with friends.' He drew himself up. 'I think that those celebrations were premature.'

    Henry nodded in agreement. 'I was too impulsive.'

    'Think more clearly next time, sir.'

    'I will.'

    They were standing in the hall and Henry was feeling profoundly guilty. While he and his friends were carousing the previous night, Christopher was engaged in a desperate fight with Peter Wickens, having saved Sir Julius from certain death. The fact that he had unwittingly alerted Wickens made Henry squirm inwardly. He looked at his visitor.

    'Did you find out the name of the assassin?' he asked.

    'Reresby, sir,' said Jonathan. 'Caleb Reresby. A discharged soldier.'

    'Who hired him? Peter or Celia Hemmings?'

    'Mr Wickens. All three will stand trial together.'

    'They deserve no less. They put me through an ordeal.' Sensing Jonathan's disapproval, he reined in his self-concern. 'Not that my woes compare with those of Gabriel's widow, of course,' he said, sounding a compassionate note. 'I am free to carry on as before while the Cheever family remains in mourning.'

    'Yes, sir.'

    Henry could see why his brother had sent Jonathan Bale to break the news to him. The constable was like a figure of doom. His presence was unnerving in a house that was an indictment of all the principles for which he stood. Christopher knew that his friend would make Henry feel at least partially remorseful. In asking Jonathan to visit his brother, Christopher had been playing a joke on him for as serious purpose. Henry was cowed and ashamed. It was only when his visitor was about to take his leave that he remembered something.

    'Did Christopher say anything about a letter of mine?' he said anxiously.

    'No, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Ah.'

    'Though he did take one away from the house in Covent Garden,' recalled Jonathan. 'I believe that it had something to do with you, sir.'

    'It had everything to do with me!' said Henry under his breath. 'Where is it?'

    'Your brother talked about returning it to the person to whom it belonged.'

    'That would be cruel!' howled Henry.

    'Discuss it with him when he comes, sir.' He opened the front door and bells were heard chiming nearby. 'You may not know this, Mr Redmayne,' he said, noting Henry's dazed expression, 'but it happens to be Sunday.'

    Henry blinked in surprise. 'Is it really?'

    'Church is the best place for repentance, sir. Goodbye.'

    Work began on the new house a few days later. Christopher Redmayne's face was no longer quite so battle-scarred and the wound on Sir Julius Cheever's head was starting to heal. Wearing hats to conceal their injuries, both men were in Westminster to watch the foundations being dug under the vigilant gaze of Sidney Popejoy.

    'At last!' declared Sir Julius with a smile of satisfaction.

    'I'm sorry for the unfortunate delay,' said Christopher.

    'It was not your fault, Mr Redmayne. But for you, there'd be no house at all. If Wickens had had his way, you'd now be attending my funeral.'

    'I try to hang on to my clients.'

    'This one is deeply grateful to you.' The old man's face clouded. 'I still don't understand why Wickens had to kill Gabriel. His hatred of me is easy to comprehend. In the heat of battle, I did shoot his brother, I can't deny that. But why did Wickens have to go after my son as well?'

    'The answer is simple,' explained Christopher. 'He bore your name. It's ironic, Sir Julius. The one thing that Gabriel did not leave behind when he left home was the family name. He carried it with pride and it proved to be his downfall.'

    'Yet he and Peter Wickens were friends for a time.'

    'That was until you appeared on the scene yourself,' said Christopher. 'His friendship with Gabriel had already turned sour and the news of your imminent return to London only intensified the situation. When Sir Marcus Kemp mentioned that he'd seen Gabriel in Knightrider Street, Wickens was determined to kill him. And as we discovered' he sighed, 'h? had an accomplice to strengthen his resolve.'

    'Miss Celia Hemmings.'

    'Yes, Sir Julius. She had her own reasons to hate Gabriel,' he said tactfully omitting any details of their earlier relationship. 'When she stumbled upon something of his that could be used for the purposes of blackmail, she and Peter Wickens joined forces against your son. They were a formidable team.'

    'So were you and Mr Bale.' A spasm of pain shot through him. He gritted his teeth. 'In a sense, I'm to blame,' he said guiltily. 'My return to London prompted Gabriel's death. If I had not conceived the ambition to enter Parliament, my son might still be alive.'

    Christopher shook his head. 'I think that unlikely. With enemies like Peter Wickens and Celia Hemmings, your son's life was always under threat. They went to great pains to track him down when he turned his back on them,' he pointed out. 'They were ruthless. They wanted revenge. Don't blame yourself, Sir Julius.'

    'I'm bound to, Mr Redmayne.' He saw the builder approaching and brightened. 'Here comes Popejoy. You might have found me someone with a different name,' he said with a chuckle. 'Popejoy, indeed! Why saddle a confirmed Protestant like me with a builder called that? I take no joy from any Pope.'

    'You'll find him an excellent man.'

    'I'm sure.' He glanced across at the nearby coach. 'I need to speak to him alone, Mr Redmayne,' he said with a twinkle in his eye. 'This might be the moment for you to bid farewell to my daughter.'

    Christopher needed no more encouragement. He hurried across to the coach. Susan had been watching them through the window but she now leaned back in her seat. Christopher removed his hat to speak to her.

    'I hope that you're not going to stand out there, Mr Redmayne,' she said.

    'Well, no, I suppose not.'

    'Step inside, sir. We're entitled to a little privacy.'

    'Of course,' he said getting into the coach. 'I was about to suggest that.' He sat opposite her and felt a surge of pleasure. 'I'll miss you,' he confessed.

    'Will you?'

    'Northamptonshire is such a long way away.'