The Repentant Rake

    'Hot words might land you in trouble, Father.'

    'Parliament needs someone to speak his mind and that's what I intend to do. Circumspect, indeed! They'll not gag me, Susan. I fear nobody.'

    'That's my chief concern.'

    He was reproachful. 'What do you know of politics, anyway?'

    'I know that they can mean danger and even death,' she said levelly. 'I was only a girl when the war raged but I remember the damage it did. Northamptonshire saw more than its fair share of suffering. It taught me to be fearful of politics.'

    'Your mother was the same. Neither of you understood what it was all about.'

    'Be careful, Father. That is all I ask.'

    'I'm a soldier,' he said with a proud chuckle. 'You achieve little on a battlefield if you simply exercise care. To strike a decisive blow you have to go boldly to the heart of the action. That is where I long to be. On my feet in the Commons, demanding justice.'

    'For whom?'

    'The people of this country, Susan. Taxes are bleeding us dry. And where does all the money go?' he asked wagging a finger. 'To the King. So that he can fight his wars abroad and keep his mistresses in style. Someone must speak out against him.'

    Susan said nothing. There was no point in stirring him up even more. Sir Julius was still fighting battles that had already been won and lost many years earlier. Rooted in the past, he wanted a say in the future, but his language was hortatory rather than persuasive. His fellow Members of Parliament would soon become familiar with the sound of his ranting. Susan let her mind drift to something else. When her father had calmed down enough to permit a civilised conversation, she put her thoughts into words.

    'Are you pleased with the design of the new house, Father?'

    'I should be. I more or less drew up the plans for it myself.'

    'With the help of Mr Redmayne,' she reminded him.

    'Well, yes,' he agreed. 'Redmayne actually did the drawings but they were based on ideas that were entirely my own. If I must have a house in London, it must conform exactly to my specifications. Redmayne appreciates that.'

    'He seems a most obliging young man.'

    'Obliging and capable.'

    'Have you seen anything that he designed?'

    'Only that bookshop of his,' said Sir Julius. 'It may be small but it's the finest building in Paternoster Row. Elijah Pembridge was thrilled with it and rightly so. He could not speak too highly of Christopher Redmayne.'

    'What else has he designed?' asked Susan.

    'A couple of houses in London, both far larger than the one I've commissioned.'

    'Where exactly are they?'

    'Why do you ask?'

    'I thought it might be amusing to take a look at them when I go into the city with Brilliana,' said Susan, trying to hide her curiosity. 'Mr Redmayne talked so fervently about his work that he aroused my interest.'

    'When was this? You hardly spoke to the man.'

    'I heard his voice through the door.'

    Sir Julius grinned. 'Eavesdropping, were you?'

    'Not at all,' she said without conviction. 'I just happened to be passing when the two of you were discussing the new house. It was impossible not to catch what he was saying about his work. Evidently, it's a labour of love.'

    'That's why I chose him. Redmayne has passion.'

    'Could you find out where these other houses are?'

    'Oh, I think you should do that for yourself, Susan.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'I may be old,' he said with a paternal smile, 'but I've not lost all my faculties yet. Talk to the fellow in person. Why pretend to be interested in architecture when your real interest is in the architect himself?'

    Christopher arrived just in time. Celia Hemmings was on the point of leaving her house in Bow Street when he presented himself at her door. She was a slim woman of medium height, impeccably attired in a low-necked, full-sleeved dress of pink satin with a billowing skirt that opened at the front to reveal an underskirt of a darker hue. Her face was heart-shaped her lips red and her eyes sparkling. Christopher could see what had attracted Gabriel Cheever to her. After introducing himself, he asked her to give him a few minutes alone in private.

    She was cautious. 'I am not in the habit of inviting strangers into my house.'

    'The news I carry ought not to be divulged on a doorstep,' he explained.

    'Why not, sir?'

    'I fear that it is of too heavy a nature.'

    'What does it concern?' she said.

    'A friend of yours - Gabriel Cheever.'

    She tensed. 'You have bad tidings of Gabriel?'

    'The worst, alas.'

    Celia Hemmings was alarmed. She invited him into the house and took him into the parlour. Christopher suggested that she sat down before he broke the news. Still wearing her wide-brimmed hat, she perched on the edge of a chair and waited with trepidation. Christopher lowered his voice.

    'Gabriel Cheever has passed away, I fear.'

    'Never!' she cried, hands moving involuntarily to her throat.

    'It happened a few days ago, Miss Hemmings.'

    'But Gabriel was so strong and healthy.'

    Christopher tried to be gentle. 'He did not die a natural death.'

    'He was murdered?'

    'I'm afraid so.'

    The woman was so shaken that he thought she was about to keel over, and he reached out a steadying hand. Seizing a handkerchief from her sleeve, she buried her face in it and sobbed uncontrollably Christopher was unable to console her. It was minutes before she dabbed at her eyes and looked up at him.

    'Forgive me, Mr Redmayne,' she said. 'Gabriel was a dear friend of mine.'

    'That is why I felt you had a right to know.'

    'What brought you to me?'

    'I came at my brother's suggestion. I believe you know Henry.'

    'Henry Redmayne?' she muttered. 'Yes, of course. I have met him on occasion.' She got up from the chair. 'But who committed this terrible crime? And why? Gabriel was the sweetest man in the world. Nobody could want to kill him. Has anyone been arrested? Tell me all.'

    Christopher gave her nothing but the details he had rehearsed on his way there, stressing the need for her help if the killer was to be brought to justice. Eyes still moist, she nodded her consent. The self-possessed young woman he had met at the door now looked weak and vulnerable. He persuaded her to resume her seat, and she removed her hat.

    'When did you last see Gabriel?' he asked.

    'Some months ago. We reached the parting of the ways.'

    'So I understand.'

    'It was not a sad event, Mr Redmayne,' she said. 'Gabriel Cheever was unlike any other man I know. There were no violent arguments or bitter recriminations. Thanks to him, it was almost painless. We parted on the most amicable terms.'

    'Did you keep in touch with him?'

    'Only through mutual friends. Then that suddenly stopped.'

    'Why?'

    'Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to disappear completely. I wondered if he had gone back