'Arthur and I thought to visit Mrs Curtis tonight.'
'I have other plans,' said Henry, quailing at the thought. 'Give her my apologies.'
Wickens grinned. 'There's only one way to apologise to a lady, Henry, and it does not involve an exchange of words. Mrs Curtis has been asking after you.'
'I'll not keeping her waiting long.'
Wickens was about to reply when one of the men at the table threw down his cards in disgust and got up. Annoyed at his losses, the man stormed out of the room. Peter Wickens moved swiftly. Before anyone else could take the vacant seat, he lowered himself into it and spread a smile around the other players. Sir Marcus Kemp gave him a nod of welcome then waited for the next round of cards to be dealt. They were soon lost in yet another game. Henry envied his two friends. Peter Wickens had no shadow hanging over him and Sir Marcus had found a way to ignore his problems. Henry could do nothing but stand there and suffer. It was excruciating. While everyone else in the room was enjoying himself immensely, Henry Redmayne was under sentence of death.
Susan Cheever was deeply worried about her father. Since his return from the morgue he had hardly spoken a word. Seated in a chair at the house in Fetter Lane, he brooded in silence. His face was drained of colour, his body of energy. Sir Julius looked as if he had just been dazed by a violent blow. Christopher set the brandy beside him.
'Drink that, Sir Julius,' he counselled.
His guest did not even hear him. Susan picked up the glass and offered it to her father, putting a hand on his shoulder at the same time. Her voice was a gentle caress.
'Take some of this, Father. It's brandy.' He waved it away. 'It will do you good.'
'I want nothing, Susan.'
'You look ill.'
'Should I call a doctor, Sir Julius?' suggested Christopher.
The old man bristled. 'Whatever for?'
'You seem unwell.'
'There's nothing the matter with me.'
'I'm delighted to hear it.'
'I have much on my mind that is all.'
'Naturally, Sir Julius.'
Before her father could lapse back into silence, Susan leaned forward in her seat. 'Perhaps it is time for us to leave,' she said gently. 'Mr Redmayne has been kindness itself but we have imposed on him far too much already and we need to find accommodation for the night.'
'You have found it, Miss Cheever,' said Christopher, opening his palms. 'If you have nowhere to stay, I insist that you remain as my guests.'
'That would be an abuse of your hospitality.'
'Treat my home as your own.'
'I think it better if Father and I withdraw.'
'Why?' said Christopher persuasively. 'You and Sir Julius can sleep here while your coachman spends the night at an inn in Holborn. We have ample room. There's fresh bed linen and Jacob will happily provide anything else that you require. Do please honour me by staying under my roof, Miss Cheever.'
Susan was clearly tempted by the notion but felt unable to make the decision on her father's behalf. The time she had spent alone with Christopher had been pleasant and restorative. It had helped to lift her out of her sombre mood. She felt completely at ease in his house. However, while wanting to accept the invitation, she had reservations about doing so. Sir Julius swept them aside.
'Thank you, Mr Redmayne,' he murmured. 'If we may, we'll be your guests.'
'For as long as you wish, Sir Julius.'
'One night will be sufficient.'
'I'll make arrangements at once.'
Christopher got up to go into the kitchen, closing the door behind him so that he could have a private conversation with Jacob. The servant was cleaning some silverware by the light of a candle. Christopher could not keep the excitement out of his voice.
'Sir Julius and his daughter are staying the night, Jacob.'
'I know, sir. I took the liberty of preparing rooms for them.'
'You will need to speak to their coachman.'
'I've already done so, sir,' said Jacob complacently. 'We unloaded the luggage together. On my recommendation, he is on his way to the King's Head. He'll find lodging there.' He looked up with a smile. 'I read your mind sir. I knew that you would offer them hospitality.'
'You were ahead of me as usual.'
'Will the visitors require supper?'
'In time, perhaps. Sir Julius is still recovering from his ordeal.'
Christopher went back to the parlour to be given a smile of gratitude by Susan Cheever. Tired and drawn, she was still more concerned about her father's condition than her own fatigue. Sir Julius had drifted off into another reverie, grinding his teeth. Susan waited until Christopher had resumed his seat before she spoke to her father.
'What happened?' she asked quietly.
'What happened?' repeated Sir Julius. 'I saw the dead body of my son.'
'You should have let me come with you, Father.'
'No, Susan.'
'I could have helped you through it.'
'Nobody could have done that,' he said mournfully. 'Gabriel and I needed to be alone together once more, if only for a brief while. I'm grieved that it took something like this to mend the rift between us. What kind of a father have I been to him?' he said in a rare moment of self-doubt. 'Can I only love a son after he's been murdered?'
'You must not blame yourself, Sir Julius,' said Christopher.
'Yes, I must. I drove Gabriel away.'
'He would have gone, whatever you did' argued Susan. 'Gabriel was restless. He wanted to strike out on his own.'
'Do not remind me.'
'It no longer matters now.'
'Oh, it does,' he said soulfully. 'It does.'
'Did you make all the arrangements?'
'I tried to, Susan. But there is a problem I never anticipated.'
'A problem?'
'Yes,' he said with a note of disbelief. 'It seems that I was not the first member of the family to identify the body. Someone I did not even know existed went to the morgue before me - a young lady claiming to be Gabriel's wife.'
Susan's face remained impassive but Christopher could guess at her anxiety.
'Mrs Lucy Cheever,' continued the old man. 'That was the name she gave. And she showed the coroner legal proof of her marriage so he could not deny her access. I want the body to be taken back home to be buried in the family vault, but this mystery wife wishes to be at the funeral as well. That's what has shocked me,' he confessed. 'I cared so little about my own son that he could not even tell me he was married. Think what that poor woman must be going through. She is not only denied any contact with his family, she has now lost Gabriel himself. She must be in despair.'
'I hope that she'll be allowed to attend the funeral,' said Christopher.
'It would be cruel to keep her away.'
'Did the coroner give you her address? I'll gladly act as an intermediary.'
Sir Julius was brusque. 'Thank you, Mr Redmayne, but this is family business. I may have spurned my son but I'll not turn my back on my daughter-in-law. The lady lives in Knightrider Street. I'll call on her tomorrow.'
'Let me go with you, Father,' urged Susan.
