Henry? I need a word with you.'
Henry nodded and led him to an empty table. Drinks were served, and Henry lit a pipe. Christopher sat back to avoid the smoke, consoling himself with the fact that his brother was unusually sober. At that time on a normal evening, Henry would be incapable of articulate conversation.
'I'm glad that you came, Christopher,' he said. 'I have news.'
'Of what?'
'Another demand.'
'You've had a third letter?' asked Christopher.
'No. Another victim has been singled out.'
'Who is it?'
'Peter Wickens.'
Henry told him about the unexpected visit from Wickens and described the calligraphy and the wording of the letter. Christopher was relieved to hear that his brother had urged his friend not to pay the demand.
'I knew that there would be more victims,' he said.
'He has dozens to choose from,' Henry remarked. 'Peter Wickens has had his wilder moments but there are plenty whose antics are far more outrageous than his. Will they be targets as well, do you think?'
'Most probably. If they appear in Gabriel Cheever's diary.'
'Who will be next?'
'Nobody - if we find the blackmailer.'
'How do we do that?' asked Henry gloomily.
'We are closer than you imagine,' said Christopher earnestly. 'I still believe that he is one of your own circle. He may even be here this evening. That is what brought me here tonight, Henry. I wish to speak to Arthur Lunn.'
'Arthur? You surely do not suspect him?'
'Everyone must be considered.'
'But he's a good friend to me and Sir Marcus.'
'Let me probe the strength of that friendship,' suggested Christopher. 'When time serves, invite him over and leave us to talk alone. Do not tell him why I am here. There is no point in putting him on the defensive at the start.'
Henry shook his head. 'Arthur Lunn? No, I'll not accept it.'
It was a long wait. Lunn was enjoying himself too much to be drawn away from the table. When he eventually did rise from his seat, Henry moved in swiftly to guide him across to Christopher. Lunn raised a cynical eyebrow.
'This is hardly your world, Mr Redmayne,' he observed drily. 'Have you come to gape in disgust at us hardened libertines?'
'No, Mr Lunn. I merely craved a word with you.'
'Speak up, then.'
'Gabriel Cheever once lodged with you, I gather.'
'All the world knows that.'
'Had he started to write at that time?'
'Why, yes,' said Lunn, adjusting his periwig. 'He scribbled away whenever he could. I thought that he was writing letters to his sister but he had literary ambitions.'
'Did he show you any of his work?'
'Bless you, no! Why should he?'
'You were close friends.'
'We drank, played cards and whored together, perhaps.'
'There was more to it than that, Mr Lunn. He lived under your roof.'
'Only until he made enough money to afford lodgings of his own.' Lunn gave a sudden chortle. 'As it happens, most of that money came from me at the card table. Even when he moved out, I was still helping to pay for his accommodation.'
'Did you resent that?' asked Christopher.
'A little, perhaps.'
'Was there anything else you resented about Gabriel?'
'Of course not,' replied the other. 'Why should there be?'
'He did vanish without trace,' Christopher reminded him.
Lunn was rueful. 'That's true. And I admit I was a trifle irritated by that.'
'I suggest that it was rather more than irritation, Mr Lunn.'
'What do you mean?'
'It must have been galling to be abandoned like that,' said Christopher.
'I was not abandoned!' retorted Lunn.
'Then why did Gabriel give no warning of his departure?'
'Who knows?'
'You must have felt badly let down.'
'That's my business,' snapped Lunn, temper starting to show.
'Why did you go to the funeral?' prodded Christopher.
'Celia Hemmings told you that. I was there to act as her escort.'
'I think you may have had a more personal reason, Mr Lunn.'
Lunn flared up. 'It was not for the pleasure of meeting you, Mr Redmayne.'
'Was it remorse that took you to Northamptonshire?' said Christopher. 'Or were you simply there to gloat over the dead body of a friend who deserted you?'
'I was gloating over nobody.'
'Are you pretending that you actually
'What is it to you?'
'I am curious, Mr Lunn. As you so rightly pointed out,' he said, waving a hand to include the whole room, 'this is not my world. But it is yours. A man who likes pleasure as much as you do would need a very strong motive to brave the highways of England for two whole days in order to spend a mere half an hour at a funeral.'
'Why are you pestering me like this?' demanded Lunn.
Christopher was calm. 'I am putting some simple questions to you, that is all.'
'Do not expect any answers from me, sir.'
'Why not? Do you have something to hide?'
'No,' snarled Lunn, jumping to his feet. 'Now leave me be.'
'If you tell me one last thing.'
'I'm rapidly losing my patience with you, Mr Redmayne.'
Christopher stood up. 'How much of Gabriel Cheever's diary did you read?'
Arthur Lunn turned purple and started to bluster. Mastering the urge to lash out at Christopher, he instead turned on his heel and stalked away. Henry sidled over to his brother with a look of alarm on his face.
'You upset him,' he said.
'I know, Henry. That was the intention.'
Lucy Cheever sat motionless in the chair. Her eyes were open but she was quite unaware of the fact that her sister-in-law sat directly opposite her. Susan waited patiently. It was not the first time that Lucy had been in the grip of her memories. A smile occasionally brushed her lips but sadness prevailed. When she finally shook herself awake, she was overcome with guilt at ignoring her guest.
'I am so sorry,' she said, reaching out to touch Susan. 'Do forgive me.'
'There is nothing to forgive.'
'I was daydreaming.'
'It's too late for daydreams, Lucy,' said Susan. 'Night is starting to fall.'
'Heavens! Have I been that long? You should have given me a nudge.'
'Why? You were exactly where you wanted to be.'
'I invited you here so that we could get to know each other better,' said Lucy apologetically. 'And all I do is
