'If he is innocent.'
'If he is guilty, he deserves to suffer the full rigour of the law. If my brother killed a man in a drunken brawl, I would hesitate to lift a finger in his defence. But that's not the case, Jonathan,' he argued. 'Henry could not have committed this crime and I'll not rest until I've proved that.' He looked deep into his friend's eyes. 'Will you help me?'
'I am already making enquiries that relate to this investigation.'
'I know,' said Christopher. 'Signor Maldini lodged not far from you. But I would ask you to go further afield. This watchman, for instance. You'll find him much quicker than I would and win his confidence more easily.'
Jonathan was cynical. 'The right coins will do that.'
'I need a partner in this enterprise. I'm too guided by filial love to see everything as clearly as I should. That's why your help would make such a difference, Jonathan. You are cool, detached and objective.'
'There are others with those same qualities.'
'I'm asking
'Then you've come to the wrong man, Mr Redmayne.'
Christopher was hurt. 'Why? We've worked so well together in the past.'
'That was different. We were both of one mind in the past.'
'What are you telling me?'
'What honesty compels me to say,' replied Jonathan uneasily. 'You assume your brother's innocence but I cannot bring myself to do that. On the face of it, the evidence against him is too strong. He threatened Signor Maldini in the hearing of others, and he had the motive, means and opportunity to carry out that threat. His only defence is that he was too drunk to recall what he did. If you'd heard that excuse offered in court as many times as I have, you'd know how unwise it is to believe it.'
'I thought that I could count on you above all others.' Jonathan's face was impassive. 'If you are not ready to help me, why did you bother to come?' His visitor averted his gaze. 'Will you proceed on this basis, then?' asked Christopher, anxious to have an ally. 'Work to establish Henry's guilt while I struggle to prove his innocence. We can still carry on side by side. Sooner or later, one of us will have to change his mind.' He knelt before his friend. 'I'd not ask this of anyone else, Jonathan. Help me. Please.'
'Help you to send your brother to the gallows?'
'No,' said Christopher. 'Help me to find the man who did kill Signor Maldini?'
Chapter Five
Devoted to a life of outward show, Henry Redmayne had never felt the need to look beyond his reflection in a mirror at the inner man. He was now forced to do so and found it a thoroughly disagreeable experience. It soon dawned on him that he had neither the character nor the strength to cope with the predicament in which he found himself. Gregarious by nature, he was lost when cut off from human company of the kind that he favoured. Yet he shuddered at the thought that any of his acquaintances should see him in such distress, locked away in a grimy cell, deprived of even the most basic comforts, drooping with fatigue and trembling with fear. In his fevered mind, the prospect of execution was a very real one. Henry knew that it would be preceded by a series of other humiliations. His name would be besmirched, his friends would fall away, his enemies would rejoice and his family would suffer horrendously. It was that same family which now preoccupied the prisoner.
While his brother, Christopher, was standing by him with unquestioning loyalty, his father would definitely take a more trenchant view of his plight. Henry was as terrified of the Dean of Gloucester as he was of the hangman. At least he would not have to endure a blistering sermon from the latter. Overcome with guilt, he could not bear the notion of being confronted by an outraged parent in homiletic vein, yet the truth could not be hidden from his father. One thing he had learned about the Church was its remarkable capacity for disseminating bad tidings. A messenger might already be on his way to Gloucester and he would not return to London alone. The Reverend Algernon Redmayne, stirred into action, would surely accompany him, armed with stinging rebukes and dire predictions about his elder son's reception at the Last Judgement. It would be worse than being flayed alive. Henry was unequal to it. Falling to his knees in the straw, he prayed, with a fervour he usually reserved for amorous encounters, that his father was kept away from him by whatever means.
The grating of a key in the lock made him jump to his feet and flatten himself against the wall, frightened that the Almighty had spurned his request and delivered the Dean of Gloucester to scourge him for his sins. When someone stepped into his cell, Henry did not dare to look. The door was locked behind the visitor.
'My dear fellow!' said a kindly voice. 'Look at the state of you!'
Henry peered at him. 'Is that you, Martin?' he asked, torn between gratitude and embarrassment. 'What are you doing here?'
'I came to see you and to bring you some sustenance.'
Martin Crenlowe was a fleshy man in his thirties with a reddish tinge to his nose and cheeks. A goldsmith by trade, Crenlowe had expensive tastes in clothing. His periwig framed a podgy face that was creased with sympathy. He was a fastidious man who had taken the precaution of carrying a pomander to ward off the stink of Newgate and the risk of infection. He had also brought a flagon of wine and some food. Unhappy at being seen in such a miserable condition, Henry was revived by the sight of the turkey pie, cheese and fruit. He accepted them with profuse thanks.
'It's good to know that one of my friends has not disowned me,' he said.
'Why should I disown you?'
'Because I'm held here on a charge of murder.'
'I know,' said Crenlowe, shifting his feet uneasily. 'I came to apologise for my part in that. I do not believe for one moment that you were the killer, Henry, but they put me under oath and I was compelled to speak the truth. I was there when it happened. I heard you threaten Signor Maldini.'
'I've never denied it.'
'The three of us had to bear witness against you. Sir Humphrey Godden, Captain Harvest and myself. We had no choice.'
'I do not blame you for that, Martin.'
'But our evidence helped to land you in Newgate. Can you ever forgive us?'
'You spoke honestly. I did threaten to kill him.'
'Only because you were sorely provoked,' said Crenlowe. 'And there's all the difference in the world between a wild threat uttered in the heat of the moment and the determination to carry it out. Let them say what they will. I'll never accept that Henry Redmayne is a ruthless killer, nor will Sir Humphrey.'
'What of Captain Harvest?'
Crenlowe sighed. 'James has let you down badly, alas.'
'In what way?'
'He's convinced of your guilt and is telling everyone who'll listen to him that you are a dangerous man with a temper you could not control. Sir Humphrey and I are so appalled by his behaviour that we've cut him dead.'
'The villain!'
'Forget him, Henry. Lean on your friends.'
'I did not know that I still had any.'
'One stands before you,' said Crenlowe loyally, 'and there are others who do not doubt your innocence. If there's any way that we can help, you've only to ask.'
'Your visit has been a medicine in itself, Martin. It's cured my one malady - the fear that the whole of London had turned against me. As for help,' said Henry, 'the person you must turn to is my brother, Christopher. He's trying to marshal my defence and would welcome aid from any source. He lives in Fetter Lane.'
'You once pointed out the house to me.' He heard the key in the lock again. 'My time is up. I was only permitted a brief moment with you.'
'You've brought me more comfort than I can say.'
'Enjoy the wine,' said Crenlowe as the door creaked open. 'And do not despair, Henry. We'll get you out of this somehow.'
'God bless you!'
The house was in Covent Garden and Christopher Redmayne spent several minutes admiring its exterior
