The Frost Fair

all but met on the bridge of his nose. The stranger had the ready grin and easy manner of a born adventurer. He wore a bright red coat that was frayed slightly at the edges and a wide-brimmed hat that he doffed with a flourish.

    'Captain James Harvest, at your service, sir,' he announced.

    'Good,' said Jonathan, relieved that he had finally caught up with him. 'My name is Jonathan Bale and I've been searching for you all morning.'

    'A not unusual situation, alas. Constables are forever barking at my heels.'

    'I only came to ask a few questions, sir.'

    'Then I shall endeavour to provide you with a few answers, Mr Bale.' Replacing his hat, Harvest scrutinized him for a moment. 'You were a military man, I think.'

    'I've borne arms, Captain Harvest, it's true.'

    'For whom did you fight? King and country?'

    'I fought for a just cause.'

    'Then I applaud you, sir,' said Harvest. 'A soldier who is driven by belief in a cause is worth ten whose swords can be hired for money. So, you were one of Noll's men, were you? He was a doughty commander. I fought against him three times and was thrice hounded from the battlefield.' He nodded towards the inn. 'Shall we step inside?' he suggested, sheathing his sword. 'That little bout has made me thirsty and my pupil owes me a drink.'

    'I'd rather speak to you out here where we have some privacy.'

    'As you wish, Mr Bale.'

    'I believe that you were a friend of Mr Henry Redmayne.'

    'I knew him,' conceded Harvest with a frown, 'but I'd hardly describe myself as a friend. I always found him too smug and self-satisfied to merit my friendship. Henry was a silly man at bottom. I did not care for him at all.'

    'Yet you spent time with him.'

    'Only when it was necessary.'

    'How did you meet Mr Redmayne?'

    'By chance. We were taught by the same fencing master, not far from here, as it happens. When it comes to swordsmanship, Whitefriars has some of the finest tutors in London. We were fortunate to study with the best of them.'

    'Signor Jeronimo Maldini.'

    'The very same.'

    'I would not have thought that you needed lessons, Captain Harvest. With your experience, you should have been a fencing master yourself.'

    'Why, so I am when occasion serves,' said the other, tapping the hilt of his rapier. 'But I like to keep my art in repair and Jeronimo did that for me. He also employed me to practice with novices in return for a modest fee. I taught as I learned.'

    'Did you ever teach Mr Redmayne?'

    'He thought himself above that,' said Harvest, 'and spurned my offer. Jeronimo soon cut him down to size and made him look the arrant fool that he was.'

    'The two men fell out, I believe.'

    'They were never kindred spirits, Mr Bale.'

    'Why not?'

    'Because Henry was too irredeemably English. In other words, he was haughty, selfish and quite unable to turn his gaze beyond our narrow shores.'

    'A common complaint, sir.'

    'Henry seemed to think that he had a divine right to look down on other nations, especially Italy. His condescension knew no bounds. If he'd seen as much of the world as I have, he'd know that every country has valuable lessons to teach us.' Harvest took a step closer. 'Have you ever met Henry Redmayne?'

    'Yes, Captain. A number of times.'

    'What was your opinion of the man?'

    'It's immaterial.'

    'Nevertheless, I'd like to hear it.'

    'He's not a person I could readily admire,' admitted Jonathan. 'But, then, nor am I the sort of companion that he would ever seek.'

    'What was your trade before you became a constable?'

    'I was a shipwright.'

    'A good, honest, worthwhile occupation.' He gave a ripe chuckle. 'I could see from the size of your shoulders and the roughness of your hands that you were not a ladies' hairdresser. There's the difference between the two of you, Mr Bale. You served the Navy with the strength of your arm and sweat of your brow. Henry pretends to work at the Navy Office but spends most of his time at play.'

    'I'm aware of his habits, Captain Harvest.'

    'So why did you come to me?'

    'For confirmation of certain facts. Mr Redmayne, as you know, is in prison.'

    'And rightly so. He stabbed Jeronimo Maldini to death.'

    'That remains to be proved in a court of law.'

    'I need no lawyers to tell me who the killer was.'

    'You supped with him that night.'

    'So?'

    'What state was he in when he left you?'

    'Quivering with anger.'

    'At Signor Maldini?'

    'Who else?' asked Harvest. 'Henry loathed the man and made no secret of it. He claimed that Jeronimo once cheated at cards but his hatred went deeper. When two men are at each other's throats like that, there's usually only one reason for it.'

    'A pretty woman?' said Jonathan.

    'A beautiful woman, Mr Bale. A truly gorgeous and enchanting young lady who had every red-blooded man in London lusting after her. Henry Redmayne was among them, convinced that she'd bestow her favours on him. Then Jeronimo Maldini joined in the hunt and that was that.'

    'Was it?'

    'Well, you've seen Henry. His good looks deserted him years ago. He could never forgive Jeronimo for being so young, dashing and handsome. Fencing is not the only skill in which the Italians are superior to us. They are also proficient in the arts of seduction.' He chuckled again. 'It was a terrible blow to Henry's self-esteem. He not only lost the lady in question. He surrendered her to a despised rival, who, in his opinion, came from a lower order of creation.'

    'How can you be sure that he murdered Signor Maldini?'

    'Because it was on his mind when he left the tavern that night.'

    'Mr Redmayne claims that the man was lying in wait for him.'

    Harvest gave a contemptuous snort. 'He would! It was the other way round, Mr Bale, mark my words. It was Henry who laid the ambush. He caught Jeronimo off guard. That was the only way he could have secured an advantage over him,' he said, thrusting his beard close to Jonathan's face. 'Henry could never hope to beat him in a fair fight so he stabbed him in the back then threw the body in the river.'

    'What evidence do you have to support that belief?'

    'The evidence of my own eyes,' affirmed Harvest, widening them for effect. 'Henry Redmayne is a killer. I'd stake my reputation on it.'

        Christopher Redmayne spent the whole afternoon with the lawyer whom he engaged to take charge of his brother's defence but the man was unable to give him any grounds for optimism. By the time he left, Christopher was more worried than ever. It was early evening as he began the walk home and the light was fading. Frost and ice had been expelled from the city but the thaw had left the streets wet and slippery. Christopher moved along