The Frost Fair

certainty than before.

    When he got back to Addle Street, he found his wife cleaning the house with a broom. After collecting a kiss from him, Sarah passed on her news.

    'Jacob called here earlier on,' she said.

    'Jacob?'

    'Mr Redmayne's servant.'

    'Oh,' said Jonathan. 'That Jacob. What did he want?'

    'To give you a message. Mr Redmayne had to go out of London today. He'll not be back until tomorrow but is anxious to speak to you then.'

    'I'm just as eager to talk to him, Sarah, and hoped to do so this evening.'

    'Jacob saved you a wasted journey to Fetter Lane.'

    'So it seems.' He looked around. 'Where are the boys?'

    'Oliver is in the kitchen and Richard is upstairs. I had to separate them.'

    'Why?'

    'For the usual reason,' she said, leaning on her broom. 'They were arguing over who first saw that body in the ice. Oliver insists that it was him even though he knows perfectly well that it was Richard.'

    'They must try to forget the whole thing, not argue about it.'

    'That's what I told them, Jonathan.'

    'I'll speak to Oliver later,' he decided, crossing to the staircase. 'Richard is the one who needs most attention. I'll not be long.'

    As he ascended the steps, they creaked under his weight. Jonathan went into the little room at the rear of the house where his sons slept. Richard was huddled in a corner with his collar turned up against the cold.

    'It's warmer downstairs by the fire,' said his father, kneeling beside him.

    'I was sent up here.'

    'Only because you and Oliver were bickering again. I warned you about that.'

    'I'm sorry.'

    'We both know that you were the first person to see that poor wretch in the ice,' said Jonathan, slipping an arm around the boy. 'Nobody can dispute it. I'll make sure that Oliver understands that. But it's time to put it behind you, Richard.'

    'I've tried, Father. I've tried so hard.'

    'Does it still prey on your mind?'

    'Day and night.'

    Jonathan gave him an affectionate squeeze. 'The memory will fade away in time.'

    'Not until it's all over.'

    'Over?'

    'That man was murdered. Someone has to pay for that.'

    'He will, Richard.'

    'When he does, I may stop thinking about it.'

    'I hope so, son.'

    The boy looked up at him. 'Do you know the man?'

    'The victim?'

    'No, the one who killed him. Mother says he's in prison.'

    'Yes,' said Jonathan. 'He's locked away in Newgate so you need have no fears about him. And I do know the man slightly, though he's no friend of mine.'

    'What's his name?'

    'Never mind about that.'

    'I want to know, Father.'

    'You know too much already.'

    It was not the only reason that he held back the name of Henry Redmayne from his son. Both boys were very fond of Henry's brother. Christopher had been very kind to them and, on one occasion, even read to them from the Bible when they were in bed. To tell them that the murder suspect was his elder brother would be to destroy their faith in the architect and Jonathan did not want to do that. If and when Henry was convicted, it might be impossible to keep the name from them. Until that time, however, Jonathan wanted the suspect to remain anonymous.

    'Did you help to catch him, Father?' asked the boy.

    'No, Richard.'

    'But you're helping in some way?'

    'That's part of my job.'

    'When are they going to hang him?'

    'There has to be a trial first.'

    'But they know that he did it.'

    'They believe that they do,' corrected Jonathan. 'There's evidence against him and it will be presented in court in due course.'

    'Will they hang him then?'

    'If he's found guilty.'

    'Oliver wants to be there,' said the boy. 'So do I. Will you take us, Father?'

    'No!'

    'But we'd like to see him hang for what he's done.'

    'You'll do nothing of the kind,' said Jonathan sternly, 'and you're not to talk about it with Oliver ever again. Do you understand? As far as you're concerned, the matter is over and done with. Forget all about it, Richard. Pretend that it never happened.'

        It was late afternoon before Christopher Redmayne finally rode away from Whitcombe Manor and it required an effort of will to do so. Lady Whitcombe had pressed him to stay, offering him a bed for the night and doing all she could by way of persuasion. It was a tempting offer. Under other circumstances, he might have accepted since he felt far too weary to travel back to London but something prompted him to leave. During the long discussion they had over dinner about the new house, Christopher became aware of Letitia's growing fondness for him. It became so obvious that it was embarrassing. Letitia praised his drawings, hung on his every word and never took her eyes off him. Every time she giggled aloud at one of his remarks, he cringed. What convinced him that he should depart was the fact that Lady Whitcombe quit the table at one point and left him alone with the daughter. Letitia was too gauche and unsophisticated to initiate an intelligent conversation herself so she merely agreed enthusiastically with everything that he said. Christopher's discomfort increased markedly. It was one thing to be promoted from architect to friend of the family but Letitia, abetted by her mother, seemed to have an even closer relationship in mind for him. Escape was imperative.

    Back in the saddle, he rode swiftly in the direction of Richmond. When he came to a wayside inn, he stayed long enough to reserve a room for the night before continuing his journey. Silhouetted against the darkening sky, Serle Court eventually came into sight on its high eminence. Christopher was not impressed with it as a piece of architecture. It looked striking from afar but had too many contradictory elements in it to appeal to his taste. Its jagged outline was a denial of symmetry. He felt such a great need to see Susan Cheever once more that he did not even think of postponing his visit until the following morning when he would be in a better physical condition. At such a difficult time, Christopher sought the warmth of her friendship and the reassurance of her support.

    Reaching the house, he dismounted, tethered his horse and rang the bell. The prospect of meeting her again helped him to shrug off his exhaustion. When the door was opened, Christopher introduced himself to the manservant and asked if he might see Susan. He was invited into the hall while the man went off to pass on his request. It produced an immediate response. The door of the parlour opened and a woman came bustling out but it was not Susan Cheever. It was her sister, Brilliana, and her mood was anything but hospitable.

    'What on earth are you doing here, Mr Redmayne?' she asked indignantly.

    'I was hoping to see your sister.'

    'You came all the way from London for that purpose?'

    'No, Mrs Serle,' he explained. 'I was visiting a client in Sheen. As I was so close, I thought I would take the