'But we are men of business with a need to get there soon.'
'I, too, have my needs,' said the old man. 'And I'll not be deflected by any aches and pains. In some ways, I welcome them.'
The merchant was amazed. 'You welcome them?'
'Indeed, I do.'
'But you've been in distress since we left Gloucester. You can barely walk.'
'It's a judgment on me,' said the Dean, 'and I accept God's punishment gladly.'
'Why should He punish a man like you?'
'That is what I am going to London to find out. And I mean to get there, sir,' he added with fierce determination. 'Even if I have to be tied across the saddle.'
Chapter Nine
Christopher Redmayne left the prison in a daze. The visit had been a revelation. His faith in Henry's innocence had not wavered but he wished that his brother had been more honest from the start. It was disturbing to hear it confirmed that the real cause of enmity with the fencing master had been rivalry for the hand of a woman, and it was even more alarming to discover her name. Lady Patience Holcroft was a noted beauty, a young lady of good family, who had dismayed her many admirers by accepting a proposal from a most unlikely suitor. In choosing Sir Ralph Holcroft, she had married wealth and political influence, making light of the substantial difference in their years and, it had seemed, enjoying her new status in society. Christopher did not mix in the same circles as the couple but even he had heard the gossip about the crusty old politician with the radiant young wife. Envy and curiosity kept that gossip bubbling away.
That his brother was involved with the lady was deeply worrying to Christopher. He could imagine how they met, for Henry mixed with the elite of society, and he could easily understand why he conceived a passion for her. What baffled him was that Patience Holcroft took the slightest interest in him, let alone reached the stage of requiting his love. Henry had had many dalliances in the past and his brother took care to know as little about them as possible. As a rule, they followed a familiar course from infatuation to conquest, and on to bitter recrimination. It pained Christopher to admit that, in matters of the heart, his brother had the ruthlessness of a true rake, luxuriating in the chase for its own sake before casting the object of his affection carelessly aside. This had patently not been the case with Patience Holcroft. Genuine love was actually involved for once. Henry was truly committed to the lady. To have her stolen away from him must have been a harrowing experience. It was no wonder that he harboured a grudge against Jeronimo Maldini.
As he walked home, Christopher wished that the lady could have been anyone else but Lady Holcroft. Her marital situation made it impossible for him to approach her directly. The irony was that she lived in a magnificent house in Fleet Street that he would pass on his way to Fetter Lane but he could hardly present himself at her front door. If her husband were there, Christopher could find himself in an embarrassing position and, even if he were not, the servants would be so loyal to their master that they would report the visit of a man with a name that had acquired a sudden notoriety. Henry Redmayne's arrest made his brother an outcast in the eyes of those who assumed the prisoner's guilt before it was proved in court. If Henry's relationship with the wife of Sir Ralph Holcroft were to come to light, there would be a huge scandal. Christopher knew that immense tact was required.
What Henry had flatly refused to tell his brother was how he had developed the acquaintance with Lady Holcroft into something far deeper. An intermediary must have been used and secret assignations made. Where had they taken place and who had carried messages between the two lovers? It was puzzling. Christopher was reminded that Henry's courtship had been ruined by the intervention of a rival. That raised the question of how Jeronimo Maldini contrived to meet and ensnare the lady. He had none of Henry's connections yet he managed somehow to supplant him in Lady Holcroft's affections. How were their secret meetings arranged and why did the Italian tire of her? Evidently, there was a way to communicate with her somehow. Christopher had to find it.
Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Susan Cheever. The few snatched moments he had shared with her in Richmond had given him the most intense pleasure. Whatever happened to his brother, she had emphasized, would make no difference to her feelings about Christopher. It was the most heartening news he had received since the arrest. Sir Julius Cheever had turned his back on the architect, as had Brilliana Serle and her husband, but Susan's fidelity was unshaken. In order to see him, she had risen at dawn and sneaked out of the house to the stables. A grave risk had been taken on his behalf and that added a decided spice to their encounter. Henry had talked about the thrill of the forbidden. Given the fact that he had savoured that thrill himself, his brother could hardly blame him for following the dictates of his heart. Susan Cheever might not be married to a politician of high standing but she was being deliberately kept away from Christopher. There was a deep satisfaction in being able to circumvent the efforts of her family.
What he had learned at Newgate made it even more imperative to find Captain Harvest. The man was in possession of information that could spark a scandal and cause greater hardship for Henry. If he had been such a close friend of Signor Maldini, the captain would be able to tell Christopher much more about the Italian than he had so far managed to establish. The three people who had talked to him about the fencing master had painted a picture of a vain, unfeeling, duplicitous man whom they had each left in turn, yet many other people had remained as pupils at the school and its reputation was high. When he put his mind to it, Jeronimo Maldini was clearly able to retain the custom of those he instructed. Christopher hoped that Captain Harvest would be able to tell him how he did it and, in the process, add a few kinder brush strokes to the communal portrait of the dead man.
A stiff breeze made him turn up his collar and lengthen his stride. Temperatures were milder but nobody could doubt that it was winter. Though the frost had abated and the ice was cracking up on the Thames, the citizens still had enough cause to grumble about the cold. Afternoon had shaded into evening by the time that Christopher turned into Fetter Lane and a gloom had descended. It was only when a pedestrian or a rider passed close by him that he could see them properly. He cheered himself with the thought of the warm fire that Jacob would have lit. It made him quicken his pace even more. So eager was he to get back to his house that he did not see the man who was lurking in the shadows nearby. When Christopher let himself in and closed the front door behind him, the man came out of his hiding place. He stared at the house with a smouldering hatred.
Brilliana Serle's headache was a boon to Susan. After exacting as much sympathy as she could, she retired to bed and left her sister alone in the parlour with her husband. Lancelot Serle was full of concern.
'Brilliana is rather prone to headaches,' he said.
'Has she discussed it with her doctor?' asked Susan.
'Endlessly. He's prescribed a medicine that she finds too unappetising to take.'
'Medicines are not supposed to be appetising, Lancelot.'
'My wife believes that they should be. At all events,' he went on with a reassuring smile, 'Brilliana will not be indisposed for long. The headaches rarely persist.'
'That's good to hear.'
Having spent the whole day under her eye, Susan Cheever was relieved by her sister's departure. It not only gave her a sense of freedom, it enabled her to have a private conversation with her brother-in-law. Lancelot Serle was a much more intelligent man than her father ever cared to appreciate. His breeding and his politics would never commend themselves to a gruff Parliamentarian like Sir Julius, who felt that his elder daughter was throwing herself away on a worthless fool. In fact, Serle was cultured, well-informed and effortlessly polite in a way that only served to enrage his father- in-law. Though he would never be her choice for a husband, Susan was very aware of his finer qualities and he, by the same token, recognised her virtues. It enabled them to be friends.
'Father will be back in Northamptonshire by now,' she noted.
Serle pulled a face. 'I can still hear his strictures of me.'
'Take no notice, Lancelot. He's critical of everybody.'
'But he saves his real venom for me. I pretend that it does not hurt, of course, but the wounds do smart. After all this time, I'd hoped that Sir Julius would have accepted me into the family.'
'Well, I do,' said Susan. 'Without complaint.'
'Thank you.'
'I did not believe that anyone could make Brilliana happy. Yet you've done so.'
'It does require hard work,' he confided, 'and considerable patience.'
'You have that in abundance.'
