The Frost Fair

Christopher tensed himself. As the cudgel descended again, he grabbed the man's wrist and twisted hard but the weapon was not dislodged. It flailed around in his face. With a supreme effort, Christopher swung the man's arm against the wall so that the cudgel was dashed from his hand.

    Letting out a cry of pain, his attacker pushed him away and ran back down the passageway. Christopher flung back his cloak and groped for his sword but the man did not want to duel with him. Instead, he pulled a dagger from his belt and threw it hard. Christopher dodged in the nick of time. After missing his face by inches, the dagger embedded itself in the side of the stable with a thud. The man took to his heels. Christopher was too groggy to give pursuit but he staggered out into Fetter Lane in time to see him mounting a horse before riding off at speed.

    It had all happened so quickly that Christopher did not get a chance to look properly at the man. All that he knew was that his adversary was young, slim and wiry with a hat pulled down over his face. One thing was evident. It was certainly not the man he had known as Captain Harvest. As he swayed uncertainly on his feet, he did not know whether to be reassured or disappointed by that fact. A moment later, Jacob came hurrying out of the house with a lantern in one hand and a dagger in the other. He saw the blood on his master's face.

    'What happened, Mr Redmayne!' he exclaimed.

    'Someone was lying in wait for me, Jacob.'

    'Are you badly hurt, sir?'

    'I'm bruised and bloodied, but it could have been far worse.'

    'It's my fault,' wailed Jacob. 'I meant to come out when I heard the horse but your father was busy giving me instructions. Come inside, Mr Redmayne. I'll clean that the wound for you and bind it up.'

    'See to the horse first,' said Christopher, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. 'I'm not sure that I can manage that just yet. Oh, there's something I forgot,' he added, going back to the stable to retrieve the dagger. 'This was meant for me.'

       Jonathan Bale's visit to the house in Covent Garden had been instructive. Sir Humphrey Godden had denied any knowledge of the whereabouts of the former Captain Harvest with such vehemence that the constable knew that he was lying. That meant either that the impostor had already been to him in the hope of borrowing money, or, more worryingly, that Sir Humphrey was somehow working in league with the man. If the latter were the case, Jonathan decided, it explained why Sir Humphrey had insisted that his friend could not be guilty of the crime. He would have been deliberately shielding an accomplice. There was no doubting the intensity of Sir Humphrey's open hatred of the Italian fencing master. It gave him an obvious motive for murder.

    The important thing was to catch the bogus soldier as soon as possible. Jonathan did not think that the man would necessarily leave London. Someone who could evade a succession of creditors with such ease knew how to lose himself in the populous city. As long as he had money to sustain himself, he might go to ground somewhere. Jonathan set out in search of him, having first called at his house to change his clothing. It was an occasion when a common man would be more likely to gather intelligence than a constable. His long black coat was therefore replaced by the garb that he had once worn as a shipwright. It would help Jonathan to blend in more easily.

    Since he had twice found his quarry at a tavern in Whitefriars, he knew that the man would not return there. Instead, he went to the Hope and Anchor, the riverside inn where Christopher Redmayne had encountered the quondam Captain Harvest. It was only half-full but the atmosphere was still rowdy. A fierce quarrel was taking place between two watermen who berated each other with mouth-filling oaths. Another man was arguing over the price that an ageing prostitute was putting on her dubious favours. Three drunken sailors were singing out of tune. Jonathan ordered a tankard of beer and bided his time. When the noise finally died down a little, he sidled across to the innkeeper.

    'I was hoping to see a friend of mine in here,' he said, looking around.

    'And who might that be?' asked the other, a stocky man with bulging forearms.

    'Captain Harvest. We agreed to play cards in here this evening.'

    The innkeeper smirked. 'Oh, I think that the captain has another game in mind.'

    'Does he often come in here?'

    'Only when he needs some money and some comfort.'

    'Comfort?'

    'Captain Harvest has an eye for the ladies, sir,' said the man. 'One in particular brings him to the Hope and Anchor. She's done it time and again.'

    'Who is she?'

    'That would be telling.'

    'If he's not coming in this evening, I need to get a message to him.'

    'Leave it with me. I'll pass it on.'

    'How will you do that?' The innkeeper ignored him and used a cloth to wipe the counter between them. 'I've good news for the captain,' resumed Jonathan. 'It could bring him some money.' He put his hand on his purse. 'There'd be something in it for you, my friend, if you could tell me where he is.'

    The innkeeper was suspicious. 'Who are you?' he asked.

    'I told you. I'm a friend of Captain Harvest.'

    'What's your trade?'

    'I'm a shipwright.'

    'Oh?' said the innkeeper, looking him up and down. 'A shipwright, eh? You've the hands for it, I grant you, but that proves nothing. Which ships have you worked on?'

    'The last was the Mercury,' said Jonathan, naming a vessel that had been launched only months ago. 'We needed the oak from almost six hundred trees to build her. It was nearer seven hundred for the Silver Spirit. I was working at Chatham when we built her. I could tell you exactly how we constructed the hull. Would you like me to take you through the mysteries of my trade?'

    'No, sir,' said the other. 'I believe you. But I had to make sure.'

    'You were right. Never trust a stranger. It's a good rule.' He put some coins on the counter. 'But I'd still like to speak to Captain Harvest.'

    The innkeeper eyed the money. 'I'm not sure where he is this evening.'

    'But you have some idea, I can see that. Who is this particular lady you speak of?'

    'That would be Hannah Liggett.'

    'Does she work here?'

    'Yes,' said the man, 'that's why the captain always comes back when he needs a bed for the night. Hannah is sweet on him. He'll leave her for months on end but she never turns him away when he shows up here.'

    'Where is she now?' asked Jonathan.

    'Hannah won't be in for days yet.'

    'Does that mean she's with the captain?' The innkeeper was staring at the money. Jonathan added two more coins. 'How would I find this Hannah Liggett?'

    The man swept up the money. 'She lives no more than a short walk away.'

       When Jacob had cleaned him up, Christopher Redmayne still looked in a sorry state. His father stood over him and clicked his tongue in consternation.

    'Attacked on your own doorstep!' he said. 'What a violent city this is!'

    'Violence is everywhere, Father,' said Christopher, seated on a chair while Jacob bound his head with a strip of linen. 'You have your share of it in Gloucester, I daresay.'

    'Not on this scale. Bishop Henchman was complaining about it earlier. He told me that he feels like a King Canute, vainly trying to hold back the tide of villainy. We have our malefactors in Gloucester but they do not try to murder you outside your own house. That is insupportable.'

    'I managed to fight him off.'

    'But look at the injury he inflicted on you.'

    Christopher winced at the reminder. The scalp wound smarted and his arms and shoulders ached from the bruising blows. He was glad that Susan Cheever could not see him at that moment. He felt battered.

    'We'll pray together later,' said the Dean, 'and thank God for your deliverance.'

    'Yes, Father.'

    'Bishop Henchman will hear of this.'

    'You must not trouble the Bishop of London with my misfortunes.'