her shoulders tighten. Evidently, it was a long missive that provoked serious thought. It was some time before Lady Holcroft faced her again. When she did so, her expression gave nothing away.
'What sort of man is Mr Christopher Redmayne?' she asked.
Christopher had never before been so relieved to see his servant. When Jacob returned to the house, bowed down with produce from the market, Lady Whitcombe was poring over the table with her master as they studied the design for her house. Christopher broke away at once, glad to escape from the rub of her shoulder against his and to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that he was, in some sense, a victim of intended blackmail. Lady Whitcombe was quite ruthless. Having commissioned a new home, she decided to acquire the architect as well. Jacob's return made further progress impossible for her and she soon withdrew, confident that she had achieved her objective.
It was not long before the Reverend Algernon Redmayne came back from his second visit to the prison. Over dinner together, he told Christopher how ill and forlorn his elder son had looked. Henry had been perplexed to hear of the latest assault on his brother and sent his deepest apologies. What pleased the Dean was that the prisoner seemed to be showing genuine remorse at last. He was taking responsibility for his actions and vowed to make amends if the chance were granted to him. It had obviously been a harrowing encounter for father and son, but the old man left with a degree of hope. Acknowledgement of sin was the first step towards redemption. His elder son, he felt, had finally taken that step.
Christopher intended to visit his brother as well but he had another call to make first. Wearing sword and dagger, he rode off in the direction of Sir Humphrey Godden's home to see if his own impression of the man matched that of Jonathan Bale. He got within thirty yards of the house when two figures emerged and had what appeared to be a lively argument. Sir Humphrey was gesticulating angrily and Martin Crenlowe was wagging a finger at him. At length, the goldsmith raised his palms to calm his friend then backed away. Christopher waited in the angle of a building so that Crenlowe did not see him as his carriage rolled past.
Sir Humphrey, too, was dressed to go out. Before he could walk off in the opposite direction, Christopher trotted up beside him and leaned over in the saddle.
'Good afternoon, Sir Humphrey!' he said, touching his hat.
'Ah, it's you,' grunted the other, coming to a halt.
'May I have a moment of your time?'
'If it really is a moment, Mr Redmayne.'
'I saw you talking to Mr Crenlowe just now,' remarked Christopher, dismounting from the horse. 'I thought the two of you were good friends.'
'We are, sir.'
'It did not look like it from where I was standing.'
'A slight difference of opinion, that's all,' said Sir Humphrey. 'When we meet again, it will all be forgiven and forgotten.'
'Which one of you has to forgive and forget?' He collected a glare by way of an answer. 'I gather that my friend, Jonathan Bale, called on you again.'
'Yes, Mr Redmayne. Is there any way that you can keep the fellow away from me? I find him the most unpleasant individual. He's so grim and tenacious.'
'He takes his work very seriously.'
'There's nothing more I can tell him.' His manner softened slightly. 'I was sorry to hear that you'd been attacked beside the river,' he said. 'Do you have any idea who the man was?'
'No, Sir Humphrey, but he was not content with giving me a dip in the Thames. If my guess is correct, he came back yesterday and attacked me with a cudgel. I still have the bruises to show for it.'
'Two assaults on you? Why?'
'To stop me finding out the truth about the murder.'
'You think that he was the killer?'
'I did, Sir Humphrey, but I'm not so sure now.' He appraised the other man. 'You look as if you are off on a pleasant afternoon stroll,' he observed. 'Nobody would suspect that one of your friends was rotting in Newgate on a charge of murder.'
'A false charge, Mr Redmayne.'
'It feels authentic enough to Henry. Why not go and ask him?'
'That's what Martin was saying to me. He may have been but I see no virtue in going to a prison. Henry knows that I'll back him. I stand by my friends.'
'Does that go for Captain Harvest as well?' He saw the other man tense. 'Jonathan must have told you how he ripped the mask off him. That's the value of being grim and tenacious, Sir Humphrey. You sniff out fraud. How much money did you give to your friend?'
'Nothing, sir.'
'Mr Crenlowe was certain that he'd come cap-in-hand to you first.'
'I've seen no sign of James - or whatever his name is.'
'Would you have told me, if you had?'
'No,' snapped Sir Humphrey. 'It's no business of yours.'
'It is if your friend was implicated in the murder of Signor Maldini.'
'That's an absurd notion.'
'Mr Crenlowe shares it. Is that what the two of you were arguing about?'
'No!'
'Or was he reproaching you for lending money to a proven impostor?'
'What Martin and I said is a matter between the two of us.' He made an effort to rein in his temper. 'Listen, Mr Redmayne. I admire you for what you are doing and I'll be the first to congratulate Henry when this ridiculous charge is finally exposed for what it is. Beyond that, there's nothing I can do.'
'You might try telling the truth, Sir Humphrey.'
'That's an insult!'
'It was not meant to be,' said Christopher. 'It's a heartfelt plea for information that can lead us to the man who did kill the fencing master. You may choose to absolve the man known as Captain Harvest but I'd not dispense with him so easily. He has much to answer for, Sir Humphrey. Where can we find him?'
'How should I know?'
'Because you are the person to whom he's likely to turn.'
'Well, he did not!' rejoined the other, reddening visibly. 'Do you and Mr Bale not understand the English language? James - Captain Harvest -call him what you will - has not been anywhere near me. Now, you can either believe me or not.'
After looking him full in the eye, Christopher mounted his horse again.
'I think that I prefer to believe Jonathan Bale,' he said.
A return to the Hope and Anchor, and a second visit to the tenement, had both been in vain. Hannah Liggett was not in the former and had not been seen in the latter since the previous day. Jonathan had once again taken the precaution of shedding the attire he wore as a constable. Dressed as a shipwright and walking beside the river, he felt the pull of his old trade. It had been laborious work but it had brought in a regular wage and was fraught with none of the hazards he met as a humble constable. The moments he had savoured most were when the ships he had helped to build were finally launched into service. Even those occasions, however, rewarding as they were, did not give him the intense satisfaction he got from arresting a dangerous criminal.
After eating a frugal dinner in an ordinary, he trudged back along Thames Street. What he expected to glean from a visit to the prison, he did not know but he felt that he should at least try to speak to Henry Redmayne. He also wanted to find out how the man had coped with imprisonment. That could be telling. When he got to Newgate, he reported to the prison sergeant who recognised him at once.
'What's this, Jonathan?' he said, looking at his clothing. 'A constable no more?'
'I'm an officer of the law, whatever I wear.'
'Who have you brought for us today?'
'Nobody, Isaac,' said Jonathan. 'I've come to visit a prisoner. Henry Redmayne.'
'Mr Redmayne, eh?' The sergeant checked his ledger. 'He's a popular man.'
'What do you mean?'
