The Frost Fair

     By the time that Christopher Redmayne arrived at the prison, his brother had recovered from the shock of the attack in his cell but his neck still bore an ugly red souvenir. He stroked it ruefully as he explained what had happened. Christopher was shinned.

    'He tried to kill you, Henry?'

    'He would have succeeded, had not your friend, Mr Bale, pulled him off me. I could never bring myself to like that constable but I owe him my sincere gratitude.'

    'I hope that you had the grace to tell him that.'

    'I did my best,' said Henry, 'though my throat was on fire at the time.'

    'Why did they let the man into your cell in the first place?'

    'He told them he was a friend and bribed the prison sergeant.'

    'Did nobody suspect that he was Jeronimo Maldini's brother?'

    'He gave a false name, it seems, and his English is good. He's lived here much longer than his brother. Pietro is a musician,' said Henry, still rubbing his neck. 'Perhaps that's why I felt I was being strangled with a lute string.'

    'Where is he now?'

    'Being charged with attempted murder. I know one thing, Christopher. If they keep him in Newgate, I've no wish to share a cell with him or with any other member of the Maldini family. They are much too hot-blooded for me.'

    'Before too long,' said Christopher, 'you won't even be in here.'

    'No, I'll be dangling from the end of a rope.'

    Henry looked more harassed than ever. His brother had brought another change of clothing for him but Henry showed no interest in it. The visit from his father had left him thoroughly jangled and the attack had shaken him even more. As long as he was in prison, he felt, he was at the mercy of everyone. The promised release seemed no nearer.

    'Father was impressed by the way you conducted yourself today,' said Christopher. 'He felt that you were showing true contrition.'

    'I'd have shown anything just to get rid of him.'

    'Henry!'

    'He kept on and on at me, Christopher. I felt that I was strapped into a pew at the cathedral while he directed a venomous sermon at me. At least, that crazed Italian tried to put me out of my misery quickly. Father raged on until I was reduced to tears.'

    'He only does it out of love for you,' said Christopher. 'And you must admit that you do give him good reason to censure you. Your life is so irregular.'

    'All that I can think about now is my death.'

    'No more of that kind of talk!' warned his brother. 'You promised me.'

    Henry sighed. 'I'm sorry, but the whole world seems to have turned against me.'

    'Not entirely, Henry. Those who know you best still believe in you.'

    'Thank you.' He took the apparel from his brother and put it on the stool. 'What really hurt me about Father's visit was the way that he harped on about you. Because of me, he said, there'd been a second attempt on your life. That upset me more than anything else, Christopher. Were you injured in any way?'

    'Cuts and bruises. Nothing serious.'

    'It's always serious when someone tries to kill you. I discovered that earlier on. It was a dreadful experience but there's one consolation to be drawn from it.'

    'What's that?'

    'Pietro Maldini won't be able to attack either of us again.'

    Christopher blinked. 'You believe that he was the man who stalked me?'

    'I'm certain of it,' said Henry. 'He confessed as much. I'd killed his brother, he told me, so he'd tried to murder mine. When he failed to do that, he decided to throttle me instead, even though he knew that he'd be throwing his own life away as well. They'd never have let him out of here.'

    'They should never have let him in.'

    'Somehow, they did. It means that you can stop watching your back.'

    Christopher was strangely disappointed. When he heard about the assault on his brother, he had never connected Pietro Maldini with himself. He was so convinced that his attacker had been involved in the murder of the fencing master that it took him some

    time to accept the truth. He had simply been stalked by a vengeful Italian brother. He chided himself for being misled.

    'Did you have a chance to talk to Jonathan Bale?' he asked.

    'No, he went off to make sure that they locked that lunatic up. And he was going to protest to the prison sergeant on my behalf. They've a duty to keep me safe in here.'

    'And to prevent you from harming yourself,' said Christopher, remembering the razor that had been dropped into the cell. 'Well, if you've not spoken to Jonathan, you've not heard about Captain Harvest.'

    'What's that reprobate been up to now?'

    'Quite a lot, Henry.'

    Christopher told him what Jonathan had found out then described how Martin Crenlowe and Sir Humphrey Godden had responded to the news. Henry was sour.

    'The villain!' he cried. 'What was his real name?'

    'We still haven't found that out.'

    'Martin never really trusted him. I, for my sins, did. Sir Humphrey was the one who gave him the most money but, then, he had much more to give than the rest of us.'

    'Was he close to Captain Harvest?'

    'Not really, Christopher. None of us were. Why do you ask?'

    'Because I think that there's some link between them that goes beyond a casual friendship. When the captain wanted to borrow money, the first person he always turned to was Sir Humphrey Godden. What did Sir Humphrey get in return?'

    'James could be a very engaging companion.'

    'I think that it may go deeper than that. Mr Crenlowe has been fairly helpful but Sir Humphrey has been awkward with both Jonathan and me. Why? He's supposed to be on your side.'

    'He is, Christopher. We've been friends for years.'

    'There's been precious little evidence of that friendship. He clearly has a short temper. When I called on him earlier, he was having a quarrel with Mr. Crenlowe. I had the feeling that it might be about the so-called Captain Harvest.'

    'One way and another, James has caused so much bother.'

    . 'It may be a lot more than bother, Henry.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'Supposing - for the sake of argument - that your fake soldier had a hold over Sir Humphrey. Supposing, for instance, that Sir Humphrey had employed him on a very important assignment.'

    'Assignment?'

    'The murder of Jeronimo Maldini.'

    'That's impossible!'

    'Is it? We know that Sir Humphrey loathed the man as much as you.'

    'Yes, but James liked him. He and that scheming Italian were friends.'

    'No,' corrected his brother. 'Jeronimo Maldini was befriended by someone called Captain James Harvest. So were you and so were many others like you. The captain had a gift for ingratiating himself with people. But we now know that there's no such person as Captain Harvest. Under his real name,' said Christopher, 'he might not have been quite so fond of the fencing master. He could be our killer.'

       Lady Whitcombe was too fond of her son to be angry with him for long. When she and her daughter called on him that afternoon, she embraced him warmly and accepted a kiss on both cheeks. Egerton Whitcombe was in a much more pleasant mood. He even bestowed a peck on his sister.

    'I'm sorry for what happened yesterday,' he began.