married and of good reputation, permitted a gentleman to pay court to her in strictest privacy.'
'Yes,' said Susan, 'I can readily imagine that.'
'And suppose that she decided to bring their friendship to a sudden end.'
'Why should she do that?'
'Because he pestered her with questions.' 'Questions?'
'Infernal questions,' he said. 'What sort of questions would annoy a lady most in those circumstances? In short, what would she be least willing to talk about?'
'That's easy to answer,' replied Susan. 'Her husband.'
Chapter Sixteen
When he visited the prison that morning, the Reverend Algernon Redmayne was in a more compassionate mood. Instead of condemning his elder son for his past sins, he brought fresh food and a degree of comfort into the cell. Henry had never seen his father in such a benign state. For his part, the Dean was pleased that his son had taken some pains with his appearance. Henry had washed, shaved and donned the change of apparel that his brother had taken to him. He had even combed his thinning hair into a semblance of order. It no longer looked as if he had just come in from a howling gale.
'Christopher told me about the vicious attack on you, Henry,' said his father. 'It's unforgivable that such a thing should happen. I'll speak to the authorities myself.'
'I was rescued just in time, Father.'
'So I hear. I'll give my personal thanks to this doughty constable.'
'As long as you do not try to engage him in theological debate,' warned Henry. 'You'd find him a stubborn parishioner. Mr Bale is a resolute Puritan.'
'The fellow is also a hero and I salute him for that.'
The Dean insisted on hearing a full description of the attempt on his son's life and Henry was only too willing to give it. His father offered him uncritical sympathy so rarely that he intended to exploit it to the full. He embroidered the tale to make the ordeal seem even worse than it was. Enfolding his son in his arms, the Dean offered up a prayer of thanksgiving. There were tears in his eyes.
'You've walked in the valley of the shadow of death,' he said.
'It's difficult to walk anywhere when someone is trying to strangle you.'
'What went through your mind, Henry?'
'Nothing at all.'
'Did you not think that your end was nigh?'
'Of course, Father.'
'And did you not cry out to God for his aid?'
'I could not say a word,' replied Henry, rubbing his neck. 'The cord was so tight that I could do little but gurgle. I was terrified. I believed that I was going to die and I felt desperately unready.'
'That's what I was hoping you'd say. At that awful moment of extremity, you felt unready to meet your Maker. That's a good and proper feeling, Henry,' said his Father, releasing him at last. 'It shows that you recognised your failings as a human being.'
'Oh, I did that the moment they locked me up in here.'
'What will happen when you get out again?'
'I'm beginning to give up all hope of that.'
'You must never do that!' said the other seriously. 'Christopher assures me that he and his friend will soon apprehend the real culprit. You will then have to be released. I trust that you will resolve to lead a more Christian life.'
'Yes, Father.'
'You fell among evil men and were led astray.'
'I'll choose my friends with more care in future,' promised Henry. 'I've never been a contemplative man but this experience has wrought a profound change in me. I've been arrested, imprisoned, vilified by all and sundry, then attacked by a murderous Italian. If and when I'm let out of Newgate, I vow to start a new life.'
'Why not quit London and return to Gloucester with me?'
'Not that new, Father,' said Henry, gulping at the prospect. 'I'd return to my post at the Navy Office and apply myself even more conscientiously than before. To leave the city would give the impression that I'm running away, and I'd never do that. I need to stay here to rebuild my lost reputation.'
'That shows courage and I applaud you. What of this other fellow?' he asked with a glance over his shoulder. 'This demented Italian who tried to strangle you.'
'Pietro Maldini is having a taste of what I've been through. He's learning just how unpleasant it is to be deprived of your liberty and flung into gaol among strangers.'
After an hour of sustained misery, Pietro Maldini began to have second thoughts. The other prisoners would not leave him alone. He was ridiculed, cajoled, pushed, prodded and even tripped up for the amusement of the ragged assembly. The food he was given was inedible and the water too brackish to drink. Life as a Court musician had hardly prepared him for the squalor and intimidation of Newgate. When two men tried to steal the clothes from his back, he had to fight them off with all his strength. There was no way that he could keep them at bay indefinitely A turnkey appeared at the door and Maldini rushed across to him.
'Take a message to Mr Bale!' he yelled.
'Who?' said the other gruffly.
'The constable I spoke to earlier.'
The turnkey sneered. 'I'm not here to carry your messages.'
'Please!' implored Maldini. 'Tell him I will do him that favour!'
When he got back to his house, Christopher was pleased to see Jonathan Bale waiting for him in the parlour. The constable reported what had happened the previous night during his ill-fated vigil and described his long conversation with the Italian prisoner. Fascinated by what he heard, Christopher was disappointed that he was unable to speak to the man himself. He seized on one item of information.
'At least, we know that the so-called Captain Harvest is still in London.'
'He was taunting me,' said Jonathan. 'He knew exactly where I was.'
'His boldness could prove his downfall. If he does not have the sense to remain hidden, he's bound to make a mistake sooner or later.' Christopher stroked his chin. 'What interests me is the suggestion that he and the fencing master were closer friends than we thought. Did the brother give no details?'
'He knew none, Mr Redmayne.'
'Were the two men involved in some other enterprise?'
'We can only guess.'
Christopher perched on the edge of his table. 'What happened when the body of Jeronimo Maldini was identified?' he asked. 'Did you not go to his lodging?'
'We did, sir. His brother had been there first to take away anything of value as well as items that had a personal meaning for him. We searched the room thoroughly for any clues - letters, documents, a diary even - that would give us clear evidence of who the killer might be. There was nothing.'
'Not even a ledger, showing the accounts from the fencing school?'
'No, Mr Redmayne,' said Jonathan. 'It puzzled me at the time. Signor Maldini must have made money or he'd not have been able to rent the rooms where his fencing school was held. It was very popular yet there was no record of any income from it.'
'There must be. How hard did you look?'
'Two of us were there for half an hour.'
'Would it be possible to search it again?'
'Yes,' replied the other, 'the house is in my ward. I know the man who owns it. He spoke of Signor Maldini as a quiet, respectable gentleman who always paid his rent on time.' He smiled. 'Just as well he did not have Captain Harvest as a lodger.'
'Go back,' urged Christopher. 'Take a second look. If the ledger is not there, find out where his brother lived. He may have taken it when he removed the valuables. Pietro Maldini will have no use for any of his belongings
