The Frost Fair

    'Eat this,' he said, putting the tray down on the table. She shook her head. 'Do as I tell you, Rose!' he warned. 'I'll stand no more of your games.'

    'I'm not hungry, Martin,' she whimpered.

    'You must keep body and soul together.'

    'Why? What's the point?'

    'You know very well. If this food is not eaten by the time that I come back, there'll be trouble, Rose. Do you hear?' She said nothing. 'Do you hear?' he repeated.

    'Yes, Martin.'

    'The man is dead. Forget him.'

    'I'll never do that,' she said with a show of spirit.

    Crenlowe raised a hand to strike her and she cowered on the bed. The blow never came. There was a loud banging on his front door and the sound echoed up through the house. The goldsmith went out on the landing and listened as a servant opened the door. When he heard who had called to see him, he locked the door of his wife's room and went quickly downstairs. With his hat in his hand, Christopher Redmayne was waiting for him in the hall.

    'Good day to you, Mr Crenlowe,' he said. 'I was told at your shop that I'd find you at home today. I crave a word with you, sir.'

    'Must it be here? I'd prefer to talk to you this afternoon at the shop.'

    'The matter is too serious to be postponed.'

    'Oh?' said Crenlowe guardedly. 'You have news for me?'

    'Yes,' said Christopher. 'The man who pretended to be Captain Harvest has been arrested. My friend, Mr Bale, apprehended him at Sir Humphrey Godden's house.'

    'What was he doing there?'

    'Causing profound embarrassment, by the look of it. He'll not be in a position to do that again for a very long time. I need to raise a sensitive matter with you,' he went on, lowering his voice, 'and it may help if your wife is present.'

    'My wife is not at home.'

    'Your servant just assured me that she was.'

    'Rose is not available,' said Crenlowe sharply. You have my word on it. If you wish to speak to me, then perhaps you'll step in here,' he added, taking his visitor into the parlour. 'I hope that your stay will be brief. I need to get back to my work.'

    'Then let me broach that delicate subject, Mr Crenlowe,' said Christopher, watching him closely. 'Were you aware of any connection between Signor Maldini and your wife?'

    Crenlowe paled. 'Of course not! What are you suggesting?'

    'That you had the best motive of all to see the fencing master dead.'

    'This is nonsense, Mr Redmayne!'

    'If you'd been cuckolded by the man -'

    'No!' howled the other, bunching a fist. 'That's not true!'

    'I have letters from your wife that Signor Maldini kept at his lodging. They leave no room for doubt, Mr Crenlowe.' He took them from his pocket. 'Do you wish to see them?'

    'Put them away! Rose could never have written them.'

    'I'd need your wife's confirmation of that.'

    'I've told you, Mr Redmayne. She's not here.'

    'Yes,' said Christopher, 'but I've reached the stage where I do not believe a word that you tell me. You visited Henry in prison to give the impression that you were concerned about him when, in point of fact, you were the man responsible for putting him there. When you heard that I was trying to clear Henry's name, you offered to help so that you could keep an eye on any progress that I made. Then we come to the jewellery that Signor Maldini commissioned from you,' he continued, putting the letters back in his pocket. 'You refused to admit that it ever existed and I think that I know why. The fencing master played a cruel trick on you.'

    'Be quiet!' shouted Crenlowe.

    'He wanted you to design a piece of jewellery that he'd give to your own wife.'

    Crenlowe went berserk. Rushing at Christopher, he pushed him back with both hands before darting across the room to snatch up a rapier that stood in the corner. He came forward again with murder dancing in his eyes.

    'He mocked me, Mr Redmayne,' he said, taking up his stance. 'He was not content with stealing my wife's affections from me, he mocked my trade by getting me to fashion some jewellery that he'd give to her in secret. Can you think of anything more despicable than that?'

    'Yes,' said Christopher. 'Stabbing a man in the back then letting my brother go to the gallows for the crime. That's what I call despicable, Mr Crenlowe.'

    The goldsmith lunged at him. Stepping back out of reach, Christopher threw his hat into his assailant's face. It gave him time to draw his own sword. The two men circled each other in the middle of the room. Christopher gave a grim smile.

    'Let's see what Signor Maldini taught you, shall we?'

    Crenlowe lunged again but his blade was parried. When he slashed wildly at Christopher's head, the latter ducked out of harm's way. Roused to a pitch of desperation, the goldsmith attacked again and again but every stroke was parried or rendered ineffective by neat footwork. Their blades clashed once more then locked together. Christopher's face was inches from that of the goldsmith. Crenlowe strained his sinews to force him back but he was up against someone who was younger, stronger and impelled by an urge to vindicate his brother. With a concerted effort, Christopher shoved him away so violently that his opponent tripped and fell to the floor. Before he could even move, Crenlowe felt a searing pain in his wrist as Christopher's rapier drew blood and made him drop his sword with a clatter.

    Standing over his man, Christopher held the point of his weapon at his throat.

    'Now, Mr Crenlowe,' he said. 'Tell me what really happened that night.'

Epilogue

    Lady Whitcombe was overjoyed to receive the invitation to Fetter Lane. The thought of spending time with Christopher Redmayne was always a pleasant one but it held an even richer promise now that she had made her declaration to him. Feeling that she was in a position to exert influence over him, she had no hesitation in using it. Since his brother had now been released from prison, Lady Whitcombe had a double reason to rejoice with him. She could mark her closer relationship with the architect and celebrate the vindication of his family's name. Nothing could now prevent Christopher from resuming his work for her. Even her son, Egerton, albeit reluctantly, had accepted that. It was her daughter, however, who was now proving troublesome. They were in the house of the friends with whom they were staying. Lady Whitcombe was about to leave.

    'Let me come with you, Mother,' said Letitia, grabbing her arm.

    'Not this time,' replied the other, waving her away. 'Mr Redmayne and I have private business to discuss.'

    'But I wish to congratulate him on solving that crime.'

    'I'll pass on congratulations for you, Letitia.'

    'Mother!'

    'There's no point in arguing,' said the older woman. 'I'm going alone.'

    'I want to see Mr Redmayne,' protested the girl, stamping a foot in rebellion. 'I like him and he likes me. It's so unfair to keep me away from him like that.'

    'You'll be seeing a great deal of him in due course, I promise you.'

    Before her daughter could throw a tantrum, Lady Whitcombe swept out of the house and stepped into her carriage. During the drive to Fetter Lane, she rehearsed what she was going to say to the young man whose talent as an architect, and whose charm as a person, had so captivated her. When she arrived at the house, he opened the door to her himself and gave her a cordial welcome before taking her into the parlour. Lady Whitcombe had the distinct impression that they were the only people there and that added to her sense of excitement. She took a seat