The Frost Fair

    'Heavens, man! Your life may be at stake here. We need more than supposition.'

    'It's all I can offer,' bleated Henry, looking up at him once more. 'For a number of reasons, there was bad blood between Jeronimo Maldini and me. It came to a head one evening when we had a chance encounter. His language was so vile that he provoked me beyond all endurance.'

    'So what did you do?'

    'I expressed my anger.'

    'How?'

    'I said something that, on reflection, I should not perhaps have said.'

    'And what was that, Henry?'

    'Does it matter?'

    'It matters a great deal,' insisted Christopher. 'I've known you make incautious remarks before but never ones that might land you in a prison cell. Now let's have no more prevarication, Henry. What did you say?'

    'I threatened to kill him.'

    Christopher was staggered. It had never occurred to him for a moment that his brother was guilty of a crime serious enough to justify arrest and imprisonment. He knew his brother's defects of character better than anyone and a homicidal impulse was certainly not among them. Or so he had always believed. Now he was forced to look at Henry through very different eyes. Strong drink could corrupt any man and few indulged as frequently as his brother. Whole weeks sometimes passed without his managing more than a few hours of sobriety. Such a life was bound to takes its toll on Henry. The thought made Christopher put a straight question him.

    'Did you murder Jeronimo Maldini?' he asked.

    'I don't know,' replied Henry with a forlorn shrug. 'I may have done.'

    Word of the arrest spread throughout London with remarkable speed. Within a couple of days, it was the talk of every tavern and coffee house in the city. Since she had been there when the murder victim was found, Susan Cheever took a keen interest in the case and seized on every scrap of information related to it. She was astonished to hear that Henry Redmayne was the chief suspect. Her father, an unforgiving man, was plainly disgusted.

    'He should be hanged by his scrawny neck at Tyburn,' he announced.

    'But he's not been convicted yet, Father,' she reminded him.

    'The fellow is guilty. Why else would they arrest him?'

    'There are all kinds of reasons. Mistaken identity is but one of them.'

    'We have been the victims of that, Susan.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'We took the Redmayne family for honourable men,' he said, gesticulating with both arms, 'and we were most cruelly deceived.'

    'Not so, Father,' she rejoined with vehemence. 'Christopher Redmayne is the most honourable man I've ever met and his brother, Henry, can be quite charming when you get to know him.'

    'I've no wish to know him, Susan.'

    'At least, give him the benefit of the doubt.'

    'What doubt?' he asked. 'Henry Redmayne consorts with some of the most notorious rakehells in the capital. That says everything. It pains me to admit that my son, Gabriel, was once embroiled in that same twilight world of decadence and debauchery. He paid for it with his life.'

    'And who helped to solve his murder? Christopher Redmayne.'

    'I've not forgotten that.'

    'But for him, the villains would never have been caught.'

    'That was one crime, this is quite another.'

    'It's unfair to reproach him because of what's happened to his elder brother.'

    'Certain traits run in families.'

    Susan exploded. 'That's a dreadful thing to say!'

    'Nevertheless, it happens to be true.'

    'But their father is the Dean of Gloucester.'

    'You know my opinion of Anglicans,' he said with a sneer. 'That may be the reason the sons were led astray. Brought up on debased values, they had a false start in life. It's ended at the gallows.'

    'It's done nothing of the kind, Father,' she said, 'and I'll thank you to stop talking about the two brothers as if they are the selfsame person. They most assuredly are not. It's Henry who has been charged with this terrible crime and I, for one, will presume him innocent until he's proved guilty in a court of law.'

    'I know the man did it. I feel it in my bones.'

    'That's no more than old age creeping up on you.'

    'Old heads are the wisest.'

    'Not when they make unjust accusations.'

    'The fellow has been arrested, Susan,' he said, slapping the table with the flat of his hand for emphasis. 'Evidence has been gathered and a warrant issued for his arrest. That's proof positive to me.'

    Susan bit back a reply. In his present mood, Sir Julius would not even listen to her properly. His mind was already made up while her own was still very confused. The tidings about Henry Redmayne had alarmed her. In her heart, she could not accept that any member of the Redmayne family could be capable of murder. Vain and feckless, he might be, but Henry was not, in her opinion, a potential killer. Yet he had been indicted and such a step would not be taken lightly. Her real concern was for Christopher. Though he was the younger brother, he always seemed older and more responsible than Henry. The latter's peccadilloes were an unceasing source of discomfort to him and he had rescued his brother from countless embarrassments. This time, Susan feared, even Christopher would be uncertain what to do. She felt an urge to go to him.

    Sir Julius Cheever seemed to read his daughter's mind.

    'Stay away from him, Susan,' he warned.

    'Who?'

    'Mr Redmayne.'

    'But he must be in great distress.'

    'That's a problem he must cope with alone. It does not affect us.'

    'It does. At a time like this, he wants friends around him.'

    'Well, he'll not number us among them.'

    'He will and he ought to,' she said hotly. 'Do you condemn one brother for the alleged sin of another? What a miserable species of friendship that is! It's callous to desert Mr Redmayne when he needs us most.'

    'We do it for our own protection.'

    'From what?'

    'The taint of evil.'

    'That's a monstrous suggestion!'

    'I'll not have you associating with any member of that family.'

    Susan was defiant. 'Would you forbid me?'

    'No,' he said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. 'I'd not go that far. I'd simply appeal to your love and loyalty. For my sake, keep away from Mr Redmayne. I know that you are fond of him, Susan, and I know that he has many virtues. Why,' he went on, looking around the room, 'he designed this very house in which we stand and I'm very grateful to him for that.'

    'He did much more than that to earn our gratitude, Father.'

    'Do not harp on about Gabriel.'

    'He was my brother,' she said with tears in her eyes. 'You shut him out of your life in the same way that you now want to exclude Mr Redmayne and his brother. Did you never stop to think that, if Gabriel had been kept within our family, he would not have met such an untimely end?'

    'No!' yelled Sir Julius, rounding on her. 'That's not true!'

    'Be honest with yourself, Father.' 'Silence!'

    He was so furious that he did not trust himself to say anything else until he had regained his composure. Crossing to a large oaken court cupboard, he opened the door to take out a bottle of brandy and a glass. He poured himself a measure and drank it down in one gulp, waiting until it had coursed through him. When he turned back to