Frost Fair (19 page)

    'How can she be so disloyal?'

    'It was only said to taunt me,' he explained with an uxorious smile. 'But she does admire Jack. What mystifies her - and me, for that matter - is why the fellow has never married. It's noble of him to put his mother first but he deserves rather more out of life.'

    Susan frowned. 'I can see why Brilliana wants to dangle me in front of him.'

    'Oh, you'll take to Jack Cardinal and he'll certainly adore you.'

    'I do not think that I want to be adored, Lancelot.'

    'Every woman wants that.'

    'Only if the adoration comes from the right source,' she replied with a slight edge in her voice. 'The truth is - and I made this plain to Brilliana - that I'm not in the market for a husband.'

    Serle grinned proudly. 'Neither was your sister until she met me.'

    Susan did not wish to disillusion him. Unbeknown to Serle, his wife had two broken engagements in her past and there had been a bevy of proposals that she had turned down. From an early age, Brilliana had dedicated herself to finding the right husband and her sister had watched the various suitors come and go with depressing regularity. One of the reasons why Susan had been so unwilling to encourage the attentions of any young men in the area was the likelihood that they already been tested, found wanting, then rejected, by her sister. Out of kindness to her brother-in- law, Susan resolved to conceal the details of Brilliana's previous entanglements.

    'We thought that you and Jack would have so much in common,' said Serle.

    'In common?'

    'You look after a difficult father while he takes care of a sick mother.'

    'You are surely not suggesting that we marry the two of them off?' she said waspishly. 'Much as I love Father, I'd not undertake the role of matchmaker for him. I don't think the wife exists who could endure his bad temper and his idiosyncrasies. Mr Cardinal's ailing mother would be the last person to tempt him.'

    'Stop these jests,' he chided with a laugh. 'What I meant - as you well know, Susan - was that you and Jack Cardinal have similar interests.'

    'I doubt that. I've never fired a gun and have no skill at fencing.'

    'But you like books, do you not?'

    'So?'

    'Jack is also prodigious reader.'

    'What does he read?' she asked. 'Books about firearms or manuals on the finer points of swordsmanship?' She fixed him with a stare. 'Answer me this, Lancelot. Does this friend of yours know why he's been invited here?'

    'No, Susan. I merely requested the pleasure of his company.'

    'Mr Cardinal is not coming to look me over like a prize heifer, then?'

    'Heaven forbid!' he exclaimed. 'That's a monstrous notion! If Jack thought that he was being asked to do such a thing, he'd refuse to come anywhere near Serle Court.

    'That's a relief.'

    'Apart from anything else, he's a rather shy man.'

    'It's difficult to be shy with a gun in your hand.'

    'That's how he expresses himself, don't you see? By means of his sporting prowess, for he's a wonderful horseman as well. But it's with a rapier in his hand that he's really at his best. Egerton discovered that.'

    'Egerton?'

    'Egerton Whitcombe. The son of Lady Whitcombe.'

    Susan sat up with interest. 'Lady Whitcombe, who lives in Sheen?' "The same. Have you met her?'

    'No, but I've heard of her,' she said, remembering that Christopher Redmayne had been engaged to design a house for the lady. 'What sort of person is she?'

    'Very grand. Her late husband was a member of the Privy Council.'

    'And is Lady Whitcombe among the guests you've invited?'

    'Dear me, no!' he said. 'We are not on visiting terms.'

    'You mentioned a son named Egerton.'

    'Yes, Susan. He's a surly young man, with little respect for others. There's the essential difference between them. Jack Cardinal is a sterling fellow, who puts his mother first at all times. Egerton Whitcombe is a wastrel, who deserts his family whenever he can. I gather that he's in France at the moment. The pity of it is,' he sighed, 'that Lady Whitcombe indulges him ridiculously. She seems quite blind to his faults.'

    'What's the connection between her son and Mr Cardinal?'

    'Why, the duel, of course.'

    'Duel?' she said. 'They
fought
each other?'

    'Only in the spirit of competition,' he told her. "There was no animus involved. At least, there was none on Jack's side. He only consented to a bout because Egerton pestered him so much. Jack Cardinal has a reputation in the locality, you see.'

    'What happened?'

    'Egerton Whitcombe thought that he could damage that reputation. In fairness, he's a fine swordsman in his own right and he'd been taking lessons from a fencing master in London to sharpen his skills. He felt that he was ready to topple Jack.'

    'And was he?'

    'Not from what I heard, Susan. They were well-matched at first, it seems, and Egerton did not disgrace himself but Jack was too quick and guileful for him. He vanquished yet another challenger, leaving his reputation untarnished.'

    'I see.'

    'Egerton took the defeat badly but that was only to be expected. No,' he went on, 'Lady Whitcombe and her family are not in our circle. Quite candidly, we are relieved.'

    'Relieved?'

    Egerton Whitcombe is no gentleman. He's brash, boastful and ungracious. He's certainly not fit company for you, Susan. Put him out of your mind,' he advised. 'He's one suitor that Brilliana would never inflict on her sister.'

      A choppy sea and a biting wind had made the crossing from Calais particularly unpleasant. When he disembarked at Dover, the young man was in a foul mood. He adjourned to the nearest inn, hired a room and sent for a flagon of wine. When the satchel containing writing materials was brought in, he dashed off a letter to his mother to inform her that he would be in London the next day His servant came up the steps, struggling with the last of the baggage. Egerton Whitcombe thrust the letter at him.

    "This must reach my mother as soon as possible,' he ordered.

    Jonathan Bale was not looking forward to talking to either of the other witnesses but he had given his word. Accordingly, he called on Martin Crenlowe that evening as the goldsmith was about to close up his shop. When he heard why Jonathan had come, he invited him reluctantly into the building and took him to his private office. Crenlowe was civil rather than welcoming.

    'I'll not be able to give you much time, Mr Bale,' he said. 'I'm expected at home.'

    "Then I'll be brief, sir. You are a friend of Henry Redmayne.'

    'And proud to be so.'

    'Do you believe him to be innocent of this crime?'

    'Yes, I do.'

    'On what evidence?'

    'My knowledge of the man.'

    'You heard him threaten the murder victim. His dagger was in the man's back.'

    'I refuse to believe that Henry put it there,' said Crenlowe. 'It's no secret that he and Signor Maldini fell out - I had no time for the fellow myself - but that does mean he was driven to murder. You see, Henry Redmayne is temperamental.'

    'I've met the gentleman, sir.'

    'Then you know that he's a creature of moods. Older friends like myself and Sir Humphrey Godden are accustomed to his ways. Others are not. That's why Henry tends to lose as many acquaintances as he makes. He is always parting with someone or other.

    Goodness!' he said with a throaty chuckle, 'If Henry killed every man with whom he had a quarrel then you'd need to build a new cemetery to hold them all.'

    'One death alone concerns me, Mr Crenlowe.'

    'I understand that.'

    "Then perhaps you'll tell me what happened on the night in question.'

    'I've already given a sworn statement,' said Crenlowe with impatience, 'and spoken to Henry's brother on the subject. Do I really need to go through it all again?'

    'There might be some tiny details that you missed earlier.'

    'I doubt that. I have an excellent memory.'

    'Yet you had been drinking that night, sir.'

    'I can hold my wine, have no qualms on that score.'

    Jonathan waited. The goldsmith was not as friendly as he had been led to suppose. He could understand why. Martin Crenlowe could be open with Christopher Redmayne because he part of his brother's circle and because he felt that he and the architect were on the same social footing. A lowly constable was a different matter, especially when he exuded such obvious disapproval. Crenlowe ran a searching eye over him.

    'You've come to the wrong place, Mr Bale,' he said quietly. 'If you look for evidence that will help to hang a dear friend of mine, you are wasting your time here.'

    'All that I seek is the truth, sir.'

    'I sense that you've already made up your mind.'

    'Change it for me,' invited Jonathan, folding his arms.

    'Very well,' said Crenlowe after a long pause. 'I'll try.'

    His narrative was short but lucid. He described the quarrel that had flared up between Henry Redmayne and the fencing master, then talked about the meal that four of them had shared at the Elephant. He explained how they had each gone off in a different direction. Jonathan was motionless throughout.

    'When did you next see Henry Redmayne?' he asked.

    'Not for some days.'

    'Did he make any mention of that evening you all spent together?'

    'None, Mr Bale.'

    'So the name of Signor Maldini never came into the conversation?' 'Why should it?'

    "The gentleman must have been missed by then.'

    'Only by his friends and we did not count ourselves in that number.'

    'Captain Harvest did.'

    'James is a law unto himself.'

    'Did he not tell either of you that Signor Maldini had disappeared?'

    'No, we never saw him. James is not part of our inner circle. Besides, he comes and goes to suit himself. Sometimes, we do not catch sight of him for weeks on end.'

    'I spoke to Captain Harvest.'

    'Then you'll have some idea of his character.'

    'Robust and forthright.'

    'A little too hearty for my taste but he can be amusing company.'

    'He insists that Mr Redmayne was the killer.'

    'He would. He never liked Henry.'

    'Captain Harvest is the only person I've met who mourns his friend.'

    'Do not expect us to shed tears for him,' said Crenlowe sharply. 'Jeronimo Maldini was a snake in human guise. He got close to people in order to strike at their weak points. He upset me, he insulted Sir Humphrey and he outraged poor Henry.'

    'Why did the three of you go to him in the first place?'

    'Because of his reputation. He was a brilliant swordsman.'

    'With a rapier?'

    'With any weapon that man could devise. I've seen him use broadsword, rapier, Toledo, spontoon and backsword with equal proficiency.'

    'What of Mr Redmayne? How proficient was he?'

    'Henry was the best of the three of us, no question of that. We live in a dangerous city, Mr Bale, as you well know. Wise men learn how defend themselves. Henry was more than capable with sword and dagger.'

    'Dagger?' said Jonathan pointedly.

    'I was speaking about practice bouts at the fencing school.'

    'But he knew how to use the weapon?'

    'We all do, Mr Bale.'

    'Not as well as Henry Redmayne, it seems.'

    Crenlowe angered. 'I can see that you've not been listening to me,' he said with asperity. 'You claim to seek the truth but your mind remains obstinately closed to it. No more of it, sir. I resent the time you've taken up and I must ask you to leave.'

    'There's one more question I have to put.'

    'Good day to you, Mr Bale.'

    'If Mr Redmayne is innocent, then someone else must be guilty of the crime.'

    'So?'

    'Is it conceivable that the killer could be Captain Harvest?'

    Crenlowe was taken aback. He was obviously surprised by the suggestion and needed some time to assess its value. Jonathan could see his brain working away. The goldsmith was uncertain at first but the expression on his face slowly changed.

    'Yes,' he concluded. 'I suppose that it is.'

    Captain Harvest had a gift for being at ease in any surroundings. Whether mixing with aristocracy or consorting with the lower orders, he felt completely at home. He was also quick to make new friends, mastering their names with disarming speed and finding a way to be on familiar terms without causing the slightest offence. The three men with whom he was playing cards had been total strangers to him an hour earlier but Harvest chatted to them as if had known them for years. They sat around a table in the corner of the tavern, drinking beer and using a large candle to illumine their game. The Hope and Anchor was not the most salubrious inn along the riverbank. In the main, it catered for sailors, watermen, lightermen and others who earned their living from the Thames. The atmosphere was rowdy, the air charged with pipe tobacco. Wagers were only small but they mounted up as the evening progressed. Hitting a rich vein of luck, Harvest scooped the winnings time and again but he was generous with his gains. The beer that he bought for his companions kept them at the table to lose even more to him. Eventually, their purses could withstand no more assaults by the soldier and so they peeled away. Their place at the table was immediately taken by someone else.