The Repentant Rake (14 page)

    'The
Lord Protector did,' he said proudly.

    'Times
have changed since then,' she pointed out.

    'More's
the pity!'

    Susan
was worried. 'You will be circumspect?'

    'Circumspect?'
he repeated with disgust.

    'Hot
words might land you in trouble, Father.'

    'Parliament
needs someone to speak his mind and that's what I intend to do. Circumspect,
indeed! They'll not gag me, Susan. I fear nobody.'

    'That's
my chief concern.'

    He
was reproachful. 'What do you know of politics, anyway?'

    'I
know that they can mean danger and even death,' she said levelly. 'I was only a
girl when the war raged but I remember the damage it did. Northamptonshire saw
more than its fair share of suffering. It taught me to be fearful of politics.'

    'Your
mother was the same. Neither of you understood what it was all about.'

    'Be
careful, Father. That is all I ask.'

    'I'm
a soldier,' he said with a proud chuckle. 'You achieve little on a battlefield
if you simply exercise care. To strike a decisive blow you have to go boldly to
the heart of the action. That is where I long to be. On my feet in the Commons,
demanding justice.'

    'For
whom?'

    'The
people of this country, Susan. Taxes are bleeding us dry. And where does all
the money go?' he asked wagging a finger. 'To the King. So that he can fight
his wars abroad and keep his mistresses in style. Someone must speak out
against him.'

    Susan
said nothing. There was no point in stirring him up even more. Sir Julius was
still fighting battles that had already been won and lost many years earlier.
Rooted in the past, he wanted a say in the future, but his language was
hortatory rather than persuasive. His fellow Members of Parliament would soon
become familiar with the sound of his ranting. Susan let her mind drift to
something else. When her father had calmed down enough to permit a civilised
conversation, she put her thoughts into words.

    'Are
you pleased with the design of the new house, Father?'

    'I
should be. I more or less drew up the plans for it myself.'

    'With
the help of Mr Redmayne,' she reminded him.

    'Well,
yes,' he agreed. 'Redmayne actually did the drawings but they were based on
ideas that were entirely my own. If I must have a house in London, it must
conform exactly to my specifications. Redmayne appreciates that.'

    'He
seems a most obliging young man.'

    'Obliging
and capable.'

    'Have
you seen anything that he designed?'

    'Only
that bookshop of his,' said Sir Julius. 'It may be small but it's the finest building
in Paternoster Row. Elijah Pembridge was thrilled with it and rightly so. He
could not speak too highly of Christopher Redmayne.'

    'What
else has he designed?' asked Susan.

    'A
couple of houses in London, both far larger than the one I've commissioned.'

    'Where
exactly are they?'

    'Why
do you ask?'

    'I
thought it might be amusing to take a look at them when I go into the city with
Brilliana,' said Susan, trying to hide her curiosity. 'Mr Redmayne talked so fervently
about his work that he aroused my interest.'

    'When
was this? You hardly spoke to the man.'

    'I
heard his voice through the door.'

    Sir
Julius grinned. 'Eavesdropping, were you?'

    'Not
at all,' she said without conviction. 'I just happened to be passing when the
two of you were discussing the new house. It was impossible not to catch what
he was saying about his work. Evidently, it's a labour of love.'

    'That's
why I chose him. Redmayne has passion.'

    'Could
you find out where these other houses are?'

    'Oh,
I think you should do that for yourself, Susan.'

    'What
do you mean?'

    'I
may be old,' he said with a paternal smile, 'but I've not lost all my faculties
yet. Talk to the fellow in person. Why pretend to be interested in architecture
when your real interest is in the architect himself?'

    Christopher
arrived just in time. Celia Hemmings was on the point of leaving her house in
Bow Street when he presented himself at her door. She was a slim woman of
medium height, impeccably attired in a low-necked, full-sleeved dress of pink
satin with a billowing skirt that opened at the front to reveal an underskirt
of a darker hue. Her face was heart-shaped her lips red and her eyes sparkling.
Christopher could see what had attracted Gabriel Cheever to her. After
introducing himself, he asked her to give him a few minutes alone in private.

    She
was cautious. 'I am not in the habit of inviting strangers into my house.'

    'The
news I carry ought not to be divulged on a doorstep,' he explained.

    'Why
not, sir?'

    'I
fear that it is of too heavy a nature.'

    'What
does it concern?' she said.

    'A
friend of yours - Gabriel Cheever.'

    She
tensed. 'You have bad tidings of Gabriel?'

    'The
worst, alas.'

    Celia
Hemmings was alarmed. She invited him into the house and took him into the
parlour. Christopher suggested that she sat down before he broke the news.
Still wearing her wide-brimmed hat, she perched on the edge of a chair and
waited with trepidation. Christopher lowered his voice.

    'Gabriel
Cheever has passed away, I fear.'

    'Never!'
she cried, hands moving involuntarily to her throat.

    'It
happened a few days ago, Miss Hemmings.'

    'But
Gabriel was so strong and healthy.'

    Christopher
tried to be gentle. 'He did not die a natural death.'

    
'He
was
murdered?'

    'I'm
afraid so.'

    The
woman was so shaken that he thought she was about to keel over, and he reached
out a steadying hand. Seizing a handkerchief from her sleeve, she buried her
face in it and sobbed uncontrollably Christopher was unable to console her. It
was minutes before she dabbed at her eyes and looked up at him.

    'Forgive
me, Mr Redmayne,' she said. 'Gabriel was a dear friend of mine.'

    'That
is why I felt you had a right to know.'

    'What
brought you to me?'

    'I
came at my brother's suggestion. I believe you know Henry.'

    'Henry
Redmayne?' she muttered. 'Yes, of course. I have met him on occasion.' She got
up from the chair. 'But who committed this terrible crime? And why? Gabriel was
the sweetest man in the world. Nobody could want to kill him. Has anyone been
arrested? Tell me all.'

    Christopher
gave her nothing but the details he had rehearsed on his way there, stressing
the need for her help if the killer was to be brought to justice. Eyes still
moist, she nodded her consent. The self-possessed young woman he had met at the
door now looked weak and vulnerable. He persuaded her to resume her seat, and
she removed her hat.

    'When
did you last see Gabriel?' he asked.

    'Some
months ago. We reached the parting of the ways.'

    'So I
understand.'

    'It
was not a sad event, Mr Redmayne,' she said. 'Gabriel Cheever was unlike any
other man I know. There were no violent arguments or bitter recriminations.
Thanks to him, it was almost painless. We parted on the most amicable terms.'

    'Did
you keep in touch with him?'

    'Only
through mutual friends. Then that suddenly stopped.'

    'Why?'

    'Gabriel
was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to disappear completely. I wondered if he had
gone back home to Northamptonshire,' she said wistfully. 'He always talked
about being reconciled with his father one day.'

    'I
know Sir Julius Cheever.'

    'Then
you will understand why he disapproved of his son.' She gave a wan smile. 'He
would certainly have disapproved of me as well, but that does not worry me. I
loved Gabriel. When we were together, I'd gladly accept anyone's condemnation.'

    'Did
he have any enemies, Miss Hemmings?'

    'None
that I knew of.'

    'He
must have had rivals.'

    'Dozens
of them, but they sought to gain advantage over him at a card table, not in
some dark alley. That was where he blossomed, Mr Redmayne. In a gaming house.'

    'So
my brother tells me.'

    'Gabriel
had the most uncommon skill at cards.'

    'Henry
described it as damnable luck.'

    'It
was much more than that, believe me,' said Celia loyally. 'Gabriel had expensive
tastes. Since his father had cut him off without a penny, he had to find an
income from somewhere. The card table was the making of him.'

    'It's
been the ruin of my brother.'

    'Perhaps
he should drink less and concentrate more.'

    'How
true!' sighed Christopher. 'Henry will over-indulge. But coming back to
Gabriel's family, I know that he and Sir Julius were not on speaking terms, but
what about his relationship with his sisters?'

    'The
elder one, Brilliana, was as stubborn as her father.'

    'And
his other sister, Susan?'

    'He
always spoke with such affection of her.'

    'I
can imagine that,' said Christopher, conjuring up her face in his mind. 'Did he
ever correspond with her?'

    'From
time to time.'

    'How
did he contrive that?'

    'His
letters were sent to a neighbour and Susan retrieved them from there. It would
have been far too dangerous to send them directly to the house. Had her father
discovered the truth, Susan would have been in serious trouble. She's very
brave.'

    'Did
you ever meet her?'

    'Alas,
no,' she said, 'but Gabriel managed to see her when she came to London. She
gave her sister the slip one afternoon and spent an hour with him. It meant so
much to Gabriel,' she remembered 'though I suspect that Susan would have been
given a stern reprimand for wandering away. Gabriel told me that Brilliana has
a vicious tongue.'

    Once
started, Celia Hemmings was willing to produce many fond recollections of her
former lover and Christopher was able to build up a clearer picture of the man
in his mind. Much of what she said accorded with Henry Redmayne's description,
but she added an important new dimension to the portrait.

    'Gabriel
hated farming,' she went on. 'He thought there should be more to life than
running an estate in Northamptonshire. But that was not the only reason that he
and his father fell out. Gabriel had ambitions that could only be fulfilled in
London.'

    'It
sounds to me as if he fulfilled them with zest.'

    'No,
Mr Redmayne. You misjudge him. He was a much more serious person than anyone
realised. The gaming houses may have provided him with his money but it was
never frittered away. Gabriel saved it for a purpose.'

    'And
what was that?'

    'To
buy himself time.'

    'Time?'

    'Yes.
In order to pursue his real interest.'

    'What
was that, Miss Hemmings?'

    'Poetry,'
she said. 'Gabriel wanted above all else to become a poet. He showed me some of
his work. He had real talent. When we were together, he was also writing a
play. In fact,' she confessed 'that's what I thought he might be doing when he
vanished. Turning his back on us all so that he could write all the things that
were bursting to come out of him. That was the true Gabriel Cheever,' she
asserted. 'He was not just another unprincipled rake in search of pleasure but
a conscientious author who would get back to his lodgings in the early hours of
the morning and take up his pen. That's the man I shall remember.'