Jonathan Bale had a laborious day. He worked excessively hard but had little to show for his efforts. As well as attending to the routine duties of a constable, he interviewed two more people whose names appeared on Henry Redmayne's list, spoke at length to the coroner about the murder investigation, scoured Paul's Wharf afresh for any clues that might lead to the identification of a suspect and kept his eyes peeled, wherever he went, for any stones resembling those taken from the dead man's coat. He also joined his colleague in the tedious process of visiting every house in Knightrider Street. By mid-afternoon, they had almost completed the task. Tom Warburton was more morose than ever.
'Waste of time,' he decided.
'Only one more house to go.'
'I know the people who live there, Jonathan.'
'Do they have a lodger?'
'No.'
'We might as well try while we are here.'
'Why bother?'
'Leave it to me,' said Jonathan.
He knocked on the door and a hulking man in a leather apron soon appeared. Jonathan recognised him as the assistant to a blacksmith in Great Carter Lane. The man was surly and resentful. With five children, a wife and a mother-in-law in the house, he pointed out, a man had no room for a lodger. Nor did he know of a young man called Gabriel Cheever. He went back into the house and closed the door firmly in their faces. Jonathan was left to face his gloomy colleague.
'I told you so,' grunted Warburton.
'It was worth a try.'
'Mr Cheever is not here.'
'He may have moved in recently, Tom.'
'Where? We knocked on every door.'
Jonathan looked down the length of the street and gave a resigned nod. It had been a forlorn exercise. All that they had to go on was a possible sighting of Gabriel Cheever in Knightrider Street by a man who was not entirely certain of what he saw. Even if the fleeting glimpse had been of Cheever, there was no proof that he resided in the area. He might have simply been visiting the ward. The constables were tired. Even the normally ebullient Sam was jaded. It was time to seek refreshment. Jonathan decided to take one last look at Paul's Wharf before going home, but Warburton had other chores to deal with and went off in the opposite direction. Glad to see his master moving with more purpose, the dog scampered after him with something of its old enthusiasm.
When he reached the wharf, Jonathan went to the place beside the warehouse where the body had been found. He kept thinking about the stones caught up in the man's coat. If they had not come from the immediate vicinity, where had they been picked up? He had seen nothing like them on his rounds and he could hardly search every street, lane and alley in London to find a match. Jonathan was irritated at his own lack of progress. Had it not been for his wife's suggestion he would never have thought of calling on Christopher Redmayne, yet the architect's help had been crucial. But for that, the case would have remained insoluble. Cheever's murder had been used as a warning. Given his stern moral code, Jonathan had scant sympathy for the plight of Henry Redmayne, though he wanted the man responsible for the blackmail to be caught and convicted. What pleased him was that he and Christopher were engaged in solving crimes that were linked in some way. It meant that they could team up once more and pool their resources. It also meant that he could renew a friendship that was unlikely but curiously satisfying. He would never have believed that he could like a man of such Cavalier associations. Unlike his brother, Christopher did not patronise the constable. He appreciated Jonathan's virtues and treated him as an equal.
The constable was still examining the patch of ground beside the warehouse when he heard a horse approaching at a brisk trot, and he looked up to see a familiar figure coming towards him. Greeting him with a wave, Christopher reined in his horse.
'Mr Warburton said that I might find you here.'
'I was just taking one last look at the place where we found the body.'
'Have you discovered anything new?'
'Not yet.'
'Well, I have,' said Christopher, dismounting. 'I've been to Richmond and back today. Sir Julius Cheever was there with the rest of the family. I was able to pass on the bad tidings. I left them to make their own decision about the burial.'
'The body cannot stay in the morgue for much longer.'
'They understand that, Mr Bale. But I was very glad that I made the journey.'
'Why?'
'Because I was given Gabriel Cheever's address.'
Jonathan's spirits rose. 'Where does he live?'
'Knightrider Street.'
'Oh.'
'I mean to visit the house immediately.'
'You were misinformed,' said the other with a sigh of disappointment. 'Tom Warburton and I have been to every house and nobody has heard of a Mr Cheever.'
'Then someone was lying to you. Follow me.'
'Where are we going?'
'To meet his wife.'
Jonathan gaped. 'Gabriel Cheever was married?'
'So it seems.'
Christopher led his horse by the reins and Jonathan fell in beside him. On the walk back to Knightrider Street, the architect told him about his visit in more detail, though he said nothing about Susan Cheever's clandestine assistance. The long ride back had been sweetened by fond memories of their brief time alone together. Drawn even more to her, he had been given additional reason to track down her brother's killer. Jonathan responded with a terse account of his own day, ruing the fact that so little had been accomplished. Christopher assured him that Knightrider Street might yet yield something of real value to them.
The house was in the middle of a neat row of dwellings close to Sermon Lane that had replaced the tenements destroyed in the Great Fire. Jonathan remembered calling there earlier and being sent on his way by a plump maidservant. When Christopher knocked, the same woman came to the door. Short, round and flat-faced, she had the look of someone who would obey her employer's wishes to the letter.
'Good afternoon,' said Christopher, touching the brim of his hat. 'I wonder if I might see Mrs Lucy Cheever.'
'There's nobody of that name here,' said the woman. 'I told the constable that.'
'Then I think you must be mistaken.'
'No, sir. I know who my mistress is.'
'Is she at home at the moment?'
'Not to unexpected visitors, sir.'
'But I come as a friend,' explained Christopher. 'I must speak to her as a matter of urgency. I have news about her husband, Gabriel Cheever.'
'You must have confused this address with another one, sir.'
Christopher looked her in the eye. 'Are you not interested in what happened to your master?' he challenged. 'You must surely have missed him by now.'
The woman's lids flickered but she held her ground. Jonathan intervened.
'We need to report an accident,' he said.
'What sort of accident, sir?' she asked.
'A serious one.'
The maidservant was in a quandary. Ordered to keep everyone at bay, she wanted to know more details. She hesitated for a full minute. Eventually, she opted to obey her instructions. Deciding to send them on their way, she was on the point of closing the door with a token apology when someone came down the staircase behind her. It was a young woman in a pretty green dress that rustled as she moved.
'Did I hear mention of an accident?' she asked.
'Yes, Mrs Cheever,' said Christopher.
She blushed slightly. 'My name is Henley, sir.'
'Lucy Henley was your maiden name, I suspect. I am looking at Lucy Cheever now. Why deny it?' he went on before she could protest. 'There is no shame. We are here with important news of your husband. It was your sister-in-law, Susan, who gave me this address. You can surely trust her. I think that you should let us in, Mrs Cheever.'
Christopher's soft voice and considerate manner persuaded her. Nodding to the servant to let them in, Lucy Cheever led the way into the parlour. It was a small but cosy room with evidence of money and taste in the choice of furnishings. Christopher noted the small crucifix on the wall. The maidservant lingered protectively in the doorway but her mistress dismissed her with a glance. When Christopher had performed introductions, all three of them sat down. Lucy Cheever was a short, slender woman with a face of porcelain beauty. She looked so small, young and innocent that it was difficult to believe that she was actually married. There was a fragility about her that disturbed both men. Neither of them relished the notion of passing on the news about her husband, fearing that she would be unable to cope with it.
'We thought that you might have come forward,' said Jonathan quietly.
'Why?' she asked.
'To report that your husband was missing.'
'But I was not aware that Gabriel was missing, Mr Bale. I've been away for almost a week. I only returned to the house today.'
'Should your husband have been here?'
'Yes,' she said, 'but I assumed he had gone out somewhere.'
'Where was your servant?'
'Anna travelled with me.'
'So you did not realise that your husband had gone astray?'
'No, Mr Bale. I fully expect him to come back some time today.'
Jonathan exchanged a glance with Christopher then let him take over.
'I have some sad news, I fear,' said the latter. 'Your husband will not be returning to his home. Gabriel Cheever was found dead some nights ago.'
'Dead?' Lucy's face contorted with pain and her fists tightened. 'Gabriel is dead?'
'Mr Bale was there when the body was found.'
'Where?'
'The full details may distress you.'
'You spoke earlier of an accident.'
'It was no accident, Mrs Cheever,' he said gently.
Lucy recoiled as if from a blow to the face and Christopher feared that she might topple over, but she made a supreme effort to control herself. Holding back tears, she turned to Jonathan and spoke in a clear voice.
'Tell me what happened, Mr Bale.'
'It will not make pleasant listening,' he warned.
'I want to know,' she insisted.
'Mrs Cheever-'
'I'm his wife,' she said interrupting him. 'If Gabriel has been killed, I want to know how. Tell me, Mr Bale. I'm not as frail as I may look, I promise you.'
Jonathan swallowed hard then launched into his tale. Christopher was impressed with how tactful he was, giving a clear account of the discovery of Cheever's body without dwelling overmuch on how he was murdered. The constable obviously had long experience of breaking dreadful news to bereaved families. There was a sensitivity about him that Christopher had never noticed before. Lucy Cheever heard it all without a flicker, though her face was drawn and her hands remained bunched in her lap. When the account was over, she looked across at the crucifix before closing her eyes in a prayer. Christopher was struck by her composure. For a woman who looked so delicate, Lucy Cheever had the most remarkable strength of will. When she opened her eyes again, they could see the grief swirling in them.
'Would you like us to leave?' asked Christopher softly.
'No, Mr Redmayne.'
'Shall I call your servant?'
'I can do that for myself when I feel the need.'
'You're very brave, Mrs Cheever.'
'I want to know all that you can tell me,' she murmured.
'There is not much more to tell,' said Jonathan. 'A search is under way for the man responsible but we have so far unearthed no suspects.'
'Where is my husband's body?'
'Being held at the morgue until it can be reclaimed by his family.'
'I am Gabriel's family,' she said with sudden anger. 'Everyone else turned their back on him. Gabriel was a complete outcast.'
'Not to his younger sister,' Christopher reminded her.
She calmed instantly. 'No, that's true. Susan stood by him.'
'She took grave risks for his sake.'
'I know, Mr Redmayne, and I'm deeply grateful to her. I only hope that I will one day have the opportunity of thanking her in person.' She lifted her head and thrust out her chin. 'I should be consulted about the burial of my husband.'
'You have a legal and a moral right,' agreed Christopher. 'But, apart from Susan Cheever, the family are not even aware of your existence.'
'I know.'
'Your marriage was kept secret from them.'
'And from my own family,' she confessed, biting her lip. 'That is why I retained my maiden name. We have only been in Knightrider Street a short while. The few neighbours we have met think of us as Mr and Mrs Henley.'
'That explains why nobody in the street had heard of you,' observed Jonathan.
'Why the need for such deception?' asked Christopher.
She lowered her gaze. 'That's a private matter.'
'Your husband's family will have to be told the truth.'
'I accept that.'
'You are bound to meet them at the funeral.'
'Yes,' she sighed, looking up. 'But nothing would keep me away.'
The effort of holding in her grief was telling on Lucy Cheever. Her body was tense, her cheeks hollow, her eyes whirlpools of anguish. Wanting to ask her so many questions, Christopher felt that it was not the moment to do so.
'Perhaps we should leave now, Mrs Cheever,' he volunteered.
'Not yet,' she said.
'We have no wish to intrude.'
'I am still bearing up,' she said brushing a first tear from her cheek. 'And while I still can, I would like to help if it is at all possible.'
'It is,' he said. 'You knew your husband better than anyone.'
'I did Mr Redmayne. I knew about his vices as well as his virtues. But I loved him nonetheless. Gabriel was everything to me. No woman could have had a kinder or more tender husband.'
'Did he ever talk about his past?'
'Nothing was hidden from me, Mr Redmayne. He was very honest.'
'Did he mention the names of any enemies?'
'Not that I can recall.'
'So you know of nobody who might have wanted to kill him?'
'Gabriel talked of wild threats made against him by people who lost heavily at cards but they were words spoken in the heat of the moment. He took no notice of them.'
'And he forsook that life completely?'
'Yes,' she said firmly. 'That was a condition of our marriage.'
Lucy Cheever had none of the sophisticated charms of Celia Hemmings, still less anything of her social poise and worldliness. Yet she had qualities that the other could never possess. Lucy had an integrity that shone out of her and a loveliness that was all the more fetching because she was so unaware of it. She could no more be Gabriel Cheever's mistress than Celia Hemmings could be his wife. The two women represented different sides of his character. Christopher understood the choice he had finally made.
'You told us that you had been away,' he said.
'I was visiting my mother, Mr Redmayne.'
'Was your husband left here alone?'
'Yes,' she confirmed. 'Anna came with me. Gabriel encouraged that. He wanted to work on a play he was writing and felt that he could do it best when he had no distractions.'
'I understand that he wrote poetry as well?'
A smile touched her lips. 'Oh, yes. He wrote wonderful poems.'
'So,' continued Christopher, 'while you were away, your husband would have spent most of his time here?'
'All of it, probably. Unless he went out to dine.'
'No friends were likely to call?'
Her voice sharpened. 'He left that world behind him, Mr Redmayne.'
'Of course. I'm sorry.'
'When you returned here,' said Jonathan, sitting forward, 'did you see any signs of a struggle having taken place in the house?'
'None, Mr Bale,' she said.
'Everything was in its place?'
'Yes.'
'No hint of forced entry?'
'None at all.' She paused. 'Although…'
'Yes?' he prompted.
'It was odd' she recalled. 'Very odd. When we got back today, I felt that something had been stolen from the house. Anna sensed it as well. But we must have been mistaken,' she said with a shrug. 'We could not find that anything was missing.'
Jonathan looked at Christopher before turning back to her again.
'How hard did you search?' he asked.
The wrangling went on throughout much of the day. Sir Julius Cheever felt that he was being torn apart. Stuck with a son-in-law he despised in a house that he loathed he was forced to acknowledge a son who had betrayed everything for which he stood. Part of him wanted to turn away from the whole depressing business but another part of him urged a degree of reconciliation. When all was said and done, Gabriel was his own flesh and blood. As he struggled to make up his mind, he was not aided by the comments of his elder daughter.
'There is no need for you to go, Father,' Brilliana told him.
'Somebody must,' he said.
'Let me send Lancelot. He can identify the body.'
'Me?' said her husband uneasily. 'Well, yes, my dear. If you wish.'
'I do wish.'
'Sir Julius?'
'No,' said the old man contemptuously. 'The last person who should do this is you, Lancelot. You hardly knew Gabriel. It's a ludicrous suggestion.'
Brilliana bridled. 'I was only trying to spare you, Father.'
'Perhaps I should go with you, Sir Julius,' offered Serle.
'Out of the question,' said Sir Julius hastily. 'Whatever else happens, you will not be involved. This is a family matter.' •
'Lancelot is part of the family now,' argued Brilliana.
'He's not a Cheever,' said Susan reasonably. 'It's unfair to force this upon him.'
'I'm not forcing anything on anybody.'
'You are, Brilliana.'
'Well, someone has to make a decision,' retorted her sister, taking a more aggressive stance. 'Nobody else seems capable of doing so.'
'I think that we should leave it to Sir Julius, my dear,' said her husband.
'We'll be here until Doomsday if we do that.'
'Brilliana!' Susan rebuked her.
'And I won't hear any criticism from you, Susan,' warned Brilliana. 'All that you've done is sit there and mope.'
'For heaven's sake – our brother is dead!'
'I'm well aware of that.'
'Then try to show some pity,' urged Susan.
'I need no lessons in behaviour from you,' snapped her sister.
Serle touched her arm. 'There's no reason to get upset about it, Brilliana.'
'Leave me alone.'
'We must discuss this calmly, my dear.'
She rounded on him. 'Oh, be quiet, Lancelot!'
'Yes,' said Sir Julius vehemently. 'That's the one thing Brilliana has said that I fully endorse. You've no useful comment to make in this debate, Lancelot, so I beg of you to make none at all.'
Serle was wounded. 'If you say so, Sir Julius.'
'I do. This bickering is driving me mad. I need peace and quiet.'
They were still seated round the table in the dining room. The meal had long since been over but they stayed in the room, locked in argument and unwilling to move. Susan Cheever tried to say as little as possible but some of her sister's comments could not go unchallenged. Anxious to help, Serle only managed to add further confusion. Sir Julius shuttled between a brooding silence and bursts of anger. The situation had exposed the deep divisions within the family and that made him squirm. He was uncomfortably reminded of his wife's more tolerant attitude towards their son. She had died after Gabriel left home for good but she usually took his side in his disputes with his father. Sir Julius knew what she would advise in the circumstances, and her counsel weighed heavily with him.
Susan took the initiative. 'Father should go,' she said, 'and I'll go with him.'
Brilliana was scornful. 'You, Susan?'
'Gabriel was my brother.'
'He was my brother as well, but that does not mean to say I wish to see him laid out on a slab.' She gave a shiver. 'The very notion is revolting.'
'Nobody will subject you to that, my dear,' promised Serle.
'I should hope not.'
'Father will need company on the journey,' said Susan.
'Lancelot can provide it.'
'He might prefer me alongside him.'
'I'd prefer anyone but Lancelot,' said Sir Julius with asperity. 'But not you, Susan. You stay here. This is not woman's work. I appreciate your offer but this is something that falls to me and I'll not shirk it. Besides,' he added hauling himself to his feet, 'it's not merely a question of identifying Gabriel. I want to know who killed him and why. Since I have to go into the city, I'll call on Redmayne.'
'What business is this of his?' asked Brilliana.
'He put himself out to bring us the news.'
'That may be so, Father, but we do not want him poking his nose into our affairs.'
'Mr Redmayne has gone to great lengths to help us,' said Susan with a fervour that took her sister by surprise. 'You heard what he said. He is taking part in the search for Gabriel's killer. In other words, he is putting himself in danger on our behalf. If you cannot be grateful to him, at least do not be so critical.'
Brilliana was effectively silenced for once. Her father savoured the moment.
'I've changed my mind, Susan,' he said at length. 'Perhaps you should come with me, after all.'
Henry Redmayne was so stunned by the news that he flopped back down into a chair. 'Gabriel Cheever had a wife?' he said incredulously.
'An extremely attractive one, Henry.'
'This must be some kind of jest.'
'It is not,' said Christopher. 'I can assure you.'
'Gabriel married? Never,' insisted Henry. 'I'd sooner believe that the King had taken a vow of chastity or that our own father shares his bed with two naked women and a long-tailed monkey. It's completely against his nature.'
'Perhaps that is why he kept it so secret.'
'But what could have led to such folly?'
'It was no folly. He somehow met the young lady who is now his widow. Lucy Cheever is the kind of person who would inspire any man to change for the better.'
'Why bother with a wife when he could have had almost any woman he wanted?'
Christopher smiled. 'One day you may learn the answer to that question yourself.'
'Pah!'
They were in the hall at the house in Bedford Street. Christopher had arrived as his brother was about to venture out. He was pleased that Henry had plucked up enough courage to resume his social life. It signalled a welcome return of his confidence. Henry was still apprehensive, but the fact that Sir Marcus Kemp was also a victim of blackmail had somehow rallied him. His was now a shared pain and that made it easier to bear.
'Say nothing of this to your friends,' suggested Christopher.
'They would not believe me if I did.'
'I agreed to protect Lucy Cheever's secret. She has reasons of her own why the truth should not spread far and wide. We must respect her wishes.'
'Gabriel was a deeper man than I suspected.'
'Did you know he had literary aspirations?'
'No, Christopher.'
'Miss Hemmings confided as much to me. His wife says that he was a talented poet with ambitions to write plays as well. She said that he was a dedicated author.'
Henry shook his head in wonder. 'Getting married? Scribbling away in secret? Forsaking his old friends and haunts? No,' he said, getting up, 'this is not the Gabriel Cheever that the rest of us knew.'
'I fancy there may be more surprises yet before we finish.'
'I hope not, Christopher. I've had rather too many surprises already.'
'Where are you going now?'
'To call on Sir Marcus Kemp. He was as terrified as I was at first, especially when he heard that Gabriel had been murdered. He wanted to barricade himself in his house. But I put some steel into him,' said Henry, adopting a pose. 'I told him that we must stick together and defy the blackmail threats.'
'You may soon have company.'
'Company?'
'Yes,' said Christopher. 'A person or persons capable of murder will be ruthless in extorting money from their victims. Compromising material may well exist about others in your circle, Henry. They, too, may receive anonymous demands.'
'Poor devils!'
'See what you can find out.'
Henry was petulant. 'That will not be easy, you know. I can hardly go up to every one of my friends and ask them to their faces if they have had any unsavoury correspondence lately. It would be in the worst possible taste,' he said haughtily. 'They are bound to ask me why I frame such a question and I have no wish to expose my own wounds to the world.'
'Your friends may come to you. Sir Marcus Kemp did.'
'Only because one of the incidents mentioned involved the two of us.'
'The four of you,' corrected Christopher.
'One of those damnable women betrayed us.'
'Unless Mrs Curtis was listening at the door.'
'I would not put that past her, Christopher. She likes to make sure that her charges are giving satisfaction. I dare say that Mrs Curtis is no stranger to eavesdropping or to peeping through keyholes.' A thought struck him. 'Could she be party to this blackmail?'
'You would be in a better position than me to discover that, Henry.'
'Oh, no!' moaned his brother. 'I'll not go near her or any other woman again until this villain is caught. Sir Marcus and I both agreed on that.'
'Then you are aping Gabriel Cheever.'
'In what way?'
'You are a repentant rake.'
'I repent nothing!' declared Henry.
'Not even your flagrant indiscretions?'
'No, Christopher. Repentance takes the edge off pleasure. I'll none of it.'
Christopher was glad to find his brother in more buoyant spirits but saddened that his predicament had not forced Henry to view his past actions with at least a modicum of shame. The first letter had contained lubricious details about his private life and he was embarrassed that Christopher had to see them, but he would make no effort to reform. When the crisis was over, Henry would become an impenitent voluptuary once more. That fact did not lessen his brother's urge to help him.
'I'll to the morgue,' said Christopher.
'Whatever for?' asked Henry with distaste.
'To see if Sir Julius has been there to identify the body.'
'Gabriel's wife could have done that, surely?'
'No,' said Christopher. 'It would be far too harrowing for her.'
'What if Sir Julius refuses to acknowledge his son?'
'Oh, he will.'
'You sound very certain of that,' Henry remarked.
'My guess is that even his flinty old heart will melt,' said Christopher. 'Besides, if he refuses to go to the mortuary, someone else will go in his place.'
'Someone else?'
'His younger daughter, Susan.'
Though the circumstances might have dictated a more sedate pace, Sir Julius Cheever insisted that the coachman keep his team of horses moving at speed. Not for him a funereal approach to the city. When they left Richmond, they almost tore through the countryside. It made for an uncomfortable journey. Susan Cheever and her father were jostled so violently that leisured conversation was well nigh impossible. They did not object to that. Sir Julius wanted to wrestle with his ambivalent feelings in silence and Susan was content to let fonder memories of her brother preoccupy her. When the city eventually rose up before them, however, they found their tongues again.
'Where will we stay, Father?' asked Susan.
'Anywhere but Serle Court. We go from one morgue to another.'
'That's unkind. Brilliana and Lancelot did everything to make us feel welcome.'
'Then why am I so relieved to quit the place?' said Sir Julius sourly. 'It will be late evening when we finally arrive. That's a wonderful excuse to stay away from Richmond for a night.'
Susan winced. 'I'd not call Gabriel's death a wonderful excuse.'
'Nor I,' he said, immediately contrite. 'Forgive me, Susan. I was trying to find some small glimmer of light in the darkness that has just descended on our family. I am quite lost. Gabriel is dead?' he said wonderingly. 'At such a young age? Why? What on earth did he do to deserve such a sorry end?'
'He did not deserve it, Father.'
'Only time will tell that.'
She gazed through the window. 'Do you know a suitable inn?' she said.
'There are dozens at our disposal.'
'So you have nowhere particular in mind?'
'No, Susan.'
'Perhaps Mr Redmayne can recommend somewhere,' she suggested casually, still looking out at the passing fields. 'He lives in London. He will know where we might find some proper accommodation.'
'I'm sure that he would.'
'May we call on him?'
'I meant to do so in any case.'
'Did you?' She turned back to him. 'Where does he live?'
'Fetter Lane.'~
'We can visit him when our business is done.'
'Before that,' he decreed.
'Before?'
'With Mr Redmayne's permission, I will leave you there while I go to the morgue to identify the body and make arrangements to have it moved.'
'But I wish to be there with you, Father,' she protested.
'No, Susan.'
'Gabriel is my brother.'
Sir Julius was peremptory. 'He's my son and I must take full responsibility. A morgue is no place for you, Susan. The stink of death would stay in your nostrils for weeks. After all my years as a soldier, I am used to it. You are not. Besides,' he continued as a distant grief finally started to break through, 'I want to be alone with Gabriel. I need to make my peace with him.'
When Christopher finally got back to his house, Jacob was ready to look after him. After unsaddling and stabling his horse, the old servant prepared him some food, explained what had happened during his absence and generally fussed over him. Over an hour had passed before Christopher was able to set out his materials on the bare table and do some more work on the drawings of the new house. His hand moved with intermittent fluency. Dark thoughts kept invading him. What distracted him most was a consideration of how differently people had reacted to the news of Gabriel Cheever's unnatural death. Celia Hemmings had been rocked to the core, moving between anguish and disbelief. Susan Cheever had fainted, her father had turned away, her sister had made a callous remark and Lancelot Serle had been wholly unequal to the situation. Most astonishing, however, had been Lucy Cheever's response. She was a defenceless young woman who had made immense sacrifices to marry the man she loved and might have been expected to collapse totally when she heard that he was lost to her for ever. Yet she had shown a resilience that was extraordinary.
Jonathan Bale had been impressed by it as well. The two men had no doubt that, when they left the house in Knightrider Street, the sorrow would be too much for her to bear and she would feel the full weight of her loss. While they were there, however, Lucy had borne up remarkably. There was an inner strength that sustained her and it must have been one of the qualities that attracted her husband to her in the first place. As he reflected on the character of the three women closest to the deceased, Christopher could see that Gabriel Cheever must have been a young man of unusual charm. His wife and his former mistress had almost nothing in common yet both loved him devotedly. Though his elder sister had rejected him, Susan patently adored him, providing, as far as she was able, the familial love that the others denied him. Three disparate characters each found something irresistible about Gabriel. They were now united by a shared pain.
Christopher forced himself to concentrate on the work in hand. It was, after all, the means by which he had been introduced to the Cheever family. Having visited Serle Court, he could see why Sir Julius was so anxious to have a house of his own. Brilliana would be a spiky hostess at the best of times. In the situation thrust upon them, her coldness and selfishness had come to the fore. Well intentioned as he was, Serle himself had hardly distinguished himself in the emergency. It was not a happy place to be. Sir Julius only went there out of a sense of family duty. Christopher was confident that he would insist that plans went ahead for the London abode. It would be his place of refuge from an unfeeling daughter and an irritating son-in-law. The architect applied himself to his task. A more refined version of the house began to appear slowly on the parchment before him.
Lost in creation, he did not hear the coach pulling up outside in the street or even the ringing of the doorbell. Joseph scurried out to see who was calling. The voice of Sir Julius Cheever boomed out. Christopher felt as if he had been shaken forcibly awake. Jacob invited the visitors into the parlour. When Christopher joined them, his surprise at seeing his client was matched by his delight in observing that he had brought his younger daughter with him. For her part, Susan Cheever was at once pleased and discomfited, curious to see inside Christopher's house but embarrassed that they had descended on him without warning. He brushed aside all apologies.
'Do take a seat,' he said. 'Jacob will bring refreshment.'
'I cannot stay, Mr Redmayne,' warned Sir Julius. 'I must visit the morgue. Susan was kind enough to travel with me from Richmond but I'll not put her through the ordeal. You have already shown your consideration. May I be so bold as to trespass on your kindness again and ask if my daughter might remain here while I am away?'
Christopher was quietly thrilled. 'The request is unnecessary, Sir Julius. Please take my hospitality for granted. Miss Cheever is most welcome in my home.'
'Thank you,' she said.
'I will return for her in due course,' announced her father, moving to the door.
'Do not hurry,' said Christopher. 'Your daughter will be safe here.'
'I'm most obliged.'
Sir Julius swept out and Jacob went after him to close the front door in his wake. The coach was heard trundling away. Susan refused the offer of food but was grateful to sit on a comfortable chair after her bumpy journey. Jacob withdrew discreetly to leave them alone. Christopher was nervous. Sitting opposite his guest, he saw how pale and strained she looked. He cleared his throat.
'It pains me to see you in such distress,' he said.
'Father was wrong to foist me on you like this, Mr Redmayne.'
'Not at all, Miss Cheever. I regard it as a stroke of good fortune.'
Her face clouded. 'I'd hardly call it that.'
'The words were ill-chosen,' he confessed quickly, 'and I withdraw them at once. What I meant was that I'm glad of the opportunity to confide something that would have been impossible to tell you in your father's presence.'
'You've seen Gabriel's wife?' she said, interest lighting up her features.
'This afternoon.'
'How did she receive the news?'
'With great stoicism,' he told her, remembering the way that Lucy had borne up. 'Your sister-in-law is an unusual young lady, Miss Cheever. She looks delicate but she is very brave.'
'That was how Gabriel described her in his letters to me,' she said.
'They were obviously happy together.'
Christopher gave her a full account of the visit that he and Jonathan Bale had made to the house. Susan was grateful for each new detail. It irked her that she had been unable to meet the young woman who had brought such joy and stability into her brother's life. Everything that she heard about Lucy Cheever accorded with the information that the fond husband had given in his letters to his sister. There was, however, one thing that her brother had not explained.
'Why did they keep the marriage secret?' she asked.
'I think that your brother wished to make a fresh start, Miss Cheever. That meant cutting himself off completely from his former friends. My brother, Henry, was among them,' admitted
Christopher, 'and he was astounded to hear that Gabriel had a young bride. Others would have mocked him unmercifully.'
'There must be more to it than that.'
'I agree. The real answer may lie with your sister-in-law.'
'In what way, Mr Redmayne?'
'I am not sure,' said Christopher, 'but she clearly has good reasons of her own to keep the marriage secret. She was not even using your brother's name.'
'How strange!'
'She is concealing the truth from her own family.'
'Why should she need to do that?'
'Lucy – Mrs Cheever, that is – did not tell us. She bore up well but the strain on her was starting to tell. Jonathan Bale and I left her to mourn in private.' He lowered his voice. 'The facts will have to come out now.'
'I understand that.'
'She will want to attend the funeral as his wife. Sir Julius will have to be told that he has a daughter-in-law he did not know existed. However,' he added tactfully, 'your own part in all this is perhaps better suppressed.'
Susan was defiant. 'I'm not ashamed of what I did.'
'I know,' he said, 'and I admire you for it. But it might be unwise to let your father know that you deceived him all this while. You have to live with him, Miss Cheever. It might cause unnecessary strife if he were to learn that you exchanged letters with your brother. I'll not breathe a word on the subject.'
'That's very considerate of you.'
'What you have told me in confidence will remain sacrosanct.'
Their eyes locked for a second and he saw the first sign of her affection for him. An answering glint in his own eyes seemed to unsettle her. She looked away guiltily.
'It was wrong of us to impose on you, Mr Redmayne.'
'There is no imposition, I promise you.'
'You were simply engaged to design a house,' she said shifting her gaze back to him, 'not to become embroiled in our family affairs.'
'That was unavoidable, Miss Cheever. I make no complaint.'
Christopher did not want to discuss his brother's problems with her nor reveal that he was involved in a parallel investigation to hunt a blackmailer. It was enough for her to know that he was committed to helping in the search for her brother's killer. It sparked off a sudden show of concern.
'You will be careful,' she warned.
'Of course.'
'I would hate you to put yourself at risk on our account.'
Christopher smiled. 'I am well able to look after myself.'
'The man you are after is a vicious killer:'
'I have an advantage that your brother lacked,' he pointed out. 'Jonathan Bale will be watching my back. He has done that before and I trust him implicitly.'
She relaxed slightly. 'Good. That reassures me somewhat.'
'I'm touched that you are worried on my account,' he said. Another flicker of affection appeared in her eyes. 'Thank you, Miss Cheever.'
There was a long silence. He left it to Susan to break it.
'You told me that Lucy knew all about Gabriel's past,' she resumed.
'That is what she claimed.'
'Did she mention what he had written?'
'Of course,' said Christopher. 'She thought his poetry was wonderful. I suspect that some of it was dedicated to her. It's a small consolation, I know, but she will still have those poems to remember him by. Lucy also talked about the play he was working on.'
'Did she refer to anything else?'
'Not that I recall.'
'No memoirs that he was writing?'
'Memoirs?'
'Yes, Mr Redmayne,' she explained, 'Gabriel had a conscience. Though he enjoyed the life that he led in London, he did so at a price. His conscience tormented him. He was never really comfortable in that world and he found a way to deal with it.'
'What was that?' asked Christopher.
'He kept a diary. A detailed memoir of everything that happened during those long nights at the card tables and… her voice faltered… and in the other places he visited. Gabriel did not spare himself,' she went on. 'He listed all his vices and named all of his friends. That diary was a form of confession. He was trying to purge himself.' She leaned forward. 'Do you think that Lucy is aware of that diary?'
'Yes,' said Christopher, mind racing. 'I suspect that she is.'
'If she is not, it would be painful for her to stumble on it unawares.'
'There is no possibility of that, Miss Cheever,' he said, thinking of the blackmail threats. 'The diary is no longer at the house.'