Frost Fair (8 page)

    'Why?'

    'He passed out. Whether from drink or fear or a combination of both, he does not know. Henry has a vague memory of a pain at the back of his head before falling to the ground so he might have been struck from behind.'

    'By an accomplice of Signor Maldini?'

    'Possibly.'

    Jonathan pondered. 'It's not a convincing story,' he said at length. 'A man as skilful with a sword as a fencing master would not need a confederate. It would be a matter of pride to him to dispatch an enemy on his own.'

    'Yet he left Henry untouched.'

    'When did your brother recover his senses?'

    'A watchman found him and helped him to his feet,' said Christopher, resuming the tale. 'There was no sign of the Italian. Henry's only concern was to get home safely so the watchman summoned a calash for him. When he got back to Bedford Street, the servants put him to bed.' He pursed his lips. 'They've had plenty of practice at that, I fear.' He tossed the piece of paper on to the table. 'I think I know what you are going to ask me, Jonathan.'

    'Where was your brother's dagger?'

    'It disappeared along with Signor Maldini.'

    'According to the coroner, he was stabbed to death before he went into the river.'

    "The dagger was still embedded in his back,' said Christopher. 'It bore my brother's initials and Henry was forced to identify it as his own. Yes,' he continued when he saw the doubt in his friend's eyes, 'I know that it's telling evidence against him but you have to remember the condition that my brother was in at the time.' 'Too sodden with drink to know whether or not he stabbed a man in the back.'

    'He'd never do that, Jonathan.'

    'Not even in self-defence?'

    'What chance would a dagger have against a rapier?'

    'Very little if the two men faced each other,' said Jonathan. 'However, if your brother chanced upon his adversary from behind, it would be a different matter.'

    'I can see that you're not persuaded of his innocence.'

    'I'd need far more evidence to do so.'

    'Let me speak to Henry again. Newgate will have jogged his memory.'

    'With respect, Mr Redmayne, it would be foolish to rely only on what your brother tells you. Drink befuddled his mind. That much is beyond question. You'll never get the truth out of a man who does not know it himself.'

    'So what do you suggest that I do?'

    'Speak to the witnesses who were present when the argument flared up. They may be able to shed more light on why your brother and Signor Maldini hated each other so much. Do you have their names?'

    'They are here before me,' said Christopher, indicating the piece of paper. 'When I got back from the prison, I made a note of everything that Henry told me, incoherent as it may be. But he did remember who his companions were that night.'

    'How many of them were there?'

    'Three.'

    'Begin there,' counselled Jonathan. 'And when you have finished with his friends, track down this watchman who discovered your brother lying on the ground. He might yield some valuable information.'

    Christopher was resolute. 'I'll do all that I can to save Henry,' he affirmed.

    'If he is innocent.'

    'If he is guilty, he deserves to suffer the full rigour of the law. If my brother killed a man in a drunken brawl, I would hesitate to lift a finger in his defence. But that's not the case, Jonathan,' he argued. 'Henry could not have committed this crime and I'll not rest until I've proved that.' He looked deep into his friend's eyes. 'Will you help me?'

    'I am already making enquiries that relate to this investigation.'

    'I know,' said Christopher. 'Signor Maldini lodged not far from you. But I would ask you to go further afield. This watchman, for instance. You'll find him much quicker than I would and win his confidence more easily.'

    Jonathan was cynical. 'The right coins will do that.'

    'I need a partner in this enterprise. I'm too guided by filial love to see everything as clearly as I should. That's why your help would make such a difference, Jonathan. You are cool, detached and objective.'

    "There are others with those same qualities.'

    'I'm asking
you.
'

    'Then you've come to the wrong man, Mr Redmayne.'

    Christopher was hurt. 'Why? We've worked so well together in the past.'

    "That was different. We were both of one mind in the past.'

    'What are you telling me?'

    'What honesty compels me to say,' replied Jonathan uneasily. 'You assume your brother's innocence but I cannot bring myself to do that. On the face of it, the evidence against him is too strong. He threatened Signor Maldini in the hearing of others, and he had the motive, means and opportunity to carry out that threat. His only defence is that he was too drunk to recall what he did. If you'd heard that excuse offered in court as many times as I have, you'd know how unwise it is to believe it.'

    'I thought that I could count on you above all others.' Jonathan's face was impassive. 'If you are not ready to help me, why did you bother to come?' His visitor averted his gaze. 'Will you proceed on this basis, then?' asked Christopher, anxious to have an ally. 'Work to establish Henry's guilt while I struggle to prove his innocence. We can still carry on side by side. Sooner or later, one of us will have to change his mind.' He knelt before his friend. 'I'd not ask this of anyone else, Jonathan. Help me. Please.'

    'Help you to send your brother to the gallows?'

    'No,' said Christopher. 'Help me to find the man who did kill Signor Maldini?'

Chapter Five

    Devoted to a life of outward show, Henry Redmayne had never felt the need to look beyond his reflection in a mirror at the inner man. He was now forced to do so and found it a thoroughly disagreeable experience. It soon dawned on him that he had neither the character nor the strength to cope with the predicament in which he found himself. Gregarious by nature, he was lost when cut off from human company of the kind that he favoured. Yet he shuddered at the thought that any of his acquaintances should see him in such distress, locked away in a grimy cell, deprived of even the most basic comforts, drooping with fatigue and trembling with fear. In his fevered mind, the prospect of execution was a very real one. Henry knew that it would be preceded by a series of other humiliations. His name would be besmirched, his friends would fall away, his enemies would rejoice and his family would suffer horrendously. It was that same family which now preoccupied the prisoner.

    While his brother, Christopher, was standing by him with unquestioning loyalty, his father would definitely take a more trenchant view of his plight. Henry was as terrified of the Dean of Gloucester as he was of the hangman. At least he would not have to endure a blistering sermon from the latter. Overcome with guilt, he could not bear the notion of being confronted by an outraged parent in homiletic vein, yet the truth could not be hidden from his father. One thing he had learned about the Church was its remarkable capacity for disseminating bad tidings. A messenger might already be on his way to Gloucester and he would not return to London alone. The Reverend Algernon Redmayne, stirred into action, would surely accompany him, armed with stinging rebukes and dire predictions about his elder son's reception at the Last Judgement. It would be worse than being flayed alive. Henry was unequal to it. Falling to his knees in the straw, he prayed, with a fervour he usually reserved for amorous encounters, that his father was kept away from him by whatever means.

    The grating of a key in the lock made him jump to his feet and flatten himself against the wall, frightened that the Almighty had spurned his request and delivered the Dean of Gloucester to scourge him for his sins. When someone stepped into his cell, Henry did not dare to look. The door was locked behind the visitor.

    'My dear fellow!' said a kindly voice. 'Look at the state of you!'

    Henry peered at him. 'Is that you, Martin?' he asked, torn between gratitude and embarrassment. 'What are you doing here?'

    'I came to see you and to bring you some sustenance.'

    Martin Crenlowe was a fleshy man in his thirties with a reddish tinge to his nose and cheeks. A goldsmith by trade, Crenlowe had expensive tastes in clothing. His periwig framed a podgy face that was creased with sympathy. He was a fastidious man who had taken the precaution of carrying a pomander to ward off the stink of Newgate and the risk of infection. He had also brought a flagon of wine and some food. Unhappy at being seen in such a miserable condition, Henry was revived by the sight of the turkey pie, cheese and fruit. He accepted them with profuse thanks.

    'It's good to know that one of my friends has not disowned me,' he said.

    'Why should I disown you?'

    'Because I'm held here on a charge of murder.'

    'I know,' said Crenlowe, shifting his feet uneasily. 'I came to apologise for my part in that. I do not believe for one moment that you were the killer, Henry, but they put me under oath and I was compelled to speak the truth. I was there when it happened. I heard you threaten Signor Maldini.'

    'I've never denied it.'

    "The three of us had to bear witness against you. Sir Humphrey Godden, Captain Harvest and myself. We had no choice.'

    'I do not blame you for that, Martin.'

    'But our evidence helped to land you in Newgate. Can you ever forgive us?'

    'You spoke honestly. I did threaten to kill him.'

    'Only because you were sorely provoked,' said Crenlowe. 'And there's all the difference in the world between a wild threat uttered in the heat of the moment and the determination to carry it out. Let them say what they will. I'll never accept that Henry Redmayne is a ruthless killer, nor will Sir Humphrey.'

    'What of Captain Harvest?'

    Crenlowe sighed. 'James has let you down badly, alas.'

    'In what way?'

    'He's convinced of your guilt and is telling everyone who'll listen to him that you are a dangerous man with a temper you could not control. Sir Humphrey and I are so appalled by his behaviour that we've cut him dead.'

    "The villain!'

    'Forget him, Henry. Lean on your friends.'

    'I did not know that I still had any.'

    'One stands before you,' said Crenlowe loyally, 'and there are others who do not doubt your innocence. If there's any way that we can help, you've only to ask.'

    'Your visit has been a medicine in itself, Martin. It's cured my one malady - the fear that the whole of London had turned against me. As for help,' said Henry, 'the person you must turn to is my brother, Christopher. He's trying to marshal my defence and would welcome aid from any source. He lives in Fetter Lane.'

    'You once pointed out the house to me.' He heard the key in the lock again. 'My time is up. I was only permitted a brief moment with you.'

    'You've brought me more comfort than I can say.'

    'Enjoy the wine,' said Crenlowe as the door creaked open. 'And do not despair, Henry. We'll get you out of this somehow.'

    'God bless you!'

    The house was in Covent Garden and Christopher Redmayne spent several minutes admiring its exterior before he knocked on the door. It was typical of the properties that were being built in increasing numbers in the area, tall, imposing and elegant with a narrow frontage. Marble pillars supported the portico. Evidently, a considerable amount of money had been spent on the house by someone with firm views about architecture. A manservant opened the door and, after listening to the visitor's name and request, invited him into the hall while he went off to speak to his master. There was a long delay during which Christopher inspected the paintings on the wall. Like his brother, Sir Humphrey Godden had an insatiable curiosity in the naked female form. Nudes of varying shapes and sizes abounded. In the one portrait where a young lady was fully dressed, she was raising an expressive eyebrow while exposing a rounded breast to the artist. Christopher was still studying a picture of a Bacchanalian orgy when footsteps clacked across the marble floor. He turned to see a tall, striking man in his forties with a black moustache that matched exactly the colour of his wig. Dressed to go out in a scarlet cloak, he was carrying a hat and cane. He eyed his visitor with frank displeasure.

    'Sir Humphrey?' asked Christopher.

    'You come at an inopportune moment, Mr Redmayne,' replied the other, putting on his hat. 'I was about to leave.'

    'I'll not detain you long. I'm sure that you can guess why I'm here.'

    'If it is to ask me to change my evidence, you are wasting your time. I spoke as my conscience dictated. Your brother threatened to kill Jeronimo Maldini and I heard him loud and clear. That's what I reported.'

    'Henry admits it himself.'

    'Then this conversation is superfluous.'