The Repentant Rake

    'London
is a veritable cesspool!' he said, banging the table with a bunched fist. 'A
swamp of corruption and crime.'

    Christopher
shrugged. 'It has its redeeming features, Sir Julius.'

    'Does
it?'

    'I
think so.'

    'Well,
I've never seen any of them. A capital city should be the jewel of the nation,
not a running sewer. The place disgusts me, Mr Redmayne. It's full of arrogant
fools and strutting fops. Babylon was a symbol of decency compared to it.
Immorality runs riot in London. Whores and rogues people its streets. Drunkards
and gamesters haunt it by night. Foul disease eats into its vitals. And the
worst villains of all are those who sit in Parliament and allow this depravity
to spread unchecked.'

    The
tirade continued. Christopher Redmayne listened patiently while his host
unburdened himself of his trenchant views. Sir Julius Cheever was not a man to
be interrupted. He charged into a conversation like a bull at a gate and it was
wise to offer him no further obstruction. Sir Julius was a wealthy farmer, big,
brawny, opinionated and forthright. Now almost sixty, he bore the scars of war
with honour on his rubicund face but it was his wounded soul that was now on
display. The oak table was pounded once again. Eyes flashed.

    'Why,
in the bowels of Christ, did we let this happen?' he demanded. 'Did we spill all
that blood to end up with something even worse than we had before? Has there
been no progress at all? London is nothing but a monument to sin.'

    'Then
I am bound to wonder why you wish to build a house there, Sir Julius,' said
Christopher gently. 'Given your low opinion of the capital, I would have
thought you'd shun rather than seek to inhabit the place.'

    'Necessity,
Mr Redmayne. Necessity drives me there.'

    'Against
your will, by the sound of it.'

    'My
conscience has subdued my will.'

    Christopher
found it difficult to believe that anything could subdue Sir Julius Cheever's
will. He positively exuded determination. Once set on a course of action, he
would not be deflected from it. Evidently, his obstinacy and blunt manner would
not make him an easy client but Christopher was prepared to make allowances.
The commission appealed to him. In the interests of securing it, he was
prepared to tolerate the old man's rasping tongue and uncompromising views.

    'Let
me explain,' said Sir Julius, legs apart and hands on his hips. 'I'm an
unrepentant Parliamentarian and I don't care who knows it. I fought at Naseby,
Bristol, Preston, Dunbar and Worcester with the rank of colonel. You can see
the results,' he added, indicating the livid scar on his cheek, the healed gash
above one eye and the missing ear. 'The Lord Protector saw fit to reward me
with a knighthood and I was grateful. Not that I agreed with everything he did,
mark you, because I did not and he was left in no doubt about that. I favoured
deposition of the king, not his execution. That was a cruel mistake. We are
still paying for it.'

    'You
spoke of conscience, Sir Julius.'

    'That
is what is taking me to London.'

    'For
what reason?'

    'To
begin the process of cleansing it, of course. To root out vice before it takes
too firm a hold. I'm not a man to stand back when there's important work to do,
Mr Redmayne. I have a sense of duty.'

    'I
can see that.'

    'Parliament
needs people like me. Honest, upstanding, Godfearing men who will lead the
fight against the creeping evil that has invaded our capital. I will shortly be
elected as one of the members for the county of Northampton and look to knock a
few heads together when I get to Westminster.'

    Christopher
smiled. 'I wish that I could see you in action, Sir Julius.'

    'Fighting
is in my blood. I'll not mince my words.'

    'You'll
cause quite a stir in the seat of government.'

    'The
seat of government deserves to be kicked hard and often.' Sir Julius gave a
harsh laugh then stopped abruptly to pluck at his moustache.

    They
were in the parlour of the Cheever farmhouse in Northamptonshire. It was a big,
sprawling, timber-framed structure, built with Tudor solidity but little
architectural inspiration. The room was large, the oak floor gleaming and the
bulky items of furniture suggesting money rather than taste. Christopher
suspected that the place had looked identical for at least half a century. Sir
Julius Cheever belonged there. He had the same generous dimensions, the same
ignorance of fashion and the same hopelessly dated air. Yet there was something
strangely engaging about him. Beneath the surface bluster, Christopher detected
an essentially good man, given to introspection and animated by motives of
altruism. He could see that Sir Julius would be a loyal friend but an extremely
dangerous enemy.

    Christopher
was seated in a high-backed chair but his host remained on his feet. Stroking
his moustache, Sir Julius studied his guest carefully before speaking.

    'Thank
you for coming so promptly, Mr Redmayne,' he said.

    'Your
letter implied urgency.'

    'I
make decisions quickly.'

    'And
are you firmly resolved to have a town house in London?'

    'Now
that I am to sit in Parliament, it is unavoidable.'

    'There
may be some delay, Sir Julius,' warned Christopher. 'Houses are not built
overnight. When you first come to London, you will have to find other
accommodation.'

    Sir
Julius waved a hand. 'That's all taken care of,' he said dismissively. 'My daughter,
Brilliana, lives in Richmond with her dolt of a husband. I'll lodge with them
until my own abode is 'complete. The sooner it's ready, the better.'

    'I,
too, can work quickly when required.'

    'That's
what I was told.'

    'Does
that mean you are engaging me to design your new house?'

    'No,
Mr Redmayne,' said the other. 'It means that I brought you here to gauge your
fitness for the task. You are the third in line. It's only fair to tell you that
your two predecessors were found seriously wanting.'

    'You
didn't care for their draughtsmanship?'

    'It
was their politics that I couldn't stomach.'

    'I
hope that I don't fall at the same hurdle, Sir Julius.' Christopher was
puzzled. 'Before you put me to the test,' he said, 'may I please ask a
question?'

    'Of
course.'

    'How
did you first become aware of my work?'

    'Through
the agency of a friend - Elijah Pembridge.'

    Christopher
was surprised. 'The bookseller?'

    'I
can read, you know,' said Sir Julius with a twinkle in his eye.

    'Yes,
yes, naturally. What surprises me is that someone so decidedly urban and
bookish as Elijah Pembridge should number a country gentleman among his
acquaintances.'