The Repentant Rake (6 page)

    'I
wouldn't say that,' argued Jacob, inspecting his master's coat. 'How on earth
did you get involved with a highwayman in the first place?'

    'Because
I was reckless.'

    'That's
a kind word for it, sir.'

    'I'm
in the mood for kind words. Remember that.'

    Christopher
sat down at the table, and Jacob disappeared into the kitchen with the coat.
When he came back, he brought a glass of brandy on a tray Giving him a nod of
gratitude, Christopher took the glass and sipped its contents.

    'You
sensed my needs exactly, Jacob,' he said.

    'That's
what I'm here for, sir.'

    Jacob
Vout was the only servant at the house in Fetter Lane. As a result, the old man
had to combine the duties of cook, butler, valet and ostler, volunteering, for
no extra payment, to assume a paternal role as well from time to time. Devoted
to Christopher as a master, he occasionally treated him like an erring son and
spoke with a candour that blurred the social divisions between them.
Christopher tolerated it all with good humour. He knew that Jacob watched over
him with a mingled sense of duty and affection, and he was reminded of the way
that Susan Cheever treated her father, though he liked to think that he had
none of the truculence of Sir Julius.

    'I
dare not ask if the visit was a success,' said Jacob tentatively. 'If you were
set on by a villainous highwayman, it obviously was not.'

    'A
minor irritation, Jacob, that's all. It's out of my mind already. I've far more
pleasant things to contemplate,' he said as he thought of Susan Cheever again.
He manufactured a frown and rolled his eyes. 'But you're quite correct, Jacob.
The visit to Northamptonshire cannot, I fear, be construed as a success.'

    'Oh.
I'm disappointed to hear that.'

    Christopher
grinned. 'It was an absolute triumph!'

    'Was
it?'

    'Without
question.'

    'Congratulations,
sir!' said Jacob, rising to a smile.

    'I've
been commissioned to design a town house for Sir Julius Cheever,' he explained,
taking the parchment from his satchel. 'Here are some early sketches I made for
him. They're very rough but they give me a basis from which to work. More to
the point, Jacob,' he added shaking the satchel, 'my client insisted on giving
me an advance payment. You'll be able to fill the larder and stock the wine
cellar to your heart's content. We are solvent once more.'

    'That's
very heartening, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Indeed
if everything goes to plan, this commission could make me a man of moderate
wealth. That will be a welcome change. Most of the money I've earned so far as
an architect went to paying off old debts. I may now actually be able to
save
a portion of what I earn. What a novelty that will be!'

    'Indeed,
sir.'

    'This
commission could be a turning point of my career.'

    'As
long as you stay clear of highwaymen.'

    'Oh,
I will, Jacob. I give you my word. For the first time in my life, I'll actually
have something worth stealing.' He looked at the drawings. 'Apart from my
talent, that is. But it's so good to be back,' he continued, draining the glass
of brandy. 'Sir Julius was very hospitable but this is the only place where I
can work properly. I can't wait to make a start on the design for his house.'

    'You
may have to delay that pleasure for a little while, sir.'

    'Why?'

    'Because
there's an urgent request from your brother.'

    'Henry?
What does he want?'

    'He
wouldn't tell me,' said Jacob, exploring an ear with his finger, 'but, from his
manner, I think that I can guess what brought him here.'

    'Was
he in a pit of misery or a state of elation?'

    'Neither,
sir.'

    'Strange.
Henry seems to shuttle continually between the two extremes.'

    'Mr
Redmayne had a hunted look. More a case of desperation than misery.'

    'Oh
dear! That suggests only one thing.'

    'Exactly,
sir. He came to borrow money.'

    'He
must have lost heavily at cards again,' said Christopher ruefully. 'Why does he
play games at which he has such consistent ill luck? Henry has a good income
from the Navy Office and a generous allowance from our father, yet he will
fritter it away at a card table.' He glanced up. 'Did he ask where I was?'

    'Repeatedly.'

    'What
did you tell him?'

    'Very
little, sir. As instructed.'

    'Goodman!'

    'I
merely said that you were visiting friends in the country.'

    'No
mention of Sir Julius Cheever, I hope?' Jacob shook his head. 'Excellent. I
didn't want Henry getting wind of this latest commission until it was in the
bag. It's bound to upset him. My brother seems to think that my career will
only blossom if he has a controlling interest in it and, grateful as I am for
the introductions he gave me to earlier clients, he must learn that I can act
independently.'

    'Mr
Redmayne left a message for you.'

    'Call
on him immediately, no doubt.'

    'Yes,
sir.'

    'At
his home?'

    'He'll
be either there or at the Navy Office. He was most persistent.'

    'Henry
likes to keep me at his beck and call.'

    'He
drank three glasses of brandy while he was here.'

    Christopher
was surprised. 'Only three? That's abstemious by his standards. He must be out
of sorts. Does he know when I was due back in London?'

    Jacob
smirked. 'I was remarkably hazy on that point.'

    'That
would have pleased him,' said Christopher with a chuckle. 'Well, Henry can stew
in his own juice for a while. I have more important matters to consider than my
brother's gambling debts. I have to design a wonderful new house. Clear the
table, Jacob,' he said, getting to his feet and rubbing his hands with glee. 'I
intend to start immediately' His eye fell on the satchel. 'Oh, yes. And put
that money in my strongbox, please, just in case my brother drops in
unexpectedly.'

    To
the astonishment of his colleagues, Henry Redmayne arrived early and stayed
late at the Navy Office, throwing himself into his work with unaccustomed
enthusiasm. It was rare that he treated his sinecure as a full-time commitment
and even rarer that he lost track of time while he was sifting his way through
documents and writing a series of letters. It was mid-evening when he finally
came out into Seething Lane. There was another unusual development. An
ostentatious man by nature, he always dressed for effect in the latest fashion,
but he was now attired in what for him was remarkably sober garb. He had even
dispensed with his periwig, hiding his balding pate beneath a wide- brimmed
hat. The acknowledged peacock of the Navy Office was now a rather subdued blackbird
with ruffled feathers, barely able to take wing. Mounting his horse, he nudged
the animal into a steady trot.

    On
any other evening, Henry would have been looking forward to carousing with his
friends, playing cards, drinking heavily, then rolling from one house of resort
to another. Dedicated to pleasure, his appetite was insatiable and his stamina
legendary, but neither would be on display that night. As he rode towards home,
a mask of concentration replaced his normal haughty expression and a furtive
look was in his eyes. More than once during the journey, he glanced over his
shoulder as if afraid that he was being followed. When he came out through
Ludgate, he kicked the horse into a gentle canter, anxious to get back to the
relative safety of his home. Like his brother, he was a tall, well- featured
man with hair of a reddish hue, but the signs of dissipation set him completely
apart from his sibling. Nor did he have anything of Christopher's affability
and even temper. Henry Redmayne was a born sybarite, proud, arrogant,
self-indulgent and, though capable of acts of true kindness, a confirmed
egotist. None of those qualities were in evidence now. The overweening
confidence had fled. He was a worried man, skulking home with terror in his
heart.

    Fleet
Street merged into The Strand and he breathed a sigh of relief. He would be
there in a mere minute or so. He longed to be able to close his front door
behind him and shut out a world that had suddenly become hostile. He needed
time in which to think and a refuge that was inviolable. Swinging right into
Bedford Street, he caught sight of his house, but the further comfort it
afforded was illusory. As he got closer, he saw two figures emerging from the
door to stroll towards a waiting coach. Arthur Lunn and Peter Wickens were the
last people he hoped to encounter, but a meeting was unavoidable now. The two
men had seen him and hailed him aloud.

    Henry
reined in his horse and exchanged greetings with his two friends.

    '
'Sdeath!' exclaimed Lunn. 'Where have you been, man? A funeral?'

    'No,
Arthur,' said Henry.

    'Then
why dress in those appalling clothes? Had I not recognised your face, I'd have
taken you for a parson or a haberdasher.'

    'Or a
devilish pawnbroker,' suggested Wickens.

    'I've
been working at the Navy Office,' explained Henry over their brittle laughter.
'It's been a most tiring day so I beg you both to excuse me.'

    Wickens
was stunned. 'Do I hear aright? Henry Redmayne pleading fatigue?'

    'It's
never happened before,' said Lunn with a roguish grin. 'The ladies still speak
of you with awe, Henry. I wish I had your reputation.'

    'It's
more than a reputation
you
need, Arthur,' warned Wickens.

    Arthur
Lunn chuckled at the coarse innuendo. He was a short, swarthy, pop-eyed man in
his forties with flamboyant attire that accentuated rather than hid his portly
frame. Ten years younger, Peter Wickens was slim, sharp-featured and decidedly
elegant. Debauchery had left its mark indelibly on both of them. They were fit
companions for the Henry Redmayne of old but they had picked the wrong day on
which to call.

    'We
expected to see you at the King's House this afternoon,' said Wickens. 'They
played
The Old Trooper
by John Lacy and it was a sight to see.'

    'Yes,'
agreed Lunn. 'You missed a treat, Henry. Young Nell took the part of Doll Troop
and all but milked my epididymis with those wicked eyes of hers. She's the most
impudent creature in London, I'll warrant.'

    'I've
heard others express the same view,' said Henry.

    'You
should have been there with us.'

    'My
presence was required elsewhere, Arthur.'

    'Elsewhere?'

    'Commitments
at the Navy Office.',

    'What
sort of commitments?' asked Wickens peevishly. 'Since when have you put work
before a visit to the theatre, Henry? It's so uncivil of you. We had a box all
waiting. No matter,' he went on, flicking a wrist. 'You can make amends
tonight. We plan to visit Mrs Curtis and her sirens.'

    Henry
lifted a hand. 'Then you must do so without me, Peter.'

    'Nonsense,
man!'

    'I
must regretfully decline your company tonight.'

    'This
is some jest, surely,' said Lunn irritably. 'I refuse to believe that I am
hearing Henry Redmayne spurning an opportunity for endless hours of pleasure.'

    'Nevertheless,
you are,' insisted Henry.

    'On
what grounds?'

    'Exhaustion
and ill health.'

    'You
have a malady?'

    'A
headache that's afflicted me all day,' pretended Henry, touching his forehead
with the back of his hand. 'It will pass in time if I lie down.'

    'There's
no better place for that than with Mrs Curtis,' observed Wickens with an oily
smirk. 'Lie down there and one of her ladies with tease away your headache with
long fingers. A night in the arms of Betty or Patience or the divine Hannah
Marklew will cure you of any ailments.'