Repentant Rake by Edward Marston

Author:Edward Marston [Edward Marston]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749009731
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2010-12-20T05:00:00+00:00

Jonathan was putting a man in the stocks when Christopher rode up on his horse. Having secured his prisoner, a ragged individual with a straggly beard, the constable gave his friend a nod of welcome.

‘I did not expect you back so soon, Mr Redmayne,’ he said.

Christopher dismounted. ‘There was nothing to keep me in Northamptonshire.’ He thought of Susan Cheever and smiled to himself. ‘Well, on reflection, there was, but it was imperative that I got back here. That’s why I rode so hard.’ He patted his horse’s flank. ‘You deserve a rest, old friend.’

‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Thank you, Mr Bale. And I’m pleased to see you again.’ He indicated the man in the stocks. ‘More pleased than this fellow was to see a constable, I know that.’

‘Leave him where he is, sir. Those stocks are his second home.’

He collected a jeer from the prisoner then set off down the street. Leading his horse, Christopher walked beside him. He gave Jonathan a terse account of the funeral but included a reference to the two unheralded visitors.

‘Mr Lunn was there?’ he said. ‘I met him. He did not strike me as a caring soul.’

‘He was there to accompany Miss Hemmings,’ explained Christopher. ‘It would have been difficult for her to attend the funeral on her own. With a man beside her, she was almost invisible. Had she been there alone, people would have asked what her relationship had been with Gabriel Cheever.’

‘The answer would not have been fit to be heard on hallowed ground.’

‘Perhaps not, Mr Bale, but I admire the woman. She loved Gabriel once.’

‘From what I hear, that young man seems to have had many similar ladies.’

‘Yet he gave them all up to marry Lucy.’

‘It may have been the one sensible thing he ever did.’

‘Yet it may have cost him his life. Still,’ said Christopher, ‘tell me your news.’

Jonathan shrugged. ‘There’s precious little of it, Mr Redmayne.’

Christopher had been away for the best part of a week. During his absence Jonathan had been far from idle, but he had made scant progress. He had been pursuing lines of enquiry for which he did not feel best suited.

‘Some of your brother’s friends look with disdain on constables,’ he recalled. ‘They have no respect for the law. Or maybe something about me irritates them. Mr Peter Wickens refused to speak to me, Mr Gilbert Sparkish was rude to my face and Sir Thomas Sheasby threatened to set the dogs on me. I had to speak sternly to him.’

‘It sounds to me as if all three of them deserved to have their ears boxed,’ said Christopher. ‘At what time of day did you seek them out?’

‘Late afternoon.’

‘That was your mistake, Mr Bale. Catch them after dinner and they’ll have drunk too much to give anyone a civil answer. No matter,’ he continued. ‘I’m back to take over the examination of Henry’s cronies. I’m on my way to visit one now but I wanted to talk to you first.’

‘Who are you going to see, Mr Redmayne?’

‘Sir Marcus Kemp.

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