The Frost Fair

    'Soon, I trust. Very soon.'

    'But not before Father reaches London.' 'Perhaps not.'

    'Do not tell him about the razor,' begged Henry. 'Spare me that.'

    'I'd not dare tell him,' said Christopher, 'for I know how hurt he'd be. Father is on his way here in order to comfort you, Henry. How do you think he would feel if he learned that you had committed suicide? He'd be utterly destroyed. He'd see it, as everyone else would see it, as an admission of guilt.'

    'But I may be guilty. That's what torments me.'

    'You were guilty of drinking too much and losing your temper. Nothing more than that. Bad behaviour is not a crime. You were foolish but you are no killer.'

    'Yet I wanted that villain dead. I own that freely.'

    The door was unlocked and the turnkey handed Christopher a razor and a bowl of warm water. Christopher thanked him then the door was shut again. He looked at Henry with a sympathy that was tempered with disgust. At least, he told himself, his brother had confessed to the thoughts of suicide. That was a positive sign. But it did not take away his sense of shock. The razor suddenly felt hot in his hand.

    'I'd never have done it,' Henry assured him. 'I was not brave enough.'

    'A brave man would never even have considered it.'

    'I'm sorry, Christopher.'

    'Sit down under the window so that I can see to shave you.'

    Henry was contrite. He put the stool where it would catch the best of the light then lowered himself on to it. Christopher had never shaved anyone else before, and these were hardly the ideal conditions in which to try it, but he did his best. After using the water to wash the grime from his brother's face, he plied the razor with great care.

    'I've brought more food as well,' he said. 'I left it with the prison sergeant.'

    'You are very kind to me, Christopher.'

    'Kinder than you are to yourself, it seems.'

    'I had a moment of weakness.'

    'Your life is a succession of them,' said Christopher harshly. 'This is by far the worst. I thank God that you stayed your hand. Now, hold still,' he ordered as Henry moved his head. 'You may wish to cut your throat but I do not.'

    When his beard had been slowly scraped away, Henry felt considerably better. He stripped off his dirty clothing and put on the clean apparel. Christopher had been right. His brother looked something like his old self and that instilled a new confidence in him. Henry told himself that was no longer a condemned man in grubby attire. He was the victim of a dreadful error.

    'Thank you, Christopher,' he said, embracing him warmly.

    'You thank me best by believing in yourself.'

    Twill, I will.'

    'Then let's have no more moments of weakness.'

    'I give you my word.' Henry became afraid. 'When shall I expect Father?'

    'That depends on how fast he travels from Gloucester,' said Christopher, folding up his brother's discarded clothing. 'The most he could manage in a day is thirty miles and only that if the roads are clear.'

    'I thought he'd come down from heaven like a bolt of lightning.'

    'You've already been struck by that.'

    'Too true, brother!'

    'Father will bring you more solace than stricture.'

    'They are one and the same thing to him,' said Henry with a shiver. 'Father always travels with a pulpit.' He thought of his tattered reputation. 'What do they say about me, Christopher? How am I proclaimed in the city?'

    'I do not listen to any hostile comment.'

    'My enemies must be dancing with delight at my predicament.'

    'Think only of your friends,' advised Christopher. 'They do not doubt you. I've spoken with Martin Crenlowe and with Sir Humphrey Godden. Both of them swear that you could never have committed this crime.'

    'Martin was good enough to visit me.'

    'Do not rely on the same consideration from Sir Humphrey. Though he supports you to the hilt, he is too full of his own affairs to come and see you. I had the impression that he was a fastidious man who'd never dare to let the stink of prison enter his nostrils.'

    'Sir Humphrey has a fondness for perfumes and powders.'

    'And an even greater fondness for himself.'

    'He's good company when you get to know him properly, Christopher. Sir Humphrey Godden is cheerful, amusing and generous to a fault. I've lost count of the number of times his purse has bailed me out.'

    'He loaned money to Captain Harvest as well, I believe.'

    'Most people in London have done that,' said Henry with a cynical smile. 'A few of them have even had it repaid. James is a worthless hanger-on. This business has shown him in a true light.'

    'He's the only one of the three who's turned against you.'

    'Good riddance to him!'

    'Sir Humphrey seemed to think him a likeable rogue,' said Christopher. 'Having met the captain myself, I saw a more sinister streak in him. Of the four of you who shared a meal that night, Captain Harvest was the most likely back-stabber.'

    Henry was astonished. 'Do you believe that he killed Jeronimo Maldini?'

    'Someone did, Henry, and it was not you.'

    'But James and the Italian were on friendly terms.'

    'How reliable is Captain Harvest's friendship? You've seen how quickly he's turned against you. Martin Crenlowe and Sir Humphrey were both disgusted by that.'

    'No,' said Henry. 'I refuse to accept that James was involved. He had somewhere else to go that night. I watched him stride off down Fenchurch Street. Martin, too. He was eager to go home to his wife.'

    'What of Sir Humphrey? Does he have a wife?'

    'Oh, yes. And a comely creature she is.'

    'Why did you not travel in his coach when he went back to Covent Garden that night?' wondered Christopher. 'His house is not far from Bedford Street and I understand that he offered you a lift. Why turn him down?'

    'Because he was not going back home,' said Henry. 'Sir Humphrey wanted us to go elsewhere in order to carouse until dawn. I was in no mood for that. I preferred to make my own way back to Bedford Street.'

    'But you were intercepted by Signor Maldini.'

    'Yes, Christopher. Not far from the tavern.'

    'That was in Fenchurch Street. How do you explain the fact that you were found by two watchmen much closer to the river?'

    Henry blinked. 'Was I?' he asked in surprise. 'How did I get there?'

    'I was hoping that you could tell me that.'

    'It's all so vague. The truth is that I'm not sure what I remember about that night beyond the fact that I was seething with rage at that glib Italian.'

    Christopher did not press him. Whether from drink or as a result of a blow he might have received to the head, his brother was genuinely confused about events. It made the task of defending him that much more difficult. The door was unlocked as a signal that it was time for the visitor to leave. Christopher gathered up the discarded clothing and made sure that the two razors were not left in the cell.

    'Thank you for everything,' said Henry, embracing him again. 'I'm sorry that you've been dragged into this mess. It must perforce have dulled your own lustre.'

    'Do not worry about me.'

    'But I do. One act of folly from me will inflict damage on your career as well. Instead of being a successful architect, you'll be pointed at as the brother of a killer.'

    'Not by people whose opinion I value,' said Christopher. 'I'll admit that I had fears in that direction but they've proved groundless. My latest commission is quite unthreatened by what's happened to you.'