The Frost Fair

    'What on earth happened?' asked Sarah.

    'I fell in by accident.'

    'Fell in?'

    'Yes, Mrs Bale. I lost my footing.'

    Sarah took control. 'Stand by the fire or you'll catch your death of cold. I'll fetch a blanket for you. Mr Redmayne will need a change of clothes, Jonathan,' she said, pushing her husband away. 'See what you can find.'

    Christopher was grateful that the children had been put to bed and were not there to witness his humiliation. Stepping into the parlour, he huddled over the fire. Jonathan soon returned with some clothing and his wife brought a rough blanket on which their visitor could dry himself. They left him alone in the parlour so that he could peel off his coat, shirt and breeches before wrapping the blanket around him. Still shivering, he rubbed himself dry then put on the sober attire that his friend had loaned him. It was much too large and the material was far more coarse than anything he had worn before but Christopher did not complain. He crouched beside the fire and began to thaw slowly out. Jonathan tapped the door and came in. He was carrying a small cup.

    'Drink this, Mr Redmayne,' he counselled. 'It might help.'

    'What is it?'

    'A remedy that Sarah often prepares for me. It's warm and searching.'

    Christopher did not even ask what the ingredients were. When he saw the steam rising from the cup, he accepted the drink gratefully and gulped it down. It had a sweet taste and coursed through him with speed. He felt much better. Jonathan took the cup back from him and set it aside.

    'Now, Mr Redmayne,' he said, 'perhaps you'll tell me the truth.'

    'The truth?'

    'I know that you did not wish to alarm my wife but I'm different. This was no accident, sir. A man like you would never lose his footing on the bank.'

    'I was pushed in,' admitted Christopher. 'Someone shoved me from behind.'

    'Who would do such a thing?'

    'I wish I knew, Jonathan. Whoever it was did not expect me to get out of the water again. I was lucky to do so. The river was still icy cold. My clothing was so waterlogged that I could barely move. I flailed around and yelled until someone threw me a rope from the wharf. I was pulled out like a drowned rat.'

    'What were you doing by the river in the first place?'

    Christopher told him about his visit to the lawyer's office and his subsequent walk to Fenchurch Street. He had gone over ground that Jonathan himself had visited and reached the same conclusion.

    'I think that the body of Signor Maldini was thrown in the water not far from the spot where my brother was found by the watchmen. In fact,' said Christopher, 'I may have dived headfirst into the Thames at almost the same point.'

    'Why would anyone wish to attack you?' asked the other.

    'I may have the answer to that, Jonathan. But, first, tell me your own news. Did you manage to speak to Martin Crenlowe or Sir Humphrey Godden?'

    'To both of them.'

    Jonathan talked about his visit to the goldsmith and his second encounter with the man at the coffee house that morning. Neither man had struck him as the ideal friends on whom someone like Henry Redmayne could rely. He also had the feeling that both of them were holding back certain details about the evening they spent at the Elephant.

    'I was puzzled,' he said. 'They spoke harshly of Captain Harvest yet they had been ready to share a meal with him.'

    'One of them actually paid for it, Jonathan.'

    'How do you know?'

    'Because Henry did not have the money to do so,' said Christopher, 'and I'm certain that the captain did not settle his own bill. He boasted to me about it.'

    'You've met him, then?'

    Christopher took up the narrative again and explained how difficult it had been to find the elusive soldier. His estimate of the man tallied with Jonathan's own but he had learned things that the constable had not. A more rounded picture of the captain emerged.

    'Did you think him capable of murder?' said Jonathan.

    'Yes,' replied Christopher. 'More than capable.'

    'That was Mr Crenlowe's view as well. Sir Humphrey Godden disagreed.'

    'I'd back the goldsmith's judgement.'

    'I'd trust neither.'

    'Captain Harvest did not have a kind word to say about them.'

    'Coming back to this evening,' said Jonathan, pleased that his visitor had now stopped shivering. 'Did you not realise that you were being followed?'

    'My mind was on other things.'

    'Were there no witnesses to the attack?'

    'It was dark, Jonathan. People were hurrying home. Nobody stopped to see a hand helping me into the water. It was a long drop,' he explained. 'Had the river still been frozen, I might have broken my neck on the ice. As it was, I all but drowned.'

    'I still do not see why you were set on, Mr Redmayne.' 'I do,' said Christopher, 'and I found it oddly reassuring.'

    Jonathan gaped. 'Reassuring? When someone tries to kill you?'

    'It means that I'm on the right track, after all. This was no random assault. Had it been a thief, he'd have snatched my purse before pitching me into the water. I was followed for a reason, Jonathan. Someone knows that I'm on his trail.'

    'Who?'

    'In all probability, it was the man who did kill the fencing master.'

    Jonathan was sceptical. "That's not the conclusion I'd reach.'

    'You still think that my brother is guilty,' said Christopher, almost exultant. 'But my dip in the Thames taught me one thing, if nothing else. Someone is trying to prevent me from finding out the truth about the murder. Henry is clearly innocent.'

    'I hope, for both your sakes, that he is.'

    'But you remain unconvinced.'

    'I need more persuasion,' said Jonathan. 'Do you think that your brother would consent to see me in Newgate? It would help if I could talk to him myself.'

    'Henry is not in the most receptive mood.'

    'Then he'd turn me away?'

    'He's hardly in a position to do that,' said Christopher, 'and any visit breaks up the boredom of being locked away. On the other hand, alas, Henry does not share the high opinion that I have of you. He inhabits a different world and knows that you are hostile to it. However,' he decided, 'there's no harm in trying. Leave it to me.'

    'You'll ask him?'

    'When I visit the prison tomorrow.'

    'Did you see him today?' Christopher nodded. 'How did you find him?'

    'Close to desperation,' replied the other, recalling Henry's confession about the appeal of suicide. 'But I think that I managed to restore his spirits. When he hears about my swim in the river, he'll be even more heartened. The real killer has shown his hand. We know that he's still in London.'

    It was curious. The more the evening progressed, the more drawn she became to him. Determined to dislike the man, Susan Cheever had found him unremarkable on first acquaintance and patently uninterested in her. Jack Cardinal's attention was fixed firmly on his mother and he deferred to her wishes at every point. Susan thought that the old woman was exploiting him but he did not seem to mind, and she doted on him. Mrs Cardinal never stopped telling the others around the table how devoted her son was. His management of the estate was also praised. Brilliana Serle had been responsible for the seating arrangements so she made sure that her sister was next to Cardinal. Her own seat was directly opposite them, so that she could keep them under observation and feed each of them pleasing titbits of information about the other. Susan was relieved to see that Cardinal found it as unsettling as she did.