‘Non, m’sieur.’
‘He’ll have to know sooner or later.’
‘We find it,’ said Emile.
‘We’ve not had much success in doing that so far, but I’m not without hope. Only a handful of people even knew that Lady Culthorpe was having her portrait painted. I am working through them one by one.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Apart from anything else,’ said Christopher. ‘It was a superb piece of work — unlike my own artistic efforts.’
‘Everything my master paint, is very good.’
‘His brushwork is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Emile smiled. ‘He is the best.’
‘His reputation goes before him.’
‘Nobody paints the ladies as he does.’
‘I don’t suppose they do,’ said Christopher as an image of the nude Lady Lingoe popped into his mind. ‘He’s able to delineate the character of his subjects.’ Emile looked blank. ‘I’m sorry — that’s a difficult word for you. What I mean is that we see people as they really are in his paintings.’
‘He is the artist — he look for the truth.’
‘He certainly found it in Lady Culthorpe’s case.’
‘He like her.’
‘It’s impossible not to do that, Emile.’
‘He not kill her husband.’
‘You don’t have to persuade me,’ said Christopher. ‘The more I reflect on this whole business, the more certain I am of his innocence. The one thing that troubles me, however, is why he went into that garden on the day of the murder. Has he said anything to you about that? Did he tell you what he was doing at the house in the first place?’
‘He ride past, m’sieur.’
‘He didn’t ride past — that’s the problem. For some unknown reason, he dismounted from his horse and went into the garden. There’s a witness who saw him coming out of the gate.’
‘This man, he tell the lie.’
‘I don’t think so, Emile. He’s given a sworn statement.’
‘What is that?’
‘He took his oath before a magistrate,’ said Christopher. ‘He’s prepared to stand up in court and tell the judge what he saw. We have to make sure that it doesn’t reach that stage.’
‘How you do that?’
‘By working hard to find the man who did murder Sir Martin.’
‘You know who he is?’
‘We have a suspect in mind.’
‘Arrest him!’ demanded Emile.
‘That’s not possible as yet,’ explained Christopher. ‘We have to gather more evidence before we can apprehend the man. That will take a lot of time and effort. Monsieur Villemot will have to be patient.’
‘Is bad in there — very bad.’
‘I know. I’ve been in Newgate before.’
‘All he want is to live here quiet and paint.’
‘I hope that he’s eager to occupy his new house as well. It would be dreadful if this unfortunate experience were to rob him of his desire to stay in England. Has he said anything to you on that subject?’
Emile was puzzled. ‘Subject?’
‘Does your master want to go back to France?’
‘Non!’
‘You sound very positive about that.’
‘He stay here.’
‘That’s gratifying to know and it will make me redouble my efforts on his behalf. But I’m concerned about you as well as Monsieur Villemot.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, Emile,’ said Christopher. ‘You must be quite bewildered by everything that’s happened. Your master is put in prison and you are left alone in his lodging. The next thing that happens is that a portrait is stolen from the studio next to the room where you sleep.’
‘Clemence, she let me down.’
‘Clemence?’
‘She is the cat, m’sieur. She should have waked me.’
‘Does she sleep in the studio?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then she should have heard an intruder.’
Emile gave a nod of assent. Having come for reassurance, he looked gloomier than ever. He got to his feet and bid Christopher farewell. The architect walked him to the front door.
‘Cheer up, Emile,’ he said. ‘We’ll get him released soon.’
‘You think?’
‘I know — as long as he promises to stay in England.’
‘He must stay.’
‘He wouldn’t spend so much money on that new house if he did not intend to put down roots and bring Monique over. That’s something else I meant to raise with you,’ he added. ‘Have you written to his wife to tell her what’s happened?’
‘Who?’
‘Monique — his wife.’
The words spilled out before Emile could stop them coming. ‘He is not married, m’sieur.’
Chapter Nine
It was mid-morning before Elkannah Prout called on the house in Bedford Street and he fully expected to have to wait while his friend was summoned from his bedchamber. In fact, Henry Redmayne was already up and had breakfasted, shaved and dressed. Moreover, he had a zest about him that was unheard of at that time of day.
‘Good morning, Elkannah,’ he said, cheerily.
‘You are uncommonly happy this morning.’
‘I’m exultant.’
‘For what reason?’
‘The best reason in the world,’ said Henry. ‘When I looked in the mirror this morning, I saw a fine gentleman who was tall, handsome and extravagantly in love. The very thought that I inhabit the same city as Araminta made me feel elated.’
‘We all share that elation,’ said Prout, quietly, ‘though it’s tempered by the fact that Araminta is in mourning. I adore her as much as anyone but the tragic change in her circumstances has made me look at her in a different way.’
‘There’s only one way to look at her.’
Prout did not share his laugh. ‘Vulgarity is out of place, Henry.’
‘None of this solemnity,’ ordered the other, taking him into the drawing room. ‘I’ll not let anyone put me out of countenance today. Last night, Dame Fortune finally remembered my name.’
‘You won at cards?’
‘Repeatedly. I had the Midas touch. I was able to repay my loan from Jocelyn and I have an equal sum to give to you.’
‘There’s no hurry to settle that debt.’
‘But the money is here.’
‘Keep it, Henry. If you are having a run of luck at last, keep what you owe me and invest it at the card table to win even more. I know that feeling of success. When it courses through your veins, you have to take full advantage of it.’
‘Then I shall — thank you.’
They sat down opposite each other. Since he had to go to the Navy Office that afternoon, Henry was dressed more soberly than when gadding about town with his cronies. Though his job was largely a sinecure, he was called upon to put in an appearance from time to time and to be seen to do some nominal work. Elkannah Prout, by contrast, was a man of inherited wealth, who had been able to retire from the legal profession and devote himself entirely to pleasure. He was a generous friend and he had often helped Henry out of financial difficulties in the past. Prout now had a serious air about him.
Henry was guarded. ‘I hope you haven’t come here to talk about that pact, Elkannah,’ he said.
‘Not at all.’
‘I know that you’ve been hounding Jocelyn and Sir Willard on that score, and I also know that they rebuffed you.’
‘Quite rightly,’ said Prout. ‘I acted too rashly. It was foolish of me to try to tell them how to behave. They are a law unto themselves and I should have accepted that.’
‘I’m relieved to hear you taking a more tolerant view.’
‘You were the only person willing to see any merit in the pact, Henry, and I wanted to express my thanks in a tangible way. There’s racing at Newmarket tomorrow,’ he went on. ‘If the Navy Office can spare you, those winnings you collected at the card table last night may be doubled or trebled at the racecourse.’
‘It’s a tempting offer.’
‘I shall put it to Jocelyn and Sir Willard.’
‘Then they’ll view it in the same cynical way as me.’
‘Why cynical?’
‘We are not blind, Elkannah,’ said Henry with a grin. ‘You’ve not abandoned your pact at all. You are simply presenting it to us in disguise. If we go to Newmarket tomorrow, we’d be unable to attend Sir Martin’s funeral. That’s your ruse. You wish to get the three of us out of London.’