The Frost Fair Part 20

'How can he prevent you? As an officer of the law, you have a right to see him.'

'He's already been questioned.'

'But not by you,' she pointed out. 'You have to act on the opinion of others. It's unlike you not to question him, Jonathan. You prefer to dig around for yourself.'

'That's unnecessary in this case.'

'When a man's life is at stake? I'd have thought it very necessary.'

'Sarah-'

"Think how grateful Mr Redmayne would be.'

He was checked. 'What?'

'It would show that you were trying to hear both sides.'

Jonathan became pensive. He was irritated that his wife was arguing with him but honest enough to admit that she was making an important point. In accepting the probability of Henry Redmayne's guilt, he had denied the man the right to defend himself and left contact with the prisoner to his brother. He recalled that Martin Crenlowe had also visited Newgate to offer succour to his friend.

Yet Jonathan had deliberately kept away from the prison. He sought to justify his decision.

'It would be a waste of time, Sarah.'

'Why?'

'Henry Redmayne dislikes me. He'd never let me near him.'

"Things may have changed since he's been in there. You've often told me how glad prisoners are to have any visitors. It means that someone is thinking about them.'

'I'd not be there as a visitor. He'd see me as an enemy.'

'Even though he knows you are a friend of his brother?'

'Mr Redmayne might not wish me to go.'

'Have you asked him?'

'No, Sarah.'

'Then why not do so? He might even want the two of you to go together.'

"That would be different,' he conceded.

'He'll not refuse the offer. Besides,' she went on, 'you are much more used to visiting a prison than he is. You've been to Newgate dozens of times. You know some of the turnkeys there. Talk to them about Mr Redmayne's brother.'

Jonathan hesitated. His wife's advice was sound yet he found it difficult to accept. He was afraid that he would be spurned by Henry Redmayne and that his visit would simply widen the rift between him and the prisoner's brother. On the other hand, he knew the value of studying a man who was behind bars. The way that a suspect bore himself in custody could give a strong indication of his guilt or innocence. A word with the turnkeys who looked after Henry Redmayne might be profitable. It was worth trying. After making his decision, Jonathan stood up and wrapped his arms gratefully around his wife.

'Where would I be with you to counsel me, Sarah?'

'I do not do it for your benefit,' she said with a smile, 'but for my own. If you stay awake at night, then so do I. And we both need our sleep.'

Exhaustion had finally got the better of Henry Redmayne. His body had been drained of all its powers of resistance. Even the pervading stench and nocturnal pandemonium of Newgate could not keep him awake. He lay on the straw and went off into oblivion. It was only when the turnkey shook him hard next morning that he opened his eyes.

'Wake up, sir!' grunted the man. 'You've a visitor.'

Henry was bewildered. 'Where am I?' he asked, looking around.

'Where you belong - in Newgate.'

'I'm in prison?'

The realisation brought him fully awake and he sat up to wipe the sleep from his eyes. When the turnkey left the cell, Christopher stepped into it and the door was locked behind him. He was carrying a pile of clothing over his arm.

'Good morning, Henry,' he said.

'Is it morning? I've no sense of time in here.'

'Do you not hear the bells chiming the hour?'

'All I can here is the pounding of my own heart, Christopher.' He stared at the suit that his brother had brought. 'What do you have there?'

'A change of apparel.'

'I need none.'

'Those things are filthy,' said Christopher. 'You must take them off.'

'There's no call for fas.h.i.+on in here.'

'But there is a call for self-respect. That's one of my favourite tenets. Come, now. You'll feel much better when you look something like your old self.'

'I never expect to do that again,' moaned Henry.

'We'll see. The turnkey will be back soon with warm water and a razor. Since you did not shave yesterday, I'll be your barber today. I've also turned valet. That's why I called at your house on the way here to pick up this fresh attire.'

'I'll not wear it.'

'Would you let Father see you in that state?'

Henry quailed. The thought of meeting his father at all was unnerving. To receive him in a prison cell when he was soiled and unkempt would be to give the old man additional reasons for outrage and condemnation. A shaven chin and a smart suit would at least offer Henry a slight degree of protection. It would also remind him of whom he was. He thanked Christopher for his thoughtful- ness then bent down to retrieve something from the straw.

'You'll not need a razor,' he said. 'I have one here.' 'Where did that come from?'

'A friendly hand dropped it through the bars to help me escape.'

'Escape?' said Christopher with alarm. 'You surely did not think that you could kill the turnkey and get out of here. That's madness, Henry.'

'There's a simpler means of escape.'

He pretended to slit his throat with the razor. Christopher was so appalled that he dropped the clothing on the straw and s.n.a.t.c.hed the razor from him. Slipping it into his pocket, he grabbed his brother by the shoulders.

'I do not believe that you even contemplated such a thing,' he said.

'It seemed the only way out.'

'Of what?'

'This unbearable misery, Christopher.'

'But that will not last forever.'

'No,' said Henry mournfully. 'It will end on the gallows when I dance on fresh air to amuse the crowd. I did not think that I could face that.'

'You'll not have to, Henry. Your case may not even come to trial.'

'I feel that it already has. That's why the razor had a gruesome appeal for me.'

'Then I'll make sure it's not left in the cell,' affirmed Christopher, 'and I'll speak to the prison sergeant. He needs to know that someone is encouraging one of his charges to commit suicide. Has it really come to this?' he asked, shaking his brother vigorously. 'Taking your own life is an unpardonable sin, Henry. It's a crime against G.o.d and an act of cruelty against those who love you. How could you even think about it?'

'I was desperate.'

'Then pray for deliverance.'

'There's no hope of that, Christopher.'

'Yes, there is,' rejoined the other. 'You are innocent of the charge against you.'

Henry was bemused. 'Am I?'

'When the real killer is apprehended, they'll have to release you.'

'When will that be?'

'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 a.s.sured 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 G.o.d 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 sc.r.a.ped 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 s.h.i.+ver. '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 G.o.dden. Both of them swear that you could never have committed this crime.'