The Painted Lady (19 page)

‘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.’

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.’

‘I feel that I owe it to Araminta to do so.’

‘Then your feelings do not accord with mine.’

‘How so?’

‘I grieve with her,’ said Henry, trying to sound dignified. ‘I share her misery. Tomorrow will be the most trying day of Araminta’s young life. It would be callous to spend it enjoying myself at the races.’

‘You intend to break our pact, then?’

‘Only minutes ago, you declared it impractical.’

‘The principle holds, Henry.’

‘It will be something to reflect on as you journey to Newmarket.’

‘Do you plan to sneak off to the funeral behind my back?’

‘I will do what I will do,’ said Henry, grandly.

‘Then you are just as bad as the others.’

‘We are all four banded together in this, Elkannah.’

‘Do not include me,’ said Prout, firmly. ‘I renounce the Society and all it stands for. My devotion to Araminta remains unaltered but it prompts me to move in a different direction.’

‘To Newmarket – so that you can bet on horses.’

‘That was merely a device to keep you away from her tomorrow.’

‘Why not admit that at the start?’

‘You disappoint me, Henry.’

‘There’s nothing I can do about that. Allow me to give you a word of warning. Do not even think of inviting Jocelyn or Sir
Willard to join you tomorrow. They will laugh in your faces.’

Prout got to his feet. ‘Is that what
you
are doing?’

‘No, Elkannah.’

‘I know mockery when I hear it.’

‘I’m giving you sound advice.’

‘What you are doing is to betray the promise you gave me. You agreed to stay away from Araminta tomorrow.’

‘And I may still do so,’ said Henry, getting up from his chair.

‘No,’ said Prout, angrily. ‘I see you for what you are. You, Jocelyn and Sir Willard have signed a pact of your own. The three of you are plotting to be there tomorrow to get a glimpse of her even though she will be consumed with sorrow.’

‘There’s no plot, Elkannah.’

‘I looked upon you as a friend.’

‘I remain one still.’

‘Not when you deceive me like this.’

‘It’s you who wilfully misunderstands me.’

‘I’ve seen far too much of Henry Redmayne to misunderstand him. You tell me that you grieve with Araminta but that did not hinder you from spending half the night at the card table. Is that the way you share her misery?’

‘Why this sudden piety?’

‘I know you for what you are.’

‘A devotee of pleasure in all its forms.’

‘A weak-willed degenerate.’

‘I patterned myself on you,’ rejoined Henry. ‘There was not a rake in the whole of the capital who could touch Elkannah Prout for drinking, gambling and whoring. You gave the lead that I followed. Yet now you’ve lost your appetite for vice,’ he continued, ‘you portray yourself as a paragon of virtue.’

‘I just felt that it was time to make a stand.’

‘We preferred you as you were.’

‘That’s your prerogative.’

‘Come back to us, Elkannah.’

‘Not while the three of you scheme against me.’

‘But we’ve not been doing that.’

‘There’s nothing I despise as much as disloyalty, Henry, and that’s what you’ve displayed. I take back my former suggestion.’ He held out his hand. ‘Please repay the money you owe me.’

‘When I have the chance to make it work for me?’

‘Yes,’ said Prout, nastily. ‘And look to borrow nothing more from my purse. I’ll not lend a single penny to you ever again.’

Henry was alarmed. ‘That’s too harsh, Elkannah.’

‘It’s a fit penalty for a traitor.’

‘But you have ever been my most reliable banker.’

‘Not any more, Henry.’ Prout snapped his fingers. ‘Pay up!’

After his brief imprisonment there, Christopher Redmayne knew all about the multiple indignities of Newgate. As a result, he returned to the place with some trepidation. Because he had helped to capture and hand over Jean-Paul Villemot, he was no longer suspected of aiding the escape of a fugitive and was safe from arrest. That fact brought him no comfort as he walked reluctantly towards the prison. Once inside, he feared that they would somehow find a means of keeping him there.

Destroyed by the Great Fire, the prison had been completely rebuilt and it was slowly nearing completion. The structure had a splendour to gladden the heart of any architect yet it did not even attract a glance from Christopher. Behind the imposing exterior, he knew, was a world of suffering, hunger and darkness of the soul. As he entered the great portal, he felt an instant tremor. The man who conducted him to Villemot’s cell insisted on staying to listen to the conversation. When he saw that he had a visitor, the artist flung himself at the bars.

‘Christopher!’ he cried.

‘How are you, Monsieur Villemot?’

‘I am not well, my friend.’

‘If you are ill, I can arrange for a doctor to visit.’

‘The illness, it is not in my body,’ said Villemot, tapping his skull with a finger. ‘It is up here – in the head.’

‘Are you in pain?’

‘My thoughts leave me in agony.’

Christopher was disturbed by his appearance. The Frenchman was haggard with anxiety and loss of sleep. His eyes were darting and his body twitching. He slapped a hand to his temple as if suffering severe pain. Christopher feared that he might have picked up one of the many diseases that were so rife in the prison. Foul water and lack of sanitation made an already noxious environment far worse. Even the healthiest prisoner could succumb to the powerful compound of infections. In spite of a good constitution, Villemot might easily have fallen prey to a form of brain fever. In its later stages, it would make him rant and rave as it was patently doing to some of those who were contributing to the daily tumult in the other cells.

‘Emile came to see me,’ said Villemot.

‘Yes, I spoke to him earlier.’

‘He says you are trying to get me out of here.’

‘Indeed, I am,’ said Christopher, ‘and I’m not alone in my efforts. Jonathan Bale, whom you met, is helping me a great deal and I’ve called on the services of my brother, Henry.’

‘What can he do?’

‘He knows people. He can open doors for me.’

‘Then let him open this door,’ yelled Villemot, shaking it with such violence that it rattled aloud. ‘I lose my mind in here.’

‘Emile told me that you had another visitor, one who must have been shocked by your condition. Lady Lingoe came to see you.’

‘She brought food and drink.’

‘So did I,’ said Christopher. ‘I left them with the prison sergeant. Let me know if they don’t reach you.’

‘I am not worried about food. I hate being locked up.’

‘I know. I felt the same and I was only behind bars for a short time. It’s that sense of helplessness, of being at the mercy of others.’

‘Set me free!’ begged the other.

‘We are working hard to do so, Monsieur Villemot.’

‘I am an artist. I paint things of beauty. In here, everything is ugly. Is frightening. I look ugly myself.’

It was true. Even though he had put on the fresh clothing that his valet had brought, Villemot looked dirty, crumpled and beaten. The prison stench had burrowed its way into his garments and pieces of damp straw were sticking to his shoes and breeches. Christopher’s desire to rescue him was intensified.

‘Before I can get you out,’ he said, ‘I need your help.’

‘What can I do?’

‘Tell me what happened the day you went to that house.’

‘I’ve already done that, Christopher.’

‘No, you didn’t. You told me only part of the story and I need to know every last detail. Why did you go into the garden?’

‘I did not,’ said Villemot, defensively.

‘You were seen coming out of there,’ said Christopher, ‘so there’s no point in denying it. A reliable witness will stand up in court and tell the judge that you were in that garden.’

‘It was only for a second.’

‘So you
were
there?’

Villemot kept him waiting for an answer. ‘I put my head in,’ he said, eventually, ‘that is all, Christopher.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

‘Is not important.’

‘It’s very important,’ argued Christopher. ‘It could mean the difference between life and death. If all that you did was to look at the house, they have no case against you. Since you were seen coming out of the garden – the very place where Sir Martin was killed – then you do have questions to answer.’

‘I was there one or two minutes at most.’

‘Why?’

‘The garden gate, it was open.’

‘But why did you go through it?’

‘I was curious.’

‘Are you in the habit of trespassing on other people’s property out of curiosity?’

Villemot tensed. ‘You make fun of me.’

‘I’m asking exactly what will be asked in court.’

‘It must never get that far.’

‘Then give me some real help, Monsieur Villemot. I am on your side. Why do you keep holding things back from me?’

Drawing back from the bars, the artist retreated to a corner of his cell and sulked. He studied Christopher warily. It took time for him to reach the decision to trust his visitor. When he did so, he took a step towards him.

‘Araminta – Lady Culthorpe – she talk a lot about it.’

‘The garden?’

‘Sir Martin spent much money.’

‘He obviously derived great pleasure from it.’

‘I was curious,’ said Villemot. ‘When I see the gate open, I wanted to look at this famous garden for myself.’

‘Wasn’t there an easier way to do that?’ asked Christopher.

‘Easier way?’

‘All you had to do was to express an interest and I’m sure that Lady Culthorpe would have invited you to the house. Instead of which, you sneak in there like a criminal.’

‘I am no criminal!’ shouted Villemot.

‘Calm down, calm down.’

‘I do nothing wrong.’

‘There’s no need to get so angry, Monsieur Villemot.’

‘Then do not call me names.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Christopher. ‘I am simply telling you how it looks to an impartial observer. A man is stabbed to death in his garden. You are seen leaving it. A plea of curiosity is not an adequate defence. We need more.’

‘What more is there?’

‘You still haven’t admitted why you went near the house.’

‘I was riding past.’

‘But what took you to Westminster?’

‘I wanted some fresh air.’

‘There are plenty of others places you could have gone.’

Villemot shrugged. ‘I go for a ride. I find myself in Westminster.’

‘You’re hiding something from me.’