The Repentant Rake by Edward Marston Page A

lines. 'It's a fine-looking house, sir.'
        'Well
worth losing a night's sleep over.'
        'I
don't agree.'
        'You're
not an architect.'
        'That's
why I'll live much longer than you, Mr Redmayne. Learn from your brother's
example. Burn the candle at both ends and you'll suffer as a result.'
        'Yes,'
conceded Christopher, 'long nights have certainly left muddy footprints all
over Henry's face, but I have something to show for my endeavour. These.' He
pointed at the pile of drawings. 'I still have a long way to go but I now have
an exact image in my mind of how the building will look.'
        'I'm
surprised that you can still keep your eyes open, sir.'
        'I
could work for a week without sleep on this project.'
        'Where
shall we bury your body?' asked Jacob drily.
        Christopher
laughed then gave a first involuntary yawn. Aches and pains began to afflict
him at last. The fingers of his right hand were stiff. His mouth felt dry, his
stomach hollow. He put down his stick of charcoal and shrugged his shoulders.
'Enough is enough.'
        Jacob
was solicitous. 'I'll fetch a cordial then you can retire to bed.'
        'Only
for a few hours.'
        'You'll
need half a day to recover from this folly.'
        'That
may be, Jacob, but I'll have to take it at a later stage. Now that I've made such
valuable progress,' he said as another yawn burst forth, 'I can think of
someone apart from myself. I must pay a visit to my brother. Much as I hate the
idea of being asked for money by Henry, there are familial obligations. The
least I can do is to hear his tale of woe. Apart from anything else, if I go to
Bedford Street, it will stop him coming here to interrupt my work.'
        'Why
not simply send a message?' suggested Jacob. 'I'll gladly take it.'
        'Henry
would never be fobbed off by a letter.'
        'So
what will you do?'
        'Snatch
three or four hours' sleep,' said Christopher, stretching himself and hearing
the bones crack slightly. 'Wake me up then and I'll visit my brother. There's
no point in going any earlier. Henry never rises before mid-morning.'
        
        
        Wearing
a thick dressing gown and an expression of utter despair, Henry Redmayne sat at
the table in his dining room over a breakfast that remained untouched. His
servants were amazed to see him up so early and they had the wisdom to keep
well out of his way. Irascible at the best of times, their master was in a most
choleric mood. The barber who would arrive to shave him at ten would be in for
an especially testing time. Nobody envied him. Sagging in his chair, arms on
the table, Henry was staring glassy-eyed at potential catastrophe. He could not
remember when he had felt so oppressed. It was a numbing experience. He was so
caught up in his predicament that he did not hear the front door bell ringing.
Henry was floating helplessly on a sea of self-pity.
        There
was a tap on the door and a nervous servant popped his head in. 'You have a
visitor, sir.'
        'Send
him away!' snarled Henry.
        'Is
that altogether wise?'
        'Do
as I say, you imbecile. Get rid of that baboon-faced barber. I'll not be shaved
by him today. I'm likely to tear the razor from his grasp and cut my own
throat.'
        'But
it's not the barber who's here, Mr Redmayne.'
        'Turn
every visitor away. I'll see no one.'
        'Not
even your brother, sir?'
        Henry
jumped to his feet. 'Christopher?' he yelled. 'Why didn't you tell me, you
idiot? Show him in straight away and make sure that we're not disturbed for any
reason. Do you understand?'
        The
servant nodded and backed gratefully out. Seconds later,
        Christopher
came into the room, hiding his weariness behind a warm smile. Henry bore down
on him.
        'Where've
you been, man!' he demanded.
        'Furthering
my career, Henry.'
        'I
needed you here.'
        'Why?
Do you wish to commission a