The King's Evil Read online

  'You believe that we have witnessed divine dispensation?'

  'What else?'

  'Gross misfortune,' argued Jonathan. 'God may be displeased but He would not initiate a murder.'

  'It was a punishment inflicted upon the owner of the property.'

  'What was his crime?'

  'He embodied sin, Mr Bale.'

  'Did he?'

  'What greater crime is there than that?'

  Sensing that Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe was in homiletic vein, the constable held back a response. His task was to catch a murderer, not to look for theological significance in what had happened and the last thing he wanted at that moment was an extended sermon from the argumentative Quaker. He ran a ruminative hand across his chin as he scanned the site again. His diminutive neighbour turned to practicalities.

  'Have any arrests been made, Mr Bale?'

  'Not as yet.'

  'Hast thou any indications as to who was responsible?'

  'According to you, it was the Almighty.'

  'Acting through a human agent.'

  'Oh, I see.'

  'What clues have been found?'

  'I continue to search for them, Mr Thorpe,' admitted the other. 'That is why I came here again this afternoon. I have been over every inch of the site three times now but without much success.'

  'I am sorry that I am unable to help thee on this occasion.'

  'You prevented one crime, sir.'

  'It was my duty to do so.'

  'Others would have been too frightened to report what they heard.'

  'I am not afraid of common thieves.'

  'You deserve great credit. Thanks to your actions, four villains are under lock and key. Those three thieves and their accomplice.' He gave a congratulatory nod. 'I must confess that I thought at first they might in some way be connected to this murder.'

  'How?'

  'Arrest will cost them dear,' said Jonathan. 'I conceived it possible that a confederate of theirs was sent to exact a dark revenge by killing Sir Ambrose Northcott. On reflection, I dismissed the idea.'

  'Why?'

  'Because the owner of the house would be an unlikely target. It was I who actually made the arrests with the help of Mr Littlejohn and Mr Redmayne. One of us would have been a more likely recipient of that fatal dagger. Had I been the one,' he said with a philosophical smile, 'it would not have been the first time that I was attacked. Mine is an unpopular job but a necessary one.'

  'And necessarily corrupt.'

  'How so?'

  'Because thou servest a corrupt master, Mr Bale.'

  'I serve the citizens of this ward, sir. They include you.'

  'Indirectly, thou art a lackey of the King and his vile Parliament.'

  'That is not how I see it, Mr Thorpe.'

  'Then thou art purblind. One day, perhaps, thou wilt realise the error of thy ways and allow thine eyes to be fully opened to the wonder of God.' He began to move off. 'Farewell to thee.'

  Jonathan held up a hand. 'One moment, sir.'

  'Yes?' Thorpe halted.

  'I am glad that we have met,' said the other, turning up his collar as the drizzle thickened, 'even if it is in such wet weather. It gives me the chance to pass on a word of warning.'

  His companion bristled. 'Do I look as if I am in need of it?'

  'This is for your own good, Mr Thorpe.'

  'I prefer to be the judge of that.'

  'Then hear me out,' said Jonathan seriously. 'There are rumours that a seditious pamphlet has been distributed among the Friends. It is said that it pours scorn on the established religion and goes so far as to incite violence. I am sure that you realise the penalty for printing such a document.' 'Only too well.'

  'Distributing such material carries an additional penalty.'

  'I am familiar with the savagery of the law.'

  'Even reading this pamphlet is a crime.'

  'If it exists.'

  'I believe that it does, Mr Thorpe.'

  'Rumours are usually false.'

  'This is more than a rumour. I merely wished to say that I hope you are not involved with this publication in any way.'

  'Am I accused?'

  'Not by name, sir, but we are bound to look to you.'

  'Innocence should be its own protection.'

  'If - that is - you are entirely innocent.'

  'I am, Mr Bale. In my own mind.'

  'That is a contentious issue.'

  'Then let us debate it here and now.'

  'No, sir,' said Jonathan tolerantly. 'We both know where the other stands. While I cannot agree with your position, I respect you for taking it. All that I wish to do here is to give you fair warning that you are under scrutiny. It would be foolish of you to flout the law again.'

  'The real folly lies in the law itself.'

  'I have said my piece, sir.'

  'It did not need saying, Mr Bale,' came the vehement reply. 'Look at thyself, man. Thou art trying to solve the heinous crime of murder. Does the printing of a pamphlet rank alongside that? Canst thou not turn thy attention to real villains and leave us be?'

  Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe was about to launch himself into a diatribe but his neighbour cut his fulminations short with a kind inquiry.

  'How is your wife, sir? I was sorry to hear of her illness.'

  The Quaker was checked. 'She is much better.'

  'I am glad to hear that.'

  'Hail-Mary will soon be able to venture out again.'

  'Please give her my regards.' 'Thy own wife hast been very kind,' said Thorpe quietly. 'Mrs Bale brought food and comfort to our house. That chicken broth of hers has done Hail-Mary the power of good.'

  'It is Sarah's favourite medicine.'

  'A wholesome remedy. I tasted it myself.'

  'It can cure many ills.'

  'But not, alas, the ones that afflict this city.'

  Jonathan took an involuntary step back, fearing another broadside about the moral turpitude of the King and his counsellors, but his little companion instead gave a rare smile.

  'I will spare thee my opinions this time,' he said. 'Thy warning was well-intentioned, though no less irritating for that. It deserves a like favour from me. Besides, someone else waits to speak with thee.'

  Jonathan looked around. 'Who?'

  'Do not keep the ladies waiting, Mr Bale.'

  Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe touched the brim of his hat in a faint salute then strode off quickly. The constable, meanwhile, looked across at the two women who were hovering a short distance away with their hoods drawn up against the drizzle. The older and plainer of the two was, judging by her attire and her subservient manner, a maid of some kind. Though he could only see half of her face, Jonathan did not need to be told who the much younger woman was. The resemblance to Samuel Littlejohn was clear. It had to be his daughter. Hands clasped together and lips pursed, she gazed wistfully at the site. Jonathan strolled across to her.

  'Did you wish to speak to me?' he asked politely.

  Margaret Littlejohn came out of her reverie to look at him.

  'Yes, constable,' she said.

  'Well?'

  'Are you acquainted with Mr Christopher Redmayne?'

  'I am indeed.'

  'Do you happen to know where he is?' 'I believe so.'

  She reached out impulsively to grasp him by the wrist.

  'Please tell me how I can find him.'

  Amid the musty books and sheaves of paper in his office, Solomon Creech was bent over his desk, perusing a document with intense concentration. The tentative knock on the door went unheard. When it was repeated, it had marginally more authority. Clicking his tongue, he looked up with a mixture of annoyance and dread.

  'Come in,' he snapped.

  His clerk stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, keeping his back to it. He gave an apologetic smile.

  'Well, Geoffrey?' said the other.

  'You have a visitor, Mr Creech.'

  'I told you that I would see nobody
today.'

  'The gentleman would not be turned away.'

  'Who is he?'

  'Mr Redmayne.'

  'Henry Redmayne?'

  'His brother.'

  Creech gave a mild shudder. 'That is even worse. Tell him that I am far too busy and send him swiftly on his way.' The clerk hesitated. 'About it straight, man! What is keeping you?'

  Geoffrey Anger gave a nervous laugh and swallowed hard. Fate had committed a libel when he was named for nobody was less capable of showing anger than the timid clerk. A shy, studious man in his thirties, he peered through spectacles which served as much as a protective screen as an aid to his poor vision. Thinning hair and a pinched face made him look considerably older than his years. He was a conscientious clerk who toiled for long hours without complaint but who was racked with guilt whenever he did anything as violent as swatting a fly off his desk. To expel an unwanted visitor was a Herculean labour to him.

  'Go on, Geoffrey!' ordered Creech. 'Do as I tell you.'

  'What if the gentleman will not leave?'

  'Make him leave!'

  The clerk let out a cry of alarm and brought a hand to his throat. He did not relish his task in the least. Mustering all of his resolve, he went back into the outer office to pass on the message to the visitor. It was not well-received. Brushing him aside, Christopher opened the door of Creech's office and went in to confront the lawyer. Geoffrey Anger was left bleating ineffectually in his wake.

  Solomon Creech had ire enough for twenty men.

  'What is the meaning of this?' he said, leaping to his feet.

  'I wish to speak to you, Mr Creech.'

  'This is my private domain, sir. You cannot come bursting in here like that. It is tantamount to trespass.'

  'I was left with no alternative.' Christopher closed the door on the gaping figure of the clerk. 'I came here for some answers and I will not depart until I have them.'

  'I am not available to clients today.'

  'I did not come here as a client.'

  'I am not ready to see anyone!’

  'Then I will wait until you are.'

  The visitor lowered himself on to a chair and folded his arms in a show of determination. Creech lost his temper completely, yelling wildly, waving his hands in the air and threatening to have him evicted. None of his imprecations had the slightest effect on Christopher who simply waited until the storm blew itself out. The lawyer eventually sat down in his chair and frothed with impotent rage.

  'I went to Priestfield Place yesterday,' said Christopher at length.

  'Indeed, sir?' growled the other.

  'Lady Northcott was most unimpressed with your behaviour. She felt that it was your duty to pass on the sad news. You failed her miserably.'

  'I was too caught up in events here, Mr Redmayne. In any case, why should I bother to send word when you were intent on travelling to Kent yourself? But,' he said defensively, 'I have not been idle. The body has at last been released by the coroner. I arranged for it to be transported to Priestfield Place so that burial can take place in the family vault. Even as we speak, Sir Ambrose is making his final journey.'

  'He leaves many pertinent questions behind him.'

  'I am struggling with some of them now, sir,' the lawyer said, pointing to the document before him. 'This is his will. Its provisions are highly complicated and it demands my full attention.'

  'So do I,' insisted Christopher.

  'Could we not postpone this discussion until tomorrow?'

  'No, Mr Creech.'

  'Until later on this afternoon, then?'

  'Now, sir! I insist.'

  'I will not be browbeaten, sir,' warned the other.

  'Nor will I.'

  Their eyes locked in a tussle but it did not last long. The lawyer soon saw the futility of trying to defy his visitor. Christopher Redmayne was no fearful and reticent clerk who could be brought to heel with a snarl. He was resolute and single-minded.

  Creech resigned himself to the inevitable. He became curious.

  'How did Lady Northcott receive the news?' he asked.

  'Very bravely. In the circumstances.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well,' said Christopher, 'to begin with, she had to endure the shock of learning that her husband had been brutally murdered. That is ordeal enough for any loving wife. But I inadvertently inflicted another wound when I happened to mention the new house. Neither Lady Northcott nor her daughter had the slightest notion that it existed.'

  'Indeed?' mumbled the other.

  'You know that it is so, Mr Creech. And that is my first question. Why were they not told? What kind of husband keeps something as important as this from his wife?'

  'It is not for me to speculate.'

  'Sir Ambrose had a reason to conceal that house from them.'

  'I suppose that he must have.'

  'What was it, Mr Creech?'

  'I can only guess,' said the other evasively. 'Sir Ambrose Northcott was a close man. He took nobody into his confidence.'

  'Except his lawyer.'

  'Only in respect of legal matters.'

  'Building a new house is a legal matter,' Christopher reminded him. 'You drew up the contracts and visited the site while Sir Ambrose was away. That brings me to another point. Where did he go during those three weeks?'

  'It is a private matter, Mr Redmayne.'

  'I need to know.'

  'Well, I am not able to tell you.'

  'But it may have a bearing on his death. Something may have happened during that time while he was away which led to his murder.' He spread his arms questioningly. 'Do you not want this crime solved?'

  'Of course.'

  'Then give me some help. Where was Sir Ambrose?'

  'I wish I knew.'

  'Surely he confided in you?'

  'I knew only that he was going away on business. He often did that. I never pressed him for details of his wherabouts.'

  'But you must have had some inkling where he went.'

  'No, sir.'

  'I think you are lying.'

  'You may think what you wish.'

  'I am minded to shake the truth out of you.'

  'If you do, my clerk will fetch a constable to arrest you.' , Christopher stood up abruptly and leaned across the desk.

  'Who killed him, Mr Creech?'

  'How should I know?'

  'Because you were closer to him than anyone else. Sir Ambrose trusted you. He told me so himself. His business affairs must have brought in an enormous amount of contractual work for his lawyer.'

  'That is true,' conceded the other.

  'Then you were more aware of his activities and his movements than anyone else.' He remembered the look of surprise on the two faces at Priestfield Place. 'Far more aware, for instance, than his own family. They were kept wholly in the dark, it seems. Come, Mr Creech. You must have your suspicions about the identity of the killer. Reveal them. Who were Sir Ambrose's enemies? Who were his rivals?'

  'Mr Redmayne—'

  'With whom did Sir Ambrose do business?'

  'That is confidential information.'

  'Heavens, man! This is a murder investigation.'

  'In which you have no rightful part.'

  'Give me some names!'

  'No!' howled Creech. 'I'll not be interrogated like this!'

  'I need your help.'

  'Well, you will not get it by forcing your way in here and trying to intimidate me. Nobody is more eager to have this crime solved than I am, believe me. The death of Sir Ambrose Northcott has left me with the most extraordinary amount of work to do on his behalf,' he said, waving a hand at his desk. 'I have to process his will, write countless letters to inform people of his demise and take over the running of his business affairs until someone else is appointed to do so. With all that pressing down on me, I do not have time to indulge in pointless guesswork with you.'

  'It is not pointless. You know those names.'

  'I know only what Sir Ambrose permit
ted me to know.'

  'What was the motive for the murder?'

  'Good day, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Where should I start looking?'

  'Anywhere but here!' affirmed Creech. 'The only legitimate business you have with me regards the house and I can assure you now that the contract will not be revoked. Though the house will not be built, you will not lose the entire fee. Compensation will be paid.'

  'That is the least of my worries at this moment.'

  'It is among the most immediate of mine. I like to keep things neat and tidy, sir. It is a rule of mine. Funds will soon be released to all the parties involved. Mr Littlejohn will get his money. So will you. And so will your brother.'

  Christopher frowned. 'My brother?'

  'Yes, Mr Redmayne'.

  'Monies are due to him as well?'

  'Did you not realise that?'

  An unsettling thought came into Christopher's mind.

  'Tell me more, Mr Creech,' he said.

  Seated among his cronies at the coffee house, Henry Redmayne held court. Days after the murder of Sir Ambrose Northcott, the event still continued to dominate the conversation and, as a known associate of the dead man, Henry was accorded a great deal of respect and attention. He enjoyed his moment of celebrity.

  'I did warn him,' he said airily, sipping his coffee then holding the cup aloft between finger and thumb. 'Sir Ambrose had many enemies but he would go abroad without due care. I offered to be his bodyguard on many occasions but, alas, he spurned the suggestion. Would that he had not, gentlemen! My sword would have saved him. Sir Ambrose would even now be sitting here with the rest of us. I grieve for him.'

  Henry gave a theatrical sigh but his grief was shortlived. When he caught sight of his brother, he quickly put down his cup and excused himself from the company. Christopher was bearing down on him with a scowl which promised a stern reprimand and Henry did not wish to receive it in front of his friends. Intercepting his brother, he guided him to an empty table in the corner of the room.

  'What a pleasant surprise!' said Henry, taking a seat.

  'It is more pleasant than the one I have just had,' returned Christopher, remaining on his feet. 'I come from the offices of Solomon Creech.'

  'And?'

  'He tells me that you are to receive a percentage of my fee.'

  'The treacherous devil!'

  'Is it true, Henry?'

  'Sit down a moment.'