The King's Evil Read online

  'What must I do, Mr Bale?' he said wearily.

  'Do, sir?'

  'You stopped me from being robbed outside St Paul's and you have just saved me from a savage beating. Do you have to rescue me from drowning before you can treat me as an equal?'

  'We can never be equals, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Why not?'

  'I think you already know.'

  'Tell me.'

  'Because I come from humbler stock.'

  'That has nothing to do with it, man.'

  'It must have, sir,' said Jonathan, glancing around the room. 'You would not deign to live in a house like mine and I could not afford to own a house like yours.' He tapped his glass. 'While you drink brandy, I have nothing stronger at home than my wife's chicken broth.'

  'Then you are right,' agreed Christopher. 'Equality is out of the question. Mrs Bale's broth is infinitely better than my brandy. It brought me alive again after that fearful voyage. I raise my glass to her.'

  Jonathan almost smiled. 'Then I will join you.'

  'One other thing. I do not own this house, I rent it.'

  'A fine place, nevertheless.'

  'Only so long as I can pay my landlord.' He sipped the brandy and felt it course warmly through him. 'What made you come to Mrs Mandrake's house this evening?'

  'I had a feeling that you might need me, sir.'

  'And I did. But why not disclose yourself when I left the premises? You must have followed me all the way back here.'

  'From a safe distance. I remembered what you said.'

  'About what?'

  'Staying visible, Mr Redmayne. To draw enemies out into the light.'

  'I certainly did that,' said Christopher, feeling the lump on the back of his head. 'Had I not been wearing my hat, that ruffian would have cracked my skull open.'

  'Why should Mr Strype want to assault you?'

  'A personal matter.'

  'I was a witness. A warrant can be taken out for his arrest.'

  'Oh, no. This is something which must be settled between the two of us. I do not want the law getting in the way - much as I appreciated its intervention out in the street. Well,' he added thoughtfully, 'if you saw me arrive and leave, you know that I spent only a limited amount of time inside the place. Too short a stay to sample any of the fare.'

  'Were you not tempted to do so?'

  'I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr Bale, but I was not.

  Henry will no doubt succumb joyfully but I was there to gather information.'

  'What did you find out, sir?'

  Christopher described his visit to the house and could not resist including a few lurid details in the hope of scandalising his companion but Jonathan's face remained expressionless. Having arrested Molly Mandrake in the past, he could not be shocked by any revelations about the house of ill repute which she kept in Lincoln's Inn Fields. His main interest was in the French merchant, Jean-Paul Charentin.

  'He is the link between that house and the one in Paris.'

  'There must be others, Mr Bale.'

  'Did you discern any?'

  'Not yet but I sense that they are there.'

  'You also sensed that religion was somehow involved,' observed Jonathan drily, 'yet I heard no mention of it in your account.'

  'No,' admitted Christopher. 'Mrs Mandrake did not celebrate Mass with her guests. However, when Sweet Ellen went behind the screen to disrobe, I am sure that she said grace with Christian zeal before coming out to devour me for supper.' He saw the other scowl with disapproval. 'That was uncalled for, Mr Bale. I apologise.'

  'I am becoming accustomed to your levity, sir.'

  'It is the reason my father never encouraged me to enter the Church. I lacked solemnity. In Henry's case, of course, there is a much more insurmountable barrier to ordination.' He swallowed the last of his brandy. 'To return to that link between the two houses. We have ignored a more obvious one.'

  'Have we?'

  'The Marie Louise.'

  'That is the means of communication between the two.'

  'I have a sneaking suspicion that we will find it is the ship which brings Monsieur Charentin to and fro. Could we get aboard, I am certain that we would find out much more of interest.'

  'It is no longer anchored in the Thames.'

  'But it sailed for England just before I arrived in France.'

  'Yes,' replied Jonathan. 'I saw it arrive. One cargo was unloaded, another taken on board and off it went again before I could get anywhere near it. But there was talk of it coming back again soon.'

  'Keep a weather eye out for it, Mr Bale.'

  'I will, sir. What of you?'

  'That list of yours will come back into play. Now that I have been inside the house, I have some idea of its potential uses. I do not believe that Mrs Mandrake is there solely to satisfy the appetites of lustful men. She has a darker purpose.'

  'What is it?'

  'I am not sure but I feel that the answer may lie in that list of names. There is a pattern there, if I could but recognise it. I knew some of those names; Henry will know them all. You act as lookout for the Marie Louise,' he suggested, 'and I will lean more heavily on my brother.'

  'You may be brothers in name, sir, but the two of you are as unlike as chalk and cheese.'

  'Do you mean that you could grow to like Henry?'

  Jonathan smiled. 'I must return home.'

  'Tell your wife to give you a hero's welcome.'

  'She always does, Mr Redmayne. That is why I married her.'

  'Even before you tasted her chicken broth?'

  Jonathan got up and drained his glass before setting it on the table. When Christopher had seen him out, he went into the kitchen and found Jacob dozing in a chair. He touched him on the shoulder.

  'Go to bed, Jacob. I am sorry that we kept you up.'

  'But I had to tell you about your visitor, sir.'

  'A visitor?'

  'That young lady called again.'

  'Miss Northcott?' he said eagerly.

  'No, sir. Miss Littlejohn. She asked where you were.'

  'What did you tell her?' 'That you had gone to France.'

  'Did you not say that I had returned?'

  Jacob grinned. 'It slipped my mind, sir.'

  Penelope Northcott was surprised how pleased she was to see him again. When he called on her at the house in Westminster that morning, George Strype was in a penitent mood. Instead of sending a servant with flowers, he brought them himself. Where he might have upbraided her for quitting London without telling him, he simply told her how delighted he was that she had returned to the city. Inhaling the scent of the flowers, Penelope took her fiancée into the parlour. She put the basket on the table.

  'How did you know that I was back?' she wondered.

  'I paid the housekeeper to send word the moment you returned.'

  'We did not arrive until late evening.'

  'The message came first thing this morning.' A note of reproach sounded. 'Though I would have preferred it to come from you rather than from the housekeeper here.'

  'I was not sure that you were still in London.'

  'Would you have tried to find out?'

  'Of course, George.'

  'Is that why you came back? In the hope of seeing me?'

  'That was part of the reason.'

  'Good!'

  He took her in his arms and pulled her close. Penelope allowed the embrace without really enjoying it. The rift between them could not be mended quite as easily as that. He stepped back to appraise her.

  'You look wonderful, my darling!'

  'Thank you.'

  'London has been so dull without you.'

  'How have you occupied yourself while I was away?'

  'Attending to my business affairs,' he said evasively. 'Your father's death has left things in a very confused state. There has been so much to disentangle, Penelope. It will take me weeks.' 'You and Mr Creech together.' His face clouded and he looked away. 'George, what is the matter?'

 
'You have still not heard?'

  'Heard what?'

  'About poor Mr Creech.'

  'What has happened to him?'

  He turned back to her. 'His body was pulled out of the river.'

  'Oh, no!' she cried, bringing her hands up to her face. 'Mr Creech, murdered as well? This is dreadful news!'

  'It has certainly complicated things for me,' he said irritably. 'All of my commercial transactions went through his office.'

  'When did you discover this?'

  'Some days ago.'

  'Before I left London?'

  'Yes, Penelope.'

  'Why ever did you not tell me?'

  'Because I did not wish to distress you any further. You were still shocked by your father's death and by the discovery of those letters. I tried to spare you another blow. Besides,' he continued, trying to shift the blame to her, 'you spent all of the time arguing with me. I had no chance to tell you about Creech.'

  'You should have found the chance,' she scolded. 'He was our lawyer. We had a right to know. It was wrong of you to keep this from me. I cannot understand why you did it.' He reached out to take her by the shoulders but she pushed his hands away. 'No, George. Leave me be.'

  'Penelope, I am sorry.'

  'An apology will not cover what you have done.'

  'I merely withheld unpleasant news out of consideration to you.'

  'You would have shown more consideration if you had told me the truth. I am not a child. Heavens, it was crucial that I knew. Mr Creech was responsible for my father's will. All our affairs were in his hands. And now he has been murdered. Why?' 'They are still searching for the killer.'

  'Is it the same man who murdered my father?'

  'Who knows? It may be.'

  'What motive could anyone have to kill a harmless lawyer?'

  'Do not agitate yourself about it.'

  'But you lied to me.'

  'No, Penelope!'

  'You deliberately held the information back.'

  'Only because it would have upset you too much.'

  'I am much more upset now that I realise what you have done. It was cruel. I had planned to see Mr Creech while I was here. Mother asked me to call on him. It is one of the reasons that I came.'

  'But not the main reason.'

  'No, George.'

  'You came back to London to be with me, didn't you?' he said with a grateful smile. 'And I am so pleased to see you again. You came here so that we could put all those silly disagreements behind us and start afresh.' He reached out once more but she took a decisive step back. 'Penelope!'

  'I did not come here to see you,' she said levelly.

  'Who else?' His anger was instantaneous. 'Not him again!'

  'I need to speak to Mr Redmayne.'

  'I have already had words with him myself.'

  'This is a private matter, George.'

  'Oh, no, it is not!' he yelled. 'I am directly involved and I made that abundantly clear to him. You are my future wife, Penelope. He needed to be forcibly reminded of that. Mr Christopher Redmayne will not try to come between the two of us again.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'He will be too busy licking his wounds.'

  'Wounds?' she repeated in alarm. 'Is he hurt?'

  'It was no more than he deserved.'

  'What did you do to him?'

  'Forget Redmayne. You will never hear from him again.'

  'But I must,' she said, concern blending into affection. 'If he is injured, I must go to him at once. He cares about us. He has been a light in all this darkness.' She headed for the door. 'If you have hurt him, George, I will never forgive you.'

  Fuming with rage, Strype moved quickly to block her exit.

  'Let me pass, please,' she said firmly.

  'You will go nowhere, Penelope.'

  'Will you dare to stop me?'

  'If need be.'

  She had never seen such menace in his eyes before. It helped to confirm a decision with which she had been toying ever since their earlier argument. Penelope felt remarkably cool. There was not the slightest regret. Crossing to the table, she picked up the basket of flowers and carried them across to him. She held them out with contempt.

  'Take them away, George.'

  'But I brought them for you.'

  'I want nothing of yours in this house. Ever again.'

  Infatuation gave her no respite. Having thought about him constantly for well over a week, Margaret Littlejohn had been drawn back as if by a magnet to Fetter Lane. Even though she had been told that Christopher Redmayne was not there, his house still held a magic for her. She would never forget the one time she had been inside the building and the one glorious moment when she had been held in his arms. That memory prompted her to pay yet another visit to Fetter Lane.

  It was late morning when she and Nan arrived. Simply being back in his street was exciting enough. When she saw his house again, Margaret Littlejohn flushed with joy. She envisaged him coming out to welcome her then escorting her inside. Her companion was supportive but cautious. Nan advised against getting too close to the house, lest they be seen by the manservant. Accordingly, the two of them lingered a small distance away, diagonally opposite the building.

  They waited there for half an hour before they noticed the man. Like them, his interest was in Christopher Redmayne's house. Walking past on the opposite side of the road, he stopped and looked back at it with intense curiosity. He was thirty yards away from the two women and they could only see him from the rear but they thought there was something familiar about him. When they realised what it was, they exchanged a look of fear. Tall, slim and wearing a broad-brimmed hat, the man was carrying a walking stick. They recalled the figure they had seen emerging from the cellars at the building site.

  When the man came towards them, they held their ground and pretended to converse. Taking no notice of him at first, Margaret waited until he was level with her before shooting him a glance. She gulped with horror as malevolent eyes glared at her through two slits. The man's whole face was covered by a white mask. When he vanished around the corner, she needed a few moments to collect her thoughts. Sensing that the man she loved might be in danger, she was desperate to warn him somehow. She decided to tell his manservant that the house had been watched by a sinister man whom she believed she might have seen before. If nothing else, her concern would endear her to Christopher Redmayne.

  But she was not able to express it. Before she could move, a coach came rumbling up the lane from Fleet Street and stopped outside his house. Margaret watched in despair as the man whom she thought was in France came eagerly out of his front door to offer his hand to the young lady as she alighted from the coach. Even at that distance, she could see the studied affection in his manner. Margaret felt utterly betrayed. Not only had Christopher told his manservant to lie to her, he was paying court to someone else. The impulse to warn him disappeared beneath a welter of emotions. Supported by Nan, she went off in tears.

  'But what happened to you, Mr Redmayne?' she said. 'Were you hurt?'

  'Not really, Miss Northcott.'

  'George boasted to me that you had been assaulted.'

  'I was,' said Christopher, fingering the back of his skull, 'and I still have a lump on my head to prove it. Beyond that, the only injuries I suffered were a few bruises. The aches and pains will soon wear off.'

  'How can you dismiss it so lightly?'

  'Oh, I am not doing that, I assure you.'

  'George could be arrested for attacking you like that.'

  'Mr Strype did not actually touch me,' he explained. 'He paid two ruffians to do so. Fortunately, I had help nearby. Mr Bale frightened them off before they could inflict any real damage.'

  'I am so sorry, Mr Redmayne,' she said, tormented with guilt.

  'It was not your fault.'

  'But it was, indirectly. If I had not come here with those letters and then spent the night under your roof, this would never have happened.'

  'I would take a
ny beating for the pleasure of seeing you again.'

  Christopher's declaration came out so easily that it took them both by surprise. She smiled uncertainly and he became self-conscious. Waving her to a chair, he sat opposite her and offered up a prayer of thanks that he had been at home when she called. Penelope searched his face for signs of injury and felt glad that she had broken off her engagement to George Strype. He had deliberately given her the impression that he had fought with Christopher himself but, she now learned, he had taken the more cowardly option of hiring bullies to do his work for him. Having removed one man from her life, Penelope was now able to appreciate the depth of her feeling for another.

  'When did you return from France?' she asked.

  'Some days ago.'

  'Did you find anything out?'

  'A great deal, Miss Northcott,' he said with enthusiasm. 'In spite of everything, the journey was very worthwhile.'

  'In spite of everything?'

  'The trip was not without incident.'

  Christopher gave her the salient facts about his visit to Paris. His face was taut as he talked about Marie Louise Oilier but it creased into dismay when he described the attempt on his life at the inn. Penelope sat forward on the edge of her chair.

  'Why did they try to kill you, Mr Redmayne?'

  'Because I stumbled on the truth,' he said. 'Or part of it, anyway. I knew too much. Solomon Creech was murdered for the same reason. He was your father's confidante, the one person in London who knew the full details of your father's liaison with Mademoiselle Oilier.' He checked himself. 'I take it that you have heard about Mr Creech?'

  'Belatedly. It came as a hideous shock.'

  'One advantage has followed. His clerk has been able to release information to me which Mr Creech refused to divulge. I now know a great deal about Sir Ambrose's commercial transactions with France.'

  'George could have told you about those,' she began then her voice faded away. She shook her head. 'Perhaps not. He might not have proved very forthcoming.' A thought pricked her. 'You do not think that he is involved in all this, do you?'