The King's Evil Read online

'What?' said Christopher in annoyance. 'I told you never to let her across the threshold again. This is too much, Jacob. Stable my horse.'

  He tossed the reins to his servant and marched into the house, determined to eject Margaret Littlejohn with such courteous firmness that she would never again bother him. When he went into his parlour, however, the person who stood up to greet him was Samuel Littlejohn. The builder seemed embarrassed. He licked his lips and gestured to his daughter, who was squirming with discomfort on a chair.

  'Please excuse us calling, sir,' said Littlejohn, shifting his feet. 'But I simply had to bring Margaret here at once.' 'Why?' said Christopher uneasily. 'She has something to tell you.'

  Chapter Sixteen

  Propped up in bed, Henry Redmayne was still not fully awake. There was a fuzziness inside his skull which he could not quite dispel. His cheeks were sallow, his eyes bloodshot, his mouth unpleasantly dry. Breakfast lay on the tray beside him but he could not muster enough enthusiasm to look at it, still less to try to eat it. A late night had left him feeling delicate. He simply wanted to be left alone to recover in privacy. When the door of his bedchamber burst open, therefore, he shrieked in dismay at the figure who came bounding towards him.

  'Go away! I am not receiving any visitors today!'

  'I am not a visitor,' said Christopher. 'I am your brother.'

  'My house is closed to all of my relations. Especially to younger brothers who show neither respect nor consideration. Away with you!'

  'Wake up, Henry. This is important.'

  'So is the sanctity of my bedchamber.'

  He let out a groan as Christopher sat on the edge of the mattress and caused it to tilt. Henry brought a hand up to his pounding head.

  'This is pure torture!'

  'Listen to me,' said his brother, putting a hand on his arm. 'I am sorry to call on you so early and so unannounced but I was left with no choice. My life is in serious danger.'

  'You may be sure of that!' growled Henry. 'If I had a weapon in my hand, you would already be dead.'

  'Somebody is planning to do the office for you.'

  'What are you talking about?'

  'Stop thinking only of yourself,' ordered Christopher, 'and I will tell you. Margaret Littlejohn called at my house last night.'

  Henry showed a measure of curiosity for the first time.

  'So that is it. You have come to boast of a conquest.'

  'Do not be so obtuse!'

  'You baulked at the challenge of Sweet Ellen and preferred a more sedate ride on the builder's daughter. How was she?'

  'Covered in confusion. Her father brought her.'

  'Why?'

  'Because she saw the man who means to kill me.'

  'You see him before you, Christopher.'

  'Stop that!' said the other, shaking him. 'I am serious. Do you want to be put in the position of writing to Father to explain that his younger son was murdered because you were too lazy to help him? I can imagine what the good Dean of Gloucester would say before he closed his purse to you for ever.' Henry came wide awake. 'That is better. Now that I have your attention, let me also share your breakfast for I left before Jacob was able to prepare mine.'

  He took an apricot from the platter and popped it in his mouth.

  'What is all this to-do about Margaret Littlejohn?' asked Henry.

  'She was outside my house yesterday when she noticed a man spying on it. The same person, she believes, whom she saw leaving the cellar at the building site around the time that Sir Ambrose was killed. Margaret was eager to warn me but, for reasons of her own, decided against it. Fortunately for me, Nan has scruples.'

  'Nan?'

  'Her maidservant.'

  'Where does she enter the story?'

  'She was waiting near my house with her mistress.'

  'Why?'

  'Let us not go into that,' said Christopher wearily. 'The fact of the matter is that Nan sensed I might be in peril and would not hold the discovery back. She spoke to Samuel Littlejohn.'

  'Was he lurking in Fetter Lane as well?'

  'Of course not.'

  'Has the whole Littlejohn household congregated there?'

  'No,' said Christopher, 'and thanks to yesterday's episode, Margaret will never be allowed near me again. Her father was enraged that she had disobeyed him and that she had not warned me about the man watching my house. He made her tell me everything that she saw. I have no doubt that the man in question murdered both Sir Ambrose and Solomon Creech.'

  'What makes you so certain?'

  Christopher told him. He described the sighting of the man at Molly Mandrake's establishment and the appearance of his mask aboard the Marie Louise. For the first time, he also gave his brother a full account of his visit to Paris and of the ensuing attempt on his life. Even Henry's befuddled brain acknowledged the degree of peril faced by Christopher.

  'What can I do to help?' he asked.

  'That is what I came to tell you. Have you studied the list?'

  'List?'

  'The one I gave you yesterday,' said Christopher, shaking him again. 'The one that Jonathan Bale compiled for me.'

  'Oh, that list,' said Henry loftily. 'Yes, I studied it closely. When I saw some of those names, I could not forbear laughing. No wonder Moll was so pleased to see me entering her portals once more.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'She would have had lean pickings from the clients on that list. Half of them are too old to manage anything more energetic in bed than a mild fart. Sir Patrick Compton is so fat that he has not actually seen his organ for several years, let alone manoeuvred it into action. Lord Halgrave is about as virile as a dead mongoose. And there was, I am told, a cruel prescience in the christening of Sir Roger Shorthorn.' 'Did you do what I asked you?'

  'Yes, Christopher. I added names of others I have seen there.'

  'And did you arrange them as I requested?'

  'In the exact order you specified.'

  'Excellent fellow!'

  'Does that mean I can go back to sleep again?'

  'No, Henry,' said Christopher, selecting another morsel from the platter. 'You must get up immediately and send for your barber. Then you must put on your finest apparel. We must have you looking at your best for a royal audience.'

  His brother's jaw dropped and the bloodshot eyes goggled.

  'Royal audience?'

  'Yes,' said Christopher. 'You must introduce me to the King.'

  The meeting was held in one of the warehouses which had not yet been rebuilt after the Great Fire. Largely destroyed, it had one bay which was still roofed and with walls thick enough to muffle the sounds of Christian witness which rose up within. When the meeting was over, the Quakers left singly or in pairs so that nobody would realise they had attended an illegal gathering. Among the last to venture out of the stricken warehouse was Jesus-Died-To- Save-Me Thorpe and his wife. Hail-Mary Thorpe was a small, bird-like woman who seemed to hop along the ground on the arm of her husband. She had a tiny face with pin-prick eyes and a blob of a nose. It was she who first spotted their neighbour.

  Jonathan Bale was gazing at the Thames when they came up.

  'Good day to thee, Mr Bale!' said Hail-Mary Thorpe.

  The constable turned and touched the brim of his hat in greeting.

  'I had supposed thou hadst thy fill of the river last night,' observed Thorpe with a grim smile. 'Art thou recovered, neighbour?' 'I am, Mr Thorpe. Thank you for your help.'

  'It was the least I could do for thee.'

  'Mrs Bale and thee have been good to us,' said his wife. 'We could not have better neighbours. Many a time when thou might have hadst cause to arrest us, we were sent on our way with a kind warning from thee. It was always appreciated.'

  'Though not always heeded, alas,' said Jonathan with a twinkle.

  'We are what we are,' announced Thorpe.

  'Nobody has been left in any doubt of that, sir.'

  'Remember us for our honesty before God, if for nothing else.
'

  'Remember you?'

  'Yes, Mr Bale. We are leaving thee and this sinful city.'

  'But we will miss our neighbours,' added his wife. 'Mrs Bale has been my doctor so many times now. I was blessed in her loving kindness.'

  'You depart from London?' said Jonathan.

  'Before we are forced to,' replied Thorpe. 'We have decided to join the brave new community which has been set up in America. I thought it best to sail away from this country in a state of freedom or this cruel government would have me deported in chains. We go to New England, sir. New life, new hope, new challenges.'

  'You will meet many of those, I suspect,' said Jonathan. 'But I wish you both well. It takes courage to cross the ocean.'

  'That is the only part which worries me,' confessed Hail-Mary Thorpe. 'I have no fears about what we shall find when we get there but the voyage itself is fraught with danger. Tell us, Mr Bale, for most of thy life has been spent among ships and those who sail in them. What is the best thing to take on such a long and arduous voyage?'

  'Belief in God. He is a master mariner.'

  'Then we are saved.'

  'Just as I told thee, Hail-Mary,' said her husband solicitously. 'We have no need to fear if we put our trust in God.'

  Their decision produced a confused response in Jonathan. He was not sure whether to sigh over the loss of such decent neighbours or to rejoice at his escape from the burden of arresting them from time to time. New England might be a more amenable place for assertive Quakers.

  'Is London so hateful a place that you must flee it?' he asked.

  'It is since the cloven hoof returned,' said Thorpe.

  'Cloven hoof?'

  'I speak of the Devil who rules this city and corrupts it with his own wickedness. He is the real reason why we must quit this swamp of iniquity.-' Thorpe raised an admonitory finger. 'Ask of us who is sending our little family thousands of miles away to enjoy a more godly existence and we will tell thee straight. It is that Lord of Hell,' he asserted with withering scorn. 'King Charles.'

  Whitehall Palace consisted of a motley collection of buildings scattered over a large acreage. If the Banqueting House formed its architectural pearl, it was surrounded by many semi-precious stones, some of which were badly chipped. The royal apartments were situated in the southern half of the palace, looking out across a well-trimmed green sward which swept down to the river. Christopher Redmayne and his brother entered through the Palace Gate and made their way towards the Great Hall. When they entered the building, a guard was waiting to lead them through a bewildering maze to the royal Drawing Room.

  Henry glided into it with the confidence of a man who was at his ease in the palace but Christopher looked in awe at the opulence around him. The room was a fruitful source of study for any architect and he quite forgot the purpose of their visit. He was still trying to estimate the cost of the superb chandeliers when his brother's cough alerted him to the presence of the King. Charles entered from a door at the far end and posed before the fireplace. After bowing politely, the brothers approached.

  Proximity filled Christopher with the glow of privilege.

  The King had been imposing when viewed from the rear of the Banqueting Hall but he was much more striking when only yards away. It was not just the exquisite apparel and the dignified posture. There was a grandeur about the man which set him above ordinary mortals. Christopher found it faintly disappointing when the glorious demi-god before him resorted to something as mundane as human speech.

  'What is this nonsense about a Popish plot?' he asked.

  'It is not nonsense, Your Majesty,' said Henry. 'At least, I hope that it is not, for all our sakes. My brother will explain.'

  Christopher inclined his head respectfully. Charles regarded him.

  'An architect, I hear?'

  'That is so, Your Majesty.'

  'What do you think of my palace?'

  'May I be candid?'

  'I will accept nothing less from you.'

  'You are worthy of something much finer.'

  'That is what I tell my Parliament year after year but they will not give me the money to improve it. Kings need kingly surroundings. Parts of this palace make me feel more like a tradesman than a monarch.' He beckoned his visitor forward. 'Stand here by me, Mr Redmayne. I await your explanation of this alleged conspiracy.'

  Christopher took a couple of steps forward, noting that he had been placed within earshot of the door. The King was alone but Christopher had a strong feeling that someone else was listening. It did not hamper his recitation of the facts.

  'Your Majesty,' he began, 'will be aware of the cruel murder of Sir Ambrose Northcott, stabbed to death by an unknown assailant. Shortly afterwards, a second victim, Mr Solomon Creech, fell to the same killer. Mr Creech was Sir Ambrose's lawyer and privy to the many secrets in his life. I have been trying to unravel those secrets and they have brought me to a stark conclusion.' 'Give it to me in one concise sentence,' ordered Charles.

  'The murders were preliminaries to your assassination.'

  'That is a bold claim, Mr Redmayne.'

  'So I told him, Your Majesty,' said Henry, determined not to be left out. 'But he convinced me. Listen patiently and I am quite sure that my brother will convince you as well.'

  Charles looked pained. 'I am not easily convinced.'

  'May I go on, Your Majesty?' asked Christopher.

  'If you must. A warning, however.'

  'Your Majesty?'

  'It is time for my walk. Be brisk.'

  Christopher needed no second invitation. His account was succinct but persuasive. It was the mention of Paris which took the cynicism out of the royal gaze and the discovery aboard the Marie Louise made him stroke his moustache reflectively. When Christopher stopped, the King gave him an approving nod.

  'You can present a cogent argument, sir.'

  'Thank you, Your Majesty.'

  'I have done my share,' said Henry plaintively.

  Charles ignored him. 'Where is this list?' he asked.

  'I have it here, Your Majesty,' said Christopher, taking the document from his pocket to pass it over. 'When I first saw the names, I did not realise their full significance. It was only when Henry arranged them in order for me that I could see just how many members of Your Majesty's government have responded to the blandishments of Mrs Mandrake.'

  Charles was torn between amusement and surprise.

  'Everyone but the Earl of Clarendon is here,' he said, studying the names. 'By Jupiter! Can Sir Roger Shorthorn really have the gall to visit a house of resort? What do the ladies do with him - take it in turns to search for his missing member?' He became serious. 'But you are quite correct, Mr Redmayne. There is a pattern here.'

  'Yes, Your Majesty,' said Christopher. 'Over half of the men on that list are in a position to divulge sensitive information about affairs of state. When I visited the house myself, the young lady assigned to me showed more than interest when I pretended to be a regular visitor at Court. She positively interrogated me about you.'

  'What was her name?'

  'Sweet Ellen.'

  'She always takes charge of newcomers to the house,' explained Henry. 'It was Sweet Ellen who favoured me on my first visit there. I was so busy enjoying myself that I thought her endless questions were simple curiosity. Now I know otherwise.'

  'My brother was being pumped, Your Majesty,' said Christopher. 'Subtly but effectively. And I am certain that many of the other men on that list had a similar experience. Quite unwittingly, they have been parting with all kinds of state secrets to Mrs Mandrake and her ladies.'

  'And where do those secrets end up?' said the King.

  'In France. Carried there by Monsieur Charentin aboard the Marie Louise. That is why he is so generous a benefactor. He is not just paying for any services which the ladies render. He is rewarding his spies.'

  The King examined the list again then strolled to the door. Without a word, he let himself out. Christopher and Henry w
atched with growing dismay as the minutes past.

  'Have I said something to vex him?' asked Christopher.

  'I hope not.'

  'Where has he gone, Henry?'

  'For his daily walk, by the look of it.'

  The door suddenly opened again and Charles strode in to take up the same position. They noticed that he no longer carried the list.

  'Tell me, Mr Redmayne,' he said slowly. 'Was Sir Ambrose Northcott party to this deceit among the bedclothes?'

  'No, Your Majesty,' replied Christopher. 'I believe that he was killed before he could find out. If he had known that his house was being used for the purposes of spying, he would sooner have razed it to the ground than condone the intrigue.' 'I find that reassuring.'

  'Why so, Your Majesty?'

  'Because, on more than one occasion, he invited me to visit the establishment. Sir Ambrose was most insistent. I, of course, invariably declined,' he said airily. 'I would never dream of setting foot in such a disreputable place.'

  'Yet that was ever Molly Mandrake's theme,' recalled Henry. 'She begged me to entice you there, Your Majesty. In order to give her house royal approbation.'

  Charles was aloof. 'Quite out of the question.'

  'Is it, Your Majesty?' said Christopher. 'I think that it is perhaps time to answer her plea.'

  'Why on earth should I do that?'

  'I will tell you. Might I first make a suggestion?'

  'What is it?'

  'Leave the door ajar so that we can be heard more easily. I know that someone is listening to every word we say.'

  Charles burst out laughing. 'I have a better idea,' he said, putting a hand on Christopher's shoulder. 'Join me on my walk. This subject is best discussed in the Privy Garden. Only the birds will eavesdrop there.'

  Penelope Northcott knew that he would try again. George Strype was far too conceited a man to accept rejection lightly. The social consequences would be extremely painful to him. Stung by her rebuff, he would do everything in his power to make her reverse her decision before it became public knowledge. To keep him at bay, she gave instructions that he was not to be admitted to the Westminster house on any pretext. In the event, he did not even turn up and she began to feel even safer.