The King's Evil Page 6

'That is good enough for me, Mr Littlejohn.'

  The builder was diverted by the arrival of a boat-load of timber and he excused himself to supervise the unloading. Northcott surveyed the site with a deep satisfaction then walked slowly around its perimeter. He could almost see the finished house rising before his eyes. The omens were good. Everything was proceeding exactly as he wished. He strolled across to the trestle table on which Christopher Redmayne had spread out his drawings so that the builders could work from them. Like his employer, the architect was on site every day.

  'Do you foresee any problems, Christopher?' asked Northcott.

  'Not at the moment, Sir Ambrose,' said the other, looking up. 'We seem to have it all under control. Mr Littlejohn's men work hard.'

  'I look to him to keep them at it.'

  'He will most certainly do so. You could not have engaged a more experienced builder. In the short time we have been acquainted, I have learned a great deal from him. He has my admiration.'

  'You have certainly earned his.'

  'Then I am profoundly flattered.' He glanced towards the river. 'You have selected an excellent site here, Sir Ambrose, and the fact that you have a private jetty is a huge bonus. Materials which would otherwise have to be delivered to some busy wharf upstream can be brought to the very bottom of your garden.'

  'It was a feature which attracted me to the property.'

  'An appealing situation for a merchant.'

  'Trade is only a small part of my life,' said Northcott with a frown. 'I could never be described as a mere merchant.'

  'Quite so,' agreed Christopher, anxious not to offend him. 'You have many other arrows to your bow, Sir Ambrose, I know. There must be few men of consequence in London with a quiver as full as yours.'

  'Very few.'

  'Your talents are so copious. Henry is astounded by your vigour.'

  A sly smile. 'Your brother has his occasional bursts of energy.'

  'But nothing like your staying-power, Sir Ambrose. He is in awe of you, believe me. Henry has his gifts but he could not do half the things which you contrive to do.'

  Northcott was mollified. Christopher had a winning politeness and a readiness to please his employer. Northcott was growing to like him. For his part, Christopher was still too grateful to his companion to have any reservations about his character. Northcott could be peremptory at times and downright rude if there was the slightest questioning of his decisions but the architect took all that in his stride, constantly aware that he who pays the piper calls the tune. Christopher was more than content to play it for him and, in Samuel Littlejohn, he had an ideal musical ally. The two of them worked together in perfect harmony.

  'This will be my last visit for a little while,' said Northcott.

  'Oh? I am sorry to hear that.'

  'I will be away on business for a fortnight or more. When I come back, I hope to see that substantial progress has been made.'

  'We will not disappoint you, Sir Ambrose.'

  'During my absence, Mr Creech will be in charge of my affairs.'

  'Mr Creech?'

  'Solomon Creech is my lawyer,' explained the other.

  'All monies due to you or to Mr Littlejohn will be released through him. I have also asked him to keep a close eye on developments here so you will very soon be making his acquaintance.'

  'I look forward to that. Away for a fortnight, you say?'

  'At least.'

  'Will you be returning home to Kent?'

  'That is my business,' said the other with a note of reprimand.

  'Of course, Sir Ambrose,' said Christopher. 'It is not my place to pry into your affairs. I merely wished to know if there was some means of getting in touch with you in the event of a contingency arising here.'

  'Speak to my lawyer.'

  'Will Mr Creech have ready access to you?'

  'He is empowered to act on my behalf.'

  'Then nothing more need be added on the subject.'

  'Nothing at all, Christopher.'

  His remark was buttressed by a mild glare. Christopher accepted the rebuke with good grace and sought to win back Northcott's approval. He drew his employer's attention to the drawings and the two of them were soon bent over the trestle table, discussing every detail of the house. Their mutual enthusiasm for the project quickly repaired the minor rift between them and they conversed for almost an hour. By the time they finished, Northcott's good humour had returned and he even felt able to pat his architect on the back.

  'It will be one of the finest houses in London,' he said.

  'You must take the credit for that, Sir Ambrose.'

  'I had the sense to choose the right architect and the right builder.'

  'You also purchased the best possible site,' Christopher reminded him with a sweep of his arm. 'It is so appealing in every way, I am surprised that its previous owner was ready to part with it.'

  'When his home went up in the blaze, he lost heart.'

  'Could he not build a replica in its place?'

  'He lacked the funds to do so,' said the other, 'and, though he will argue his case in the fire court, he can look for very little compensation from that quarter. I seized opportunity by the forelock and made him an offer which he was unable to refuse.'

  'I am heartily glad that you did so, Sir Ambrose.'

  'So am I - now that we have agreed on the design. Everything is as I would wish. But I must away,' said Northcott, suddenly conscious of the time. 'I have important appointments today and I must call on my lawyer to give him his instructions. He will shortly be in touch with you.'

  He waved a farewell then went off for a final word with Littlejohn. Christopher pored over his drawings once more, untroubled by the many compromises he had been forced to make between artistic impulse and the demands of his client. Given a free hand, he would have opted for a slightly plainer style and resisted all of the French flourishes which had been incorporated but it was still a piece of work of which he was quite inordinately proud and it would gain him considerable attention when it finally took its place in the new landscape.

  Christopher was still revelling in his good fortune when he became aware that he was being watched. It was not an intrusive surveillance. Indeed, it seemed to wash gently over him like a benign wave and caused him to look up. The young woman was no more than a dozen yards away, her gaze fixed on him, her teeth showing in an open- mouthed smile of admiration. She was slim, comely and elegant in a dress composed of several shades of blue yet there was a slight nervousness in her manner which vitiated her poise. Christopher put her at no more than eighteen or nineteen and he wondered why she was loitering alone in such a place. She held his gaze for a full minute before modestly lowering her lids. His curiosity stirred and conducted an approving scrutiny.

  Samuel Littlejohn ambled slowly over to the architect.

  'You have made a conquest, I think,' he noted.

  'How?'

  'Margaret was so enamoured of your design for the house that she insisted she be given the chance to meet you.'

  'Margaret? You know the young lady?'

  'Extremely well,' said the other with a grin. 'She is my daughter.'

  'And a beautiful one at that, Mr Littlejohn.'

  His courteous observation drew an immediate response. Margaret Littlejohn met his eyes once more and stared into them with an intensity which bordered on yearning. Christopher was taken aback. The last thing he expected to do amid piles of building materials was to excite the interest of an attractive young woman. A pleasing sensation surged through him and produced an involuntary smile of his own. It was a thrilling moment but it soon passed.

  Without quite knowing why, he suddenly sensed danger.

  Chapter Five

  The pilfering began almost immediately. Because only small quantities were stolen each time, the theft went unnoticed at first but it eventually became too obvious to ignore. Stone suffered the least. Bricks were taken in dozens and timber, reserved for joists, floorboards, window
frames and roof trusses, was spirited away in slightly larger consignments. Expensive lead, destined for the roof, also vanished mysteriously in the night. When the losses came to the attention of Solomon Creech, he howled with rage.

  'I blame you for this, Mr Littlejohn,' he accused.

  'Why, sir?' said the builder. 'I did not steal it.'

  'It is your duty to protect the property.'

  'I have tried to do so, Mr Creech, but it still seems to trickle away. We had a nightwatchman on guard last night and even his presence did not deter these villains. Somehow they managed to strike again.'

  'Then your nightwatchman is their confederate,' argued the lawyer, waving a scrawny hand. 'Did that not occur to you as a possibility?'

  'It was my first thought. I questioned him closely about it but he pleaded innocence.'

  'He is innocent of abetting the thefts,' said Christopher. 'I am sure of that. But I suspect he may be guilty of something else.'

  'Keep out of this, Mr Redmayne,' snapped Creech.

  'I am directly involved in the matter, sir.'

  'You only muddy the waters of this discussion.'

  'I am trying to help, Mr Creech.'

  'Your help is merely a hindrance.'

  'Mr Redmayne has the right to an opinion,' said Littlejohn, coming to his defence. 'If there is a delay in the building of the house - or if costs rise sharply because of these thefts - then Sir Ambrose is likely to swinge both me and Mr Redmayne.'

  'He will have you hanged, drawn and quartered!' wailed Creech. 'And I will not escape his displeasure. That is why this crime must be solved forthwith and the stolen property recovered.' The scrawny hand fluttered again. 'I hold you responsible for this, Mr Littlejohn. Until you resolve the matter, I will not release any further monies to you.'

  'But I need the capital to replace what we have lost.'

  'Pay for it out of your own purse.'

  'We have a contract, sir.'

  'It has been abrogated by your incompetence. Before he left,' said Creech imperiously, 'Sir Ambrose entrusted all his affairs to me. I have discretionary powers with regard to the release of funds and you will not see another penny until my demand is met.'

  Christopher had to resist the urge to punch the lawyer and even the builder's geniality was put under severe strain. The two men traded a knowing glance. Neither of them liked Solomon Creech. He was a tall, angular, pigeon- chested man in a crumpled black coat and a misshapen hat. His shoulders had been rounded so much by thirty years in the service of the law that he was almost hunchbacked. Protruding front teeth were the main feature in an unprepossessing face and they were bared in a snarl that morning. By the time he arrived on site to chastise the two men, he had worked himself up into a real fury. Christopher Redmayne and Samuel Littlejohn had to call on their last reserves of patience and tolerance.

  The laywer stamped his foot and sent up a small cloud of dust.

  'So?' he demanded. 'What do you intend to do about it?'

  'The first thing I will do,' said Littlejohn firmly, 'is to invite a comment from Mr Redmayne.'

  'His comments are irrelevant.'

  'Nevertheless,' insisted Christopher, squaring up to him. 'I will give them. Were he here, I am sure that Sir Ambrose would want to hear what I have to say. If you do not, close your ears while I speak to Mr Littlejohn.'

  'Well?' encouraged the builder. 'You said earlier that you thought the nightwatchman might be guilty of something else.'

  'Yes,' said Christopher. 'Drunkenness. He is far too honest to be in league with any thieves but he is also elderly and prone to fatigue. I believe that he drank himself into a stupor here last night. That is why the thieves were able to strike again.'

  'What proof do you have, Mr Redmayne?'

  'Only this,' said the other, holding up an empty flagon. 'It was hidden under the tarpaulin near the nightwatchman's bench. My guess is that he brought this for companionship, drank it to keep himself awake but found that it only made him slumber more soundly.'

  'Dismiss the wretch!' cried the lawyer. 'I'll bring an action against him for dereliction of duty.'

  'That is the last thing we must do,' said Christopher firmly. 'The nightwatchman may be our one asset in this business.'

  'Asset!'

  'Yes, Mr Creech.'

  'A drunken nightwatchman is an asset?'

  'If he is seen on duty again tonight, the thieves may be tempted to strike again. Cover the site with additional guards and they will be frightened away completely.' Christopher gave a shrug. 'What chance will we have then of apprehending them and recovering our property?'

  Littlejohn nodded sagely. 'Mr Redmayne has hit the mark.'

  'I fail to see how,' complained Creech. 'It sounds like madness.'

  'Humour us for one night,' said Christopher. 'We are only dealing with two or three men. That is why they take away the lighter materials and leave most of the stone and the lead. They are limited in what they can carry. They must rob us piecemeal. I have a theory, Mr Creech. Let me put it to the test.'

  'And lose even more of our building materials? Never!'

  'Nothing else will be stolen, I assure you.'

  'How do you know?'

  'Trust me, Mr Creech.'

  'Why? Will the nightwatchmen stay awake tonight?'

  'Oh, no,' said Christopher with a smile. 'He will doze off even sooner. I will buy him a flagon of beer myself to make sure that he does not get in anyone's way. The last thing we need is a nightwatchman who actually stays awake throughout the night.'

  Over thirty of them attended the meeting but they took care to leave at intervals in twos and threes. Under the terms of the Clarendon Code, a gathering of more than five adults for the purposes of worship was considered to be an unlawful assembly. If they were caught, heavy fines would be imposed. Persistent offenders could be imprisoned or even transported and Jesus-Died-To-Save- Me Thorpe belonged in that category. He was the last to slip out of the house. He had no fears for himself but family responsibilities weighed upon him. His wife, Hail- Mary, was ill and unable to attend the Quaker meeting that night. She needed him to look after her. It was a bad time for him to be apprehended so he was obliged to exercise discretion for once.

  There was another reason why he had to avoid arrest. Concealed under his coat were the remaining copies of a pamphlet which he had written and printed for distribution to the Friends. His views On The Evils Of The Established Church were trenchant and they would lead to severe punishment if they fell into the hands of the authorities. Carrying such forbidden tracts on his person gave him a feeling of righteous power but it was tempered by the caution brought on by worries about Hail-Mary Thorpe's illness. Her husband had to get back to her safely.

  Since she was upset that she had missed the meeting, he decided to console her by reading his pamphlet to her once again. It would be a form of medicine.

  It was late as he wended his way home. Part of his journey took him along the riverbank and he could hear the Thames lapping greedily at the wharves. Many warehouses had now been rebuilt and commercial activity restored to an area blighted by the fire. Thorpe walked swiftly, glad that there were so few people about at that hour. He was leaving Queenhithe Ward when the three men lurched out ahead of him. Instinctively he stepped into a doorway, his black garb merging with the darkness to make him virtually invisible. He tightened his hold on the pamphlets beneath his coat.

  Evidently, the men had not long come from a tavern. One of them paused to relieve himself against a wall and broke wind loudly at the same time. The others walked on a few paces then stopped. They were close enough to him for Thorpe to smell the ale on their breath and to hear their low whispers.

  'Let us go back,' urged one. 'The nightwatchman is alone again.'

  'It is too dangerous,' said another.

  'Not if the old man is asleep.'

  'We may not be so lucky this time.'

  'Then we make our own luck,' insisted the first man, fingering the cudgel un
der his belt. 'We put him to sleep. One blow will be enough. We could steal every stone from Baynard's Castle before he woke up again.'

  'No, I am against it.'

  'Are you turning coward?'

  'You know me better than that.'

  'Then why hold back?'

  'If we harm the old man, a hue and cry will be raised.'

  'Hours later - when we are well away. I say we do it.'

  'Do what?' asked the third man, lumbering over to them.

  'Go back again. One more time.'

  'Yes,' agreed the newcomer. 'Take all we can and fill the boat. We have never had such easy pickings. The bricks and timber are there for the taking. The house even has its own jetty. What could be better?'

  They rehearsed their plans for a few minutes then linked arms before moving off. Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe was in a quandary. Wanting to challenge them and denounce them for their sinfulness, he was realistic enough to see the folly of such an action. They would respond with violence. His wife wanted her husband at her side, not lying in a pool of blood in a dark street. Yet Thorpe was impelled to take some action. Everything about the three men offended his sensibilities. A feeling of outrage coursed through him. He watched them go then stepped out of his hiding place. Keeping to the shadows, he trailed them carefully as they made their way towards the ruins of Baynard's Castle.

  The nightwatchman was hopelessly confused. When the theft was first discovered, he was all but accused by Samuel Littlejohn of being a party to the crime yet twelve hours later, as he came on duty again, the old man was given a handsome apology by the builder and a large flagon of beer by the architect. It made him resolve to discharge his office with more care that night.

  Good intentions were not enough. Loneliness soon began to peck away at his resolution and fatigue slowly set in. He tried to stave off the latter by walking around the site and checking that all was well but his legs quickly tired and his lids began to droop. The flagon of beer was inevitably pressed into service. The first few swigs revived him for a while and he was confident that he could, after all, remain awake at his post all night. He allowed himself one more long drink. It was fatal.