'It is now, Henry.'
'You should have called me, if you needed help.'
'I never need help in a lady's bedchamber.'
'Word somehow leaked out of your presence here,' said Henry, who had clearly been unable to resist boasting about it. 'Everyone wanted to know how I persuaded Your Majesty to come here. I was just explaining to Mr Strype the blandishments I used.'
'Mr George Strype?'
'The same.'
Christopher eased him aside and went straight to the parlour. The black manservant stood dutifully beside the table, serving food and drink. An ancient guest was being pampered by a young prostitute. Two other men were bartering for the favours of a second woman. George Strype was talking airily to Sweet Ellen, guzzling his wine and boasting loudly about his prowess as a lover. When he saw the stately figure enter, he at once became subservient. He gave Christopher a deep bow.
'This is a pleasure, Your Majesty.'
The uppercut caught him on the chin and sent him sprawling.
'So was that,' said the other cheerfully.
Strype rubbed his jaw and looked up in utter bafflement.
'Your Majesty?'
'Christopher Redmayne sends his compliments.'
Penelope Northcott as so overjoyed that she could not stop smiling. As she sat in the parlour of the house in Westminster, she showered her guest with compliments and kept asking him to repeat certain details of his story. She was distressed that he had been wounded in pursuit of her father's killer but accepted his assurance that it was a minor scratch even though his left arm was in a sling. Christopher had told her a very diluted version of the truth, recounting the events in Lincoln's Inn Fields but making no reference to the fact that Sir Ambrose Northcott once owned the house. Indeed, he went out of his way to supply her father with a mask of his own.
'Your father was foolishly led astray,' he said. 'Marie
Louise was not his mistress at all but simply a means of ensnaring him. He was the victim of a conspiracy.'
'Why did they have to kill him?'
'Because he had served his purpose, Miss Northcott. And because he was in danger of stumbling on the conspiracy.' He gave a shrug. 'In some small way, I suppose that I am to blame.'
'You, Mr Redmayne?'
'The house was his undoing. Marie Louise insisted on its being built as proof of his commitment even though she had no intention of ever living there. But the work on the house proceeded faster than they anticipated because I urged the builder on. That forced their hand,' he explained. 'Sir Ambrose had to be removed before the house was completed or the situation would have been awkward.'
'He would have expected her to move in with him.'
'When she was, in fact, living with her husband in Paris.'
'It is so complicated, Mr Redmayne. I do not understand.'
'Do not vex yourself with the details,' he advised. 'All that you need to know is that the killer and his accomplice have been arrested. They are now behind bars and will face the sternest interrogation.'
'Thanks to you!'
'And to Mr Bale. Do not forget him.'
'I would like to meet this constable one day.'
'He is a curious fellow.'
'Mother and I owe him a great deal.'
'So do I, Miss Northcott,' he said with feeling. He adjusted the sling for comfort then gazed admiringly at her. 'I am glad the business is concluded. Even if it does mean that we shall lose you.'
'Lose me?'
'You will no doubt wish to return to Kent with the good news.'
'A messenger has already done that, Mr Redmayne. I propose to stay in London for a while to see something of the rebuilding.'
'Indeed?' 'I find the creation of a whole new city very inspiring. Mr Wren has been commissioned to rebuild St Paul's, I hear, and dozens of new churches are to rise up from the ashes.' She became more hesitant. 'Yet I lack a knowledgeable guide. Someone who could take me around London and explain things to me. Mr Redmayne,' she added softly, 'you once recommended the most excellent accommodation to me. I wonder if I might trespass on you again?'
'As often as you wish, Miss Northcott.'
'Could you suggest the name of a guide?'
Jonathan Bale was at his most relaxed. Having dined heartily, he played with his sons in the tiny garden then went indoors to sit with his wife in the kitchen. Sarah was pleased at the dramatic improvement in his mood.
'Is that why you were behaving so strangely last night?'
'Yes, my love.'
'You thought you were mounting guard on the King?'
'That is what I was led to believe.'
'Why did you not say so?'
'The very idea made me feel sick.'
'Any other man would have been proud of such an honour,' she argued. 'Look at Mr Redmayne. He put his life at risk for His Majesty. He was even prepared to impersonate him.'
'Would he have been quite so ready to impersonate Oliver Cromwell in the same circumstances? Not that the Lord Protector would ever go anywhere near a house like that,' he said quickly, 'but my point holds. Mr Redmayne has his hero and I have mine.'
'You and Mr Redmayne are the real heroes.'
'We caught them, Sarah. That is all that matters.'
'Both of you survived. That is what matters to me.'
'Yes.'
'Are you glad that it is all over?'
'Very glad.'
'So am I, Jonathan.' She smiled fondly. 'Though I will miss seeing Mr Redmayne. He brought some colour to Addle Hill. We shall probably never see him again.'
'It is of no consequence, Sarah.'
'Stop pretending,' she scolded with a playful nudge. 'I can read your mind. Deep down, you like Mr Redmayne. Admit it.'
'All that I will admit is that I no longer dislike the man.'
'It comes to the same thing.'
'Not in my book.'
'I think that you will miss him as well.'
'Yes,' he agreed willingly. 'I will miss watching his back. I will miss all the footwork I did at his request. I will miss standing outside a brothel in the dark and swimming in the river at night. And I will be very glad to miss having a pistol put to my head. Is that what you meant about him bringing colour to Addle Hill?'
There was a knock on the door. Jonathan tensed.
'I'll go,' said his wife, getting up.
'If it is Mr Redmayne, say that I am not at home.'
'I would never lie to a gentleman like that.'
Jonathan heard the door open. An unfamiliar voice spoke and Sarah replied. A few moments later, she came back into the kitchen with a letter in her hand.
'This has come for you, Jonathan.'
He took it from her and opened it at once. His face whitened.
'What on earth is the matter?' she asked.
'I am bidden to the Palace,' he croaked. 'To meet the King.'
King Charles II swept into the Drawing Room with his spaniels swirling about his heels like the hem of a robe. When he took up a stance in front of the fireplace, the dogs yapped and fought to lie at his ankles. He gave an indulgent laugh at their antics.
'Such delightful creatures! Their loyalty is a joy to me.'
He raised his eyes to look across at his guests. They formed an incongruous trio. Affecting nonchalance, Henry
Redmayne wore his new vest and coat for the occasion, beaming as if he were about to receive a knighthood and fondling his periwig with an idle hand. Christopher, by contrast, wore plainer attire and had his wounded arm in a sling. There was no hint of his brother's triumphalism in his manner. Stiff and grim-faced, Jonathan Bale stood between them, visibly suffering.
'I brought you here to thank you,' said the King with an expansive gesture. 'You have served me well and I will not forget you.'
'It was a privilege, Your Majesty,' said Henry with a low bow.
'I am glad that you recognise your true king,' teased Charles. 'I am told that last night you switched your allegiance to another one.'
'Hi
s Serene Highness, Old Rowley.'
'Do not labour the point.'
'An apposite nickname, if I may say so,' continued Henry. 'Old Rowley is the most famous stallion in the royal stud. You have rightly adopted it for yourself. In fact—'
Charles cut him off with a warning glare then turned his gaze upon Christopher. 'You were wounded in my service, sir. That entitles you to a reward. What shall it be?'
'The only reward I seek is the knowledge that wicked men will pay for their crimes,' said Christopher. 'Have they confessed, Your Majesty?'
'It is taking time to draw the truth out of them but we will have it in full before we are finished. I have skilful interrogators. In brief, sirs,' he said, casually flicking away a spaniel which tried to mountaineer up his leg. 'The assassin's name is James Lovett, a damnable Catholic. He was paid to murder Sir Ambrose and to dispose of his lawyer. That left him free to concentrate on the loftier target you see before you. Thanks to your good selves, his attempt on my life failed.'
'Let the rogue be hanged, drawn and quartered!' urged Henry.
'He will be duly punished, I do assure you. James Lovett was working in harness with Monsieur Jean-Paul Charentin, a merchant of Paris, who won the confidence of Sir Ambrose in order to worm his way into Mrs Mandrake's house. Charentin cleverly drew that formidable lady into the practice of espionage.' His eyebrow arched meaningfully. 'Naked men can be very indiscreet. Female wiles can elicit secrets which no amount of torture could extract. I have the names of Mrs Mandrake's clients and I will be castigating each of them in turn for their folly.'
'Do not spare them, Your Majesty!' said Henry.
'They include you,' warned the other, 'and I will take you to task at a later time, Henry. No doubt you have parted with your share of Court gossip while lying between the thighs of some harlot.'
Henry quailed, Jonathan was shocked and Christopher smiled.
'What of Molly herself, Your Majesty?' asked Henry tentatively.
'She is in prison and the house has been closed down.'
'Not for ever, I hope?'
'Control your passions, sir. They blight your character.'
'There remains the question of Monsieur Bastiat,' said Christopher. 'What of him, Your Majesty? James Lovett and Jean-Paul Charentin were merely his agents. I believe that it was Monsieur Bastiat who devised the plot to ensnare Sir Ambrose.'
'You may well be right,' returned the other. 'We have agents of our own in Paris and their reports have mentioned the name of Arnaud Bastiat more than once. He was a Jesuit priest at one time but has clearly turned to a more bloody occupation. You did well to escape his clutches when you visited Paris. What I wish to know,' he said, picking up one of his dogs to caress it, 'is how you followed such a tortuous trail. I would have had no idea where to start.'
'In the cellars, Your Majesty.' 'Cellars?'
'Of the house I designed. Sir Ambrose was murdered there. He would never have gone into them with someone he feared might attack him. His companion, this James Lovett, must have posed as a business partner and asked to be shown where contraband goods would be stored.' He grimaced. 'I thought that I was creating a fine house for Sir Ambrose and his family. Yet what I was really designing was a hiding place for his mistress and a potential haven for smuggled goods.'
'There will be other commissions,' Henry reassured him.
The King turned to Jonathan, whose impassive countenance had remained unchanged throughout.
'You are strangely silent, Mr Bale,' he observed.
'Am I, sir?'
'Your Majesty!' whispered Henry in correction.
'From what I hear,' said Charles, collecting a second dog from the floor, 'you must take your share of the credit.'
'Indeed, he must, Your Majesty,' interposed Christopher. 'My efforts would have come to nought without Mr Bale. His boldness in getting aboard the Marie Louise provided a vital clue.'
'As did my list of clients,' said Henry.
'Your work has been exemplary,' said Charles, ignoring Henry and looking at the others. 'What impressed me most was the bravery and discretion with which it was carried out. Bravery is not uncommon. Discretion is in shorter supply, as we have seen from the unguarded follies committed in Lincoln's Inn Fields.'
Henry nodded. 'Your Majesty is right to close the place down.'
'Be silent, man!'
'If you wish, Your Majesty.'
'I do, Henry.'
The King replaced the two dogs on the floor then stood up again.
'Bravery and discretion are a rare combination,' he said, 'and I value the man who shows both. To have two such men at my command is heartening. I will look to employ them again.'
'As what?' gasped Jonathan.
'My loyal servants.'
'But I am an architect, Your Majesty,' said Christopher.
'And I am a constable,' added Jonathan.
'Continue in your chosen professions,' encouraged the King. 'You will not be summoned often. From time to time, however, certain situations may arise which call for exactly the qualities which you have displayed. I will send one of my minions to you.' His eye alighted on Henry. 'The very person stands before me. Henry Redmayne will be my go-between. Neither brave nor discreet himself, he can at least carry a message efficiently.'
Henry looked hurt. Beside him Christopher blinked and Jonathan shuddered.
'Well?' said the King. 'I have just offered you a post as royal agents. With appropriate remuneration, of course. Are you not pleased to be given the opportunity to serve your king again?'
'Why, yes, Your Majesty!' said Christopher. He nudged Jonathan in the ribs. 'We are delighted, Mr Bale, are we not?'
'Yes,' said Jonathan through gritted teeth. 'Your Majesty.'
A smile of regal satisfaction spread over the King's face.
'Then it is settled,' he said, striding towards the door with his spaniels in close attendance. He paused to look back at the three men. 'All that you have to do is to wait for my call.'
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
The King's Evil Page 29