The King's Evil

by Andrew Taylor

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘You know everything, or at least everything I can tell you.’

  I wondered if that were true. I knew that Cat was capable of lying to protect herself. We all are. But perhaps, I thought as we rode on in silence, she was also capable of lying to protect me. I was weary of the uncertainty. I must find other ways of uncovering the truth about what had happened to Edward Alderley and what it had to do with my Lord Clarendon.

  In the meantime, I had a more pressing problem. I had found Cat, but what on earth was I going to do with her?

  As we approached the city, the clocks that had survived the fire were striking eight in a ragged jangle that lasted at least three minutes. Time was running away with us.

  ‘It’s less than five days since I saw this,’ Cat said, waving towards the ruins of the old city. ‘It seems as many centuries.’

  ‘Conceal your face as much as you can,’ I said. ‘Pull your hat down. We mustn’t linger. I’m due at Whitehall in two hours’ time. Will you do me a service? Two men are watching for me – they don’t wish me well. They would have taken me last night if Sam hadn’t been there. One is very tall and thin, in a brown coat – it’s a long one. The other is smaller but fat. They both wear swords.’

  ‘Why are they after you?’ she said. ‘Is it to do with my Aunt Quincy, or my cousin’s death?’

  ‘Perhaps. But it doesn’t matter why. Just keep a watch for them and tell me if you see them.’

  We came into the outskirts of the city, took the road around the old Wall and threaded our way through the streets to the Mitre.

  Cat dismounted in the street outside. I told her to wait while I returned the horse to the livery stable and paid what I owed.

  Afterwards, despite the need for haste, I paused under the archway of the stableyard and watched her. She was standing in a patch of sunlight with her back against the wall and her hand wrapped around the handle of the knife in her pocket. On the other side of the road, a pack of small boys were tormenting a cat. The creature was all skin and bone, and spitting like a firecracker. It wriggled out of its captors’ hands, scratched two of them, and bolted into an alley. One of the injured boys burst out howling. The other ran to his mother, who swatted him out of the way like a wasp.

  She glanced at me. She was smiling. ‘I knew it would end thus.’

  ‘Aye,’ I said. ‘Cats are like that, I believe. Take my arm. Hurry.’

  Still smiling, she chose to obey me. We walked swiftly down to the Savoy, entered by the side gate, which was unattended at this hour, and made our way to Infirmary Close. I hammered on the door of my lodging.

  There was a rattle of chains and bolts. Margaret opened the door. Her face lit up when she saw Cat. ‘Mistress Hakesby, God bless me – how do you do?’

  Cat pressed the older woman’s hands in hers. ‘Well enough. And you and Samuel?’

  ‘Still here, mistress, as you see.’

  ‘Get in the house and close the door,’ I interrupted.

  Margaret drew Cat inside. ‘You look weary. Are you hungry? Thirsty? And what have you done to your face? Have you been too much in the sun?’

  ‘Walnut juice to darken the skin,’ she said. ‘To make me seem a countrywoman.’

  I closed and barred the door. ‘Take Mistress Hakesby away and give her whatever she needs. Bring me some hot water in my chamber. Then come to me in the parlour.’

  Margaret curtsied. So did Cat, though hers was an expression of mockery rather than respect.

  ‘You are too kind, sir,’ Cat said.

  I closed the door of my bedroom. I was very weary. My limbs ached. I was tempted to lie on the bed. Just for half an hour, I told myself, and it will make a new man of me.

  Instead, I forced myself to throw off my coat and sit at the dressing table. I lifted off the periwig and set it on the stand. It was dusty from the road. I stared at my haggard face in the glass.

  Without the wig, the fire’s scarring on the side of my head and face was as naked to my sight as a newborn babe to the midwife. What did it matter? In the schedule of my present troubles and discontents, it seemed an entry of minor importance.

  Cat, I thought, then Chiffinch, then God alone knew what lay ahead of me. Unbidden, a vision of Lady Quincy’s face rose in my mind.

  There was a knock on the door, and the image of Lady Quincy vanished, to be replaced by Margaret with a jug of warm water. She set down the jug. She was about to withdraw when I stopped her.

  ‘Close the door for a moment.’ I waited until she had obeyed. ‘Has there been a letter for me?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  I had hoped that I might hear from George Milcote about the missing servant, Matthew Gorse. ‘You mentioned a friend of yours the other day – one who helps with the distribution of the Gazette. Martha, was it?’

  Margaret smoothed her apron. ‘Dorcas, sir. I hope there’s nothing wrong – I’m sure she wouldn’t—’

  ‘The Gazette has a great lack of trustworthy distributors. You said Dorcas needs help, I think?’

  ‘Why yes, sir, they all do.’

  I put my finger to my lips. ‘Can you trust her?’

  She nodded. But her eyes were anxious.

  ‘If she can keep her mouth shut, I can give her a chance to earn a little money and lighten her load at the same time. Does she share her bed with anyone?’

  Margaret looked so alarmed that I burst out laughing. ‘I mean her virtue no harm. I only want to know whether she lives alone.’

  ‘She sleeps in a loft above a stable, sir. By herself, except when her boy has leave. He’s in Tangier, with his ship.’

  ‘Mistress Hakesby needs somewhere to stay for a few days,’ I said. ‘Her face isn’t well known but there are people searching for her, and they may look for her here. Could she stay with Dorcas?’

  ‘I can ask,’ Margaret said doubtfully. ‘She’s not one to blab, I know that. And she’d starve if she lost her job.’

  ‘Don’t mention me. Make up some story with Mistress Hakesby – she could be a maidservant with the bailiffs after her, perhaps. Or she’s run away from her master to preserve her virtue, and he’s pursuing her.’

  ‘Is it dangerous?’

  ‘There should be no danger to Dorcas or you or anyone else. And if we can but change Mistress Hakesby’s appearance a little more than she already has, I see no reason why she shouldn’t go about the city, particularly if she had a role to play. For example, if she were hired to distribute the Gazette, to help Dorcas with her round.’

  For a long moment Margaret and I stared at each other in silence. The best place to hide is under the light.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SHORTLY AFTER TEN o’clock, I presented myself at the Privy Stairs. I had come in haste from the Savoy, and I was hot from the exertion as well as sore from the riding. I was brought at once to Chiffinch, whom I found on his feet already and not in the best of tempers.

  ‘You’re late, Marwood,’ he said, interrupting my attempt to apologize. ‘Come with me.’

  He brushed past me and took me through a doorway I had never passed through before into a strange warren of half-finished building works. Here were the private lodgings of the most favoured courtiers, and the royal apartments themselves. Walking swiftly, never at a loss for his direction, he turned left and right, and left again, went upstairs and downstairs, across courts and into hallways. We passed a number of guards, who saluted Chiffinch and opened doors for us. It seemed to me that they did not meet my eyes. It was as if I were invisible to them.

  In one apartment, two richly dressed courtiers were standing talking by the window, their heads close together. Beyond them was the grey, sluggish river. In the failing light, the water was as dull as old fish scales. They glanced towards us as we entered. I recognized them. So did Chiffinch, who muttered something under his breath.

  ‘Your grace,’ he said, bowing. ‘My lord.’

  I bowed even lower. The Duke of Buckingham and Lord Rochester nodded
to Chiffinch. For a moment the Duke’s eyes lingered on me. He was a handsome man with dark, strongly marked eyebrows and a moustache so thin and fair it was barely visible. His face was cold and unsmiling. Then Rochester whispered in his ear. He burst out laughing, and they turned back to the window. Chiffinch and I hurried on.

  Then at last we were back in the open. He had brought us to the bowling green beside the river to the south of the palace, towards Westminster. A small flight of stairs descended to a shallow jetty projecting into the river. The tide was high and the water lapped against it. I had seen these stairs from the river but I had never landed here, for their use was strictly controlled. They were rarely used, unlike the public stairs and Privy Stairs to the north.

  A lantern burned there, and two manservants waited, not in livery, and both with swords by their sides. A boat with a pair of oars was moored alongside, with the rower waiting. There was a lantern at the stern but it wasn’t alight.

  A sense of foreboding crept over me. Chiffinch went forward, bowed and crouched to speak in a low voice to the man in the boat. One of the servants barred my way with his body. His face was impassive; there was no hostility in his bearing. Then, at a word from Chiffinch, he stood aside to let me pass.

  ‘Sit in the stern, and be quick about it,’ Chiffinch said to me. As I passed, he snatched off my hat, and that was when I knew for sure who I had to deal with.

  It is never easy to climb gracefully into a small boat, and I lowered myself with caution, holding on to a bollard as I transferred my weight from the land to the water. Nevertheless the boat rocked violently under my weight, and almost pitched me into the water.

  The rower chuckled.

  Clutching the sides of the boat, I sat under the lantern at the stern. Chiffinch tossed my hat on to my lap and stepped back.

  One of the servants cast off; the other pushed the boat away from the jetty. Dusk was falling but it was brighter on the water. The rower brought the bow round and set out towards the centre of the river with long, slow strokes. When we were fifty yards or so clear of the land, he raised his head. I recognized the dark and ugly features of the King.

  ‘Your Majesty.’ I bobbed my head in an apology for a low bow.

  ‘Enough of that, Marwood,’ the King said. ‘If you’re not careful you’ll capsize us.’

  I had seen him on the river often before, for sailing was one of his passions, and he and the Duke of York frequently raced their yachts against each other. But I had never seen him like this, without even a single attendant and looking no better than a common waterman. He was dressed not as a private gentleman but in a rough coat and breeches. He had taken off his periwig and pulled his hat low.

  ‘Edward Alderley,’ he said, using his oars to keep the boat’s bows into the incoming tide. ‘I hoped we had seen the last of that cursed family. Nothing but trouble in both life and death. I know what you’ve told Chiffinch about the discovery of the body and what came after, but I want you to tell it to me.’ He paused, holding up his hand with a great ring on it. ‘I want you to tell me everything. Think carefully. Not just what you told Chiffinch. Everything.’

  Everything? I had no time to think what to include, and what to leave out, no time to calculate consequences and implications. I began to speak, trying to sort my thoughts as I went.

  I told the King of my enquiries at Clarendon House and elsewhere into Alderley’s death. I told him about Alderley’s lodgings, his sudden wealth and his possible plans for marriage, and about the discovery of the broken box, which I believed Alderley had stolen from my Lord Clarendon. I told him of the man called the Bishop who had been Alderley’s companion, and who appeared to be engaged in orchestrating the protests in Piccadilly against the former chancellor. I even told him that I feared the Bishop might be connected to the Duke of Buckingham.

  I hesitated here, reluctant to continue because it meant inculpating myself. But the King stirred on the thwart and said with a touch of irritation that he had no time for fools who tried to keep secrets: he would thank me to tell him everything I knew.

  Chiffinch, I said, had ordered me to move the corpse away from the grounds of Clarendon House. Accordingly, Mr Milcote and I had transported it to a field near Tyburn with the help of the servant who had originally found it in the well. But there was a problem: the servant had vanished yesterday morning. Milcote had found evidence that the man had previously been in Alderley’s employ, though I could not begin to guess what this might mean.

  ‘And so,’ the King said, ‘we come to the Lovett woman.’

  Because I had no alternative, I told him about Cat: how she had been working for Mr Hakesby, the architect, on the pavilion at Clarendon House, and it was widely believed she had murdered her cousin. Mr Chiffinch had received an anonymous letter to that effect. Alderley’s address had been discovered in her box. I paused and for an instant I was sorely tempted to make a clean breast of everything, to tell the King that I believed her innocent, despite the evidence against her, and that at this very moment I was sheltering her from the constables.

  But I found I could not. The words stuck in my throat, awkward as a fishbone and perhaps as liable to lead to my being choked to death.

  The more I talked, the more afraid I felt. Here was I, talking to the King of England, the two of us quite alone. I was discussing the private affairs of Lord Clarendon, until a few weeks ago his most powerful minister and his most trusted councillor. I was all but accusing the Duke of Buckingham of involvement in the case; the Duke was not only the cherished friend of the King’s childhood but he was reputed to be his most favoured courtier, not least because he knew how to make the King laugh; he was also one of the richest men in the land.

  The King heard me out until I stumbled into silence. To my surprise, I heard his soft laugh in the gathering gloom. ‘Now, Marwood,’ he said, ‘before you dizzy me with speculation, tell me what Chiffinch doesn’t know. You met my Lady Quincy the other day, in the Banqueting House while I was touching the sick. Remind me what she wanted of you.’

  I shivered, for it was growing colder and colder on the water, with the breeze stiffening as the light went. He must know already what Lady Quincy wanted. Perhaps he was testing me – or perhaps he was testing my lady.

  I said, ‘She asked me if I knew where to find Catherine Lovett, sir. She’s her niece by her marriage to the late Henry Alderley, if you remember.’

  I sensed his growing restlessness. The King was not a patient man. Perhaps kings rarely were, though I had seen another side of him when he was touching scores of people for the King’s Evil: he had sat as still as a graven image on his throne, hour after hour, while the drone of prayers filled the air, repeating themselves for each sufferer.

  ‘She desired me to warn Mistress Lovett that Edward Alderley had found out her direction and meant to do her great harm,’ I went on. ‘She advised Mistress Lovett to flee. I … I did as she asked.’

  ‘Did you meet Mistress Lovett in person?’ The words were as sharp as a falling axe. ‘Or did you write to her?’

  ‘I met her, sir, at the New Exchange early on Saturday evening, and I passed on my lady’s warning.’

  ‘How did she respond?’

  ‘She was angry. She … was reluctant to leave Mr Hakesby, too. She is betrothed to him and helps him in his work. But she seems to have heeded the warning. Afterwards, I learned that she supped with Mr Hakesby and his draughtsman. She went back to her lodging and, later that evening, she went out again, alone, and did not return. When they came to arrest her on Monday morning, there was no trace of her.’

  ‘Where might she go? Assuming she went of her own choice.’

  I cleared my throat. ‘It is hard even to form an opinion, sir. But she’s a young woman of resource, I can vouch for that.’

  ‘And more than capable of violence, by all accounts. Chiffinch has told me the evidence against her. She disappeared on Saturday evening. Alderley was last seen an hour or two earlier, at his lodgings.’r />
  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So if Alderley was murdered, and he almost certainly was, then she’s the obvious suspect.’

  I bowed my head. Cat was not just the obvious suspect, she was also far and away the most convenient one. A murderous quarrel between cousins, neither of whom was of much importance, would be so much easier for everyone to deal with than a murky intrigue that touched the great ones of our world, such as Buckingham, Lord Clarendon and the Duke of York. That was why the King had wanted the body moved from the pavilion to a safely neutral spot. He was nothing if not pragmatic.

  Then, like a fool, I said, ‘Sir, I believe Mistress Lovett is innocent.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The evidence against her is circumstantial. There’s nothing to say that she was in Lord Clarendon’s pavilion with Mr Alderley, and it’s hard to see how she could have entered it. Lady Quincy’s warning to her explains why she fled.’

  ‘That means nothing. My advisers believe her guilty, and they are men of experience who have examined the evidence.’ The King glanced up at the sky. He dug an oar into the water and brought the boat round and began to row back to the palace. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ he said, ‘you’re to go to Cradle Alley at six o’clock.’

  I stared blankly at him. ‘And do what, sir?’

  ‘You’ll escort Lady Quincy to Cambridge and perhaps elsewhere.’

  ‘But, sir—’ I began, not to object (for I could hardly do that) but simply from surprise.

  ‘You may be away for some days,’ he interrupted. ‘Follow her commands in all things. I shall wish for a most particular account of what passes, of what she does, where she goes, what she says. Find Chiffinch, and he will give you what you need.’

  I dared not ask why Lady Quincy was going to Cambridge. There was a finality about the King’s last words; he had finished talking to me.

  We rowed the rest of the way to the Bowling Green stairs in a silence broken only by the lapping of the water and the creaking of the rowlocks. There were still three men waiting under the lantern on the jetty. But Chiffinch had gone. He had been replaced by a taller man wrapped in a dark cloak, who stood with his back to the water.