The King's Evil

The King's Evil Page 8

by Edward Marston

  'How much longer will you be, Jonathan?' asked Sarah.

  'I am almost finished, my love.'

  'The children are in bed at last but they will never sleep while you hammer away like that. Could you not stop now, please?'

  'One last nail, then.'

  The hammer rose and fell with precision until the long nail had been driven deep into the joist, securing yet another floorboard. Jonathan gathered up his tools to put back in their box then examined his hands. Three small blisters decorated one palm.

  'I have grown soft,' he said with a resigned smile. 'When I worked as a shipwright, I could hold a hammer all day without getting blisters. My hands were made of leather in those days.'

  'I prefer them as they are,' she said, cupping them between her own palms before giving them a gentle kiss. 'When you have washed them, your food will be ready.'

  'Thank you, Sarah.'

  'See to the boys first.'

  'Have they behaved well today?'

  An indulgent smile. 'Now and then.'

  'Oliver can be a bully sometimes.'

  'Richard has been the problem today. He will answer back.'

  'I'll speak to them.'

  'Not too harshly,' she counselled.

  'They must learn, Sarah.'

  While she descended to the kitchen, he went off to give his sons a muted reprimand which was further softened by a good night kiss. He tucked them into their bed. It was a moment in the day which Jonathan always treasured and he was pleased that it could now take place again in their own house. Evacuated to Hoxton by the fire, they had all missed Addle Hill greatly but it was well into the new year before rebuilding could begin. The area had suffered badly and the destruction of the once invincible Baynard's Castle had a symbolic meaning for the whole ward. Like so many others, the Bale household was completely gutted but its exterior walls, though charred in places, remained largely sound. Once they were reinforced with additional brickwork, they became able to bear the weight of new roof timbers and tiles.

  As soon as the shell was completed, Jonathan moved in on his own to rebuild the house from the inside, using skills which had been honed by many years in the shipyards. Doing the bulk of the work himself not only defrayed the costs, it gave him a sense of satisfaction. He was able both to rebuild and improve their home. He was particularly pleased with his new staircase, made of seasoned oak and showing evidence of long hours with a plane and a chisel. When the kitchen, parlour and one bedroom were habitable, his family moved back to share the house with him and he continued his renovations around them whenever he could steal a spare hour or two. It was by no means an ideal situation but it was far preferable to living outside the city wall in Hoxton and, in his case, having long walks to and from Baynard's Castle Ward every day.

  'I still think that you should have taken it,' remarked Sarah.

  'Taken what?' he asked.

  'The reward.'

  'Oh, no. I could never bring myself to do so.'

  'But you earned it, Jonathan.'

  'I merely did my duty,' he said solemnly. 'A constable is enjoined to arrest criminals. That is all that I did. It was very kind of Sir Ambrose Northcott to offer me a reward but it had to be refused. If anybody should have received the money, it was Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe. It was he who alerted me to what was afoot.'

  'Then you should have taken the reward and shared it with him.'

  'No, Sarah.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because my conscience would have troubled me.'

  'Jonathan,' she argued, 'we need all the money we can get.'

  'Not if it comes from such a source.'

  'You prevented a crime being committed on someone's property. The owner was duly grateful. He is entitled to reward you.' 'And I am just as entitled to reject his offer.'

  'I would not have done so.'

  'You might if you knew the circumstances.'

  'What circumstances?'

  Jonathan swallowed the last of his food before he answered. Seated in their kitchen, he and Sarah were eating a light salad for supper. He washed it down with a mug of ale then looked across at her.

  'A crime was reported to me,' he continued, 'and I took action. I did so with no thought of personal gain. Had the theft been from the meanest house in the ward, I would have responded just the same. I had no notion that the property in question was owned by Sir Ambrose Northcott.'

  'But it was, Jonathan, and he was deeply grateful.'

  'The size of the reward shows that, my love, but it was offered to me in a way that I found insulting. A lawyer named Solomon Creech sought me out. A scurvy fellow who spoke to me so condescendingly that I was hard pressed to hold on to my temper.'

  'Then his manner must have been insulting,' she said, 'for you are the most even-tempered person I have ever met. It takes a lot to rouse Jonathan Bale to anger.'

  'Mr Creech managed to do it,' he recalled bitterly. 'He made it sound as if Sir Ambrose was doing me a huge favour when it was I, in fact, who helped him. I will not be patronised by anybody, Sarah.'

  'Do you think I need to be told that?'

  'Least of all by some wealthy Cavalier.'

  'Now we come to the truth of it.'

  'I felt as if I was being paid off like some menial.'

  'Money is money, Jonathan.'

  'Not when it is tainted,' he said sharply. 'We need no favours. We will manage on our own somehow. Mr Creech would not believe that I actually refused the award. He began to chastise me and read me a sermon on gratitude. I tell you this, Sarah, if I had not turned on my heel and walked away from the man, I might well have done him an injury. He was truly obnoxious.'

  'Would you have taken the money from Sir Ambrose himself?'

  'Not a penny.'

  'Even though it would have offended him?'

  'My refusal would have been polite, Sarah,' he said evenly. 'I look for no reward from Sir Ambrose Northcott, whether direct from him or by means of that damnable lawyer.' He gave a hollow laugh. 'The only consolation is that he did not send that architect of his to transact the business.'

  'Architect?'

  'A cocksure young man called Christopher Redmayne.'

  'How is he involved here?'

  'He designed the house for Sir Ambrose and he lay in ambush to catch the thieves. He and the builder, one Samuel Littlejohn, were there that night and helped to catch the villains.'

  'That shows rare courage on their part.'

  'They have a vested interest in the property. I believe that it is the first house Mr Redmayne has designed. He is a gifted architect.'

  'Then why have you not mentioned him before?'

  'Because I choose to put him out of my mind.'

  'For what reason?'

  'I do not like the fellow, Sarah.'

  'Is he so unpleasant to you?'

  'Quite the opposite,' he sighed. 'Mr Redmayne has tried to befriend me and that is even worse. I want no dealings with him. He lives in one world, I live in another. That is that. We have nothing in common. It was an unfortunate coincidence that we bumped into each other again.'

  'Again?' she echoed. 'You have met him before?'

  'Yes. Close by St Paul's.'

  'When was this?'

  'Several months ago. Just after the fire.'

  'Did you take against him then?'

  'Very strongly, Sarah,' he admitted. 'It is not so much

  the man himself as what he represents. He is one of them. When Lord Protector Cromwell ruled, I hoped that such creatures would be driven out of London altogether but they are back in greater numbers than before.'

  'Who are?'

  'Elegant young gentlemen with their easy manners and easy ways, looking down on the likes of us. Royalists, Sarah. Trailing behind King Charles like his beloved spaniels and soiling the whole city with their droppings. No,' he said as he poured more ale from the jug, 'that was another reason to decline the money. I knew that the architect, too, would doubtless be rewarded for his sha
re in the enterprise. We would have been joint beneficiaries.'

  'Is that so terrible, Jonathan?'

  'Yes,' he emphasised. 'I would not wish my name to be linked in any way to that of Mr Christopher Redmayne.'

  'Christopher!' he yelled. 'Where are you? For Heaven's sake, let me in!'

  Henry Redmayne pounded on the door of the house in Fetter Lane until he heard sounds from within. It was very late and the place was in darkness but he felt certain that his brother would be at home. In the event, it was Jacob who opened the door, taper in hand, and who peered out at him. Henry pushed past him to enter the house at the very moment that Christopher was descending the stairs in his nightshirt.

  'What on earth is the matter, Henry?' he asked.

  'I need to see you,' said his brother in tones of urgency.

  'At this hour? Could it not wait until morning?'

  'No, Christopher.'

  'Very well,' said the other with a yawn. 'Light some candles, Jacob. Then you may go back to bed. I will see to my brother.'

  'Thank you, sir,' murmured the old man.

  He led the way into the parlour and lit four candles before shuffling out again. Christopher sat down and waved Henry to a chair but the latter remained on his

  feet. There was a touch of fear in his eyes.

  'Sir Ambrose has disappeared!' he announced.

  'Disappeared?'

  'So it seems.'

  'Why come to me?' said Christopher. 'He is not here.'

  'But you did dine with him today, did you not?'

  'Yes.'

  'And he seemed well enough then?'

  'In rude health.'

  'Then it cannot be illness which kept him away.'

  'From what?'

  'He and I arranged to meet this evening.'

  'Yes,' remembered Christopher. 'He mentioned that.'

  'He did not turn up at the agreed time. I went to his house but there was no sign of him there. Feeling alarmed, I called on Solomon Creech, certain that he would know where Sir Ambrose was. But he did not. All that he could confirm was that Sir Ambrose had every intention of keeping his appointment with me. After that—'

  'Hold there,' interrupted Christopher, still drowsy. 'Did you say that you went to Sir Ambrose's house?'

  'Yes. It lies in Westminster.'

  'I did not realise he already had a residence here.'

  'He bought it several years ago.'

  'That is strange,' said Christopher thoughtfully. 'He gave me the impression that he was building the new house in Baynard's Castle Ward in order to have a base in the capital.'

  'What of it?' returned Henry evasively. 'Does it matter if he has one, two or three houses in London? Sir Ambrose can have as many houses as he likes. All I am concerned with is his safety.'

  'What makes you think that it is under threat?'

  'His disappearance.'

  'There may be a simple explanation for it.'

  'I cannot think of one, Christopher. Nor could Creech. The lawyer was more disturbed by the news than me. Sir Ambrose has his faults but he is very punctual about appointments.' He paced the room. 'It is very worrying. Where can the man be?'

  'When was he last seen?'

  'By you, apparently. At what time did you part?'

  'Well past two o'clock this afternoon.'

  'Creech told me that you dined in Holborn.'

  'That is so. He ate with us but left early.'

  'In which direction did Sir Ambrose go?'

  'Towards Newgate.'

  'On his horse?'

  'No, Henry. He was walking.'

  'Did he say where he was going?'

  'Not to me.'

  Henry came to a halt and stroked his moustache as he pondered. In the pool of light thrown by the candles, Christopher could see that his brother was as immaculately dressed as ever but the fact that his periwig was slightly askew showed how distracted he was. Henry Redmayne was a rare visitor to the house even though he was no stranger to Fetter Lane itself. Until it was destroyed by fire, there was an establishment at the Fleet Street end of the lane which Henry had visited regularly in his endless pursuit of carnal delights and one of the gaming houses he also frequented was still standing. That he should appear on the threshold at all was a surprise. To come at that hour and in such a state of agitation revealed just how anxious he was.

  'Might he not have been led astray?' suggested Christopher.

  'That is my fear.'

  'I imply no danger.'

  'Then what is your meaning?'

  'Sir Ambrose strikes me as a man after your own heart, Henry. A dedicated sybarite. Given to pleasure, acquainted with excess. I always assumed that that is how the two of you first met. Across a gaming table or in some house of resort.'

  'How we met is a private matter,' said Henry testily.

  'But you take my point?'

  'Of course. And I have visited every one of his known haunts. It has taken me hours. Sir Ambrose has not been near any of them. That is why I came to you to see what light you can shed.'

  'None, I fear. You know him far better than I, Henry. Until today, for instance, I had no idea that he owned a residence in Westminster.'

  'Forget that. It is not important.'

  'I just wonder why it was hidden from me.'

  'It was not hidden from anybody,' chided Henry. The only thing that we must address at the moment is Sir Ambrose's disappearance. When he is in London, he is a man of regular habits. Such people do not just vanish into thin air.' He bit his lip in meditation. 'Did he give you no clue where he was going when he left you this afternoon?'

  'None whatsoever.'

  'But he told you that he would be seeing me?'

  'Yes, Henry. This evening. You were destined for a reproof.'

  'Was I? On what grounds?'

  'Indiscretion,' said Christopher with gentle mockery. 'You are in disgrace, Henry. I chanced to make reference to his daughter.'

  'Penelope?'

  'Yes. Sir Ambrose took exception to my comment. I might as well warn you that he was highly displeased with you.'

  'Why?'

  'For revealing to me that he had a daughter.'

  'In confidence,' said Henry petulantly. 'In strictest confidence. You should have kept it to yourself. Never touch on his family. I told you at the outset how intensely private a man Sir Ambrose was. Your task was to design his house, not to enquire into his background. You have put me in a most awkward position.'

  'I am sorry. It slipped out.'

  'The damage is not beyond repair, I suppose, but it is embarrassing all the same. Well, that can wait,' he said dismissively, tossing his periwig. 'Our first job is to find him.'

  'Is there nowhere else he might be?'

  'Not that I can think of, Christopher.'

  'What if he had some urgent summons from home?'

  'He would never have ridden off to Kent without leaving word for me and for his lawyer.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Absolutely. That is not the explanation.'

  'Then what is, Henry?'

  The question anguished his brother. He flopped down in a chair and stared glassily ahead of him. His face was ashen with fatigue, his brow wrinkled with anxiety. His hands played nervously in his lap. He went through all the possibilities before turning to Christopher and giving a hopeless shrug.

  'I dread to think,' he said quietly. 'I fear the worst.'

  The night passed without incident. The old man had been replaced with a much younger one, who patrolled the site conscientiously without being tempted in any way either by drink or the blandishments of sleep. He kept a lonely vigil but that did not disturb him. He was being paid well. When dawn began to break, he strolled to the bottom of the garden and stood on a mound of earth to look out across the river as it slowly came into view. The plash of oars told him that a boat was passing but he could not pick it out. A glimpse of a lantern identified another vessel. He watched with interest until the scrunch of feet made him tu
rn.

  Someone had come on to the site. The intruder, seen in hazy outline, was making his way around the angle of the house. Drawing his sword, the nightwatchman hurried back up the garden to accost the stranger. His challenge was firm and unequivocal.

  'Hold there, sir!' he ordered. 'You are trespassing.'

  'It is I, Jem,' said Christopher. 'Put up your sword.'

  'Is it really you, Mr Redmayne?'

  'The same. Good morning.'

  'Good morning, sir.'

  Jem was a tall, muscular, ungainly young man with a face as round and expressionless as a full moon. Suspicious by nature, he waited until he was only yards away before he accepted that the unexpected visitor was indeed the architect. He sheathed his sword and cocked his head to one side in curiosity.

  'What are you doing here, Mr Redmayne?' he wondered.

  'I wanted to see the house.'

  'This early?'

  'There will soon be light enough.'

  'A strange time to come calling.'

  'I am hoping to meet someone here, Jem.'

  'Mr Littlejohn and his men will not be along for an hour or more.'

  'It is Sir Ambrose whom I wish to see, however long I need to wait. He comes to the site every day when he is in London.'

  'Yes, Mr Redmayne. He was here yesterday.'

  Christopher started. 'You saw him?'

  'As I was coming on duty, sir.'

  'That must have been well into the evening.'

  'It was.'

  'Did he say anything to you?'

  'Not a word,' said the nightwatchman. 'When I tried to speak to him, Sir Ambrose waved me away. He just wanted to look around, I think.'

  'And what time did he leave?'

  'Who knows? I was minding my own business.'

  'Do you have no idea how long he was here?'

  'None, sir.'

  'What exactly did he do on the site?'

  Jem shook his head. 'I kept out of his way.' He could see the other's concern. 'Is something wrong, Mr Redmayne?'

  'That is what I am trying to find out.'

  'I was only obeying orders,' said the nightwatchman defensively. 'Sir Ambrose made it quite clear that he wanted me to ignore him. So I turned the other way. He pays my wages, sir. I do as he wishes.'

  'Yes, yes,' said Christopher, giving him a conciliatory pat on the arm. 'You did right. I am not criticising you. I just wish you could give me a little more information, that is all. Any detail will be helpful.'

 

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