The King's Evil

by Edward Marston

  'Is it or is it not true?'

  'I am saying nothing until you sit down,' said Henry, conscious that everyone was now looking at them. 'And lower your voice while you are at it, Christopher. I do not want the whole world to know my business.'

  Christopher sat down. 'It seems that you did not even want your brother to know your business. This is appal- ling.'

  'It is normal practice, I assure you.'

  'Normal? To steal money from someone else?'

  'It was earned and not stolen. Who got you that commission in the first place? Who introduced you to Sir Ambrose? Who made his younger brother sound like a new Christopher Wren?'

  'You did, Henry.'

  'Thank you!'

  'At a price.'

  'I was entitled to some reward.'

  'Then why did you not ask for it?' said Christopher. 'For it would have been willingly given. I was never involved in this enterprise for the money, you know that. It was the challenge which inspired me. I worked all the hours God sends on those drawings and I was deeply grateful to you for getting me the opportunity to do so. It never crossed my mind that you were conniving behind my back.' 'It was Sir Ambrose's idea,' lied the other.

  'Then why does it have the ring of Henry Redmayne to it?'

  'That is a slur on my character!'

  'Who put it there? In truth,' said Christopher, pulsing with rage, 'this is shabby behaviour even by your low standards. To charge your own brother! Have I ever charged you for any of the countless favours I have done in the past?'

  'No, you have not.'

  'Do I send you a bill each time I deceive Father on your behalf?'

  'Thankfully, no.'

  'It gives me no joy to dissemble. Father is a good man and he deserves honesty from his sons but how can I be honest with him when I talk about you? If he knew the true facts about your life, he would come hurrying down to London to exorcise your house.'

  'Christopher!'

  'And he would certainly cut off his generous allowance to you.'

  'Let us leave Father out of this.'

  'Why did you do it, Henry?' demanded the other.

  'I told you. I felt that some reward was due to me.'

  'Did you have to go behind my back to secure it?'

  'I was intending to tell you in the fullness of time.'

  'Stop lying!' said Christopher, banging the table. 'But for the death of Sir Ambrose, I would never have known about it.'

  Henry was bitter. 'There was no need for you to learn about it now. Wait until I see that piece of excrement who calls himself a lawyer! I'll tear the wretch apart. My contract with Sir Ambrose was confidential.'

  'It was an abrogation of trust between us.'

  'Do not vex yourself about it so.'

  'What do you expect, Henry - a round of applause?'

  'Stop shouting. Everyone is staring at us.'

  'Whose fault is that?' 'Look,' said the other, trying to mollify him. 'I admit that I was wrong to conceal this arrangement from you but you are an architect. Put it into perspective. It was, after all, only a very small percentage of your fee. And the damage is soon repaired.'

  'Is it?'

  'Of course. I will repay every penny. Will that suit?'

  'No, Henry.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because I do not want the money,' said Christopher. 'I came here for an honest explanation and a sincere apology. Neither has come from you. Frankly, I am ashamed to call you my brother.'

  'But what have I done wrong?'

  'You could not begin to understand.'

  'An agent is entitled to a fee.'

  'A brother is entitled to fair dealing.'

  'Without me, you would have had no work as an architect.'

  Christopher was still fuming. 'Without me,' he said pointedly, 'you would have had nobody from whom to steal. Imagine how this news will be received at the Deanery in Gloucester.'

  'You would surely not tell Father?' said Henry, going pale.

  'If he asked me direct, I would not mislead him.'

  'But that would be ruinous.'

  'To whom?'

  Henry was for once bereft of words. The thought of losing his allowance from his father and suffering a punitive sermon at the same time made him quail. Seeing how deeply hurt his brother was, he groped around for a means of deflecting Christopher's anger. An idea came to his rescue and sent his hand to his pocket. He produced a piece of paper.

  'I have done as you asked,' he said with an appeasing smile. 'I made enquiries in political circles. Here is a list of six people who were the sworn enemies of Sir Ambrose.'

  He handed the paper over. 'The other four names are those of his closest associates.'

  'I am amazed,' confessed Christopher.

  'Why?'

  'You have done something useful at last.'

  'Show a semblance of gratitude.'

  'I am not in the mood, Henry,' said the other, glancing at the names on the list. One jumped out at him. 'George Strype?'

  'He is to marry Sir Ambrose's daughter.'

  'I know that. You have him down as a close associate.'

  'Why, so he is,' said Henry, recovering some of his confidence. 'He was often in London with his future father- in-law. I sometimes drank coffee with the pair of them here.'

  'Where else did you imbibe with them?'

  'Do I detect a note of suspicion in your voice, Christopher?'

  'I ask out of interest,' said his brother. 'When I went down to Kent, I had the misfortune of meeting George Strype. He was a surly gentleman, affianced to a young lady who deserves better. I would hate to hear that he is yet another denizen of your favourite brothels.'

  'I am not familiar with his recreations. All I know is that he was a personal friend of Sir Ambrose Northcott and that the two of them had close business ties. George Strype is a very rich man,' he said with envy. 'He has just inherited a vast estate. In making a match between him and his daughter, Sir Ambrose was bringing off a very successful deal.'

  'For whom?'

  'All parties. Both men stood to gain.'

  'And what of Penelope Northcott?'

  'She would acquire a home, a husband and lifelong security.'

  'Was she ever consulted about this successful deal?'

  'Is that of any consequence?'

  'Yes, Henry.'

  'Why?'

  'Because I pity the woman. Strype is not fit to lick her shoes.'

  'Your first impressions of the fellow are very misleading,' said Henry. 'He can be quite engaging and the very fact that Sir Ambrose chose him as a son-in-law speaks volumes on his behalf. He would have weighed George Strype carefully in the balance. Of one thing I can assure you now,' he continued, straightening his periwig before adopting his accustomed pose. 'Sir Ambrose was an excellent judge of men. Why else would he choose me as a friend?'

  In spite of himself, Christopher could not suppress a smile.

  It was a crowded morning for Jonathan Bale. After hearing a report from the watchmen who had been on duty the previous night, he gave evidence in court regarding one case, then escorted the convicted prisoner from another and secured him in the stocks in Carter Lane. He then arbitrated in a dispute between bickering neighbours, helped to quell a tavern brawl in Knightrider Street and spent an hour taking further instructions from a Justice of the Peace. It left him little time to slip back to the site once more and institute another vain search for clues to the murder. When he returned to Addle Hill for dinner, he was tired and disappointed. His spirits were not lifted by the sight of the horse tethered outside his home.

  Irritation turned to resentment when Jonathan entered the house and found Christopher Redmayne, sitting familiarly in his parlour and talking with the constable's wife. Most galling of all was the fact that Sarah seemed to like the visitor. She was chortling happily at something he had just said. Seeing her husband, she rose instantly to her feet.

  'You have a visitor, Jonathan,' she said.

  'So I see,
' he grunted.

  'Mr Redmayne has been waiting an hour or more.' She gave a farewell smile to Christopher. 'Excuse me.'

  'I will, Mrs Bale. Thank you for the glass of beer.'

  'It was a pleasure, sir.'

  Jonathan writhed as his wife gave a faint curtsey before leaving. It endeared him even less to his unexpected caller. He sat opposite him.

  'Why did you come here?' he asked inhospitably.

  'It was the only way to be sure of finding you.'

  'My wife should have sent out for me.'

  'She was too busy talking to me,' said Christopher cheerily. 'You have a charming wife, Mr Bale. She was telling me about your sons, Oliver and Richard. I was not surprised to hear that they were named after Lord Protector Cromwell and his son. It explained a lot.'

  'What can I do for you, sir?'

  'Tell me what you have found out in my absence.'

  'Little enough, I fear,' admitted Jonathan, 'though the surgeon confirmed my guess when he performed the autopsy. Sir Ambrose had been dead for at least twelve hours, he said, but he could not be precise about the actual time of the murder. The wound to the heart killed him but the bruises on his neck suggested an attempt to strangle him. Oh,' he recalled, 'one other interesting fact. There was blood on Sir Ambrose's hair.'

  'I remember it well. A head wound?'

  'No, sir. It did not belong to the deceased at all. It must have come from the man who murdered him.'

  'Sir Ambrose fought back hard, then?'

  'So it appears.'

  'What else did the surgeon say?'

  'Nothing of note. You are free to see the coroner's report.'

  'Thank you, Mr Bale. I will. It will make gruesome reading but may yet release a valuable clue. Where else have your enquiries taken you?'

  'Along the riverbank,' explained the other. 'Sir Ambrose was a person of some note in the mercantile community. And not a popular one at that. The merchants told me straight that they resented a man of his wealth and background forcing his way into their world. He did not belong there, they said. What they really meant is that he competed far too well against them. Sir Ambrose was a cunning trader.'

  'So I have discovered.'

  'He imported goods from many countries.'

  'What sort of goods?'

  'I have made a list for you, sir, to study at your leisure.'

  'That will be very helpful.'

  'What of you? When did you get back from Kent?'

  'Early this morning. I spent last night at an inn then rode the final few miles to London.'

  'Did you learn anything from the visit?'

  'An enormous amount.'

  Christopher Redmayne gave him an edited account of his journey to Priestfield Place, including a description of the arrogant behaviour of George Strype but omitting any mention of Lady Northcott's apparent indifference to her husband's death. The image of her, seated so happily in the garden with a smile on her lips, was still vivid in his mind yet he somehow felt the need to protect her from the constable's strong disapproval. What shocked Jonathan the most was the news that Sir Ambrose had kept his wife and daughter ignorant of the building of another London house.

  'There should be no secrets between man and wife,' he said.

  'I agree with you.'

  'Marriage vows are there to be observed.'

  'I raised the matter with Solomon Creech,' said Christopher wearily. 'He was the first person I called on when I returned to the city this morning. I taxed him with this deception of Sir Ambrose's. He pretended to know nothing of it.'

  'Did you glean anything of value from him, sir?'

  'Precious little. The man is running scared. He seemed to be looking over his shoulder all the time. I fear that we can look for no assistance from that quarter. My brother, however, has been more helpful.' He took the paper from his pocket and passed it over. 'Henry compiled a list of the main political enemies of Sir Ambrose. Do these names mean anything to you?'

  Jonathan studied the list carefully then handed it back to him.

  'No, sir. I do not meddle in politics. These men are strangers to me. The only name I have heard before is that of Mr George Strype.'

  'Indeed?'

  'He, too, trades in many commodities.'

  'Politeness is not one of them.'

  'They spoke his name with contempt along the wharves,' said Jonathan. 'He and Sir Ambrose were partners in some enterprises and were equally disliked by their rivals.'

  'Would that dislike provide a motive for murder?'

  'Possibly.'

  'Then ferret away among the merchants,' suggested Christopher. 'I have a strong feeling that the murder is in some way linked to Sir Ambrose's business activities.'

  'So have I, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Those cellars signify something as well.'

  'In what way, sir?'

  'I am not yet sure. They are much larger than a house of that size would normally have. Why? What did he intend to keep there? And another thing,' concluded Christopher. 'Sir Ambrose was last seen going down into those cellars with a man who was, in all probability, the killer. Why did he take his companion there if not to show him the extent of the cellars? That man must have been a business associate of his.'

  'Not any more,' sighed Jonathan.

  'No, Mr Bale. His character underwent a complete change once he was below ground. He entered those cellars as a friend of Sir Ambrose and emerged from them as his killer.'

  'What happened to bring about that change?' Christopher rose to his feet, eyes glistening with determination.

  'When we catch the villain,' he said grimly, 'we will ask him.'

  Chapter Ten

  When he finally caught sight of his home, Christopher Redmayne gave a mild groan of relief. A tiring day had begun with an early departure from the inn where he spent the night. In his eagerness to confront Solomon Creech, he had ridden past Fetter Lane on his arrival back in London and gone straight to the lawyer's office in Lombard Street. The bruising exchange with his brother at the coffee house had been followed by the meeting with Jonathan Bale, after which he was drawn back inescapably to the scene of the crime. Searching the cellars for clues, he lost all track of time and only abandoned his examination when the candle he was using dwindled to a pale flicker. It was now well into the afternoon. Christopher began to realise that what he needed most was a restorative meal and a period of reflection. He was confident that the trusty Jacob would provide the first without hesitation then melt discreetly away while his master enjoyed the second. The house had never looked more like a haven of peace.

  As he dismounted and unsaddled his horse, he consoled himself with the thought that progress of a kind had been made. He certainly knew far more about Sir Ambrose Northcott than he had when he set out on his journey and none of the new information was remotely flattering. Tenants at Priestfield Place and rivals in the mercantile community shared a general dislike of the man and Christopher was disgusted by the way that he had deceived his wife and daughter over the building of the new house. He was still puzzled by Lady Northcott's ambiguous reaction to her husband's death but his chief memory of the visit to Kent concerned Penelope Northcott, to whom he had felt strongly attracted from the start. His protective instincts were aroused by her supercilious fiancé’s treatment of her and he was already beginning to wonder how he could prise them apart and save her from an unfortunate marriage. The fact that her late father had encouraged the match with the odious George Strype left yet another stain on the paternal character.

  Reluctantly, both Solomon Creech and Henry Redmayne added fresh detail to the posthumous portrait of Sir Ambrose and it made nowhere near as impressive a painting as the one which hung with martial dignity in the Great Hall at Priestfield Place. Truth was a more reliable artist. It worked with honest colours. Christopher realised that natural sympathy for a murder victim should not obscure the fact that he was a deeply flawed human being. It remained to be seen how many more defects came to light.
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  Christopher's mind turned to Penelope once again. Everything about her delighted him. He just wished that they could have met in more propitious circumstances. Penelope Northcott was a much more rewarding subject for meditation than her father and he mused fondly about the chances of meeting her again one day. Accepting that it would probably never happen, he decided to address more immediate matters such as the rumbling noise from his stomach. After stabling his horse, he walked around to his front door and found Jacob waiting for him. The look on his servant's face told him that he had a visitor.

  'Who is it, Jacob?'

  'A young lady, sir.'

  His hopes rose. 'Miss Northcott, by any chance?'

  'No, sir. Miss Margaret Littlejohn.'

  Christopher was at once startled and dismayed. Nobody was less welcome in his house and in his life at that moment than the builder's daughter. However, courtesies had to be observed so he steeled himself before going into the parlour. Margaret Littlejohn was accompanied by her maidservant and both rose from their chairs when he entered. They exchanged pleasantries. In response to his invitation, Margaret resumed her seat but Nan, the maidservant, hovered watchfully in the background.

  'What brings you here, Miss Littlejohn?' he asked politely.

  'I wanted to see you, Mr Redmayne,' she said, blushing slightly.

  'How did you know where to find me?'

  'Mr Bale told me that you were expected back in London today and my father mentioned that you lived in Fetter Lane. He did not tell me which number,' she said with a breathy laugh, 'so Nan and I had to knock on several doors before we found you.'

  'Why did you not ask your father the number?'

  'Because he would not have given it to me. Father has always guarded your privacy. He warned me that I was not to bother you in any way but I simply had to come here.'

  'I see.'

  'You are not angry with me, are you, Mr Redmayne?'

  'Of course not.'

  'I like to think that we are friends.'

  'Yes, yes,' he said gallantly.

  'You will not tell my father that I called here, will you? He would not approve. I can trust Nan,' she said with a glance at her companion. 'She will say nothing. I hope that I can trust you as well.'