The King's Evil

by Edward Marston

  'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made.'

  Christopher knew the words by heart and chanted them under his breath in unison with the speaker. Reared in the shadow of Gloucester Cathedral and fed daily on the Gospels, he found them endlessly inspiring though he sensed that his brother, Henry, who was also mouthing the verses beside him, was doing so out of force of habit rather than from any inner conviction.

  'That was the true light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.'

  The words were repeated each time one of the supplicants knelt for the second time before the King. Showing no signs of fatigue or loss of dignity, Charles hung an azure ribbon around the necks of all those whom he had touched. From the ribbon was suspended a gold medallion stamped with his image. Christopher was enthralled.

  'What is he giving them, Henry?' he whispered.

  'A gold angel.'

  'Such a generous gift!'

  'Too generous,' said the other sharply. 'When the Commons added up the Crown's expenses last year, they found that five thousand pounds had been spent in angel-gold. Five thousand, mark you! Why give them gold, when base metal would suffice? They have been cured by the King's Touch. That should be reward enough.'

  'And have they been truly cured?'

  'Some of them.'

  'What of the others?'

  'They lack faith,' said Henry irritably. 'The fault is never in the King but in the wretch who kneels before him. Everything depends on having enough faith in His Majesty.'

  'So I see.'

  'Let us steal away, Christopher. The smell offends me.'

  'But I want to watch the whole ceremony.'

  'You have seen all that matters. I brought you here to meet some of those enemies of Sir Ambrose Northcott. They will come out of their holes when the King returns to court. We must be there to study them.'

  'You are right, Henry. But I am most grateful to you for bringing me here. It was an extraordinary event. The only surprise is that it takes place in the Banqueting House.'

  'Where else?'

  'Anywhere but here, I fancy,' opined Christopher. 'This building holds such terrible memories for the King. It was from here that his father stepped out before that bloodthirsty crowd to have his royal head struck from his body. The King must be highly aware of that. It shows great courage on his part to come here for the sake of his subjects' health and to behave with such equanimity.'

  'I prefer the King in more humorous vein.'

  'You might not do so if you suffered from scrofula.'

  'Enough of disease!' said Henry, ushering him out. 'And enough of the execution of a lawful King! What concerns us now is the murder of Sir Ambrose Northcott. Adjourn to Court with me and I will introduce you to some of those politicians who have delighted in his death. Sound them out for yourself, Christopher. But beware of their wiles.'

  'I am used to dealing with cunning minds.'

  'From whom did you learn that skill?'

  'From you, Henry.'

  'Me?'

  'Where could I find a better tutor?' said his brother with a grin. 'You are the most devious and artful man in the whole of London. You are so steeped in craft and so wedded to guile that even the King's Touch could not cure you.'

  The ship lay at anchor in the middle of the Thames but there was much activity abroad. Watching from his vantage point on the wharf, Jonathan Bale realised that the Marie Louise was about to sail on the evening tide. She was a three-masted merchant vessel with the kind of sleek lines and impressive fittings which would ordinarily have held his attention for hours but he had no leisure to expend on such an exercise. Built for speed, she had top-gallant sails for the main and fore masts, an unusual addition to the standard rig of a middling craft. She was clearly able to defend herself and Jonathan counted the number of cannon along the starboard side, wondering why a ship that was designed to carry cargo needed such artillery. When the sails were unfurled and the crew weighed anchor, Jonathan reached forward involuntarily as if trying to hold her back, but it was a vain gesture. The Marie Louise had other plans. It was only a matter of time before her canvas caught the first smack of wind and she creaked into motion.

  By the time that Christopher Redmayne arrived, the vessel was already a hundred yards downriver. The newcomer was alarmed.

  'Has she set sail already?'

  'I fear so, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Did you manage to get aboard her?'

  'Alas, no,' said Jonathan, turning to him. 'The captain would not let me aboard nor come ashore so that I could question him here. I was told that I would need the written permission of Mr Creech before I would be allowed on the Marie Louise.'

  'Did you seek such permission?'

  'Three or four times, sir. But the lawyer was never at his office. His clerk told me that he was busy elsewhere and that I had to come back.'

  'Solomon Creech is not busy, Mr Bale. He is hiding.'

  'From what?'

  'From any enquiries which relate to Sir Ambrose Northcott,' said Christopher resignedly. 'I have called on him myself a number of times in the past few days and collected the same annoying excuses from that clerk of his. Still,' he said, brightening, 'a great deal has happened since we last met and I have much to tell you. Judging from your message, you have much to tell me as well.'

  'Yes, sir,' said Jonathan. 'Thank you for coming so promptly. I am sorry you did not get here in time to take a proper look at the Marie Louise. She was a handsome craft, a credit to those who built her.'

  'Your letter mentioned that the ship changed its name. Why?'

  'I hoped to find out by talking to the captain.'

  Jonathan gave him a detailed account of his researches along the wharves and in the taverns frequented by sailors. Christopher took especial note of the man who purported to seek the King's Touch to rid himself of his boils. It was his cue to relate his own movements. He talked excitedly about the ceremony at the Banqueting House but it elicited only a cynical scowl from his companion. When Christopher talked about meeting certain political figures, however, Jonathan showed real interest.

  'Did any of them have a motive to murder Sir Ambrose?'

  'Each and every one of them.'

  'Was there some sort of conspiracy?'

  'Unhappily, yes,' sighed the other. 'Once they realised why I was asking so many questions, they closed ranks and refused to say any more. And the worst of it is that Solomon Creech belongs to this conspiracy. The one person to whom we should be able to turn for enlightenment has hidden behind a wall of silence.'

  'Where does he live?'

  'Close by his office but he is not at home. I have been there.'

  'What do we do, sir?'

  'Wait until he appears,' decided Christopher. 'I'll repair to his office first thing in the morning and sit there all day, if need be. Mr Creech must make contact with his clerk at some stage or he will not be able to conduct any business.'

  'Ask him about the destination of the Marie Louise.'

  'It is one of a hundred questions I have for him.'

  'That ship holds many secrets, I am sure of it.'

  'We need to plumb them somehow.' They watched the vessel slowly shrinking to invisibility in the distance; then

  Christopher remembered something. 'But I have a question for you as well, Mr Bale.'

  'Oh?'

  'Is the name of Mrs Mandrake familiar to you?'

  'Do you speak of Molly Mandrake?'

  'Yes. Do you know her?'

  'Better than I would wish to, sir. I once arrested the lady.'

  'I think I can guess why.'

  'She had a house in my ward,' he explained. 'One of three which she owned in the city. The last I heard of her, she had moved to Lincoln's Inn Fields to be outside the city jurisdiction.' His gaze narrowed. 'What is your interest in the lady, sir?'

 
'It is more a case of my brother's interest,' admitted Christopher. 'I forced him to tell me how he had first met Sir Ambrose. Apparently, it was in an establishment run by this Mrs Mandrake. Henry spoke well of her. He has a high opinion of the young ladies whom she employs.'

  Jonathan was brusque. 'As to that, sir, I could not say. I have no knowledge of such creatures nor do I wish to. What I can tell you is that Molly Mandrake is very proficient at her trade. Heavy fines and a spell in prison have not deterred her. She has made a veritable fortune from the likes of Sir Ambrose Northcott and your brother.'

  'It pains me to link the name of Redmayne with hers.'

  Jonathan made no comment but his expression was eloquent. He still could not bring himself to regard Christopher as a friend but he no longer treated him with such suspicion. The latter's honesty about the shortcomings of Henry Redmayne was quite disarming. Of the two brothers, the younger was the only one whom Jonathan would ever find at all tolerable but he was still not at ease in his company. For his part, Christopher was warming to the constable.

  'I am glad that we are working in harness,' he said.

  Jonathan was guarded. 'Are you, sir?'

  'It is too big an assignment for one person. Together we have made big strides forward. The beauty of it is that each of us can visit places which are closed to the other.'

  'Can we?'

  'Yes, Mr Bale. While you trawl the riverside taverns, I mix with men of consequence at Whitehall Palace. Between us, we are able to cover the whole of London society from top to bottom.'

  'Which is which?' asked Jonathan with a sardonic smile.

  Christopher laughed. 'A fair comment,' he conceded. 'But tell me more about this Mrs Mandrake.'

  'Your brother knows the lady more intimately than I, sir.'

  'That is precisely why he was so defensive about her. But he did confess that Sir Ambrose was once a regular client of hers. Why?'

  'Do you really need to ask?'

  'There are many houses of resort available. What is so special about hers? What did Molly Mandrake offer that made her establishment so popular with men like Sir Ambrose? We must look further into it, Mr Bale. Talk to the lady and we may learn something of interest about Sir Ambrose Northcott.'

  'I leave that office to you, sir. It is not one which I would relish.'

  'What sort of a creature is she?'

  'Molly Mandrake? A cheerful sinner.'

  'Henry called her one of the seven wonders of the world.'

  'I am glad that he is not my brother.'

  Christopher laughed again then made plans to meet the constable on the following day. Taking his leave, he mounted his horse and rode home thoughtfully to Fetter Lane, trying to sift through all the new information which he had just acquired.

  Jacob had a meal waiting for him and Christopher ate it at the kitchen table, still deep in cogitation. He did not hear the rumbling of a coach outside the house nor the knock on his front door but Jacob's voice was as clear as a bell.

  'Please come in,' he said politely. 'I will call Mr Redmayne.'

  The words cut through Christopher's reverie and made him sit up in mild alarm as he sensed who the unexpected visitor might be. When the servant came into the kitchen, he gave an apologetic smile.

  'A young lady has called to see you, sir,' he announced.

  'I told you not to let Miss Littlejohn in!' hissed Christopher. 'I am not in a mood to see anybody right now, least of all her.'

  'Miss Littlejohn is not the visitor in question, sir.'

  'Oh? Then who is?'

  Jacob made him wait then savoured his master's surprise.

  'Miss Penelope Northcott.'

  Chapter Eleven

  Christopher Redmayne's astonishment was matched by his unabashed delight. Jacob watched with wry amusement then stood aside as his master surged out of the kitchen and through into the parlour. Penelope Northcott was standing in the centre of the room, gazing around it with distant curiosity. In his eagerness to see her again, Christopher had forgotten that she was in mourning for the death of her father and he had to school his own excitement when he was confronted by the subdued figure in sober attire. She gave him a tired smile.

  'I am sorry to descend on you unannounced, Mr Redmayne.'

  'Not at all, Miss Northcott,' he said, pleased to find that she was alone. 'You are most welcome. Do sit down.'

  'Thank you,' she said, lowering herself on to a chair. 'It has been a taxing day and I must confess that I am weary.'

  'May I offer you some refreshment?'

  'Not for me, Mr Redmayne, but I daresay that Dirk would be very grateful for something to slake his thirst.'

  'Dirk?'

  'My coachman. He waits at your door. It has been a long drive and the poor fellow must be close to exhaustion.'

  'Then we must revive him at once.'

  Christopher turned to call Jacob but the servant was already at his elbow. Having taken his instructions, he left the house by the kitchen door to see to the needs of the coachman. Christopher perched on a chair and appraised his visitor with admiration.

  'You came all this way in one day?' he said.

  'Dirk drove the coach. All that I had to do was to sit in the back of it and count the bumps in the road. There were thousands. But, yes,' she said wearily, 'we left before dawn in order to get here by nightfall. Fresh horses were waiting for us in Orpington.'

  'Would it not have been more comfortable to break the journey?'

  'Infinitely more comfortable, Mr Redmayne. But my business in London would brook no delay.'

  'I see.'

  'In view of that, I hope that you will overlook what may appear to be somewhat indecent behaviour.'

  'Indecent?'

  'My father was buried only two days ago,' she said quietly. 'Most people would think it highly improper for his daughter to go haring off to London when she should be grieving in the privacy of her home. You may well take such a view of my conduct yourself.'

  'Never!' he affirmed. 'You will hear no word of criticism from me, Miss Northcott. Though we only met once, I judged you to be a person who would do nothing without a good reason. Something has clearly impelled you to come here. I look forward to hearing what it is.'

  His warm smile was intended to encourage her but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Penelope was suddenly discomfited and her hands fidgeted in her lap. Evidently, she was having second thoughts about her impulsive action. He tried to come to her rescue.

  'I am still on the trail of the killer,' he promised her. 'Would you like to hear what progress we have made?'

  'We?'

  'A constable named Jonathan Bale is helping me.'

  'Do you know the identity of the murderer?'

  'Not yet, Miss Northcott. But we get ever closer to him.'

  Suppressing any unfavourable details about her father, Christopher gave her a full account of their investigations. Though her face was lined with fatigue, she listened intently throughout. He noticed the blush which came to her cheeks at the mention of the Marie Louise. When his recital was over, she spoke with great feeling.

  'You have done so much on our behalf, Mr Redmayne. Mother and I cannot possibly repay you for your sterling efforts.'

  'Finding the man responsible will be reward enough.'

  'That is what I have been telling myself.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Arresting the guilty man takes precedence over everything,' she said solemnly. 'The end justifies the means. Even if those means involve some personal embarrassment.' She leaned forward. 'Mr Redmayne, I will have to rely on your discretion.'

  'Do so with complete confidence.'

  'May I?'

  'Whatever you tell me will remain within these four walls.'

  'It must needs spill out beyond them, I fear,' she sighed. 'Let me explain. Before you left Priestfield Place, you asked me to make contact with you if we remembered anything about Father which might be germane to your investigation. You gave me t
his address.'

  'I am glad that I did so.'

  She became more hesitant. 'What brought me here today was not something which either of us remembered,' she said slowly, lowering her head, 'but something which I found. Most of Father's private papers are kept in a safe at his lawyer's office but a few were locked away in a desk in the library at Priestfield Place. I prised the lock open to find them.'

  'That was very enterprising of you, Miss Northcott.'

  'My enterprise led to a rude awakening.'

  'In what way?'

  'Judge for yourself,' she said, bringing a small bundle of letters out from beneath her cloak. 'I assume that you read French?'

  'Tolerably well. I lived in Paris for a while.'

  'These were sent to Father by someone called Marie Louise.'

  She handed him the letters. Written on scented paper, they were held together by a pink ribbon. Christopher had some idea of what he might find and consideration for Penelope's feelings made him hold back until she gestured for him to read one of the missives. It did not take him long. The first letter was short, explicit and couched in the most loving terms. Marie Louise was patently entranced by Sir Ambrose Northcott. She had a fine hand and a turn of phrase which was subtly erotic.

  'Read the next one,' urged Penelope.

  'Do I need to, Miss Northcott?'

  'An address is given in Paris. And the lady's full name.'

  Christopher opened the next letter. Marie Louise Oilier was even more explicit this time, recalling the delights of a week spent together with her lover in Calais and looking forward with enthusiasm to their next rendezvous. In the meantime, she sent an address where she could be reached in Paris.

  When he glanced up, Christopher saw the look of intense embarrassment on Penelope's face and his heart went out to her. Coming on top of the news of her father's murder, the discovery of the letters must have been a crushing blow to her and he could only imagine the pain it must now be costing her to show them to a stranger and make her anguish public. He offered them back to her.