The King's Evil (25 page)

Henry
Redmayne was in the last place where his brother expected to find him. When
Christopher ran him to earth, he was working late at the Navy Office in
Seething Lane, a building which had escaped the Great Fire by dint of being
upwind of it. Bent over his desk, Henry was inspecting the designs for a new
ship and he did not welcome the interruption.

'What
do you want, Christopher?' he said peevishly.

'To
search that murky vault known as your memory.'

'Your
sarcasm is in bad taste.'

'And
so are your lies, Henry,' said his brother, confronting him. 'Why did you not
tell me that the house I was designing for Sir Ambrose was destined for him and
his mistress?'

'Was
it?' asked the other, feigning surprise.

'You
know quite well that it was. You also knew that he changed the name of his ship
to the
Marie Louise
in honour of her. Yet somehow you failed to mention either of these things to
me.'

'I
did not think them pertinent.'

'Well,
they are extremely pertinent now.'

'Are
they?'

'Yes,'
said Christopher tartly. 'But let us begin with news which has evidently not
reached you. Solomon Creech has been murdered.'

Henry
jumped to his feet. 'Creech? When? How?'

'His
body was dragged out of the river this morning.'

'Poor
devil!'

'It
explains why Mr Creech was so terrified when Sir Ambrose was killed. He clearly
feared for his own life - and with good cause.'

'Do
they have any idea who killed him?'

'Not
yet. I believe that he is the second victim of the same man. First Sir Ambrose,
and now his lawyer. How many more victims must there be before you start to
help me?'

'I
have helped you,' stuttered the other.

'Only
fitfully.'

'Tell
me more about Creech. How was he found?'

Christopher
recapitulated the facts and watched his brother's reaction carefully. To his
credit, Henry was genuinely remorseful and he managed to say a few kind words
about Solomon Creech by way of a valedictory tribute even though he had never
liked the man.

'How
did you learn of this, Christopher?'

'I
was at Mr Creech's office when the ring was brought.'

'It
must have made his clerk turn white with fear.'

'He
almost fainted at the sight of it, Henry, but he was able to confirm whose it
was and how it came to be in such an unlikely place.'

'Did
he have any idea why his employer was murdered?'

'None
whatsoever.'

'Do
you?' 'Oh, yes,' said Christopher. 'I think he was killed because of his close
association with Sir Ambrose Northcott. Nobody knew as much about his business
affairs and his private life as Solomon Creech. Some of that information was
too dangerous to leave in his possession. That is why he had to be silenced.'

'Is
this fact or supposition?'

'A
blend of both.'

'So
you could be wildly wrong?'

'I
could be, Henry. But my instinct tells me otherwise. However, let me come back
to you,' he said, fixing his brother with a stare. 'You lied to me about
receiving a percentage of my fee and you lied to me about the real purpose
behind the building of that house. Why?'

'I
did not lie, Christopher. I merely withheld the truth.'

'It
amounts to the same thing.'

'Oh,
no. There is a subtle distinction.'

'I
shall be grateful if you can explain it to me.'

'A
lie is a deliberate act of deception,' said Henry, 'and I would never knowingly
foist one on my brother. If, on the other hand, I felt there was something
which he had no real need to know, I would conceal it.'

'Such
as your theft from me.'

'It
was not a theft, Christopher. It was fair payment.'

'For
what?'

'I
do not want to have that argument all over again,' said the other, waving an
irritable hand. 'Put it behind us and concentrate on what brought you here. Why
did I not tell you about Marie Louise Oilier? Simple. Because it was none of
your business.'

'It
was, Henry.'

'In
what way? Does it matter if Sir Ambrose intended to share that house with his
lawful wife or with a harem of naked women? He could have leased it out to a
tribe of piccaninnies with rings through their noses and flowers in their hair.
He hired you as an architect, not as a parish priest.'

'I
still feel that you might have mentioned it to me.' 'Sir Ambrose chose you
precisely because I did
not
need to mention such matters to
you. It was a first condition of hiring you. He insisted on absolute
discretion.'

'That
was beforehand,' Christopher reminded him. 'Once he was dead, there was no need
to hide the truth from me. It would have saved me valuable time if I heard
about Marie Louise Oilier from you and not from another source.'

'What
other source?'

'It
does not matter.'

'I
want to know.'

'Well,
I am not in a position to tell you.'

'Ah,
I see,' said Henry with a lift of his eyebrow. 'You accuse me of concealing
information yet you are happy to do so yourself. There is one rule for me and
another for Christopher Redmayne. What is your purpose'

'I
am trying to protect my brother's life.'

Sudden
panic. 'My life?'

'Do
you not realise that it may be at risk?'

'No.
Why should it be? I have done nothing wrong.'

'You
were an intimate of Sir Ambrose Northcott's. That may be enough. We are dealing
with a ruthless killer, Henry. If his motive is revenge, he may not stop at Sir
Ambrose's lawyer. Close friends could be his next targets.'

'Why?'
gulped Henry.

'Perhaps
you know too much. Like Solomon Creech.'

'I
know nothing!'

'Be
honest, Henry.'

'Sir
Ambrose was a chance acquaintance, that is all.'

'Yet
he entrusted you with secrets denied to others,' reasoned Christopher. 'To his
wife and daughter, for instance. You shared his passion for gambling and for
women. You dined with him, discussed the affairs of the day with him, even went
to Court with him. That is more than a chance acquaintanceship, Henry.'

'You
really think that I am in danger?'

'Until
this villain is caught.'

'What
must I do, Christopher?'

'Be
more truthful with me. The longer you hold back secrets, the more you imperil
yourself. I need to know
everything
about your relationship with Sir
Ambrose, especially where the new house is concerned. It is no accident that he
was murdered on the premises. That property had a vital significance. Help me
to find out what it was.'

'How?'

'Go
back to the start, Henry. Tell me how and when Sir Ambrose first decided to
commission another house. Why did he choose that site? And how did you persuade
him that your brother was the ideal architect for him to employ on the
project?'

Henry
sat back down again to gather his thoughts. Having failed to get the answers he
wanted, Christopher had decided to frighten them out of him. He did not really
believe that his brother was at risk but it was the only way to ensure his full
co-operation.

His
ruse worked. Important new information gushed out of Henry in a continuous
stream and further aspects of the character of Sir Ambrose Northcott were laid
bare. Henry knew far more about the man's political activities than he had
hitherto disclosed and, it transpired, had once sailed with him in the
Marie Louise.
When the confession came to an end, Christopher told him the one thing about
his friend which he obviously did not know. Henry paled.

'Sir
Ambrose owned that house in Lincoln's Inn Fields?'

'I
had it on good authority.'

'Why
did he never tell me?' said Henry, wounded that such a fact had been kept from
him. 'We went there several times together yet he never even hinted that he was
the owner. I always assumed that the house belonged to Molly Mandrake.'

'What
sort of an establishment is it?'

'A
wondrous edifice in every way.' A beatific smile spread over Henry's face. 'We
were fortunate enough to see Molly Mandrake in her prime. What a truly extraordinary
woman! The most remarkable piece of architecture in London. Such symmetry, such
proportions!'

'I
will take your word for it, Henry.'

'She
would inspire any artist.'

'That
is a matter of opinion,' said Christopher with a tolerant smile. 'I just hope
that the name of Mrs Mandrake does not come to Father's ears. I doubt that he
would appreciate her architectural pre-eminence. But enough of the lady,' he
continued. 'I will have to ask Mr Bale to take a look at her establishment in
my absence.'

'Mr
Bale? Is that the constable you have mentioned?'

'Yes,
Henry. A staunch fellow. Jonathan Bale is a dour Roundhead but as solid as a
rock for all that. He and I have been working together. I sail from Deptford
tomorrow on the morning tide. While I am in France, he can follow up other
lines of enquiry here.'

'And
what of me?'

'Study
Sir Ambrose's political enemies more closely.'

'I
am talking of my safety. What must I do?'

'Go
armed, brother.'

'I
will, I will.'

'And
do not venture near the river on your own.'

'I
will immure myself in my house.'

'There
is no need for that,' said Christopher. 'Sensible precautions will suffice. And
you must go to Court. How else can you keep a wary eye on those politicians?'

When
he left the Navy Office, he was confident for the first time that Henry had
been completely honest with him.

Christopher
collected his horse and rode to Addle Hill to acquaint Jonathan Bale with what
he had just learned and to suggest that he kept a certain house in Lincoln's
Inn Fields under surveillance. The constable accepted the assignment with some
reluctance then surprised Christopher by warning him to look after himself
while in France.

'I
will, Mr Bale. We reach Calais on Sunday.'

'Desperate
men do not respect the Sabbath.' 'Nor do desperate women,' said Christopher
with a grin. 'I suspect that activity will continue unabated in Lincoln's Inn
Fields. If your feet take you in that direction, you may learn something of
interest.'

'I
am no Peeping Tom, sir.'

'We
must both look through keyholes if we are to get to the bottom of this, Mr
Bale. I must find Mademoiselle Oilier and you must renew your friendship with
Mrs Mandrake.'

'The
lady is no friend of mine.'

'In
time she might become one,' advised Christopher mischievously.

'A
century would not suffice,' said Jonathan proudly. 'I am a married man and more
than happy with my lot.'

'You
have every right to be. Mrs Bale is a delightful woman.'

'Then
no more jests, sir.'

'I
am sorry if I appear to treat the matter lightly,' said the other seriously,
'for I am in earnest. The bedchamber seems to have been the natural milieu of
Sir Ambrose Northcott. Neither of us must shrink from peeping into it.'

'Necessity
will dictate.'

Jonathan
showed him to the door and waited while he mounted.

'Good
luck, sir!'

'Thank
you, Mr Bale.'

'When
will I hear from you again?'

'As
soon as may be. Farewell!'

Christopher
rode off through the darkening streets, pondering the mystery of Jonathan Bale.
The investigation which had drawn the two of them together allowed him to see
the constable's merits and compassion yet some kind of impassable barrier
remained between them. Sarah Bale was open and friendly towards him but her
husband was somehow unable to follow her example. Christopher wondered why.

Speculation
took him all the way back to Fetter Lane where he stabled his horse and came
round to the front of the house. He was just about to go inside when he saw a
coach lurching up the street out of the gloom. His spirits soared as he
recognised it as belonging to Penelope Northcott. He waited until the coachman
brought the vehicle to a halt then reached out to open the door for her, smiling
broadly in welcome.

But
it was George Strype who glared out at him. He was the sole passenger and he
took note of Christopher's evident disappointment.

'Were
you expecting someone else, Mr Redmayne?' he asked.