The King's Evil (32 page)
'A
fine place, nevertheless.'
'Only
so long as I can pay my landlord.' He sipped the brandy and felt it course
warmly through him. 'What made you come to Mrs Mandrake's house this evening?'
'I
had a feeling that you might need me, sir.'
'And
I did. But why not disclose yourself when I left the premises? You must have
followed me all the way back here.'
'From
a safe distance. I remembered what you said.'
'About
what?'
'Staying
visible, Mr Redmayne. To draw enemies out into the light.'
'I
certainly did that,' said Christopher, feeling the lump on the back of his
head. 'Had I not been wearing my hat, that ruffian would have cracked my skull
open.'
'Why
should Mr Strype want to assault you?'
'A
personal matter.'
'I
was a witness. A warrant can be taken out for his arrest.'
'Oh,
no. This is something which must be settled between the two of us. I do not
want the law getting in the way - much as I appreciated its intervention out in
the street. Well,' he added thoughtfully, 'if you saw me arrive and leave, you
know that I spent only a limited amount of time inside the place. Too short a
stay to sample any of the fare.'
'Were
you not tempted to do so?'
'I
am sorry to disappoint you, Mr Bale, but I was not.
Henry
will no doubt succumb joyfully but I was there to gather information.'
'What
did you find out, sir?'
Christopher
described his visit to the house and could not resist including a few lurid
details in the hope of scandalising his companion but Jonathan's face remained
expressionless. Having arrested Molly Mandrake in the past, he could not be
shocked by any revelations about the house of ill repute which she kept in
Lincoln's Inn Fields. His main interest was in the French merchant, Jean-Paul
Charentin.
'He
is the link between that house and the one in Paris.'
'There
must be others, Mr Bale.'
'Did
you discern any?'
'Not
yet but I sense that they are there.'
'You
also sensed that religion was somehow involved,' observed Jonathan drily, 'yet
I heard no mention of it in your account.'
'No,'
admitted Christopher. 'Mrs Mandrake did not celebrate Mass with her guests.
However, when Sweet Ellen went behind the screen to disrobe, I am sure that she
said grace with Christian zeal before coming out to devour me for supper.' He
saw the other scowl with disapproval. 'That was uncalled for, Mr Bale. I
apologise.'
'I
am becoming accustomed to your levity, sir.'
'It
is the reason my father never encouraged me to enter the Church. I lacked
solemnity. In Henry's case, of course, there is a much more insurmountable
barrier to ordination.' He swallowed the last of his brandy. 'To return to
that link between the two houses. We have ignored a more obvious one.'
'Have
we?'
'The
Marie Louise.'
'That
is the means of communication between the two.'
'I
have a sneaking suspicion that we will find it is the ship which brings
Monsieur Charentin to and fro. Could we get aboard, I am certain that we would
find out much more of interest.'
'It
is no longer anchored in the Thames.'
'But
it sailed for England just before I arrived in France.'
'Yes,'
replied Jonathan. 'I saw it arrive. One cargo was unloaded, another taken on
board and off it went again before I could get anywhere near it. But there was
talk of it coming back again soon.'
'Keep
a weather eye out for it, Mr Bale.'
'I
will, sir. What of you?'
'That
list of yours will come back into play. Now that I have been inside the house,
I have some idea of its potential uses. I do not believe that Mrs Mandrake is
there solely to satisfy the appetites of lustful men. She has a darker
purpose.'
'What
is it?'
'I
am not sure but I feel that the answer may lie in that list of names. There is
a pattern there, if I could but recognise it. I knew some of those names; Henry
will know them all. You act as lookout for the
Marie Louise,'
he suggested, 'and I will lean more heavily on my brother.'
'You
may be brothers in name, sir, but the two of you are as unlike as chalk and
cheese.'
'Do
you mean that you could grow to
like
Henry?'
Jonathan
smiled. 'I must return home.'
'Tell
your wife to give you a hero's welcome.'
'She
always does, Mr Redmayne. That is why I married her.'
'Even
before
you tasted her chicken broth?'
Jonathan
got up and drained his glass before setting it on the table. When Christopher
had seen him out, he went into the kitchen and found Jacob dozing in a chair.
He touched him on the shoulder.
'Go
to bed, Jacob. I am sorry that we kept you up.'
'But
I had to tell you about your visitor, sir.'
'A
visitor?'
'That
young lady called again.'
'Miss
Northcott?' he said eagerly.
'No,
sir. Miss Littlejohn. She asked where you were.'
'What
did you tell her?' 'That you had gone to France.'
'Did
you not say that I had returned?'
Jacob
grinned. 'It slipped my mind, sir.'
Penelope
Northcott was surprised how pleased she was to see him again. When he called on
her at the house in Westminster that morning, George Strype was in a penitent
mood. Instead of sending a servant with flowers, he brought them himself. Where
he might have upbraided her for quitting London without telling him, he simply
told her how delighted he was that she had returned to the city. Inhaling the
scent of the flowers, Penelope took her fiancée into the parlour. She put the
basket on the table.
'How
did you know that I was back?' she wondered.
'I
paid the housekeeper to send word the moment you returned.'
'We
did not arrive until late evening.'
'The
message came first thing this morning.' A note of reproach sounded. 'Though I
would have preferred it to come from you rather than from the housekeeper
here.'
'I
was not sure that you were still in London.'
'Would
you have tried to find out?'
'Of
course, George.'
'Is
that why you came back? In the hope of seeing me?'
'That
was part of the reason.'
'Good!'
He
took her in his arms and pulled her close. Penelope allowed the embrace without
really enjoying it. The rift between them could not be mended quite as easily
as that. He stepped back to appraise her.
'You
look wonderful, my darling!'
'Thank
you.'
'London
has been so dull without you.'
'How
have you occupied yourself while I was away?'
'Attending
to my business affairs,' he said evasively. 'Your father's death has left
things in a very confused state. There has been so much to disentangle,
Penelope. It will take me weeks.' 'You and Mr Creech together.' His face
clouded and he looked away. 'George, what is the matter?'
'You
have still not heard?'
'Heard
what?'
'About
poor Mr Creech.'
'What
has happened to him?'
He
turned back to her. 'His body was pulled out of the river.'
'Oh,
no!' she cried, bringing her hands up to her face. 'Mr Creech, murdered as
well? This is dreadful news!'
'It
has certainly complicated things for me,' he said irritably. 'All of my commercial
transactions went through his office.'
'When
did you discover this?'
'Some
days ago.'
'Before
I left London?'
'Yes,
Penelope.'
'Why
ever did you not tell me?'
'Because
I did not wish to distress you any further. You were still shocked by your
father's death and by the discovery of those letters. I tried to spare you
another blow. Besides,' he continued, trying to shift the blame to her, 'you
spent all of the time arguing with me. I had no chance to tell you about
Creech.'
'You
should have
found
the chance,' she scolded. 'He was our lawyer. We had a right to know. It was
wrong of you to keep this from me. I cannot understand why you did it.' He
reached out to take her by the shoulders but she pushed his hands away. 'No,
George. Leave me be.'
'Penelope,
I am sorry.'
'An
apology will not cover what you have done.'
'I
merely withheld unpleasant news out of consideration to you.'
'You
would have shown more consideration if you had told me the truth. I am not a
child. Heavens, it was crucial that I knew. Mr Creech was responsible for my
father's will. All our affairs were in his hands. And now he has been murdered.
Why?' 'They are still searching for the killer.'
'Is
it the same man who murdered my father?'
'Who
knows? It may be.'
'What
motive could anyone have to kill a harmless lawyer?'
'Do
not agitate yourself about it.'
'But
you lied to me.'
'No,
Penelope!'
'You
deliberately held the information back.'
'Only
because it would have upset you too much.'
'I
am much more upset now that I realise what you have done. It was cruel. I had
planned to see Mr Creech while I was here. Mother asked me to call on him. It
is one of the reasons that I came.'
'But
not the main reason.'
'No,
George.'
'You
came back to London to be with me, didn't you?' he said with a grateful smile.
'And I am so pleased to see you again. You came here so that we could put all
those silly disagreements behind us and start afresh.' He reached out once more
but she took a decisive step back. 'Penelope!'
'I
did not come here to see you,' she said levelly.
'Who
else?' His anger was instantaneous. 'Not
him
again!'
'I
need to speak to Mr Redmayne.'
'I
have already had words with him myself.'
'This
is a private matter, George.'
'Oh,
no, it is not!' he yelled. 'I am directly involved and I made that abundantly
clear to him. You are my future wife, Penelope. He needed to be forcibly
reminded of that. Mr Christopher Redmayne will not try to come between the two
of us again.'
'What
do you mean?'
'He
will be too busy licking his wounds.'
'Wounds?'
she repeated in alarm. 'Is he hurt?'
'It
was no more than he deserved.'
'What
did you do to him?'
'Forget
Redmayne. You will never hear from him again.'
'But
I must,' she said, concern blending into affection. 'If he is injured, I must
go to him at once. He
cares
about us. He has been a light in
all this darkness.' She headed for the door. 'If you have hurt him, George, I
will never forgive you.'
Fuming
with rage, Strype moved quickly to block her exit.
'Let
me pass, please,' she said firmly.
'You
will go nowhere, Penelope.'
'Will
you dare to stop me?'
'If
need be.'
She
had never seen such menace in his eyes before. It helped to confirm a decision
with which she had been toying ever since their earlier argument. Penelope felt
remarkably cool. There was not the slightest regret. Crossing to the table,
she picked up the basket of flowers and carried them across to him. She held
them out with contempt.
'Take
them away, George.'
'But
I brought them for you.'
'I
want nothing of yours in this house. Ever again.'
Infatuation
gave her no respite. Having thought about him constantly for well over a week,
Margaret Littlejohn had been drawn back as if by a magnet to Fetter Lane. Even
though she had been told that Christopher Redmayne was not there, his house
still held a magic for her. She would never forget the one time she had been
inside the building and the one glorious moment when she had been held in his
arms. That memory prompted her to pay yet another visit to Fetter Lane.
It
was late morning when she and Nan arrived. Simply being back in his street was
exciting enough. When she saw his house again, Margaret Littlejohn flushed with
joy. She envisaged him coming out to welcome her then escorting her inside. Her
companion was supportive but cautious. Nan advised against getting too close to
the house, lest they be seen by the manservant. Accordingly, the two of them
lingered a small distance away, diagonally opposite the building.
They
waited there for half an hour before they noticed the man. Like them, his
interest was in Christopher Redmayne's house. Walking past on the opposite side
of the road, he stopped and looked back at it with intense curiosity. He was
thirty yards away from the two women and they could only see him from the rear
but they thought there was something familiar about him. When they realised
what it was, they exchanged a look of fear. Tall, slim and wearing a
broad-brimmed hat, the man was carrying a walking stick. They recalled the
figure they had seen emerging from the cellars at the building site.
When
the man came towards them, they held their ground and pretended to converse.
Taking no notice of him at first, Margaret waited until he was level with her
before shooting him a glance. She gulped with horror as malevolent eyes glared
at her through two slits. The man's whole face was covered by a white mask.
When he vanished around the corner, she needed a few moments to collect her
thoughts. Sensing that the man she loved might be in danger, she was desperate
to warn him somehow. She decided to tell his manservant that the house had been
watched by a sinister man whom she believed she might have seen before. If
nothing else, her concern would endear her to Christopher Redmayne.
But
she was not able to express it. Before she could move, a coach came rumbling up
the lane from Fleet Street and stopped outside his house. Margaret watched in
despair as the man whom she thought was in France came eagerly out of his front
door to offer his hand to the young lady as she alighted from the coach. Even
at that distance, she could see the studied affection in his manner. Margaret
felt utterly betrayed. Not only had Christopher told his manservant to lie to
her, he was paying court to someone else. The impulse to warn him disappeared
beneath a welter of emotions. Supported by Nan, she went off in tears.