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Authors: Edward Marston

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BOOK: The King's Evil
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'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 share 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.'

BOOK: The King's Evil
12.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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