'Oh
dear!' said Henry with a sigh. 'In that case, I will soon receive one of his
stern letters, chastising me for my sins and urging repentance. How does he
gather all this intelligence about me? Can a man not enjoy the pleasures of the
capital without their echoes reaching the cloisters
of
Gloucester? I will need to be more discreet.'
'Or
more restrained.'
'That
is out of the question.'
They
shared a laugh. It was difficult to believe that they were brothers. Both were
tall, slim and well-favoured but the resemblance ended there. Henry's long face
was already showing signs of dissipation and the moustache which he took such
trouble to cultivate somehow added a sinister quality. Christopher, by
contrast, had a more open countenance and a clearer complexion. While he
exuded health, his brother looked as if he was well acquainted with disease,
especially the kind which might be contracted in a bedchamber. Handsome and
clean-shaven, Christopher had dark brown hair with a reddish hue which hung in
natural curls. His brother's hair, lighter in colour and straighter in texture,
was thinning so dramatically that he had ordered a periwig.
'I
am relieved to find you safe and sound,' said Christopher with unfeigned
sincerity. 'When I heard news of the fire, I feared that it might have reached
this far.'
'Happily,
no. It did not progress beyond Temple Bar. But that does not mean I came
through the ordeal unscathed,' Henry emphasised, keen to portray himself as a
victim. 'For I did not. I shared the misery of many friends who lost their
homes and suffered agonies of apprehension on account of my own property. As
for the city itself, it was like being locked in Bedlam.'
'What
started the fire?'
'That
was the problem, Christopher. Nobody knew and so they drew their own
conclusions. The blaze was so fierce and so widespread that it seemed to have
been started deliberately. Mobs soon formed, believing that London had been
torched by Catholics. Passions ran high and the wilder spirits took the law
into their own hands. We had open riot.'
'Is
there any proof of a Popish Plot?'
'The
mobs thought so,' said Henry ruefully. 'They beat confessions out of any
Catholic they could find. Innocent foreigners were attacked at random.
Frenchmen, Italians and the like who were unwise enough to venture into the
streets were set on without mercy. The fortunate ones got away with cuts,
bruises and broken bones. I have no sympathy for the Old Religion - remember to
tell that to our father - but I do not wish its practitioners to be torn to
shreds by an enraged mob. I abhor violence of any kind. It was shameful to
behold.'
'Were
any arrests made?'
'Dozens.
But since most of the prisons were burned down, there was nowhere to keep the
miscreants. It has been a gruesome week.'
'Who,
then, did start the fire?'
'Investigations
still continue but the finger points to a careless baker in Pudding Lane. That
is certainly where the blaze began.'
Christopher
gulped. 'A vast city razed by the folly of one man?'
'The
fellow denies it hotly but he looks like the culprit.'
'Who
will buy bread from him after this?'
'Ship's
biscuits. That is what he made. Hard tack. I should know,' observed Henry,
straightening his back with self-importance. 'His output helps to victual our
fleet. His damnable name has probably passed before my eyes a dozen times at
the Navy Office. But enough of the fire,' he said, crossing to rest an elbow on
the marble mantelpiece and display himself to full effect. 'It has wreaked its
havoc and been brought under control. What we must look to now are the rich
pickings it may offer.'
Christopher
was puzzled. 'What rich pickings? The city has been reduced to a state of abject
poverty.'
'Use
your imagination, brother.'
'To
what end?'
'Future
prospects. One city may have vanished but another one must rise in its place.
The opportunities for a talented architect are unlimited. Scores of them will
be needed to act as midwives if the new London is to be brought into being.'
'That
thought did cross my mind,' admitted the other.
'Seize
on it, Christopher. It is the chance you have wanted.'
'I
never wanted such wholesale destruction.'
'Nor
more did I,' said Henry smoothly, 'but I am alert to the openings it suddenly
provides. I know you think me heartless and given over entirely to a life of
vice but I do honour my promises. When Father enjoined me to take you under my
wing in London, I vowed that I would. I am sure that you will be gracious
enough to concede that I have kept that vow.'
'You
have,' said Christopher. 'I made much of the point to Father. It was the one
honest thing I could say in your favour.'
'Did
he have no strictures for you?'
'Indeed
he did, Henry. He taxed me with my inability to settle in a career and he was
not at all impressed when I argued that I had made my mark in several. As I
reminded him, I studied law at Cambridge then became embroiled in anatomy
before trying my hand, with some success, at writing poetry. Astronomy was my
next love and I prospered in its study until the blandishments of philosophy
seduced me away. I spent a whole year among fine minds. I tell you, Henry,
there is nothing which thrills the blood so much as a lively debate with
fellow-philosophers.'
'I
would take serious issue with you over that,' said his brother, arching a
lecherous eyebrow. 'When I wish to thrill the blood, I do not require the
presence of a fine mind. A voluptuous body alone suffices. But come to your
latest enthusiasm, brother.'
'It
is much more than that.'
'That
is what I hoped.'
'Architecture
is my obsession.'
'For
how many weeks is it likely to last?'
'Indefinitely,'
said Christopher with polite vehemence. 'I have found my true
metier
at last. Architecture embraces all the other disciplines. It combines the
severity of the law with the fascination of anatomy, the joy of poetry, the
mystery of astronomy and the intellectual stimulus of philosophy. When you add
the iron logic of mathematics, you have a profession which outstrips all
others. An architect is at once an artist and a scientist. What could be
nobler?'
'Nobility
can wait,' said Henry, strolling across to him. 'All that I am concerned with
is securing a regular income for you. I have seen your drawings and was much
impressed. They are brilliant. And I know that you have applied yourself
diligently to this new interest.'
'Oh,
it is not new, Henry. The seeds were sewn long ago in Rome when I chanced to
meet Signor Bernini. He designed the Piazza of St Peter's and much else
besides. Albeit a Catholic - I have not dared to breathe his name to Father -
Bernini opened my eyes to the beauty of architecture. I have been putting my
ideas down on paper ever since.'
'To
good effect. You are clearly very gifted.'
'It
is one of the reasons I went to Oxford,' continued the other as the glow of
idealism lit up his features. 'To watch the progress of the Sheldonian Theatre.
It is an extraordinary building. Wren is a genius. His design is breathtaking.'
'I
am glad you mentioned your namesake. Christopher Wren is indeed a genius. The
Great Fire will be the making of him.'
'In
what way?'
'He
has been invited to prepare a plan for the rebuilding of the city,' explained
Henry knowledgeably. 'Wren is not the only one, mark you. I happen to know that
John Evelyn will be submitting his own scheme, as will others. I have also
caught wind of a notion put forward by a certain Captain Valentine Knight,
involving the building of a wide canal from the River Fleet to Billingsgate.
Ha!' he sneered with a gesture of disgust. 'Have you ever heard such nonsense?'
'You
are amazingly well informed, Henry.'
'I
consort with the right company.'
'Which
of these many plans will be adopted?'
'That
is the one thing I cannot tell you. They will have to be assessed in due
course. But my guess is that Wren will emerge as the leading figure. Pattern
yourself on him.'
'That
is my intention.'
'Carpe diem,
Christopher. Commit yourself.
Study in earnest. It will be months before any rebuilding is allowed and that
gives you time to hone your skills. Be ready to help the phoenix rise from the
ashes.'
'Nothing
would please me more!'
'I
will do my share,' volunteered Henry. 'It is astonishing what information
trickles into my ears. When new houses are in demand, I will assuredly learn
who wishes to commission some of them. My advice may even be sought in certain
cases. How convenient it would be if I could recommend, as an architect, my own
brother.'
Christopher
was touched. 'Would you do that for me, Henry?' he said, unused to such filial
assistance. 'I would be eternally grateful.'
'You
can repay me by harping on my generosity when you next write to Father. Play
the architect in your correspondence. Design a Henry Redmayne who is more
appealing to a Dean of Gloucester.'
'That
is a feat beyond even my talent,' said his brother with a chuckle. 'But I will
do my best. As for your offer, I embrace it warmly. I will serve a speedy
apprenticeship and be ready when the call comes.'
'Then
there is no more to be said.'
They
exchanged a warm handshake then Henry drifted to the mirror to make a few
adjustments to his apparel. Christopher came up behind him with a knowing
smile.
'You
are going out this evening, I see.'
'I'll
not let a fire deprive me of my pleasures.'
'But
all your haunts have been destroyed, surely?'
'Some
escaped,' said Henry suavely, brushing a fleck of dust from his sleeve.
'Besides, I am bidden this evening to an establishment in Faringdon Without.
That ward was unmolested by the fire. Many who fled from the city have taken up
residence there.' He turned to face Christopher and gave a quizzical smirk. 'I
suppose that it is no use my inviting you to accompany me?'
'No,
Henry.'
'A
visit to a house of resort might educate you.'
'Love
which has to be bought has no value for me.'
'It
is the only kind a man can truly rely on, Christopher.'
'Enjoy
it in my stead.'
'Are
you not even tempted?'
'Not
in the slightest,' said Christopher with a grin. 'I have a far more important
place to visit this evening.'
'Where
is that?'
'The
city of London. If I am to help rebuild it, I must first see the full extent of
the damage. That is where I will be while the light holds. You seek out the
delights of the flesh, Henry,' he said, guiding his brother out of the room. 'I
must go forth to meet my destiny.'
The
man moved swiftly. Making sure that he was unobserved, he pushed aside the
charred remnants of the front door and stepped into the house. A timber-framed
property with a thatched roof, it had been completely gutted by the fire and
nothing survived in any of the rooms to tempt a thief. The man was not
concerned with the interior of the dwelling. His interest was in the garden. He
clambered through to it. Plants and bushes had been burned away and the little
orchard was now no more than a collection of blackened stumps, surrounded by
countless shrivelled apples and pears. That did not deter him. The man set
about scouring the whole garden, searching the lawn then kicking away piles of
ash so that he could examine the scorched flowerbeds. He soon found what he was
after - a patch where the earth had recently been disturbed then stamped back
into position. A hiding place.
From
beneath his coat, he produced a small shovel. Kneeling down, he began to dig
quickly but carefully, eager to secure his prize but not wishing to damage it
by too vigorous a use of his implement. When he made contact with something
solid, he abandoned the shovel and used both hands to scrape the earth away. A
first bottle of wine came into view, then a second, then two more, each with
the owner's crest upon them. It had to be expensive wine to be worth burying.
He dug on until he unearthed a further three dozen bottles of Canary wine, six
of brandy and an array of cheeses wrapped up in muslin then stuffed into a
wooden box. It was a good haul. What he could not eat or drink himself, he
could sell for a tidy profit. He made a mental note to save the Parmesan cheese
for his own use.
The
man was not finished yet. A property as substantial as this one argued an owner
of some wealth. If he vacated the house at speed, he might not have been able
to carry away all that he wished. Wine and cheese had been left behind. There
was a chance that gold or valuables might also have been buried in the garden
to await his return. The man sensed that there were richer rewards still at the
bottom of the pit. He reached for his shovel once more. As his hand closed
around the handle, however, a large shoe descended on his wrist and pinned it
to the ground. It belonged to a brawny constable who loomed over him.