The King's Evil

'I will, Mrs Bale. Thank you for the glass of beer.'

'It was a pleasure, sir.'

Jonathan writhed as his wife gave a faint curtsey before leaving. It endeared him even less to his unexpected caller. He sat opposite him.

'Why did you come here?' he asked inhospitably.

'It was the only way to be sure of finding you.'

'My wife should have sent out for me.'

'She was too busy talking to me,' said Christopher cheerily. 'You have a charming wife, Mr Bale. She was telling me about your sons, Oliver and Richard. I was not surprised to hear that they were named after Lord Protector Cromwell and his son. It explained a lot.'

'What can I do for you, sir?'

'Tell me what you have found out in my absence.'

'Little enough, I fear,' admitted Jonathan, 'though the surgeon confirmed my guess when he performed the autopsy. Sir Ambrose had been dead for at least twelve hours, he said, but he could not be precise about the actual time of the murder. The wound to the heart killed him but the bruises on his neck suggested an attempt to strangle him. Oh,' he recalled, 'one other interesting fact. There was blood on Sir Ambrose's hair.'

'I remember it well. A head wound?'

'No, sir. It did not belong to the deceased at all. It must have come from the man who murdered him.'

'Sir Ambrose fought back hard, then?'

'So it appears.'

'What else did the surgeon say?'

'Nothing of note. You are free to see the coroner's report.'

'Thank you, Mr Bale. I will. It will make gruesome reading but may yet release a valuable clue. Where else have your enquiries taken you?'

'Along the riverbank,' explained the other. 'Sir Ambrose was a person of some note in the mercantile community. And not a popular one at that. The merchants told me straight that they resented a man of his wealth and background forcing his way into their world. He did not belong there, they said. What they really meant is that he competed far too well against them. Sir Ambrose was a cunning trader.'

'So I have discovered.'

'He imported goods from many countries.'

'What sort of goods?'

'I have made a list for you, sir, to study at your leisure.'

'That will be very helpful.'

'What of you? When did you get back from Kent?'

'Early this morning. I spent last night at an inn then rode the final few miles to London.'

'Did you learn anything from the visit?'

'An enormous amount.'

Christopher Redmayne gave him an edited account of his journey to Priestfield Place, including a description of the arrogant behaviour of George Strype but omitting any mention of Lady Northcott's apparent indifference to her husband's death. The image of her, seated so happily in the garden with a smile on her lips, was still vivid in his mind yet he somehow felt the need to protect her from the constable's strong disapproval. What shocked Jonathan the most was the news that Sir Ambrose had kept his wife and daughter ignorant of the building of another London house.

'There should be no secrets between man and wife,' he said.

'I agree with you.'

'Marriage vows are there to be observed.'

'I raised the matter with Solomon Creech,' said Christopher wearily. 'He was the first person I called on when I returned to the city this morning. I taxed him with this deception of Sir Ambrose's. He pretended to know nothing of it.'

'Did you glean anything of value from him, sir?'

'Precious little. The man is running scared. He seemed to be looking over his shoulder all the time. I fear that we can look for no assistance from that quarter. My brother, however, has been more helpful.' He took the paper from his pocket and passed it over. 'Henry compiled a list of the main political enemies of Sir Ambrose. Do these names mean anything to you?'

Jonathan studied the list carefully then handed it back to him.

'No, sir. I do not meddle in politics. These men are strangers to me. The only name I have heard before is that of Mr George Strype.'

'Indeed?'

'He, too, trades in many commodities.'

'Politeness is not one of them.'

'They spoke his name with contempt along the wharves,' said Jonathan. 'He and Sir Ambrose were partners in some enterprises and were equally disliked by their rivals.'

'Would that dislike provide a motive for murder?'

'Possibly.'

'Then ferret away among the merchants,' suggested Christopher. 'I have a strong feeling that the murder is in some way linked to Sir Ambrose's business activities.'

'So have I, Mr Redmayne.'

'Those cellars signify something as well.'

'In what way, sir?'

'I am not yet sure. They are much larger than a house of that size would normally have. Why? What did he intend to keep there? And another thing,' concluded Christopher. 'Sir Ambrose was last seen going down into those cellars with a man who was, in all probability, the killer. Why did he take his companion there if not to show him the extent of the cellars? That man must have been a business associate of his.'

'Not any more,' sighed Jonathan.

'No, Mr Bale. His character underwent a complete change once he was below ground. He entered those cellars as a friend of Sir Ambrose and emerged from them as his killer.'

'What happened to bring about that change?' Christopher rose to his feet, eyes glistening with determination.

'When we catch the villain,' he said grimly, 'we will ask him.'

Chapter Ten

When he finally caught sight of his home, Christopher Redmayne gave a mild groan of relief. A tiring day had begun with an early departure from the inn where he spent the night. In his eagerness to confront Solomon Creech, he had ridden past Fetter Lane on his arrival back in London and gone straight to the lawyer's office in Lombard Street. The bruising exchange with his brother at the coffee house had been followed by the meeting with Jonathan Bale, after which he was drawn back inescapably to the scene of the crime. Searching the cellars for clues, he lost all track of time and only abandoned his examination when the candle he was using dwindled to a pale flicker. It was now well into the afternoon. Christopher began to realise that what he needed most was a restorative meal and a period of reflection. He was confident that the trusty Jacob would provide the first without hesitation then melt discreetly away while his master enjoyed the second. The house had never looked more like a haven of peace.

As he dismounted and unsaddled his horse, he consoled himself with the thought that progress of a kind had been made. He certainly knew far more about Sir Ambrose Northcott than he had when he set out on his journey and none of the new information was remotely flattering. Tenants at Priestfield Place and rivals in the mercantile community shared a general dislike of the man and Christopher was disgusted by the way that he had deceived his wife and daughter over the building of the new house. He was still puzzled by Lady Northcott's ambiguous reaction to her husband's death but his chief memory of the visit to Kent concerned Penelope Northcott, to whom he had felt strongly attracted from the start. His protective instincts were aroused by her supercilious fiancé’s treatment of her and he was already beginning to wonder how he could prise them apart and save her from an unfortunate marriage. The fact that her late father had encouraged the match with the odious George Strype left yet another stain on the paternal character.

Reluctantly, both Solomon Creech and Henry Redmayne added fresh detail to the posthumous portrait of Sir Ambrose and it made nowhere near as impressive a painting as the one which hung with martial dignity in the Great Hall at Priestfield Place. Truth was a more reliable artist. It worked with honest colours. Christopher realised that natural sympathy for a murder victim should not obscure the fact that he was a deeply flawed human being. It remained to be seen how many more defects came to light.