The King's Evil

'His stomach?'

'That is why his clerk was so certain it must be him.'

The constable blinked. 'Mr Creech swallowed a gold ring?'

'Deliberately, it seems,' explained Christopher. 'The ring was a wedding gift from his late wife and he treasured it above all else. He told his clerk that he would sooner part with his life than with that ring and that, if ever he were set upon by robbers, he would swallow the token of his wife's love.' He shook his head sadly. 'I wronged Mr Creech. I never took him for a married man, still less for one with such a romantic streak. His clerk recognised the ring at once. It was inscribed with his employer's initials. That put the identity of the body beyond all question.'

'And is that what happened?' asked Jonathan. 'He swallowed the ring because he was set on by robbers?'

'No, Mr Bale. His purse was untouched and his watch still on its chain. This is no murder for gain unless it be to gain his silence.'

'Where was he last seen?'

'Leaving his office some days ago. He told his clerk that he had business aboard the Marie Louise. No word was heard from him after that. This was no random killing.' It is linked in some way to the death of Sir Ambrose. The river binds both men together. Solomon Creech was pulled out of it and the man who killed Sir Ambrose was last seen at that landing stage. I am forced to wonder if the murderer was waiting to be rowed out to the Marie Louise.'

'I found out a few more things about that vessel.'

'So did I, Mr Bale.'

'It was bound for France.'

'Everything seems to lead there.'

Christopher told him about Penelope Northcott's unheralded visit to his house, omitting the fact that she spent the night there in order to avoid any misunderstanding. Jonathan clicked his tongue in disapproval when he heard about the love letters from Marie Louise Oilier but held back from adverse comment. At the end of the tale, he reached the same conclusion as Christopher himself.

'Your brother should have warned you about this.'

'I mean to tax him on that very topic.'

'He must have known that the new house was being built for this Marie Louise. It would have been a kindness to tell you.'

'I think I can see why Henry kept the truth from me.'

'Supposing he had not, Mr Redmayne?'

'What do you mean?'

'Supposing that you knew your house would be lived in by a rich man and his mistress. Would you still have agreed to design it?'

'Yes,' said Christopher without hesitation.

'In your place,' said the other steadfastly, 'I would have refused.'

'Then you will never make an architect, my friend. My commission was simply to design a house, not to examine the morals of the people who might inhabit it.'

'But that is exactly what you are forced to do now, sir.'

'That irony has not been lost on me, Mr Bale.'

A jeer went up nearby. Now that the constable had moved aside from the pillory, a small knot of people had gathered around it again. Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe found his voice once more and upbraided them sternly. Christopher moved to the corner to look across at him.

'I thought that Quakers were men of peace.' 'Not this one, sir. He is too belligerent for his own good.'

'What was his offence?'

'Working on the Sabbath.'

'I may be guilty of the same crime myself this Sunday.'

'You, sir?'

'Yes, Mr Bale,' said Christopher. 'Before I call on my brother, I will find the quickest way to sail to France. I am convinced that the answers we seek lie with Marie Louise Oilier or with the ship that carries her name. Sunday will find me working hard to track down a killer. Is that a sinful labour on the Sabbath?'

'No, Mr Redmayne.'

'Would you arrest me for it?'

'Only if you fail.'

'Why on earth did you not tell me about this, Penelope!' he yelled.

'Because you would have obstructed me.'

'And quite rightly so. You had no business to come here.'

'I believed that I did. Mother agreed with me.'

'Lady Northcott was distraught over your father's death. When she urged you to come to London, she did not know what she was doing.'

'Yes, she did, George.'

'It was madness, to go driving off like that.'

'We both felt that it was imperative.'

'You should have discussed it with me first.'

'Why?'

'Because I am your fiancée! I have certain rights.'

'You do not have the right to stop me coming here.'

'I would have persuaded you of the folly of your action.'

'It was not folly. Those letters were vital evidence. I had to put them into Mr Redmayne's hands as soon as possible.'

'That was the last thing you should have done, Penelope.'

George Strype was puce with rage. Having ridden to London in pursuit of her, he had found Penelope at the Westminster house. It irked him that she was showing no regrets about her intemperate action. Making an effort to control his temper, he guided her across to a settle and sat beside her on it. He took her hand to give it a conciliatory kiss.

'Listen to me,' he said softly. 'When you accepted my proposal of marriage, we agreed that there would be no deception between us. We would be completely open with each other. Do you remember that?'

'Yes, George.'

'Then why have you gone back on that promise?'

'I was forced to,' she said.

'Why?'

'Because I was afraid of you.'

'Afraid? Of the man who loves you?' He stroked her hand. 'What afflicts you, Penelope? You need never be afraid of me.'

'You would have stopped me coming to London.'

'Yes,' he argued, 'but for your own good. Do you not see that? When you found those letters, it must have been a dreadful shock for you. I can understand that. But your father is dead now. His ugly secret belongs in the grave with him. The last thing you should have done was to expose it to the public gaze.'

'I merely showed the letters to Mr Redmayne.'

'It amounts to the same thing.'

'No, George. I can trust him to be discreet.'

'He is not family. I am - or soon will be. And my instinct is to close ranks in a case like this. In betraying Lady Northcott, your father made an appalling mistake. I admit that. But,' he insisted, squeezing her hand, 'that mistake should be buried in the past where it belongs. Think of the shame it might otherwise cause.'

'I was prepared to withstand that shame.'

'Well, I am not.'

'Mother and I discussed it.' 'Without me.'

'We put our faith in Mr Redmayne.'

'But I do not!' he roared, leaping to his feet. 'Christopher Redmayne has no cause to poke his nose into this. What is he? An architect, that is all. A man whose task is to design houses. Why does he presume to set himself up as an officer of the law? We want no bungling amateur.'

'He is trying to discover my father's murderer and needs all the help he can get.'

'Not from me!'

'How else can the culprit be arrested?'

'This investigation should be left to the proper authorities.'

'Mr Redmayne is working with a constable.'

'Dear God!' wailed Strype. 'Another pair of eyes peering into our private affairs! How many more people will see those letters, Penelope? You might as well have taken them to a printer and had copies made to be sold at every street corner!'

'Why are you so concerned, George?'

'Someone has to protect your father's reputation.'

'What reputation?'

'The one that the world sees.' He took her by the shoulders. 'What your father did was unforgivable, Penelope. In our eyes, his reputation has been badly tarnished. But we do not need to spread his peccadilloes abroad. We keep them hidden from public gaze. Everyone then benefits. Let me be candid,' he told her seriously. 'I want to marry into an unblemished family, not one which is pointed at and sniggered over. Do you understand me?'