The King's Evil

'Do you like my little apartment, sir?' she asked coyly.

'It is perfect.'

'Are you glad that your brother brought you here tonight?'

'Yes,' he said, 'but it was a friend who recommended the house.'

'A friend?'

'Monsieur Charentin. Do you know Jean-Paul?'

'Oh, yes, of course. I always enjoy it when he visits us. Jean-Paul is a most generous man. But tell me more about yourself, Mr Redmayne,' she said, easing him down on a chair. 'You are an architect, you say. A house in London is always expensive to build. You must work for some very wealthy men.'

'When I have the opportunity.'

'Where do you meet them?'

'Chiefly in the coffee houses.'

'And at Court, perhaps?' she enquired.

'Naturally,' he said. 'Henry takes me there.'

Her face ignited. 'Have you ever met His Majesty?'

'Well, yes. In a manner of speaking.'

'Tell me about him.'

Sweet Ellen seemed inordinately interested in the King and his circle and her questions poured out. Christopher obliged her with ready answers, giving the impression that he was a seasoned courtier with access to the royal ear. He also took care to find out as much as he could about the running of the establishment. As they talked, Sweet Ellen slipped behind a screen in the corner of the room and spoke from behind it. Christopher was so caught up in their conversation that he did not realise what she was doing. When she reappeared wearing nothing but a petticoat, he almost choked on the wine he had just drunk.

She rushed forward solicitously to pat him on the back.

'Oh, you poor man!' she soothed. 'Are you all right, sir?'

'No,' he said, seeing the polite way to escape. 'I am unwell.'

'Let me nurse you. Come and lie on the bed.'

'Not now, Ellen. I fear I shall disgrace myself.'

He clutched his stomach with both hands and went off into such a frenzy of coughing that she backed away from him. Taking some coins from his purse, he tossed them on the bed, gestured his apologies then unlocked the door to leave. When he got downstairs, he made his way to the side door so that he could slip away unobtrusively. Christopher was glad that he had come on foot. A bracing walk would help to clear his head and allow him to assimilate all that he had learned from Sweet Ellen. She had been a most helpful tutor but there was a critical point beyond which he could not allow her lesson to go. He tried to work out why she had reminded him of Marie Louise Oilier.

A busy mind and a long stride combined to get him back to Fetter Lane before he realised it and he was astonished when his house came into sight. He got no closer to it. Two figures suddenly emerged from the shadows to attack him with cudgels. Before he could defend himself, he was felled by a blow to the head then beaten and kicked by both men. Curling into a ball, he brought his arms up over his head to ward off the worst of the attack but it ceased as abruptly as it had started. Someone came running over the cobbles to hurl one man aside and to deprive the second of his cudgel. Before he could inflict injury on them, a peremptory voice came out of the darkness.

'Leave him be! We have taught him a lesson!'

The two attackers ran gratefully from the scene and their master went after them on his horse. Jonathan Bale watched them go then reached down to help Christopher up from the ground.

'Are you hurt badly, sir?'

'No,' said Christopher, still slightly dazed. 'But my pride is.'

'I warned you that you needed a bodyguard. It is just as well that I followed you from Lincoln's Inn Fields or you might be lying dead.'

'No, Mr Bale. They were not paid to kill me.'

'How do you know?'

'I recognised the voice which gave the order.'

'Who was it?'

'A man with a score to settle. George Strype.'

Chapter Fifteen

Jacob was alarmed to hear of the attack on his master and insisted on examining him for broken bones, removing Christopher's coat to feel his way over arms and ribs then gingerly testing both legs for signs of fracture. Christopher submitted unwillingly to the kindly intentions of his servant. When it was seen that he had suffered no more than severe bruising and a large bump on the head, he sent Jacob in search of the one bottle of brandy in the house. Even Jonathan Bale consented to drink a glass of it. Christopher took that as a hopeful sign. He could see that the constable was uncomfortable in strange surroundings. It was the first time he had visited Christopher's house and he compared its superior size and furnishings with his own more modest abode in Addle Hill. The first sip of brandy helped to smother his natural resentment but Christopher could still detect no sense of friendship.

'What must I do, Mr Bale?' he said wearily.

'Do, sir?'

'You stopped me from being robbed outside St Paul's and you have just saved me from a savage beating. Do you have to rescue me from drowning before you can treat me as an equal?'

'We can never be equals, Mr Redmayne.'

'Why not?'

'I think you already know.'

'Tell me.'

'Because I come from humbler stock.'

'That has nothing to do with it, man.'

'It must have, sir,' said Jonathan, glancing around the room. 'You would not deign to live in a house like mine and I could not afford to own a house like yours.' He tapped his glass. 'While you drink brandy, I have nothing stronger at home than my wife's chicken broth.'

'Then you are right,' agreed Christopher. 'Equality is out of the question. Mrs Bale's broth is infinitely better than my brandy. It brought me alive again after that fearful voyage. I raise my glass to her.'

Jonathan almost smiled. 'Then I will join you.'

'One other thing. I do not own this house, I rent it.'

'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.'