The King's Evil

'Your Majesty?'

'It is time for my walk. Be brisk.'

Christopher needed no second invitation. His account was succinct but persuasive. It was the mention of Paris which took the cynicism out of the royal gaze and the discovery aboard the Marie Louise made him stroke his moustache reflectively. When Christopher stopped, the King gave him an approving nod.

'You can present a cogent argument, sir.'

'Thank you, Your Majesty.'

'I have done my share,' said Henry plaintively.

Charles ignored him. 'Where is this list?' he asked.

'I have it here, Your Majesty,' said Christopher, taking the document from his pocket to pass it over. 'When I first saw the names, I did not realise their full significance. It was only when Henry arranged them in order for me that I could see just how many members of Your Majesty's government have responded to the blandishments of Mrs Mandrake.'

Charles was torn between amusement and surprise.

'Everyone but the Earl of Clarendon is here,' he said, studying the names. 'By Jupiter! Can Sir Roger Shorthorn really have the gall to visit a house of resort? What do the ladies do with him - take it in turns to search for his missing member?' He became serious. 'But you are quite correct, Mr Redmayne. There is a pattern here.'

'Yes, Your Majesty,' said Christopher. 'Over half of the men on that list are in a position to divulge sensitive information about affairs of state. When I visited the house myself, the young lady assigned to me showed more than interest when I pretended to be a regular visitor at Court. She positively interrogated me about you.'

'What was her name?'

'Sweet Ellen.'

'She always takes charge of newcomers to the house,' explained Henry. 'It was Sweet Ellen who favoured me on my first visit there. I was so busy enjoying myself that I thought her endless questions were simple curiosity. Now I know otherwise.'

'My brother was being pumped, Your Majesty,' said Christopher. 'Subtly but effectively. And I am certain that many of the other men on that list had a similar experience. Quite unwittingly, they have been parting with all kinds of state secrets to Mrs Mandrake and her ladies.'

'And where do those secrets end up?' said the King.

'In France. Carried there by Monsieur Charentin aboard the Marie Louise. That is why he is so generous a benefactor. He is not just paying for any services which the ladies render. He is rewarding his spies.'

The King examined the list again then strolled to the door. Without a word, he let himself out. Christopher and Henry watched with growing dismay as the minutes past.

'Have I said something to vex him?' asked Christopher.

'I hope not.'

'Where has he gone, Henry?'

'For his daily walk, by the look of it.'

The door suddenly opened again and Charles strode in to take up the same position. They noticed that he no longer carried the list.

'Tell me, Mr Redmayne,' he said slowly. 'Was Sir Ambrose Northcott party to this deceit among the bedclothes?'

'No, Your Majesty,' replied Christopher. 'I believe that he was killed before he could find out. If he had known that his house was being used for the purposes of spying, he would sooner have razed it to the ground than condone the intrigue.' 'I find that reassuring.'

'Why so, Your Majesty?'

'Because, on more than one occasion, he invited me to visit the establishment. Sir Ambrose was most insistent. I, of course, invariably declined,' he said airily. 'I would never dream of setting foot in such a disreputable place.'

'Yet that was ever Molly Mandrake's theme,' recalled Henry. 'She begged me to entice you there, Your Majesty. In order to give her house royal approbation.'

Charles was aloof. 'Quite out of the question.'

'Is it, Your Majesty?' said Christopher. 'I think that it is perhaps time to answer her plea.'

'Why on earth should I do that?'

'I will tell you. Might I first make a suggestion?'

'What is it?'

'Leave the door ajar so that we can be heard more easily. I know that someone is listening to every word we say.'

Charles burst out laughing. 'I have a better idea,' he said, putting a hand on Christopher's shoulder. 'Join me on my walk. This subject is best discussed in the Privy Garden. Only the birds will eavesdrop there.'

Penelope Northcott knew that he would try again. George Strype was far too conceited a man to accept rejection lightly. The social consequences would be extremely painful to him. Stung by her rebuff, he would do everything in his power to make her reverse her decision before it became public knowledge. To keep him at bay, she gave instructions that he was not to be admitted to the Westminster house on any pretext. In the event, he did not even turn up and she began to feel even safer.

Penelope felt able one day to venture into the city. She was taken completely by surprise when she left Mr Creech's office and found her discarded fiancée waiting for her outside in Lombard Street.

'George!' she exclaimed.

'You still deign to talk to me?' he said with a tentative smile.

'Only to wish you well.'

'Do I deserve no more from you than that?'

'I am busy,' she said. 'You will have to excuse me.'

He was insistent. 'Listen to me, Penelope. I followed you here and I waited for an hour in the street for you to come out. I am not to be shaken off now.' He indicated her coach. 'Why do we not continue this conversation in some privacy?'

'No, George.'

'Are we to stand out here like haggling tradesmen?'

'You may but I will not,' she said. 'Goodbye.'

'Wait!'

'We have said all that we need to say to each other.'

'Will you not at least let me apologise properly to you?' he pleaded. 'I spoke out of turn at your house. It was ungentlemanly. Your censure was justly deserved and I make no complaint about it. But,' he said earnestly, 'was my behaviour really so bad as to justify a complete rift? I love you, Penelope. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Think of all those plans we made together, all those ambitions we had. What a terrible waste for you to throw it all away now.'

'I am not the person who threw it away, George.'

'All I ask for is a second chance.'

'It is too late,' she said, opening the door of her coach. He touched her arm. 'Please take your hand off me.'

'Not until you hear me out.'

'Supposing I refuse?'

'Penelope!'

'What will you do - set those ruffians on to me as well?'

'So that lies behind all this, does it?' he sneered, releasing her arm and stepping back. 'Redmayne has been telling tales. Well, let me tell you something about him. Did you know that he has been here to this office to pester the clerk for details of your father's transactions? He had no right to do that. It is intolerable. Do you want Sir Ambrose's private affairs to be scrutinised by an interfering architect?'

'I have every faith in Mr Redmayne.' 'Is that what you told him when you saw him?'

'He knew it already,' she said, getting into the coach.

'Next time you meet him, give him a message from me.'

'I am not your courier, George.'

'Warn him, Penelope!' he snarled. 'And take a last look at that pretty face of his before I redesign his features.'

'How many bullies will you pay this time?'

'One person will be enough. Me.'

The coach rolled off and left him smouldering with rage.

Molly Mandrake was in her counting house, seated at her desk as she assessed the takings from the night before. Business had been brisk and money rolled in with encouraging ease. Every payment was entered in her ledger. Only a small percentage of the income would go to the girls whose bodies had helped to earn it. They understood that. In taking them into her service, Molly was their benefactress. She had rescued them from cruder establishments where disease and violence could bring an early end to their careers, and she introduced them to clients from the very pinnacle of society. In her opinion, they should be paying her for the privileges she had bestowed on them.