The King's Evil

There was a tap on the door and she broke off from her work.

'Come in!'

The door opened and the black manservant entered with a letter.

'This has just arrived for you, Mrs Mandrake,' he said.

'Who sent it?'

'Henry Redmayne. The messenger is awaiting your reply.'

'Why?'

When she read the letter, she understood. Letting out a cry of joy, she reached for some writing paper.

'Give this to the messenger at once,' she said, scribbling away with excitement. 'When you have done that, send Damarosa to me.' 'Damarosa?'

'Tell her that I have some wonderful news for her.'

Sarah Bale could usually discern the cause of her husband's long silences but this time she was baffled. As he put on his coat, Jonathan was tense and preoccupied. She tried once again to initiate a conversation.

'I will be sorry to see them go,' she said. 'We could have had far worse neighbours than the Thorpe family, even with his ranting. It is disgraceful when God-fearing people like them are forced to emigrate.' She clicked her tongue. 'New England! All that way when they have no idea what they will find when they get there. It is frightening, Jonathan. I could never face a journey like that.'

'I could,' he muttered.

'What did you say?'

'Nothing.'

'Why are they leaving? Is there no way to persuade them to stay? Hail-Mary Thorpe is not a robust woman. How will she survive the long voyage? And think of those poor children of theirs.' She shook her head. 'They must be desperate to take such a course as this.' He reached for his hat. 'Do you have no opinion at all to offer?'

'Not tonight, Sarah.'

'Why? What ails you?'

'I have to go.'

'Where? Not back into the river, I hope.'

'No.'

'Then where?'

He gave her a token kiss. 'I will tell you on my return.'

'Is it such a big secret? Surely, you can tell me.' She followed him to the door. 'Jonathan, what is going on? You have hardly said a word to me all evening. I am your wife. What have I done to upset you?'

'Nothing, Sarah.'

'Then why are you so morose? Anybody would think that you were walking off to your own execution. Are you looking forward so little to your duties tonight?'

He opened the door then turned to look back at her.

'Yes,' he confessed. 'I am.'

Henry Redmayne was in his element. He had always wanted to ride in a coach with the King of England. Wearing his periwig and accoutred in his finery, Henry went over the arrangements once again.

'I chose Damarosa for you, Your Majesty,' he said. 'Not simply because she is my favourite. A voluptuous creature in every particular, I do assure you. Breathtakingly so. No, the main reason that I specified Damarosa in my letter was that she has a room on the ground floor. When we enter by the side door, you can slip into her bedchamber without being seen by anyone else.' He emitted a high laugh. 'Not that anyone would recognise you because your disguise is too cunning. I am not sharing a coach with King Charles at all but with Old Rowley.'

'Quite so,' said the other.

His companion used a thumb and forefinger to smooth down his black moustache. A black periwig hung to his shoulders and obscured much of his swarthy face. Flamboyant attire had been sacrificed for more homely garments yet there was still a touch of distinction about him.

'Tell me about this room again, Henry.'

'As you wish, Your Majesty.'

'Old Rowley,' corrected the other.

'How could I forget?'

Henry babbled on happily until the coach drew up outside the house in Lincoln's Inn Fields. When the coachman opened the door for him, Henry alighted and went across to the house with a swagger. He did not see Jonathan Bale lurking uncomfortably in the shadows. Knocking at the side door, he waited until Molly Mandrake herself opened it.

'Is everything in readiness, Moll?'

'Everything,' she said, beaming. 'Exactly as you asked.'

'Where is Damarosa?'

'Waiting in her room.'

'I will fetch ...' He checked himself. 'Old Rowley is in the coach.'

Molly's grin broadened as she watched Henry helping the other passenger out of the coach. When they went past her, she mumbled a welcome and dropped a curtsey. The King rewarded her with a gentle squeeze on her arm before he was led down a corridor by his guide. Henry paused outside a door, knocked sharply and received a summons to enter from a female voice. He opened the door to usher his companion in then closed it gently behind him, strolling back to Molly Mandrake who was watching excitedly from the end of the corridor.

'Let us leave them to it, Moll.'

'Did he really ask for Damarosa?'

'At my suggestion.'

'Why did you not let me entertain him?'

Henry ogled her. 'Because I save the best for myself.'

Damarosa was seated in profile on a chair in front of a large mirror, using the glow from the candles to artful effect. She was a full-figured young woman in a blue gown which was cut low in the front and which, as the mirror was revealing, plunged almost to the waist at the back. Still in her early twenties, she suggested a blend of youth and experience which was titillating. She had a Mediterranean complexion and cast of feature. Large brown lascivious eyes sparkled with uncompromising zest. Dark hair hung in ringlets. Diamond earrings and a magnificent diamond necklace glittered in the candlelight.

When her guest entered, she rose to curtsey but he waved her back to her seat. He wanted no acknowledgement of his royalty. Sweeping off his hat, he instead gave her a complimentary bow.

'Old Rowley at your service, ma'am.'

'Will you take wine with me, sir?' she said, indicating the seat opposite her. 'I think you will find it palatable.'

'I am sure I shall,' he said, closing one eye and letting the other rove admiringly over her. 'Damarosa, is that your name?'

'Yes.'

'It becomes you, my dear.'

She poured the wine and handed him a glass, raising hers to him in a silent toast before taking a small sip. He tasted his own wine before setting the glass down on the table and taking a swift look around the room. It was exactly as it had been described to him, large, plush, well appointed and possessing a second door. The four-poster took precedence but the decorated screen also made an arresting feature. It stood in the far corner, close to the other door. Old Rowley was very satisfied with his inventory. The only thing which he had not been warned about was the bewitching perfume which filled the air. Damarosa was fragrance itself.

'Your reputation runs before you,' he said.

'Does it?'

'Oh, yes, Damarosa. You were highly recommended.'

'I am flattered.'

'Nothing less than you would suffice for me.'

'Good,' she said, smiling over the top of her glass. 'I am delighted to see you here at last. It is an honour.'

'From what I hear, it is I who have the honour.'

She gave a playful giggle. He watched the dimple in her cheek. Damarosa was slightly nervous and he detected a slight tremble in her hand. He could not decide if she was in awe of his perceived status or if something else was making her tense. Picking up his glass, he tried to put her at ease.

'You will have to teach me, Damarosa.'

'Teach you?'

'I am a new pupil on my first visit here,' he said with boyish candour. 'I do not know what to do and what to say. Tell me, Damarosa. What do the others say?'