“I’ve just come from my brother,” he said, noting the look of disapproval in Bale’s eye at the mention of his sibling. “Henry spoke to the steward at Mr Thynne’s house. It appears that his master used to dine at the Golden Fleece at least four times a week. Those who lurked in ambush must have known that he would come that way sooner or later.”
“Can you tell me why Mr Thynne was killed?” asked Bale.
“Henry believes that it may be linked to his support of the Duke of Monmouth’s cause.”
Bale frowned. “Yet another of the King’s many bastard sons.”
“The duke is claiming to be the legitimate heir to His Majesty, insisting that he has written proof that the King was legally married to his mother, Lucy Walter, at the time of his birth.” Bale said nothing. Having fought against the Royalists at the Battle of Worcester, he remained an unrepentant Roundhead. “It provoked the Exclusion crisis,” Christopher went on. “Monmouth is resolved to exclude the King’s brother, James, Duke of York, from the succession because he is an ardent Roman Catholic.”
“Then you believe this murder to be a Catholic conspiracy?”
“Henry does, certainly.”
“What of you, Mr Redmayne?”
“I think that we should look to the lady.”
“What lady?”
“Mr Thynne’s wife,” said Christopher. “No sooner did she marry him than she took to her heels and fled to Holland. Now, why should any wife do such a thing?”
Bale shook his head. “It’s beyond my comprehension.”
“I can’t imagine your wife behaving so recklessly.”
“Sarah would never let me down – nor I, her.”
“Yours is a real marriage. Mr Thynne’s, alas, was a sham. I think that it behoves us to find out why.”
“How can we do that?”
“We begin with the Swedish gentleman, Lieutenant Stern.”
“But we have no idea where he is, Mr Redmayne.”
“Oh, I think I can hazard a guess,” said Christopher. “Let’s go to the Black Bull. He may not be there but I’ll wager that someone will know where to find him. A few coins will soon loosen a tongue. If he is a hired killer, he’ll have collected his payment by now.”
“That was my reasoning,” said Bale. “I thought that he would be spending his blood money with his accomplices.”
“Perhaps he sought choicer company.”
“What do you mean?”
Christopher smiled grimly. “Look to the lady,” he repeated, “though this particular one may not merit that title.”
Her name was Jenny Teale and she picked up most of her trade at the Black Bull. The majority of her clients were eager sailors who took their pleasure quickly in a dark alley before moving on. Lieutenant Stern was different. He bought her favours for a whole night. In this instance, he had come to her at midday and adjourned to her lodging. They had spent frantic hours in bed before falling asleep in a drunken stupor. Jenny Teale lay naked across his body. When someone pounded on her door, she did not even hear the noise at first. It was only when Christopher Redmayne’s shoulder was put to the timber that she was hauled unceremoniously out of her slumber.
There was a loud crash, the lock burst apart and the door was flung wide open. Christopher stood framed in the doorway. Jumping off the bed, Jenny Teale confronted him.
“You’ll have to wait your turn, young sir,” she said, angrily.
“I’m here for Lieutenant Stern,” declared Christopher, averting his gaze from her naked body. His eye fell on the rapier lying beside the bed and he snatched it up at once, using it to prod the sleeping foreigner. “Wake up!” he demanded. “You’re coming with me.”
The Swede let out a yelp of pain then swore volubly in his own language. Sitting up in bed, he saw Christopher standing over him and tried to retrieve his sword from the floor.
“I have your weapon, lieutenant,” said Christopher, “and I daresay that I’ll find your pistol in here somewhere as well. I’m arresting you for your part in the murder of Thomas Thynne.”
“Ze devil you are!” roared Stern.
“Get dressed and come with me.”
“No!”
Grabbing a pillow, Stern leapt out of bed and used it to beat back Christopher. The Swede then hurled the pillow in his face and, clad only in his shirt, opened the window and dropped to the ground below. Christopher had no need to pursue him. He had taken the precaution of stationing Jonathan Bale in the garden. When he glanced through the window, he saw that the constable had easily overpowered the suspect. Christopher gathered up the rest of the man’s clothing together with the pistol that had been used in the shooting. He turned to leave but found that Jenny Teale was blocking his way.
Naked and unashamed, she gave him a bewitching smile.
“Do you have to leave so soon?” she asked.
“I fear so.”
She spread her arms. “Don’t you like what you see?”
“The only person I’m interested in is the man we just apprehended. He’s a vicious killer,” Christopher told her. “Try to choose your clients with more care in future.”
Moving her politely aside, he went out of the room.
Henry Redmayne had repaired to a coffee-house near Temple Bar. He was deep in conversation with his friends when he saw his brother enter the room. Excusing himself from the table, he took Christopher aside.
“Really, sir!” he complained. “Must you always come between me and my pleasures?”
“Count yourself lucky that you are not Lieutenant Stern.”
“Who?”
“One of the men who attacked Thomas Thynne,” said Christopher. “I caught him in bed with his whore. He is now in safe custody. You might pass on that intelligence to His Majesty, and you can assure him that this crime did not arise from political intrigue.”
“It must have done.”
“No, Henry.”
“The Duke of Monmouth has grown bold. The King exiled him yet he insists on returning to this country to press his absurd claims to the throne. Tom Thynne endorsed those claims to the hilt. He paid for his folly with his life.”
“I think not.”
Henry was petulant. “That’s only because you are so ignorant about affairs of state. I move among the great and the good, and know how corrupt their greatness and goodness really is. What prompts them in the main,” he said, airily, “is envy, malice and perverse ambition. There are hundreds of people who seek to pull Monmouth down. What better way to do it than by having his chief paymaster assassinated?”
“Lieutenant Stern has never heard of the Duke of Monmouth
“Has he confessed who suborned him?”
“No,” said Christopher. “He admits that he was one of the three men who shot at Mr Thynne but it’s all he will tell us. That’s why I must turn to you again.”
“But I’m enjoying a coffee with my friends.”
“Thomas Thynne was a friend of yours once.”
“Yes,” said Henry, blithely, “and I mourn his death.”
“By carousing in here?”
“I gave you help. You can’t ask any more of me than that.”
“I can,” returned Christopher. “Your aid is crucial. You can provide information that is way beyond the reach of Jonathan and myself. We must learn more about Mr Thynne’s wife.”
“Elizabeth, the former Lady Ogle? A pretty little thing.”
“Why did she betray her marriage vows and flee the country? Had her husband been unkind to her? Was any violence involved?”
“Tom Thynne would not harm a fly.”
“Then what made his wife desert him?”
“Covetousness,” said Henry, knowledgeably. “The fault that mars all women. She left one man because another one must have offered her more than he could. Tom of Ten Thousand was outbid by someone with even more money and, most probably, with a title to dangle before her.”
“We need his name.”
Henry tried to move away. “I need my cup of coffee.”
“No,” said Christopher, restraining him. “It will have to wait, Henry. You are part of a murder hunt. Something is missing and only you can track it down.”