The King's Evil

Chapter Seven

Jonathan Bale did not flinch. He had looked on death too many times for it to hold any shock or surprise for him. His lantern threw a much more searching light over the corpse, enabling Christopher to see details which had been concealed from him earlier. When he tried to look closer, the constable waved him back with an arm.

'Stay clear, Mr Redmayne,' he said. 'I will take charge now.'

'That slight bruising around his throat. I did not notice that earlier. Nor that trickle of blood on his scalp.'

'Did you touch the body at all, sir?'

'No.'

'So it has not been moved?'

'It is exactly as I found it, Mr Bale.'

'Good.'

The constable was methodical. Before he examined the body itself, he memorised its position and noted the telltale marks all round it on the dust-covered ground. His eye measured the dimensions of the chamber then scoured every inch of it. When he knelt to study the corpse, he ignored the half-eaten face, more interested in the wickedness of man than in the hunger of rats. He carefully opened the flaps of Sir Ambrose Northcott's coat so that he could view each stab wound in turn. The dagger had left ugly red holes in the man's waistcoat and Holland shirt before plunging finally into the heart. Jonathan searched every pocket. It was a long time before he rose reflectively to his feet.

Christopher watched him with gathering impatience.

'Well?' he said.

'This is a bad business, sir.'

'There are obvious signs of a struggle.'

'So I see.'

'He was a strong man. He would have put up a fight.'

'You know the deceased?'

'Of course. It is Sir Ambrose Northcott.'

'Indeed?' Jonathan took a last look at the corpse before turning to appraise Christopher. 'When did you discover the body, sir?'

'Soon after I arrived.'

'And when was that?'

'Dawn was still breaking.'

'An early hour for such a visit, sir.'

'I was anxious to see Sir Ambrose.'

'Did you arrange to meet him here?'

'No, no,' said Christopher. 'But I was confident that he would come to the site at some stage. When he is in London, he calls here every day without fail. I wanted to reassure myself.'

'Reassure?'

'That no harm had befallen him. Sir Ambrose disappeared last night. My brother came to my house in great alarm. Sir Ambrose had promised to meet him that evening but he did not turn up or send an apology for his absence. That is most unusual, according to Henry.'

'Is he your brother, sir?'

'Yes. Henry Redmayne. He is - or, at least, was - a good friend of Sir Ambrose Northcott. Henry searched for him all over the city last night. When there was no sign of him, he became profoundly worried.'

'With cause, it seems,' said the other.

'Alas, yes.'

'What made you come into the cellars, sir?'

'Curiosity.'

'It seems an odd thing to do,' observed the constable with a hint of suspicion. 'If you were hoping to meet someone on the site, the last place you would expect to find him is in a dark cellar. Why come here?'

'Because of what the nightwatchman said.'

'Jem?'

'Yes. He told me that Sir Ambrose called here yesterday evening. I have no reason to doubt his word.'

'Nor me, sir. I can vouch for Jem Raybone.'

'Unfortunately, he was not able to tell me very much but he did remember that Sir Ambrose went down into the cellars.'

'Why?'

'Presumably, to show them off to his companion.'

Interest sharpened. 'There was someone with him?'

'Another man.'

'Did Jem recognise the fellow?'

'No, but then he was not encouraged to take a proper look at him. Sir Ambrose made it quite clear that he did not want the nightwatchman peering over their shoulders. Jem made himself scarce.'

'So he might have known this other man?'

'If he'd been allowed more than a brief glance.'

Jonathan gazed steadily at him, his tone deliberately neutral.

'Were you the man in question, sir?'

'Of course not!' said Christopher hotly, taken aback. 'I came nowhere near the site yesterday evening.'

'Can you tell me where you did go, Mr Redmayne?'

'This is absurd, man! You surely do not suspect me?'

'I have to consider all possibilities.'

'Well, you can eliminate my name at once,' said Christopher with righteous indignation. 'Sir Ambrose Northcott was my employer. Why on earth should I want to murder him?'

'It may be that you had a disagreement, sir,' suggested Jonathan, fixing him with a stare. 'Over money, perhaps. Or the terms of your contract with him. You tell me, sir. All I know is that it does seem strange for a man to come to the house in the half-dark and go straight to the place where the body lay.' 'I had no idea what I was going to find down here.'

'Really, sir?'

'I was shaken to the core by the discovery. Ask Jem.'

'He says that you would not let him anywhere near you.'

'That is right but he must have heard the upset in my voice.'

'He heard only what you wanted him to hear, sir.'

'Stop this!' exploded Christopher. 'I'll bear no more of it. You have no right to accuse me. Look there, Mr Bale,' he ordered, pointing at the corpse. 'What you see is the body of a murdered man. Do you know what I see lying there? The probable death of my whole career as an architect. Sir Ambrose Northcott gave me an opportunity which few men would offer to a novice like myself. This house would have been a personal monument, a way to advertise my talents to all who saw it. But the likelihood is that it will never be built now. Think on that. Would I be foolish enough to kill the one man who had real faith in me?'

'It seems unlikely, I grant you.'

'Thank you!' said Christopher with sarcasm. 'And if I had been the killer, do you imagine I would be stupid enough to return to the scene of the crime like this then send for a constable?'

'That would have been guile rather than stupidity, sir.'

'Guile?'

'Yes, Mr Redmayne. You would be surprised how many times the person who reports a murder turns out to have committed it. There is no simpler way to throw suspicion off yourself.'

More sarcasm. 'It did not work in my case, did it?'

'No, sir. But, then, I am already acquainted with you.'

'What do you mean?'

'I do not trust you,' said Jonathan levelly.

Christopher blenched. 'Why ever not?'

'You are inclined to passion, sir.'

'Passion!' 'You are showing it now.'

'Only because you are provoking me!'

'Are you so easily provoked, Mr Redmayne?'

Christopher turned abruptly away and fought hard to master his temper. There was a lengthy pause. Jonathan took another look at the corpse. When he spoke again, his tone was more conciliatory.

'I do not believe that you committed this crime, sir.'

'Oh, you've worked that out, have you?' said Christopher, swinging back to face him. 'First you insult me then you exonerate me. What new piece of evidence have you stumbled on?'

'The evidence of my own eyes. You would not take such a risk.'

'Risk?'

'Of being recognised by the nightwatchman. Jem Raybone is a sharp-eyed man. Even at a glance, I think he would pick you out. No,' decided the constable, 'you were not the man who was seen going into the cellars with Sir Ambrose Northcott.' Christopher nodded gratefully and breathed heavily through his nose. 'Do you know if Jem saw one or both men leaving?'

'Neither. He was looking the other way.'

'So the murder could have taken place there and then?'

'Yes, Mr Bale.'

'The condition of the body suggests that it did. I would like it confirmed by a surgeon,' said Jonathan softly, 'but my guess is that Sir Ambrose was killed at least twelve hours ago. In which case, the prime suspect must be this unidentified companion.'

'Not I,' insisted the other.

'Who is not - I now accept - you, sir.'

A long sigh. 'I am glad that we agree on that.'

'The vital question is this: why did Sir Ambrose Northcott come down here with that man in the first place? Did he sense no danger?'

'Not until it was too late.'

They gazed down soulfully at the corpse. The nightwatchman's voice broke in. He was standing on the cellar steps, guessing what must have been discovered and afraid to venture any closer.

'Mr Littlejohn has just arrived,' he called.

'Keep him out of here,' replied Jonathan.

'What shall I tell him?'

'I will speak to him myself, Jem.' He was about to move off when Christopher's hand detained him. 'You have inadvertently taken hold of my arm, sir,' he said politely. 'I must ask you to release it.'

'Gladly,' said Christopher, retaining his grip, 'when you tell me why you dislike me so much.'

'My opinion of you does not come into it, Mr Redmayne.'

'It informs your whole attitude towards me.'

'That is not true, sir.'

'Something about me seems to irritate you.'

'I am not irritated,' said Jonathan calmly. 'But I will admit that I would rather be in this cellar with someone else.'

'Why?'

'It is a personal matter. Now, please let go of me.'

Christopher released his arm then followed him through the cellars and up the stone steps. Both men were glad to be back out in the fresh air again and they inhaled deeply. Samuel Littlejohn was waiting for them, his face etched with concern. He lurched forward.

'What has happened, constable?' he said.

'I have sad news, I fear,' said Jonathan. 'Sir Ambrose Northcott has been stabbed to death. His body lies in the cellar.'

Littlejohn recoiled and brought both hands up to his head.

'This cannot be!' he gasped.

'Mr Redmayne found and identified him.'

'It is true, Mr Littlejohn,' confirmed Christopher.

The builder was aghast. 'But what about the house?'

'That is the least of my concerns at the moment, sir,' said Jonathan briskly. 'A murder has been committed. Finding the killer is my priority. Jem,' he continued, turning to the nightwatchman. 'Run to the Hope and Anchor on St Peter's Hill. You should find Abraham Datchett and his partner there. Bid them come as fast as they can.'

'Yes, Mr Bale.'

The nightwatchman hurried off. Littlejohn was still stunned.

'What shall I do with my men?' he asked blankly. 'They will be coming to the site very soon, expecting to start work.'

'Send them back home, sir,' advised Jonathan.

'Work must be suspended,' agreed Christopher. 'The first thing we must do is to inform Solomon Creech. He is responsible for all of Sir Ambrose's affairs and will make decisions on his behalf. Who knows?' he said with forlorn enthusiasm. 'There may yet be some way in which the house can be built. Sir Ambrose's family may take on the responsibility themselves.'

'Is that likely, Mr Redmayne?' asked Littlejohn with a sigh. 'Sir Ambrose was killed here. The property will hardly hold fond memories for his family. We have lost everything.'

'Not necessarily.'

'The project is doomed.'

Christopher tried to console him but his words sounded hollow. In his heart, he shared the builder's pessimism. Construction had to be abandoned. There seemed to be no chance of it ever being resumed. In a city where so much rebuilding was taking place, Samuel Littlejohn would soon find alternative work for himself and his men but Christopher might not. His one venture into architecture had foundered.

Preoccupied with the business implications, Littlejohn also spared a thought for a member of his family. There was real pain in his voice.

'What will become of Margaret?' he asked.

'Your daughter will be upset at the turn of events.'

'She will be distraught, Mr Redmayne.'

'Was she fond of Sir Ambrose?'

'It is not his death which will hurt her the most,' said Littlejohn. 'It is the consequences. If we stop work on the house, how will Margaret see you? That is why she came to here so often.'

'I see.'

'You must be aware of her feelings for you.'

'Well... yes, Mr Littlejohn.'

'The girl dotes on you, sir.'

Christopher saw that there might yet be a consolation for him. In losing a prized commission, he would also escape the attentions of an amorous young lady. There was an awkward pause. It was broken by a sound behind them and they turned to see Jonathan Bale rolling back the tarpaulin so that he could select a plank of wood.

'I will need to borrow this,' he explained. 'We can use it to carry the body up from the cellar. Will your men bring a cart, Mr Littlejohn?'

'Yes, constable. Make what use of it you will.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Will you need a hand to lift the body out?'

'No, sir. The watchmen will help me along with Jem Raybone. But I would appreciate the loan of the cart to take it to the mortuary. How soon will it be here?'

'Very soon,' said Littlejohn, looking rather embarrassed. 'It is a mean conveyance for so august a gentleman as Sir Ambrose Northcott.'

Jonathan was brusque. 'It will suffice, sir. We do not seem to have a coach and horses at hand. Excuse me.'

He carried the plank into the cellar and left the two men to make what they wished of his tart comment. Christopher resisted the impulse to go after the constable in order to confront him. Nothing could be served by an argument with Jonathan Bale at this stage. It would have to wait. He was of far more use in helping Littlejohn to recover from the shock. The builder was still struggling to come to terms with the tragedy.

'What of his wife, his family?' he wondered.

'They will have to be told as soon as possible.'

'And his friends?'

'My brother, Henry, was an intimate of his. He will pass the word around Sir Ambrose's circle. They will be grief- stricken. Solomon Creech will doubtless inform any business associates of Sir Ambrose.'

'Was he not also a Member of Parliament?'

'Yes, Mr Littlejohn. He will be sorely missed there as well.'

'So many lives affected by this calamity.' He glanced towards the cellar steps. 'May I go and see him?'

'I would counsel against it,' said Christopher. 'You would not recognise the man you knew. It is a gruesome sight, believe me, and it would only unsettle you further. Leave everything to the constable. He seems to know what he is doing.' His jaw tightened. 'Though I wish that his manner was a little more pleasant.'

'Sir Ambrose Northcott murdered? Who could do such a thing?'

'That is what I intend to find out.'

'He was such a generous client.'

'And a very brave one. I was a young and untried architect. He took a huge risk with me.'

'A justified risk, Mr Redmayne. I had no qualms about your talent.'

'Thank you.'

'And my daughter thinks you are a genius.'

Unable to answer his smile, Christopher was glad to be interrupted by the arrival of Jem Raybone and two elderly watchmen. Jonathan emerged from the cellar to beckon all three of them over to him. As soon as they disappeared down the steps, Littlejohn saw the first of his own men approaching the site and he went across to pass on the sad tidings. Christopher could see the horror on their faces. A horse-drawn cart rattled along the cobblestones with four other workmen on board. They were as shocked as their colleagues by the news but all chose to linger rather than to disperse. They felt a loyalty to their former employer. When the body of Sir Ambrose Northcott was brought up from the cellar, Littlejohn and his men doffed their hats in respect.

The corpse lay on the wooden plank. Jonathan Bale and Abraham Datchett carried it between them to negotiate the narrow steps. The watchmen's staves were then placed on the ground so that the plank could be rested on it. All four men now bore the load, lifting up the body and carrying it slowly towards the cart on the staves. Christopher was touched to observe that the constable had removed his coat in order to cover the face and chest of the dead man, sparing him the indignity of attracting any ghoulish interest. Sir Ambrose Northcott's hat rested on his chest. The shoe had been replaced on his foot.

Littlejohn climbed into the cart and used a hand to brush away the accumulated dust. Christopher went over to help them to ease the body into the cart. Everything was done with the utmost care. As other men reported for work on the site, they were told in whispers of the murder.

Jonathan Bale turned to Christopher.

'You will need to give a sworn statement, Mr Redmayne.'

'I appreciate that. First, however, I must contact Solomon Creech. He is Sir Ambrose Northcott's lawyer. It is imperative that he hears about this immediately.'

'Very well,' said Jonathan. 'I have met Mr Creech myself and I would certainly prefer that you spoke to him. The news will come better from you. We will take the body to the mortuary. Find me there, please.'

'I will, Mr Bale.'

'Goodbye, sir.'

Littlejohn climbed out of the cart as the two watchmen clambered into it. Jonathan joined them and took up the reins. A gentle flick sent the horse ambling forward. Christopher and the others watched until the cart and its grim cargo disappeared out of sight. There was a protracted silence. Some of the men gradually began to drift away. Latecomers were turned back with the news. Samuel Littlejohn looked on the verge of tears.

Christopher thought about his daughter and sighed. It was time to go.