The King's Evil

Chapter Nine

Jonathan Bale ignored the light drizzle as he moved slowly around with his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. It was a long painstaking search but it yielded nothing of real value. He withdrew to the road and studied the site pensively. It was deserted. Work on the house had been terminated and Samuel Littlejohn's men sent home while he looked for alternative employment for them. Most of the building materials had been removed for storage elsewhere. The once busy site had a forlorn air, its ambition snuffed out, its bold design unrealised, its vestigial walls giving it more of a kinship with the ruined households all around it than with the new dwellings which were gradually taking their place. Notwithstanding his reservations about the owner and architect, the constable felt a pang of genuine regret.

It was not shared by the man who strutted up beside him.

'The message could not be clearer,' he asserted.

'What message?' said Jonathan.

'God has spoken. No house should ever be built on this site. It is patently doomed to fall. First, came the Great Fire. Then, the spate of thefts. And now, a foul murder. These are all signs.'

'Of what, Mr Thorpe?'

'God's displeasure.'

'You believe that we have witnessed divine dispensation?'

'What else?'

'Gross misfortune,' argued Jonathan. 'God may be displeased but He would not initiate a murder.'

'It was a punishment inflicted upon the owner of the property.'

'What was his crime?'

'He embodied sin, Mr Bale.'

'Did he?'

'What greater crime is there than that?'

Sensing that Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe was in homiletic vein, the constable held back a response. His task was to catch a murderer, not to look for theological significance in what had happened and the last thing he wanted at that moment was an extended sermon from the argumentative Quaker. He ran a ruminative hand across his chin as he scanned the site again. His diminutive neighbour turned to practicalities.

'Have any arrests been made, Mr Bale?'

'Not as yet.'

'Hast thou any indications as to who was responsible?'

'According to you, it was the Almighty.'

'Acting through a human agent.'

'Oh, I see.'

'What clues have been found?'

'I continue to search for them, Mr Thorpe,' admitted the other. 'That is why I came here again this afternoon. I have been over every inch of the site three times now but without much success.'

'I am sorry that I am unable to help thee on this occasion.'

'You prevented one crime, sir.'

'It was my duty to do so.'

'Others would have been too frightened to report what they heard.'

'I am not afraid of common thieves.'

'You deserve great credit. Thanks to your actions, four villains are under lock and key. Those three thieves and their accomplice.' He gave a congratulatory nod. 'I must confess that I thought at first they might in some way be connected to this murder.'

'How?'

'Arrest will cost them dear,' said Jonathan. 'I conceived it possible that a confederate of theirs was sent to exact a dark revenge by killing Sir Ambrose Northcott. On reflection, I dismissed the idea.'

'Why?'

'Because the owner of the house would be an unlikely target. It was I who actually made the arrests with the help of Mr Littlejohn and Mr Redmayne. One of us would have been a more likely recipient of that fatal dagger. Had I been the one,' he said with a philosophical smile, 'it would not have been the first time that I was attacked. Mine is an unpopular job but a necessary one.'

'And necessarily corrupt.'

'How so?'

'Because thou servest a corrupt master, Mr Bale.'

'I serve the citizens of this ward, sir. They include you.'

'Indirectly, thou art a lackey of the King and his vile Parliament.'

'That is not how I see it, Mr Thorpe.'

'Then thou art purblind. One day, perhaps, thou wilt realise the error of thy ways and allow thine eyes to be fully opened to the wonder of God.' He began to move off. 'Farewell to thee.'

Jonathan held up a hand. 'One moment, sir.'

'Yes?' Thorpe halted.

'I am glad that we have met,' said the other, turning up his collar as the drizzle thickened, 'even if it is in such wet weather. It gives me the chance to pass on a word of warning.'

His companion bristled. 'Do I look as if I am in need of it?'

'This is for your own good, Mr Thorpe.'

'I prefer to be the judge of that.'

'Then hear me out,' said Jonathan seriously. 'There are rumours that a seditious pamphlet has been distributed among the Friends. It is said that it pours scorn on the established religion and goes so far as to incite violence. I am sure that you realise the penalty for printing such a document.' 'Only too well.'

'Distributing such material carries an additional penalty.'

'I am familiar with the savagery of the law.'

'Even reading this pamphlet is a crime.'

'If it exists.'

'I believe that it does, Mr Thorpe.'

'Rumours are usually false.'

'This is more than a rumour. I merely wished to say that I hope you are not involved with this publication in any way.'

'Am I accused?'

'Not by name, sir, but we are bound to look to you.'

'Innocence should be its own protection.'

'If - that is - you are entirely innocent.'

'I am, Mr Bale. In my own mind.'

'That is a contentious issue.'

'Then let us debate it here and now.'

'No, sir,' said Jonathan tolerantly. 'We both know where the other stands. While I cannot agree with your position, I respect you for taking it. All that I wish to do here is to give you fair warning that you are under scrutiny. It would be foolish of you to flout the law again.'

'The real folly lies in the law itself.'

'I have said my piece, sir.'

'It did not need saying, Mr Bale,' came the vehement reply. 'Look at thyself, man. Thou art trying to solve the heinous crime of murder. Does the printing of a pamphlet rank alongside that? Canst thou not turn thy attention to real villains and leave us be?'

Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe was about to launch himself into a diatribe but his neighbour cut his fulminations short with a kind inquiry.

'How is your wife, sir? I was sorry to hear of her illness.'

The Quaker was checked. 'She is much better.'

'I am glad to hear that.'

'Hail-Mary will soon be able to venture out again.'

'Please give her my regards.' 'Thy own wife hast been very kind,' said Thorpe quietly. 'Mrs Bale brought food and comfort to our house. That chicken broth of hers has done Hail-Mary the power of good.'

'It is Sarah's favourite medicine.'

'A wholesome remedy. I tasted it myself.'

'It can cure many ills.'

'But not, alas, the ones that afflict this city.'

Jonathan took an involuntary step back, fearing another broadside about the moral turpitude of the King and his counsellors, but his little companion instead gave a rare smile.

'I will spare thee my opinions this time,' he said. 'Thy warning was well-intentioned, though no less irritating for that. It deserves a like favour from me. Besides, someone else waits to speak with thee.'

Jonathan looked around. 'Who?'

'Do not keep the ladies waiting, Mr Bale.'

Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe touched the brim of his hat in a faint salute then strode off quickly. The constable, meanwhile, looked across at the two women who were hovering a short distance away with their hoods drawn up against the drizzle. The older and plainer of the two was, judging by her attire and her subservient manner, a maid of some kind. Though he could only see half of her face, Jonathan did not need to be told who the much younger woman was. The resemblance to Samuel Littlejohn was clear. It had to be his daughter. Hands clasped together and lips pursed, she gazed wistfully at the site. Jonathan strolled across to her.

'Did you wish to speak to me?' he asked politely.

Margaret Littlejohn came out of her reverie to look at him.

'Yes, constable,' she said.

'Well?'

'Are you acquainted with Mr Christopher Redmayne?'

'I am indeed.'

'Do you happen to know where he is?' 'I believe so.'

She reached out impulsively to grasp him by the wrist.

'Please tell me how I can find him.'