The King's Evil

'Why on earth did you not tell me about this, Penelope!' he yelled.

'Because you would have obstructed me.'

'And quite rightly so. You had no business to come here.'

'I believed that I did. Mother agreed with me.'

'Lady Northcott was distraught over your father's death. When she urged you to come to London, she did not know what she was doing.'

'Yes, she did, George.'

'It was madness, to go driving off like that.'

'We both felt that it was imperative.'

'You should have discussed it with me first.'

'Why?'

'Because I am your fiancée! I have certain rights.'

'You do not have the right to stop me coming here.'

'I would have persuaded you of the folly of your action.'

'It was not folly. Those letters were vital evidence. I had to put them into Mr Redmayne's hands as soon as possible.'

'That was the last thing you should have done, Penelope.'

George Strype was puce with rage. Having ridden to London in pursuit of her, he had found Penelope at the Westminster house. It irked him that she was showing no regrets about her intemperate action. Making an effort to control his temper, he guided her across to a settle and sat beside her on it. He took her hand to give it a conciliatory kiss.

'Listen to me,' he said softly. 'When you accepted my proposal of marriage, we agreed that there would be no deception between us. We would be completely open with each other. Do you remember that?'

'Yes, George.'

'Then why have you gone back on that promise?'

'I was forced to,' she said.

'Why?'

'Because I was afraid of you.'

'Afraid? Of the man who loves you?' He stroked her hand. 'What afflicts you, Penelope? You need never be afraid of me.'

'You would have stopped me coming to London.'

'Yes,' he argued, 'but for your own good. Do you not see that? When you found those letters, it must have been a dreadful shock for you. I can understand that. But your father is dead now. His ugly secret belongs in the grave with him. The last thing you should have done was to expose it to the public gaze.'

'I merely showed the letters to Mr Redmayne.'

'It amounts to the same thing.'

'No, George. I can trust him to be discreet.'

'He is not family. I am - or soon will be. And my instinct is to close ranks in a case like this. In betraying Lady Northcott, your father made an appalling mistake. I admit that. But,' he insisted, squeezing her hand, 'that mistake should be buried in the past where it belongs. Think of the shame it might otherwise cause.'

'I was prepared to withstand that shame.'

'Well, I am not.'

'Mother and I discussed it.' 'Without me.'

'We put our faith in Mr Redmayne.'

'But I do not!' he roared, leaping to his feet. 'Christopher Redmayne has no cause to poke his nose into this. What is he? An architect, that is all. A man whose task is to design houses. Why does he presume to set himself up as an officer of the law? We want no bungling amateur.'

'He is trying to discover my father's murderer and needs all the help he can get.'

'Not from me!'

'How else can the culprit be arrested?'

'This investigation should be left to the proper authorities.'

'Mr Redmayne is working with a constable.'

'Dear God!' wailed Strype. 'Another pair of eyes peering into our private affairs! How many more people will see those letters, Penelope? You might as well have taken them to a printer and had copies made to be sold at every street corner!'

'Why are you so concerned, George?'

'Someone has to protect your father's reputation.'

'What reputation?'

'The one that the world sees.' He took her by the shoulders. 'What your father did was unforgivable, Penelope. In our eyes, his reputation has been badly tarnished. But we do not need to spread his peccadilloes abroad. We keep them hidden from public gaze. Everyone then benefits. Let me be candid,' he told her seriously. 'I want to marry into an unblemished family, not one which is pointed at and sniggered over. Do you understand me?'

'Only too well, George.'

'We have to exercise common sense.'

'Is it common sense to suppress evidence in a murder inquiry?'

'The family name must always come first.'

'You mean that George Strype must always come first,' she said angrily, brushing his hands away as she got up. 'It is disgraceful! You are less worried about catching a man who killed my father than you are about your own position here.'

'Our own position, Penelope. Do you want to begin a marriage with this kind of scandal sticking to us? No, of course not. You have too much pride. Too much self- respect.' He paced the room in thought. 'I must find a way to retrieve the situation in which you and your mother have so foolishly landed us.' He snapped his fingers. 'The first thing is to get those letters back.'

'But I gave them to Mr Redmayne.'

'Mistakenly.'

'He said that they were vital clues.'

'I am not interested in what Mr Redmayne said. It is high time that someone put him in his place. His duty was done when he brought the news of Sir Ambrose's death. We do not need him any more.'

'I do,' she said quietly.

He turned to stare at her. 'What did you say?'

'I trust Mr Redmayne.'

'I heard more than trust in your voice, Penelope.'

'Did you?'

'Is that the way the wind blows?' he asked with suspicion. 'Can you have developed an interest in the fellow on so slight an acquaintance?'

'I look upon him as a friend.'

'How did you know where to find this friend?'

'He gave me his address when he came to Priestfield Place.'

'Did he, indeed?'

'Mr Redmayne asked me to get in touch if anything came to light which might help him to trace Father's murderer.'

'If you believed those letters were so important, why did you not send them to him? It was not necessary to bring them yourself.'

'I felt that it was.'

'Why?'

'Because I was too ashamed to put them in anyone else's hands.' 'You gave them to Redmayne.'

'That was different.'

His tone hardened. 'When did you arrive in London?'

'Yesterday evening.'

'Yes, but at what time?' he pressed. 'It was afternoon when I called at your house and learned about your flight. I followed you at once but had to stay overnight at an inn.' He moved in towards her. 'Your mother told me you left before dawn. It must have been close to nightfall by the time you reached London.'

'It was.'

'Did you go straight to Redmayne's house?'

'Yes.'

'Where did you spend the night?'

'Does it matter?'

'Very much.'

Thrown on the defensive, Penelope shifted her feet and glanced around. Not wishing to deceive him, she feared the consequences of telling the truth. George Strype was impatient.

'Well?'

'Do not glower at me so, George.'

'I asked you a question.'

'You have no cause to interrogate me like this.'

'Give me a simple answer,' he demanded. 'Or must I get it from your coachman? He will tell me if you stayed in this house or at an inn.'

'Neither,' she said bravely.

Strype was simmering. 'You spent the night under his roof?'

'Mr Redmayne was kind enough to invite me.'

'I am sure that he was!'

'He treated me with the utmost respect,' she said calmly, 'which is more than you are doing at the moment. Jacob prepared a room for me and I spent a comfortable night there.'

'Jacob?'

'Mr Redmayne's servant.' 'And did this Jacob remain on the premises?'

'Of course.'

'How do I know that?'

'Because it is what I tell you, George. Why should I lie?'

Grinding his teeth, he watched her shrewdly for a few moments.

'Where does he live?'

'That is immaterial.'

'Where does Redmayne live?' he demanded. 'I wish to know.'

His manner was so intimidating that Penelope felt obliged to fight back. George Strype was not behaving like the considerate man who had courted her so diligently and indulged her so readily. Stress and anger were revealing another side to his character.

'Why did you not tell me about Father's ship?' she asked.

'What?'

'You must have known that he changed its name.'

'Indeed, I did,' he said, caught unawares by her vehemence. 'But I thought it of no great consequence.'

'Did you know why it was called the Marie Louise?'

'No, Penelope.'

'Is that the truth?'

'Your father was a capricious man. He often changed things.'

'Renaming a ship is much more than caprice,' she asserted. 'He would need a very strong reason to do something like that. Did you never ask him what that reason was?'

'I may have done.'

'Your goods are carried on that vessel. Were you not curious that it suddenly ceased to be The Maid of Kent?'

'Naturally,' he said, recovering his poise. 'But when I questioned your father, he explained it away as a fancy which seized him. He was prone to such things. As for telling you about it, there was no point whatsoever in doing so. Sir Ambrose and I were at one in keeping our business and private lives separate. It was not a case of hiding something from you, my darling. I simply did not think that it would have any relevance to you.'

'When I found those letters, it had the utmost relevance.'

'How was I to know that?'

He saw another question trembling on her lips and preempted it.

'No, Penelope,' he said firmly. 'I had no idea that your father had formed a liaison with this woman. Had I done so, I would have done everything in my power to bring it to an end and to remind Sir Ambrose of his marital vows. I am saddened that you could even think such a thing of me.'

'I needed to hear your denial, that is all.'

'Then you have it.'

George Strype looked so hurt by her doubts about his integrity that she softened towards him immediately. Her eyes moistened and she moved forward into his arms, apologising for her suspicion and telling him how glad she was that they were together again. He held her tight and kissed her gently on the forehead but his resolve was not weakened.

'Now,' he murmured, 'tell me where Redmayne lives.'