The King's Evil

Arresting prostitutes was not a duty Jonathan Bale ever enjoyed. He did not mind the violent altercations which often ensued; but the propositions troubled him. Many women whom he apprehended tried to buy their freedom with all manner of favours and it pained him to put any woman in that position, however immoral her life might be. Though he always refused such favours, he was insulted that they should even be offered and was ashamed to be taken as the kind of man who might succumb to them. Besides, he had lived in London long enough to know that brothels could never be entirely eradicated. To him, they were a symbol of the capital's decay and he believed that their numbers had proliferated since the restoration of a Stuart king. He habitually referred to Whitehall Palace as the largest house of resort in the city.

On the long walk to Lincoln's Inn Fields, he had to remind himself of the importance of the work he was undertaking. Something of real value to a murder investigation might be learned. Molly Mandrake's establishment would cater for a much higher standard of clients than those who rutted in the stews of Clerkenwell or caroused in the brothels of Southwark but position and place did not absolve them in his eyes. Whether artisans or aristocrats, men who frequented such places were uniformly corrupt. They deserved arrest just as much as the women who served their carnal appetites.

As he strolled down Fleet Street, he felt a twinge of guilt about lying to his wife. Instead of admitting that he was going to keep vigil outside the abode of the infamous Molly Mandrake, he had told Sarah that he was visiting the riverside taverns again. It puzzled him that he had found such deceit necessary. Fie wondered what he should say to her when he got back home. As he turned right into Chancery Lane, he was grateful that he would only have the role of an observer. The area lay outside city jurisdiction and he would not need to enforce laws which could not be ignored within his own ward.

It was dark when he reached Lincoln's Inn Fields but a half-moon threw enough light to guide his footsteps and to dapple the buildings around him. He did not take long to find the house. It was the largest and most palatial on view, rising to three storeys with extensive gardens at the rear. Jonathan paused when he saw a coach stopping outside the house ahead of him. Two men alighted and went swiftly inside. Torches burned beneath the marble portico and a sunburst of candlelight spilled out when the front door was opened. It was no place to lurk unseen.

Keeping to the shadows, he went instead around the side of the building and chose a vantage point from which he could keep the road under surveillance.

Traffic was fairly steady. Most clients arrived in coaches or on horseback. Only a few approached on foot. They came in pairs or in small groups, all caught up in a mood of anticipatory delight, laughing, joking and, in some cases, very inebriated. Jonathan recognised only one of them by sight - a Justice of the Peace from Queenhithe Ward - but he heard many names being trumpeted in Molly Mandrake's distinctive voice as she welcomed each new visitor to her abode. Skulking in the darkness, the anomaly of his position troubled the constable but he memorised all the names with care. He chose to forget the boastful and obscene comments he overheard from some of those who tumbled out happily into the night when they had sated themselves.

Molly Mandrake's popularity knew no bounds. Well after midnight, fresh clients were arriving to replace those who had already left. Jonathan decided that it was time to vacate his post and return to the sanctity of the marriage bed. Before he could do so, however, he heard footsteps on the cobblestones and withdrew into his hiding-place. Arriving alone, the newcomer ignored the front door and came to the side of the house where Jonathan was waiting in the shadows. The man looked around furtively to make sure that he was unobserved then produced a key to let himself in through the side door.

At first Jonathan only saw him in silhouette. Tall and slim, he carried a walking stick. His movements were lithe and he was clearly on familiar ground. When the door opened, enough light poured out to give Jonathan a brief glimpse of his face. It was an eerie moment. What he saw beneath the broad-brimmed hat was a long, white, tapered, impassive countenance with a flat nose, a narrow mouth, slit eyes, a slight bulge in place of eyebrows and a smooth complexion which had the most unnatural glow to it. At first, he wondered if he was looking at a ghost. It took him a full minute to realise that the visitor's entire face was covered by a mask.