The King's Evil

The visit of Penelope Northcott left him in a state of mild exhilaration for the rest of the day. In bringing the rosary beads and the missal, she had given him some crucial guidance but it was the news of her broken engagement which really stirred him. It was not simply that it freed her from what he felt was an unfortunate match; it also removed any scruples Christopher had about confronting a beloved fiancée. He could now avenge himself on George Strype with a clear conscience though that pleasure had to take its turn behind other priorities. Having spent the morning and much of the afternoon with Penelope, he had called on his brother early that evening to press him into service again.

Back in Fetter Lane once more, he was able to review the new facts which had come to light and to reflect on the enchanting character of Penelope Northcott. Other daughters in her position would have been so paralysed by grief at the death of their father that they would have felt unable to move, let alone begin a systematic search of his private papers. Anyone else learning such an unpleasant secret about a parent they respected would have kept it hidden from view out of a sense of shame but she overcame her mortification to bring the letters to Christopher. Her trust in him was inspiring. It made him redouble his efforts to catch the man who killed both Sir Ambrose Northcott and, in all probability, his hapless lawyer.

Seated in the parlour, Christopher went through the sequence of events once again, fitting each piece of evidence neatly together. A fierce knocking at his door interrupted his cogitations and sounded an alarm bell. Waving Jacob away, Christopher reached for his sword and went to answer the door himself. If it was an enraged George Strype, he would be more than ready for him. Determined to support his master, Jacob came up behind him with a candelabrum in one hand and a stick in the other. When Christopher opened the door, however, he found himself staring at the most unlikely caller.

Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe delivered his message bluntly.

'Ye are to come at once, Mr Redmayne!'

'Where to?'

'Addle Hill. Mr Bale is in need of you.'

'Why?' asked Christopher anxiously, knowing that nothing short of an emergency would make the constable summon him. 'Is he injured?'

'He does not have breath enough to tell us,' said Thorpe. 'When he got back home, he was like a drowned rat. It was Mrs Bale who sent me.'

'I will come immediately,' said Christopher, then he looked more closely at the messenger. 'Wait, sir. Have I not seen you before? Yes,' he recalled, taking the candelabrum from Jacob to hold it closer to his visitor's face. 'You were locked in the pillory. Mr Thorpe, is it not?'

'It is, sir. Neighbour to Mr Bale. He was kind to me when I was unjustly pilloried. I am glad to be able to help him in return. But hurry, Mr Redmayne. Ye keep the poor man waiting.'

Having delivered his message, Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe vanished into the darkness. Jacob brought a lantern and helped his master to saddle the horse. Within minutes, Christopher was cantering in the direction of Baynard's Castle Ward, wondering what had happened to the constable and feeling guilty in case he had endangered the man's life with the orders he had given him. When he reached the house, he leaped from the saddle and was still tethering the animal when Sarah Bale came bustling out to greet him.

'Thank goodness you have come, Mr Redmayne!' she said.

'What is amiss?'

'Jonathan has been in the river. He would not tell me why. You are the only person who can get the truth out of him.' She ushered him into the house. 'Excuse his rudeness. He did not want me to send for you.'

Christopher soon saw why. When he went into the parlour, the constable was lying in a chair, wrapped in a blanket. His hair was still wet, his face pale and his fatigue apparent. Jonathan Bale was far too proud a man to let anyone but his wife see him in such a condition and he glared inhospitably at his visitor before shooting Sarah a look of reproach. She gave him a smile and backed out of the room.

'What are you doing here, sir?' asked Jonathan grumpily.

'Your neighbour, the quarrelsome Quaker, urged me to come.'

'Mr Thorpe?'

'The same. A case of Jesus-Came-To-Call-Me. Here I am.'

'There was no need. As soon as I had dried myself off, I intended to come straight to you. I am recovered now.'

'Mrs Bale obviously thought otherwise,' said Christopher, 'and I prefer to rely on her opinion. Now, tell me what happened. You have been swimming on the river, I hear.'

'Not from choice. I got aboard the Marie Louise.'

'How?'

'Under cover of darkness.'

Jonathan told his tale and mellowed as Christopher interjected compliments and congratulations. The discovery of the mask was seen as a critical piece of evidence. Jonathan felt certain that it was the one worn by the nocturnal visitor to the house in Lincoln's Inn Fields.

'Then he may well be the killer,' decided Christopher. 'He has been placed at Mrs Mandrake's house, on the Marie Louise and, I suspect, in the cellar where Sir Ambrose met his death. He links all three locations.'

'Since he has access to the ship, he must have been aboard when Solomon Creech visited the vessel. I guess that is where Mr Creech was killed.'

'But the body was nowhere near where the Marie Louise had been anchored. It was found some way downriver.'

'Currents, sir,' said Jonathan ruefully. 'They carried him along. I have known bodies coming to the surface a mile from where they were dumped in the water.' He gave a shiver. 'I was almost one of them.'

'Did you swim to the bank?' 'No, Mr Redmayne. I went under the hull of the fishing smack nearby and hid behind that for a long time. When I was sure they had stopped looking for me, I swam back to retrieve my boat.' He pulled the blanket around him. 'It is not easy to row when you are soaking wet.'

'Your sacrifice was worthwhile, Mr Bale. You may have found the most valuable clue of all. When is she due to sail?'

'Within a few days.'

'Then we must act quickly.'

'To do what, sir?'

'Bait the trap.'

'I do not understand.'

'You will, my friend,' said Christopher. 'But first let me tell you what I learned today. I had another visit from Sir Ambrose's daughter. She found something which helps to confirm what my visit to Paris suggested.'

'And what is that?'

'The real worm in the bud here is religion.'

Jonathan listened with fascination as the architect constructed his argument with the same punctiliousness he would give to the design of a house. It took on definition and solidity before his admiring eyes. Though still incomplete, the structure began to look impressively sound. The constable gave a grudging smile.

'You have put much thought into this, sir,' he observed.

'It is important to me, Mr Bale.'

'And to me,' the other reminded him. 'A wonder that it is not more important to Mr Strype. You might think that he would have a stronger reason than any to want the murderer caught. When Sir Ambrose was killed, Mr Strype lost a friend, a business partner and a future father- in-law.'

'I am sure that he desires the arrest and conviction of this man as much as anyone,' said Christopher blandly. 'What upsets Mr Strype is the idea that I might be the person to catch the villain.'

'Is that why he had you attacked the other night?'

Christopher thought of Penelope and a smile ignited his face.

'No, Mr Bale. That was over something else.'