The King's Evil

Chapter Sixteen

Propped up in bed, Henry Redmayne was still not fully awake. There was a fuzziness inside his skull which he could not quite dispel. His cheeks were sallow, his eyes bloodshot, his mouth unpleasantly dry. Breakfast lay on the tray beside him but he could not muster enough enthusiasm to look at it, still less to try to eat it. A late night had left him feeling delicate. He simply wanted to be left alone to recover in privacy. When the door of his bedchamber burst open, therefore, he shrieked in dismay at the figure who came bounding towards him.

'Go away! I am not receiving any visitors today!'

'I am not a visitor,' said Christopher. 'I am your brother.'

'My house is closed to all of my relations. Especially to younger brothers who show neither respect nor consideration. Away with you!'

'Wake up, Henry. This is important.'

'So is the sanctity of my bedchamber.'

He let out a groan as Christopher sat on the edge of the mattress and caused it to tilt. Henry brought a hand up to his pounding head.

'This is pure torture!'

'Listen to me,' said his brother, putting a hand on his arm. 'I am sorry to call on you so early and so unannounced but I was left with no choice. My life is in serious danger.'

'You may be sure of that!' growled Henry. 'If I had a weapon in my hand, you would already be dead.'

'Somebody is planning to do the office for you.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Stop thinking only of yourself,' ordered Christopher, 'and I will tell you. Margaret Littlejohn called at my house last night.'

Henry showed a measure of curiosity for the first time.

'So that is it. You have come to boast of a conquest.'

'Do not be so obtuse!'

'You baulked at the challenge of Sweet Ellen and preferred a more sedate ride on the builder's daughter. How was she?'

'Covered in confusion. Her father brought her.'

'Why?'

'Because she saw the man who means to kill me.'

'You see him before you, Christopher.'

'Stop that!' said the other, shaking him. 'I am serious. Do you want to be put in the position of writing to Father to explain that his younger son was murdered because you were too lazy to help him? I can imagine what the good Dean of Gloucester would say before he closed his purse to you for ever.' Henry came wide awake. 'That is better. Now that I have your attention, let me also share your breakfast for I left before Jacob was able to prepare mine.'

He took an apricot from the platter and popped it in his mouth.

'What is all this to-do about Margaret Littlejohn?' asked Henry.

'She was outside my house yesterday when she noticed a man spying on it. The same person, she believes, whom she saw leaving the cellar at the building site around the time that Sir Ambrose was killed. Margaret was eager to warn me but, for reasons of her own, decided against it. Fortunately for me, Nan has scruples.'

'Nan?'

'Her maidservant.'

'Where does she enter the story?'

'She was waiting near my house with her mistress.'

'Why?'

'Let us not go into that,' said Christopher wearily. 'The fact of the matter is that Nan sensed I might be in peril and would not hold the discovery back. She spoke to Samuel Littlejohn.'

'Was he lurking in Fetter Lane as well?'

'Of course not.'

'Has the whole Littlejohn household congregated there?'

'No,' said Christopher, 'and thanks to yesterday's episode, Margaret will never be allowed near me again. Her father was enraged that she had disobeyed him and that she had not warned me about the man watching my house. He made her tell me everything that she saw. I have no doubt that the man in question murdered both Sir Ambrose and Solomon Creech.'

'What makes you so certain?'

Christopher told him. He described the sighting of the man at Molly Mandrake's establishment and the appearance of his mask aboard the Marie Louise. For the first time, he also gave his brother a full account of his visit to Paris and of the ensuing attempt on his life. Even Henry's befuddled brain acknowledged the degree of peril faced by Christopher.

'What can I do to help?' he asked.

'That is what I came to tell you. Have you studied the list?'

'List?'

'The one I gave you yesterday,' said Christopher, shaking him again. 'The one that Jonathan Bale compiled for me.'

'Oh, that list,' said Henry loftily. 'Yes, I studied it closely. When I saw some of those names, I could not forbear laughing. No wonder Moll was so pleased to see me entering her portals once more.'

'What do you mean?'

'She would have had lean pickings from the clients on that list. Half of them are too old to manage anything more energetic in bed than a mild fart. Sir Patrick Compton is so fat that he has not actually seen his organ for several years, let alone manoeuvred it into action. Lord Halgrave is about as virile as a dead mongoose. And there was, I am told, a cruel prescience in the christening of Sir Roger Shorthorn.' 'Did you do what I asked you?'

'Yes, Christopher. I added names of others I have seen there.'

'And did you arrange them as I requested?'

'In the exact order you specified.'

'Excellent fellow!'

'Does that mean I can go back to sleep again?'

'No, Henry,' said Christopher, selecting another morsel from the platter. 'You must get up immediately and send for your barber. Then you must put on your finest apparel. We must have you looking at your best for a royal audience.'

His brother's jaw dropped and the bloodshot eyes goggled.

'Royal audience?'

'Yes,' said Christopher. 'You must introduce me to the King.'