The King's Evil (20 page)

The
ceremony was held at the Banqueting House. Since it was his first visit there,
Christopher Redmayne took the opportunity to study what was, architecturally,
the most striking part of Whitehall Place. He found it pure joy to view the
work of Inigo Jones at such close quarters. Faced with Portland stone and built
at a cost of over fifteen thousands pounds, the Banqueting House was the first
exclusively Renaissance building in the capital and, in the opinion of most
observers, still by far the best. The scale of the interior filled Christopher
with awe and his eyes took in every lush detail. He spent so much time gazing
up at the ceiling, adorned by a Rubens painting in celebration of the benefits
of wise rule, that his neck began to ache. Sheer scale once again hypnotised
him.

'Look
at the size of those figures,' he urged, pointing upwards.

'I
have seen them before,' said his brother airily.

'The
cherubs must be almost ten feet high.'

'I
prefer my cherubs lying horizontally on a bed.'

'Henry!'

'Pay
attention. I brought you here to watch the ceremony and not to goggle at the
ceiling like some country bumpkin on his first visit to London.' A loud murmur
of interest went up. 'Ah, here is the King.'

Preceded
by two priests in their vestments, Charles II entered at the head of a stately
procession and made his way up the steps of a small dais to take his seat on
the throne. Christopher was at the rear of the hall but, even from that
distance, he thought that the King cut an impressive figure. Charles was a
tall, dignified man with long, black, curly, shining hair and a black
moustache. A leader of fashion, he was dressed in the French style with a long
scarlet vest beneath his coat and black shoes offset by scarlet bows. It was
the first time that Christopher had ever seen him in person and he was
irresistibly reminded of the reward placard which he saw on display after the
Battle of Worcester in 1651 and which described the royal fugitive as 'a tall,
black man upwards of two yards high'.

There
was a swarthiness about the kingly countenance which gave him a slightly
foreign air but his bearing was that of a Stuart monarch with a firm belief in
the Divine Right of his rule and in the importance of the ceremony in which he
was to officiate. The face was striking rather than handsome and it wore such a
grave expression that Christopher found it difficult to reconcile the man whom
he saw before him with the rampant satyr of common report. A royalist by
instinct, he felt a surge of pride in his monarch and admired the graceful ease
with which he presided over the assembly.

When
the priests had read from the Book of Common Prayer, the King's surgeons
brought in the diseased supplicants to present them to him. There were almost
five hundred of them in all and they gave off a communal odour of sickness.
Some limped, some hobbled, some had to be carried into the royal presence. Most
were afflicted with scrofula, the King's Evil, which blighted them with swollen
glands and unsightly skin conditions. More advanced cases of the disease could
lead to blindness and other frightening disabilities. As they shuffled in
strict order towards the dais, the Gospel was read by one of the priests and
the stirring words of St Mark echoed through the chamber.

'Afterward
he appeared unto the eleven as they sat at meat, and upbraided them with their
unbelief and hardness of heart, because they believed not them which had seen
him after he was risen. And he said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and
preach the gospel to every creature. He that believeth, and is baptised, shall
be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned. And these signs shall
follow them that believe; in my name shall they cast out devils, they shall
speak with new tongues. They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any
deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.'

He
raised his head to signal the first diseased man forward.

'They
shall lay their hands on the sick, and they shall recover.'

As
the words were spoken, the King laid both hands fearlessly upon the kneeling
supplicant before him then waited for a second person to take his place. Each
time a different man, woman or child knelt in hope before him, the King's Touch
was accompanied by the same verse from the Gospel.

'They
shall lay their hands on the sick and they shall recover.'

Christopher
found the whole event profoundly moving. Touched by the simple faith of those
who waited so patiently in line, he was full of admiration for the way in which
the King conducted himself. Charles did not shrink from even the most repulsive
cases. Each one of them was treated with gentle consideration as they knelt to
receive the Touch which might yet redeem them from the misery of their illness.
When the long queue of people had eventually filed past, the ceremony was only
half over. More prayers were offered then a second reading was taken from the
Gospel of St John.

'In
the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him
_;
and without him was not anything made that was made.'

Christopher
knew the words by heart and chanted them under his breath in unison with the
speaker. Reared in the shadow of Gloucester Cathedral and fed daily on the
Gospels, he found them endlessly inspiring though he sensed that his brother,
Henry, who was also mouthing the verses beside him, was doing so out of force
of habit rather than from any inner conviction.

'That
was the true light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.'

The
words were repeated each time one of the supplicants knelt for the second time
before the King. Showing no signs of fatigue or loss of dignity, Charles hung
an azure ribbon around the necks of all those whom he had touched. From the
ribbon was suspended a gold medallion stamped with his image. Christopher was
enthralled.

'What
is he giving them, Henry?' he whispered.

'A
gold angel.'

'Such
a generous gift!'

'Too
generous,' said the other sharply. 'When the Commons added up the Crown's
expenses last year, they found that five thousand pounds had been spent in
angel-gold. Five thousand, mark you! Why give them gold, when base metal would
suffice? They have been cured by the King's Touch. That should be reward
enough.'

'And
have they been truly cured?'

'Some
of them.'

'What
of the others?'

'They
lack faith,' said Henry irritably. 'The fault is never in the King but in the
wretch who kneels before him. Everything depends on having enough faith in His
Majesty.'

'So
I see.'

'Let
us steal away, Christopher. The smell offends me.'

'But
I want to watch the whole ceremony.'

'You
have seen all that matters. I brought you here to meet some of those enemies of
Sir Ambrose Northcott. They will come out of their holes when the King returns
to court. We must be there to study them.'

'You
are right, Henry. But I am most grateful to you for bringing me here. It was an
extraordinary event. The only surprise is that it takes place in the Banqueting
House.'

'Where
else?'

'Anywhere
but here, I fancy,' opined Christopher. 'This building holds such terrible
memories for the King. It was from here that his father stepped out before that
bloodthirsty crowd to have his royal head struck from his body. The King must
be highly aware of that. It shows great courage on his part to come here for
the sake of his subjects' health and to behave with such equanimity.'

'I
prefer the King in more humorous vein.'

'You
might not do so if you suffered from scrofula.'

'Enough
of disease!' said Henry, ushering him out. 'And enough of the execution of a
lawful King! What concerns us now is the murder of Sir Ambrose Northcott.
Adjourn to Court with me and I will introduce you to some of those politicians
who have delighted in his death. Sound them out for yourself, Christopher. But
beware of their wiles.'

'I
am used to dealing with cunning minds.'

'From
whom did you learn that skill?'

'From
you, Henry.'

'Me?'

'Where
could I find a better tutor?' said his brother with a grin. 'You are the most
devious and artful man in the whole of London. You are so steeped in craft and
so wedded to guile that even the King's Touch could not cure you.'

The
ship lay at anchor in the middle of the Thames but there was much activity
abroad. Watching from his vantage point on the wharf, Jonathan Bale realised
that the
Marie Louise
was about to sail on the evening tide. She was a three-masted merchant vessel
with the kind of sleek lines and impressive fittings which would ordinarily
have held his attention for hours but he had no leisure to expend on such an
exercise. Built for speed, she had top-gallant sails for the main and fore
masts, an unusual addition to the standard rig of a middling craft. She was
clearly able to defend herself and Jonathan counted the number of cannon along
the starboard side, wondering why a ship that was designed to carry cargo
needed such artillery. When the sails were unfurled and the crew weighed
anchor, Jonathan reached forward involuntarily as if trying to hold her back,
but it was a vain gesture. The
Marie Louise
had other plans. It was only a
matter of time before her canvas caught the first smack of wind and she creaked
into motion.

By
the time that Christopher Redmayne arrived, the vessel was already a hundred
yards downriver. The newcomer was alarmed.

'Has
she set sail already?'

'I
fear so, Mr Redmayne.'

'Did
you manage to get aboard her?'

'Alas,
no,' said Jonathan, turning to him. 'The captain would not let me aboard nor
come ashore so that I could question him here. I was told that I would need the
written permission of Mr Creech before I would be allowed on the
Marie Louise.'

'Did
you seek such permission?'

'Three
or four times, sir. But the lawyer was never at his office. His clerk told me
that he was busy elsewhere and that I had to come back.'

'Solomon
Creech is not busy, Mr Bale. He is hiding.'

'From
what?'

'From
any enquiries which relate to Sir Ambrose Northcott,' said Christopher
resignedly. 'I have called on him myself a number of times in the past few days
and collected the same annoying excuses from that clerk of his. Still,' he
said, brightening, 'a great deal has happened since we last met and I have much
to tell you. Judging from your message, you have much to tell me as well.'

'Yes,
sir,' said Jonathan. 'Thank you for coming so promptly. I am sorry you did not
get here in time to take a proper look at the
Marie Louise.
She was a handsome craft, a credit to those who built her.'

'Your
letter mentioned that the ship changed its name. Why?'

'I
hoped to find out by talking to the captain.'

Jonathan
gave him a detailed account of his researches along the wharves and in the
taverns frequented by sailors. Christopher took especial note of the man who
purported to seek the King's Touch to rid himself of his boils. It was his cue
to relate his own movements. He talked excitedly about the ceremony at the
Banqueting House but it elicited only a cynical scowl from his companion. When
Christopher talked about meeting certain political figures, however, Jonathan
showed real interest.

'Did
any of them have a motive to murder Sir Ambrose?'

'Each
and every one of them.'

'Was
there some sort of conspiracy?'

'Unhappily,
yes,' sighed the other. 'Once they realised why I was asking so many questions,
they closed ranks and refused to say any more. And the worst of it is that
Solomon Creech belongs to this conspiracy. The one person to whom we should be
able to turn for enlightenment has hidden behind a wall of silence.'

'Where
does he live?'

'Close
by his office but he is not at home. I have been there.'

'What
do we do, sir?'

'Wait
until he appears,' decided Christopher. 'I'll repair to his office first thing
in the morning and sit there all day, if need be. Mr Creech must make contact
with his clerk at some stage or he will not be able to conduct any business.'

'Ask
him about the destination of the
Marie Louise.'

'It
is one of a hundred questions I have for him.'

'That
ship holds many secrets, I am sure of it.'

'We
need to plumb them somehow.' They watched the vessel slowly shrinking to
invisibility in the distance; then

Christopher
remembered something. 'But I have a question for you as well, Mr Bale.'

'Oh?'

'Is
the name of Mrs Mandrake familiar to you?'

'Do
you speak of Molly Mandrake?'

'Yes.
Do you know her?'

'Better
than I would wish to, sir. I once arrested the lady.'

'I
think I can guess why.'

'She
had a house in my ward,' he explained. 'One of three which she owned in the
city. The last I heard of her, she had moved to Lincoln's Inn Fields to be
outside the city jurisdiction.' His gaze narrowed. 'What is your interest in
the lady, sir?'

'It
is more a case of my brother's interest,' admitted Christopher. 'I forced him
to tell me how he had first met Sir Ambrose. Apparently, it was in an
establishment run by this Mrs Mandrake. Henry spoke well of her. He has a high
opinion of the young ladies whom she employs.'

Jonathan
was brusque. 'As to that, sir, I could not say. I have no knowledge of such
creatures nor do I wish to. What I can tell you is that Molly Mandrake is very
proficient at her trade. Heavy fines and a spell in prison have not deterred
her. She has made a veritable fortune from the likes of Sir Ambrose Northcott
and your brother.'

'It
pains me to link the name of Redmayne with hers.'

Jonathan
made no comment but his expression was eloquent. He still could not bring
himself to regard Christopher as a friend but he no longer treated him with
such suspicion. The latter's honesty about the shortcomings of Henry Redmayne
was quite disarming. Of the two brothers, the younger was the only one whom
Jonathan would ever find at all tolerable but he was still not at ease in his
company. For his part, Christopher was warming to the constable.

'I
am glad that we are working in harness,' he said.

Jonathan
was guarded. 'Are you, sir?'

'It
is too big an assignment for one person. Together we have made big strides
forward. The beauty of it is that each of us can visit places which are closed
to the other.'

'Can
we?'

'Yes,
Mr Bale. While you trawl the riverside taverns, I mix with men of consequence
at Whitehall Palace. Between us, we are able to cover the whole of London
society from top to bottom.'

'Which
is which?' asked Jonathan with a sardonic smile.

Christopher
laughed. 'A fair comment,' he conceded. 'But tell me more about this Mrs
Mandrake.'

'Your
brother knows the lady more intimately than I, sir.'

'That
is precisely why he was so defensive about her. But he did confess that Sir
Ambrose was once a regular client of hers. Why?'

'Do
you really need to ask?'

'There
are many houses of resort available. What is so special about hers? What did
Molly Mandrake offer that made her establishment so popular with men like Sir
Ambrose? We must look further into it, Mr Bale. Talk to the lady and we may
learn something of interest about Sir Ambrose Northcott.'

'I
leave that office to you, sir. It is not one which I would relish.'

'What
sort of a creature is she?'

'Molly
Mandrake? A cheerful sinner.'

'Henry
called her one of the seven wonders of the world.'

'I
am glad that he is not my brother.'

Christopher
laughed again then made plans to meet the constable on the following day.
Taking his leave, he mounted his horse and rode home thoughtfully to Fetter
Lane, trying to sift through all the new information which he had just
acquired.

Jacob
had a meal waiting for him and Christopher ate it at the kitchen table, still
deep in cogitation. He did not hear the rumbling of a coach outside the house
nor the knock on his front door but Jacob's voice was as clear as a bell.

'Please
come in,' he said politely. 'I will call Mr Redmayne.'

The
words cut through Christopher's reverie and made him sit up in mild alarm as he
sensed who the unexpected visitor might be. When the servant came into the
kitchen, he gave an apologetic smile.

'A
young lady has called to see you, sir,' he announced.

'I
told you not to let Miss Littlejohn in!' hissed Christopher. 'I am not in a
mood to see anybody right now, least of all her.'

'Miss
Littlejohn is not the visitor in question, sir.'

'Oh?
Then who is?'

Jacob
made him wait then savoured his master's surprise.

'Miss
Penelope Northcott.'