'A wholesome remedy. I tasted it myself.'
'It can cure many ills.'
'But not, alas, the ones that afflict this city.'
Jonathan took an involuntary step back, fearing another broadside about the moral turpitude of the King and his counsellors, but his little companion instead gave a rare smile.
'I will spare thee my opinions this time,' he said. 'Thy warning was well-intentioned, though no less irritating for that. It deserves a like favour from me. Besides, someone else waits to speak with thee.'
Jonathan looked around. 'Who?'
'Do not keep the ladies waiting, Mr Bale.'
Jesus-Died-To-Save-Me Thorpe touched the brim of his hat in a faint salute then strode off quickly. The constable, meanwhile, looked across at the two women who were hovering a short distance away with their hoods drawn up against the drizzle. The older and plainer of the two was, judging by her attire and her subservient manner, a maid of some kind. Though he could only see half of her face, Jonathan did not need to be told who the much younger woman was. The resemblance to Samuel Littlejohn was clear. It had to be his daughter. Hands clasped together and lips pursed, she gazed wistfully at the site. Jonathan strolled across to her.
'Did you wish to speak to me?' he asked politely.
Margaret Littlejohn came out of her reverie to look at him.
'Yes, constable,' she said.
'Well?'
'Are you acquainted with Mr Christopher Redmayne?'
'I am indeed.'
'Do you happen to know where he is?' 'I believe so.'
She reached out impulsively to grasp him by the wrist.
'Please tell me how I can find him.'
Amid the musty books and sheaves of paper in his office, Solomon Creech was bent over his desk, perusing a document with intense concentration. The tentative knock on the door went unheard. When it was repeated, it had marginally more authority. Clicking his tongue, he looked up with a mixture of annoyance and dread.
'Come in,' he snapped.
His clerk stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, keeping his back to it. He gave an apologetic smile.
'Well, Geoffrey?' said the other.
'You have a visitor, Mr Creech.'
'I told you that I would see nobody today.'
'The gentleman would not be turned away.'
'Who is he?'
'Mr Redmayne.'
'Henry Redmayne?'
'His brother.'
Creech gave a mild shudder. 'That is even worse. Tell him that I am far too busy and send him swiftly on his way.' The clerk hesitated. 'About it straight, man! What is keeping you?'
Geoffrey Anger gave a nervous laugh and swallowed hard. Fate had committed a libel when he was named for nobody was less capable of showing anger than the timid clerk. A shy, studious man in his thirties, he peered through spectacles which served as much as a protective screen as an aid to his poor vision. Thinning hair and a pinched face made him look considerably older than his years. He was a conscientious clerk who toiled for long hours without complaint but who was racked with guilt whenever he did anything as violent as swatting a fly off his desk. To expel an unwanted visitor was a Herculean labour to him.
'Go on, Geoffrey!' ordered Creech. 'Do as I tell you.'
'What if the gentleman will not leave?'
The clerk let out a cry of alarm and brought a hand to his throat. He did not relish his task in the least. Mustering all of his resolve, he went back into the outer office to pass on the message to the visitor. It was not well-received. Brushing him aside, Christopher opened the door of Creech's office and went in to confront the lawyer. Geoffrey Anger was left bleating ineffectually in his wake.
Solomon Creech had ire enough for twenty men.
'What is the meaning of this?' he said, leaping to his feet.
'I wish to speak to you, Mr Creech.'
'This is my private domain, sir. You cannot come bursting in here like that. It is tantamount to trespass.'
'I was left with no alternative.' Christopher closed the door on the gaping figure of the clerk. 'I came here for some answers and I will not depart until I have them.'
'I am not available to clients today.'
'I did not come here as a client.'
'I am not ready to see
'Then I will wait until you are.'
The visitor lowered himself on to a chair and folded his arms in a show of determination. Creech lost his temper completely, yelling wildly, waving his hands in the air and threatening to have him evicted. None of his imprecations had the slightest effect on Christopher who simply waited until the storm blew itself out. The lawyer eventually sat down in his chair and frothed with impotent rage.
'I went to Priestfield Place yesterday,' said Christopher at length.
'Indeed, sir?' growled the other.
'Lady Northcott was most unimpressed with your behaviour. She felt that it was your duty to pass on the sad news. You failed her miserably.'
'I was too caught up in events here, Mr Redmayne. In any case, why should I bother to send word when you were intent on travelling to Kent yourself? But,' he said defensively, 'I have not been idle. The body has at last been released by the coroner. I arranged for it to be transported to Priestfield Place so that burial can take place in the family vault. Even as we speak, Sir Ambrose is making his final journey.'
'He leaves many pertinent questions behind him.'
'I am struggling with some of them now, sir,' the lawyer said, pointing to the document before him. 'This is his will. Its provisions are highly complicated and it demands my full attention.'
'So do I,' insisted Christopher.
'Could we not postpone this discussion until tomorrow?'
'No, Mr Creech.'
'Until later on this afternoon, then?'
'Now, sir! I insist.'
'I will not be browbeaten, sir,' warned the other.
'Nor will I.'
Their eyes locked in a tussle but it did not last long. The lawyer soon saw the futility of trying to defy his visitor. Christopher Redmayne was no fearful and reticent clerk who could be brought to heel with a snarl. He was resolute and single-minded.
Creech resigned himself to the inevitable. He became curious.
'How did Lady Northcott receive the news?' he asked.
'Very bravely. In the circumstances.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well,' said Christopher, 'to begin with, she had to endure the shock of learning that her husband had been brutally murdered. That is ordeal enough for any loving wife. But I inadvertently inflicted another wound when I happened to mention the new house. Neither Lady Northcott nor her daughter had the slightest notion that it existed.'
