The King's Evil

'Then we must revive him at once.'

Christopher turned to call Jacob but the servant was already at his elbow. Having taken his instructions, he left the house by the kitchen door to see to the needs of the coachman. Christopher perched on a chair and appraised his visitor with admiration.

'You came all this way in one day?' he said.

'Dirk drove the coach. All that I had to do was to sit in the back of it and count the bumps in the road. There were thousands. But, yes,' she said wearily, 'we left before dawn in order to get here by nightfall. Fresh horses were waiting for us in Orpington.'

'Would it not have been more comfortable to break the journey?'

'Infinitely more comfortable, Mr Redmayne. But my business in London would brook no delay.'

'I see.'

'In view of that, I hope that you will overlook what may appear to be somewhat indecent behaviour.'

'Indecent?'

'My father was buried only two days ago,' she said quietly. 'Most people would think it highly improper for his daughter to go haring off to London when she should be grieving in the privacy of her home. You may well take such a view of my conduct yourself.'

'Never!' he affirmed. 'You will hear no word of criticism from me, Miss Northcott. Though we only met once, I judged you to be a person who would do nothing without a good reason. Something has clearly impelled you to come here. I look forward to hearing what it is.'

His warm smile was intended to encourage her but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Penelope was suddenly discomfited and her hands fidgeted in her lap. Evidently, she was having second thoughts about her impulsive action. He tried to come to her rescue.

'I am still on the trail of the killer,' he promised her. 'Would you like to hear what progress we have made?'

'We?'

'A constable named Jonathan Bale is helping me.'

'Do you know the identity of the murderer?'

'Not yet, Miss Northcott. But we get ever closer to him.'

Suppressing any unfavourable details about her father, Christopher gave her a full account of their investigations. Though her face was lined with fatigue, she listened intently throughout. He noticed the blush which came to her cheeks at the mention of the Marie Louise. When his recital was over, she spoke with great feeling.

'You have done so much on our behalf, Mr Redmayne. Mother and I cannot possibly repay you for your sterling efforts.'

'Finding the man responsible will be reward enough.'

'That is what I have been telling myself.'

'What do you mean?'

'Arresting the guilty man takes precedence over everything,' she said solemnly. 'The end justifies the means. Even if those means involve some personal embarrassment.' She leaned forward. 'Mr Redmayne, I will have to rely on your discretion.'

'Do so with complete confidence.'

'May I?'

'Whatever you tell me will remain within these four walls.'

'It must needs spill out beyond them, I fear,' she sighed. 'Let me explain. Before you left Priestfield Place, you asked me to make contact with you if we remembered anything about Father which might be germane to your investigation. You gave me this address.'

'I am glad that I did so.'

She became more hesitant. 'What brought me here today was not something which either of us remembered,' she said slowly, lowering her head, 'but something which I found. Most of Father's private papers are kept in a safe at his lawyer's office but a few were locked away in a desk in the library at Priestfield Place. I prised the lock open to find them.'

'That was very enterprising of you, Miss Northcott.'

'My enterprise led to a rude awakening.'

'In what way?'

'Judge for yourself,' she said, bringing a small bundle of letters out from beneath her cloak. 'I assume that you read French?'

'Tolerably well. I lived in Paris for a while.'

'These were sent to Father by someone called Marie Louise.'

She handed him the letters. Written on scented paper, they were held together by a pink ribbon. Christopher had some idea of what he might find and consideration for Penelope's feelings made him hold back until she gestured for him to read one of the missives. It did not take him long. The first letter was short, explicit and couched in the most loving terms. Marie Louise was patently entranced by Sir Ambrose Northcott. She had a fine hand and a turn of phrase which was subtly erotic.

'Read the next one,' urged Penelope.

'Do I need to, Miss Northcott?'

'An address is given in Paris. And the lady's full name.'

Christopher opened the next letter. Marie Louise Oilier was even more explicit this time, recalling the delights of a week spent together with her lover in Calais and looking forward with enthusiasm to their next rendezvous. In the meantime, she sent an address where she could be reached in Paris.

When he glanced up, Christopher saw the look of intense embarrassment on Penelope's face and his heart went out to her. Coming on top of the news of her father's murder, the discovery of the letters must have been a crushing blow to her and he could only imagine the pain it must now be costing her to show them to a stranger and make her anguish public. He offered them back to her.

'Keep them, Mr Redmayne,' she said. 'Read them all.'

'Later,' he decided, putting them on the table.

'I do not wish to touch them again.'

'That is understandable.'

'It was an effort to refrain from burning them,' she admitted. 'For that is what I did with the portrait of her.'

'Portrait?'

'It was no more than a sketch, attached to one of the letters, but it must have been a good likeness or my father would not have kept it.' Her voice began to falter. 'That is what hurt me most of all, Mr Redmayne.'

'What was?'

'Marie Louise Oilier is ... a young woman. If the sketch is to be believed, she is not much above my own age.'

The full horror hit her once again and she closed her eyes to absorb the blow, biting her lip as she swayed to and fro. Christopher moved across to put a comforting arm around her and her head fell gratefully on to his shoulder. Joy and sadness were intermingled as he enjoyed the brief intimacy and shared her sorrow, inhaling her perfume and consoling her with soft words. When another young woman had been in his arms, fear had consumed him but the embrace felt wholly natural this time. Penelope Northcott was everything that Margaret Littlejohn could never be. She was wanted.

As soon as he felt her rally, he released her and stood back. She thanked him with a nod then dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Christopher resumed his seat, touched that she felt able to express her emotions in front of him. She regarded him seriously.

'Will you be honest with me, sir?' she asked.

'Of course.'

'Were you entirely surprised by what I have disclosed?'

He shook his head. 'No, Miss Northcott.'

'Why not?'