The King's Evil

'Mr Redmayne asked me to get in touch if anything came to light which might help him to trace Father's murderer.'

'If you believed those letters were so important, why did you not send them to him? It was not necessary to bring them yourself.'

'I felt that it was.'

'Why?'

'Because I was too ashamed to put them in anyone else's hands.' 'You gave them to Redmayne.'

'That was different.'

His tone hardened. 'When did you arrive in London?'

'Yesterday evening.'

'Yes, but at what time?' he pressed. 'It was afternoon when I called at your house and learned about your flight. I followed you at once but had to stay overnight at an inn.' He moved in towards her. 'Your mother told me you left before dawn. It must have been close to nightfall by the time you reached London.'

'It was.'

'Did you go straight to Redmayne's house?'

'Yes.'

'Where did you spend the night?'

'Does it matter?'

'Very much.'

Thrown on the defensive, Penelope shifted her feet and glanced around. Not wishing to deceive him, she feared the consequences of telling the truth. George Strype was impatient.

'Well?'

'Do not glower at me so, George.'

'I asked you a question.'

'You have no cause to interrogate me like this.'

'Give me a simple answer,' he demanded. 'Or must I get it from your coachman? He will tell me if you stayed in this house or at an inn.'

'Neither,' she said bravely.

Strype was simmering. 'You spent the night under his roof?'

'Mr Redmayne was kind enough to invite me.'

'I am sure that he was!'

'He treated me with the utmost respect,' she said calmly, 'which is more than you are doing at the moment. Jacob prepared a room for me and I spent a comfortable night there.'

'Jacob?'

'Mr Redmayne's servant.' 'And did this Jacob remain on the premises?'

'Of course.'

'How do I know that?'

'Because it is what I tell you, George. Why should I lie?'

Grinding his teeth, he watched her shrewdly for a few moments.

'Where does he live?'

'That is immaterial.'

'Where does Redmayne live?' he demanded. 'I wish to know.'

His manner was so intimidating that Penelope felt obliged to fight back. George Strype was not behaving like the considerate man who had courted her so diligently and indulged her so readily. Stress and anger were revealing another side to his character.

'Why did you not tell me about Father's ship?' she asked.

'What?'

'You must have known that he changed its name.'

'Indeed, I did,' he said, caught unawares by her vehemence. 'But I thought it of no great consequence.'

'Did you know why it was called the Marie Louise?'

'No, Penelope.'

'Is that the truth?'

'Your father was a capricious man. He often changed things.'

'Renaming a ship is much more than caprice,' she asserted. 'He would need a very strong reason to do something like that. Did you never ask him what that reason was?'

'I may have done.'

'Your goods are carried on that vessel. Were you not curious that it suddenly ceased to be The Maid of Kent?'

'Naturally,' he said, recovering his poise. 'But when I questioned your father, he explained it away as a fancy which seized him. He was prone to such things. As for telling you about it, there was no point whatsoever in doing so. Sir Ambrose and I were at one in keeping our business and private lives separate. It was not a case of hiding something from you, my darling. I simply did not think that it would have any relevance to you.'

'When I found those letters, it had the utmost relevance.'

'How was I to know that?'

He saw another question trembling on her lips and preempted it.

'No, Penelope,' he said firmly. 'I had no idea that your father had formed a liaison with this woman. Had I done so, I would have done everything in my power to bring it to an end and to remind Sir Ambrose of his marital vows. I am saddened that you could even think such a thing of me.'

'I needed to hear your denial, that is all.'

'Then you have it.'

George Strype looked so hurt by her doubts about his integrity that she softened towards him immediately. Her eyes moistened and she moved forward into his arms, apologising for her suspicion and telling him how glad she was that they were together again. He held her tight and kissed her gently on the forehead but his resolve was not weakened.

'Now,' he murmured, 'tell me where Redmayne lives.'

Henry Redmayne was in the last place where his brother expected to find him. When Christopher ran him to earth, he was working late at the Navy Office in Seething Lane, a building which had escaped the Great Fire by dint of being upwind of it. Bent over his desk, Henry was inspecting the designs for a new ship and he did not welcome the interruption.

'What do you want, Christopher?' he said peevishly.

'To search that murky vault known as your memory.'

'Your sarcasm is in bad taste.'

'And so are your lies, Henry,' said his brother, confronting him. 'Why did you not tell me that the house I was designing for Sir Ambrose was destined for him and his mistress?'

'Was it?' asked the other, feigning surprise.

'You know quite well that it was. You also knew that he changed the name of his ship to the Marie Louise in honour of her. Yet somehow you failed to mention either of these things to me.'

'I did not think them pertinent.'

'Well, they are extremely pertinent now.'

'Are they?'

'Yes,' said Christopher tartly. 'But let us begin with news which has evidently not reached you. Solomon Creech has been murdered.'

Henry jumped to his feet. 'Creech? When? How?'

'His body was dragged out of the river this morning.'

'Poor devil!'

'It explains why Mr Creech was so terrified when Sir Ambrose was killed. He clearly feared for his own life -