was fleetingly reminded of Marie Louise Oilier. While his companion interrogated him gently, Christopher saw the manservant pour more wine liberally into his goblet. Sweet Ellen probed on. When she learned Christopher's name, she giggled and cast an affectionate glance across at his brother.
'Why have we not seen you here before?' she asked.
'It was a terrible oversight on my part.'
'I hope that you will visit us again often.'
'I have every intention of doing so,' he lied.
'Are you enjoying our company?'
'Very much.'
'Do you work at the Navy Office with your brother?'
'No, Ellen.'
'What is your profession?'
'I am an architect.'
'Ah!' She was impressed. 'You design houses and churches?'
'Whatever I am commissioned to do.'
'Then you have an eye for fine buildings,' she said, putting a hand on his wrist. 'What do you think of this house, Mr Redmayne?'
'Most elegant. I would love to see more of it.'
'Then you shall, sir.'
With a little laugh, she got to her feet and led him across the room, collecting an approving nod from Molly Mandrake, who was arm in arm with the latest arrival. Sweet Ellen flitted along on her toes and showed Christopher all the rooms on the ground floor with the exception of the kitchen. She paused at the bottom of the staircase and simpered.
'Would you like to see where I sleep?'
'Very much.'
'Then I will show you.'
As she took him upstairs, she squeezed his hand and rubbed her naked shoulder softly against him. He took a long sip of his wine.
'How long have you been in the house, Ellen?'
'Long enough, sir.'
She simpered again and guided him along the landing. Some of the bedchambers were clearly occupied and telltale noises came through the doors. Raucous laughter from inside one was followed by urgent grunts from inside the next. Sweet Ellen turned down a corridor then opened the door at the end of it. Christopher was swept into a small, neat room which was dominated by a four-poster and lit by a candelabrum. A heady perfume invaded his nostrils. When the door was shut behind them, he heard the key turned in the lock.
'Do you like my little apartment, sir?' she asked coyly.
'It is perfect.'
'Are you glad that your brother brought you here tonight?'
'Yes,' he said, 'but it was a friend who recommended the house.'
'A friend?'
'Monsieur Charentin. Do you know Jean-Paul?'
'Oh, yes, of course. I always enjoy it when he visits us. Jean-Paul is a most generous man. But tell me more about yourself, Mr Redmayne,' she said, easing him down on a chair. 'You are an architect, you say. A house in London is always expensive to build. You must work for some very wealthy men.'
'When I have the opportunity.'
'Where do you meet them?'
'Chiefly in the coffee houses.'
'And at Court, perhaps?' she enquired.
'Naturally,' he said. 'Henry takes me there.'
Her face ignited. 'Have you ever met His Majesty?'
'Well, yes. In a manner of speaking.'
'Tell me about him.'
Sweet Ellen seemed inordinately interested in the King and his circle and her questions poured out. Christopher obliged her with ready answers, giving the impression that he was a seasoned courtier with access to the royal ear. He also took care to find out as much as he could about the running of the establishment. As they talked, Sweet Ellen slipped behind a screen in the corner of the room and spoke from behind it. Christopher was so caught up in their conversation that he did not realise what she was doing. When she reappeared wearing nothing but a petticoat, he almost choked on the wine he had just drunk.
She rushed forward solicitously to pat him on the back.
'Oh, you poor man!' she soothed. 'Are you all right, sir?'
'No,' he said, seeing the polite way to escape. 'I am unwell.'
'Let me nurse you. Come and lie on the bed.'
'Not now, Ellen. I fear I shall disgrace myself.'
He clutched his stomach with both hands and went off into such a frenzy of coughing that she backed away from him. Taking some coins from his purse, he tossed them on the bed, gestured his apologies then unlocked the door to leave. When he got downstairs, he made his way to the side door so that he could slip away unobtrusively. Christopher was glad that he had come on foot. A bracing walk would help to clear his head and allow him to assimilate all that he had learned from Sweet Ellen. She had been a most helpful tutor but there was a critical point beyond which he could not allow her lesson to go. He tried to work out why she had reminded him of Marie Louise Oilier.
A busy mind and a long stride combined to get him back to Fetter Lane before he realised it and he was astonished when his house came into sight. He got no closer to it. Two figures suddenly emerged from the shadows to attack him with cudgels. Before he could defend himself, he was felled by a blow to the head then beaten and kicked by both men. Curling into a ball, he brought his arms up over his head to ward off the worst of the attack but it ceased as abruptly as it had started. Someone came running over the cobbles to hurl one man aside and to deprive the second of his cudgel. Before he could inflict injury on them, a peremptory voice came out of the darkness.
'Leave him be! We have taught him a lesson!'
The two attackers ran gratefully from the scene and their master went after them on his horse. Jonathan Bale watched them go then reached down to help Christopher up from the ground.
'Are you hurt badly, sir?'
'No,' said Christopher, still slightly dazed. 'But my pride is.'
'I warned you that you needed a bodyguard. It is just as well that I followed you from Lincoln's Inn Fields or you might be lying dead.'
'No, Mr Bale. They were not paid to kill me.'
'How do you know?'
'I recognised the voice which gave the order.'
'Who was it?'
'A man with a score to settle. George Strype.'
Chapter Fifteen
Jacob was alarmed to hear of the attack on his master and insisted on examining him for broken bones, removing Christopher's coat to feel his way over arms and ribs then gingerly testing both legs for signs of fracture. Christopher submitted unwillingly to the kindly intentions of his servant. When it was seen that he had suffered no more than severe bruising and a large bump on the head, he sent Jacob in search of the one bottle of brandy in the house. Even Jonathan Bale consented to drink a glass of it. Christopher took that as a hopeful sign. He could see
