The King's Evil

'Is that why he had you attacked the other night?'

Christopher thought of Penelope and a smile ignited his face.

'No, Mr Bale. That was over something else.'

By the time that Christopher left the house, Jonathan Bale had rallied, overcome his resentment at the visit and even risen to an expression of gratitude. Sarah added her own thanks as she saw their guest to the door, then she went back in to cosset her husband.

Christopher left the city by Ludgate and rode slowly as he reflected on events. He was desperate to speak to his brother but he did not relish having to search for Henry through a series of gaming houses at that time of night. Resolving to call at Bedford Street early next morning, he let his horse take him back towards Fetter Lane.

In one day, he felt, they had made substantial progress in their investigation but he did not let his sense of satisfaction distract him. He realised that George Strype had even more cause to assault him now, blaming him - at least in part - for the broken engagement. One hand on his sword, Christopher was vigilant as he trotted up Fetter Lane. There was no sign of any ambush but two horses were tethered outside his house. He wondered who would call at such a late hour. While his master was dismounting, Jacob came scurrying out of the front door with a lantern and a look of apology.

'I had to let them in, sir,' he explained.

'Who?'

'Miss Littlejohn has come back.'

'What?' said Christopher in annoyance. 'I told you never to let her across the threshold again. This is too much, Jacob. Stable my horse.'

He tossed the reins to his servant and marched into the house, determined to eject Margaret Littlejohn with such courteous firmness that she would never again bother him. When he went into his parlour, however, the person who stood up to greet him was Samuel Littlejohn. The builder seemed embarrassed. He licked his lips and gestured to his daughter, who was squirming with discomfort on a chair.

'Please excuse us calling, sir,' said Littlejohn, shifting his feet. 'But I simply had to bring Margaret here at once.' 'Why?' said Christopher uneasily. 'She has something to tell you.'

Chapter Sixteen

Propped up in bed, Henry Redmayne was still not fully awake. There was a fuzziness inside his skull which he could not quite dispel. His cheeks were sallow, his eyes bloodshot, his mouth unpleasantly dry. Breakfast lay on the tray beside him but he could not muster enough enthusiasm to look at it, still less to try to eat it. A late night had left him feeling delicate. He simply wanted to be left alone to recover in privacy. When the door of his bedchamber burst open, therefore, he shrieked in dismay at the figure who came bounding towards him.

'Go away! I am not receiving any visitors today!'

'I am not a visitor,' said Christopher. 'I am your brother.'

'My house is closed to all of my relations. Especially to younger brothers who show neither respect nor consideration. Away with you!'

'Wake up, Henry. This is important.'

'So is the sanctity of my bedchamber.'

He let out a groan as Christopher sat on the edge of the mattress and caused it to tilt. Henry brought a hand up to his pounding head.

'This is pure torture!'

'Listen to me,' said his brother, putting a hand on his arm. 'I am sorry to call on you so early and so unannounced but I was left with no choice. My life is in serious danger.'

'You may be sure of that!' growled Henry. 'If I had a weapon in my hand, you would already be dead.'

'Somebody is planning to do the office for you.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Stop thinking only of yourself,' ordered Christopher, 'and I will tell you. Margaret Littlejohn called at my house last night.'

Henry showed a measure of curiosity for the first time.

'So that is it. You have come to boast of a conquest.'

'Do not be so obtuse!'

'You baulked at the challenge of Sweet Ellen and preferred a more sedate ride on the builder's daughter. How was she?'

'Covered in confusion. Her father brought her.'

'Why?'

'Because she saw the man who means to kill me.'

'You see him before you, Christopher.'

'Stop that!' said the other, shaking him. 'I am serious. Do you want to be put in the position of writing to Father to explain that his younger son was murdered because you were too lazy to help him? I can imagine what the good Dean of Gloucester would say before he closed his purse to you for ever.' Henry came wide awake. 'That is better. Now that I have your attention, let me also share your breakfast for I left before Jacob was able to prepare mine.'

He took an apricot from the platter and popped it in his mouth.

'What is all this to-do about Margaret Littlejohn?' asked Henry.

'She was outside my house yesterday when she noticed a man spying on it. The same person, she believes, whom she saw leaving the cellar at the building site around the time that Sir Ambrose was killed. Margaret was eager to warn me but, for reasons of her own, decided against it. Fortunately for me, Nan has scruples.'

'Nan?'

'Her maidservant.'

'Where does she enter the story?'

'She was waiting near my house with her mistress.'

'Why?'

'Let us not go into that,' said Christopher wearily. 'The fact of the matter is that Nan sensed I might be in peril and would not hold the discovery back. She spoke to Samuel Littlejohn.'

'Was he lurking in Fetter Lane as well?'

'Of course not.'

'Has the whole Littlejohn household congregated there?'

'No,' said Christopher, 'and thanks to yesterday's episode, Margaret will never be allowed near me again. Her father was enraged that she had disobeyed him and that she had not warned me about the man watching my house. He made her tell me everything that she saw. I have no doubt that the man in question murdered both Sir Ambrose and Solomon Creech.'

'What makes you so certain?'

Christopher told him. He described the sighting of the man at Molly Mandrake's establishment and the appearance of his mask aboard the Marie Louise. For the first time, he also gave his brother a full account of his visit to Paris and of the ensuing attempt on his life. Even Henry's befuddled brain acknowledged the degree of peril faced by Christopher.

'What can I do to help?' he asked.

'That is what I came to tell you. Have you studied the list?'

'List?'

'The one I gave you yesterday,' said Christopher, shaking him again. 'The one that Jonathan Bale compiled for me.'

'Oh, that list,' said Henry loftily. 'Yes, I studied it closely. When I saw some of those names, I could not