The King's Evil

an unarmed King who was completely off guard. He was up against a resourceful young man who had pulled out a dagger from inside his boot and who was crouched in readiness.

They circled each other warily, looking for an opening.

'Who are you?' hissed the man.

'A friend of Sir Ambrose. I have much to thank him for.'

'So have we,' said the other with a harsh laugh. 'He made it all possible. Sir Ambrose was a fool. Every man can be led by the pizzle if you find the right woman and we chose the ideal one for him.'

'Marie Louise. I met her.'

'She had him eating out of her hand.'

He jabbed at Christopher but the thrust was expertly parried.

'Was it her idea to make him convert?' said Christopher.

'That was another ruse to buy time. Marie Louise told him that she would never share his bed until he became a Roman Catholic. Only then would she consent to be his mistress.'

'Mistress. Was there no talk of marriage?'

'She already has a husband.'

'A husband?'

'She is Marie Louise Charentin.'

Christopher was taken aback. The man saw his chance and jabbed with his sword again. Christopher stepped to the right but he was too slow this time and his left arm was caught by the blade. It cut through his coat and opened up a gash. The pain revitalised him and he went on the attack, stabbing at his adversary with his dagger and fending off the answering thrusts of the sword. Blood was now gushing down his left arm but he still had enough strength in it to snatch off his periwig and hurl it into the man's face. The assassin stumbled backwards, his sword flailing. Christopher ducked beneath it to strike at the man's sword-arm with his dagger. As his flesh was pierced to the bone, the man gave a yell of rage and dropped the weapon.

Kicking it out of reach, Christopher used the handle of his dagger to club the man to the floor then dropped on top of him to pound away with his fist. The flaking skin was soon dripping with blood. Though he fought hard, the man had nothing like Christopher's manic strength and willpower. A final punch knocked him senseless and his head lolled. Christopher moved swiftly to bind his hands with the scarf; he used the bed hangings to secure his prisoner to the four-poster. It was only then that he slipped off his coat to attend to his wound, stemming the flow of blood by winding a handkerchief around his arm. Putting on his coat again, he replaced his periwig, adjusted it in the mirror and stepped out through the door with regal dignity.

Two figures watched furtively from the end of the corridor. Molly Mandrake and her companion were dismayed when they saw the King emerge, apparently unscathed. The man with Molly was a stranger but Christopher guessed his identity at once. Henry's description of the Frenchman had been very accurate.

'Monsieur Charentin?' challenged Christopher.

Gripped by panic, the man took flight, pushing Molly Mandrake unceremoniously aside and darting for the side door. He unlocked it and rushed out only to find that he had gone straight into the arms of Jonathan Bale. There was the briefest of struggles before the constable overpowered him and held him tight. Christopher stood in the doorway.

'Well done, Mr Bale!'

Jonathan recognised his voice and gaped at him.

'Is that you, Mr Redmayne?'

'Who did you think it was?' said Christopher with a grin. 'Be of good cheer, my friend. You did not have to act as a royal bodyguard, after all. I know that office would have ruffled your Roundhead feathers.'

'Why did you not tell me?'

'I just did, Mr Bale. Hold on to Monsieur Charentin. His accomplice is trussed up inside. Unmasked at last.'

'You have caught him?'

'The murders are finally solved.'

An agitated Henry came trotting up behind his brother.

'Is everything in hand, Your Majesty?' he asked deferentially.

'It is now, Henry.'

'You should have called me, if you needed help.'

'I never need help in a lady's bedchamber.'

'Word somehow leaked out of your presence here,' said Henry, who had clearly been unable to resist boasting about it. 'Everyone wanted to know how I persuaded Your Majesty to come here. I was just explaining to Mr Strype the blandishments I used.'

'Mr George Strype?'

'The same.'

Christopher eased him aside and went straight to the parlour. The black manservant stood dutifully beside the table, serving food and drink. An ancient guest was being pampered by a young prostitute. Two other men were bartering for the favours of a second woman. George Strype was talking airily to Sweet Ellen, guzzling his wine and boasting loudly about his prowess as a lover. When he saw the stately figure enter, he at once became subservient. He gave Christopher a deep bow.

'This is a pleasure, Your Majesty.'

The uppercut caught him on the chin and sent him sprawling.

'So was that,' said the other cheerfully.

Strype rubbed his jaw and looked up in utter bafflement.

'Your Majesty?'

'Christopher Redmayne sends his compliments.'

Penelope Northcott as so overjoyed that she could not stop smiling. As she sat in the parlour of the house in Westminster, she showered her guest with compliments and kept asking him to repeat certain details of his story. She was distressed that he had been wounded in pursuit of her father's killer but accepted his assurance that it was a minor scratch even though his left arm was in a sling. Christopher had told her a very diluted version of the truth, recounting the events in Lincoln's Inn Fields but making no reference to the fact that Sir Ambrose Northcott once owned the house. Indeed, he went out of his way to supply her father with a mask of his own.

'Your father was foolishly led astray,' he said. 'Marie

Louise was not his mistress at all but simply a means of ensnaring him. He was the victim of a conspiracy.'

'Why did they have to kill him?'

'Because he had served his purpose, Miss Northcott. And because he was in danger of stumbling on the conspiracy.' He gave a shrug. 'In some small way, I suppose that I am to blame.'

'You, Mr Redmayne?'

'The house was his undoing. Marie Louise insisted on its being built as proof of his commitment even though she had no intention of ever living there. But the work on the house proceeded faster than they anticipated because I urged the builder on. That forced their hand,' he explained. 'Sir Ambrose had to be removed before the house was completed or the situation would have been awkward.'

'He would have expected her to move in with him.'

'When she was, in fact, living with her husband in Paris.'

'It is so complicated, Mr Redmayne. I do not understand.'

'Do not vex yourself with the details,' he advised. 'All that you need to know is that the killer and his accomplice have been arrested. They are now behind bars and will face the sternest interrogation.'

'Thanks to you!'

'And to Mr Bale. Do not forget him.'

'I would like to meet this constable one day.'

'He is a curious fellow.'