The King's Evil (30 page)

The
weight of responsibility which at first threatened to crush Geoffrey Anger
instead brought out unseen strengths in the clerk. Once he had grown accustomed
to the death of his employer, he realised how much freedom it suddenly gave
him. After years of tyranny by Solomon Creech, he was now temporarily in charge
of the office, winding up its business before closing the premises and searching
for another lawyer. Papers which had hitherto been hidden from him now lay at
his disposal. Clients whom Creech had jealously kept to himself were available
for his inspection. Going through the contents of the safe was an education to
Geoffrey Anger. The sense of power helped him to grow in confidence. He was
still very shocked that Solomon Creech had been murdered but, he now saw, it
was not an undiluted tragedy.

When
Christopher called at the office next day, his appearance had markedly
improved. Jacob had bathed his face and shaved him with such care that he felt
no pain. The bruising had largely disappeared. Even the colouring around his
eye had paled to a faint tint. He was both surprised and pleased to find the
timid clerk in a co-operative mood. After giving him a brisk welcome, Anger
escorted him through to the inner office and offered him a chair. The clerk
then settled into the seat which had been sculpted over the years by the
buttocks of Solomon Creech.

'I
have been expecting you to call, Mr Redmayne.'

'Good.'

'This
is what you have come for, I think.'

'What
is it?'

'The
verdict of the coroner's jury on the death of Mr Creech.'

'It
is certainly something which I would like to see, Mr Anger.'

'Feel
free to peruse it, sir.'

The
clerk handed over the document which had been lying on the desk. It did not
take Christopher long to read it. The report bore a close resemblance to the
one issued after the post mortem was carried out on the body of Sir Ambrose
Northcott. It recorded an unsolved crime.

'The
verdict of this jury is that a certain person or persons unknown did
feloniously, wilfully and with malice aforethought, batter Mr Solomon Creech
and throw him into the River Thames to drown. In the opinion of the jury, Mr
Creech would not have survived the brutal injuries which were inflicted upon
him by the aforesaid person or persons but the actual cause of death was
drowning.'

After
glancing through the rest of the judgement, Christopher put the document back
down on the desk and looked into the solemn face before him. He wondered just
how helpful the man was prepared to be. Geoffrey Anger's occupation of his
employer's office had already yielded reforms. Christopher noticed that it was
substantially tidier than before and that fresh air had been allowed to
disperse the worst of its smell.

'You
have been busy in here, Mr Anger,' he commented.

'It
has been hard but rewarding work, sir.'

'I
hope to profit from it myself. Flave you learned anything about the business
affairs of Sir Ambrose Northcott?'

'A
great deal, Mr Redmayne,' said the clerk, patting the safe to his left. 'Most
of the documents locked away in here related to those affairs.'

'I
would value a sighting of them.'

'That
is asking too much, sir, but I did anticipate your interest and am desirous of
being helpful. To that end, I have made a record of certain transactions in
which Sir Ambrose engaged.'

'Do
they relate to France?'

'Almost
exclusively.'

'Do
they involve contraband?'

'You
cannot expect me to impugn Mr Creech's reputation.'

'Would
you rather that his murder went unsolved?'

The
clerk hesitated. 'Some of the transactions stray outside the strict limits of
the law but that is all I am prepared to say.' He opened a drawer to take out a
document. 'Here it is, Mr Redmayne. I hope that it will assist you in some
small way in bringing the killer to justice.'

Christopher
took the paper from him and ran his eye over it. The neat calligraphy of
Geoffrey Anger uncovered a whole history of trading between Sir Ambrose
Northcott and certain French merchants. Among them was the name of one
Jean-Paul Charentin of Paris. Christopher felt a buzz of excitement. Links were
slowly being forged.

'This
is most obliging of you, Mr Anger,' he said.

'I
have had it waiting for days.'

'My
search took me across the Channel and I have only just returned.' He tapped the
piece of paper. 'May I have some elucidation?'

'If
you wish.'

Christopher
took him line by line through the document, asking for clarification even
where he did not need it. The clerk's confidence got the better of him.
Thinking that he was being discreet, he instead revealed far more than he
intended, enjoying a rare moment to show off his knowledge of commercial
transactions. By the time they had finished, Christopher could see why Sir
Ambrose and his lawyer had been so secretive. Much of their legitimate trading
was no more than a mask for some profitable smuggling. The architect remembered
the extensive cellars which he had designed for the new house; the ideal place
in which to store contraband goods unloaded from the
Marie Louise
and brought to the private landing stage.

'I
have one last thing to ask you, Mr Anger.'

'There
is nothing more that I can tell you,' said the other, rising to indicate that
the interview was over. 'You will understand how much work I have to do. Let me
show you out.'

Christopher
remained seated. 'In a moment,' he said. 'Answer me this first. When you opened
that safe, did you find a copy of Sir Ambrose Northcott's will?'

'I
did.'

'Is
it still on the premises?'

'That
need not concern you, Mr Redmayne.'

'Is
there no chance that I might see it?'

'None
at all, sir,' said the other with a sudden pomposity. 'The last will and
testament of a client is the most confidential of all documents. I could not
possibly divulge any of its contents.'

'I
am only curious about one tiny provision.'

'Your
curiosity must go unsatisfied.'

'Must
it?' said Christopher with a smile, getting to his feet. 'You have given me so
much help today. I am overcome with gratitude and I applaud your thoroughness.
Mr Creech did not appreciate you.'

'That
was my opinion, too,' confessed the other.

'You
would have made a worthy partner to him.'

'Oh
no, sir,' said the clerk piously. 'I could never have condoned some of the
transactions which went on in this office.'

'With
regard to the will...'

'It
is a closed book to you, Mr Redmayne.'

Christopher
nodded. 'So be it. Knowing the extent of

Sir
Ambrose's interests and property, I am sure it is such a complicated document
that even you could not remember all of its provisions. There is no point at
all in my asking to whom the house was left.'

'Which
house?'

'The
one in Lincoln's Inn Fields,' said Christopher artlessly. 'Sir Ambrose would
hardly leave it to his family or they would become aware of the nefarious activities
which took place there. He would protect his wife from such a shocking
discovery. On the other hand,' he added, watching the clerk's expression, 'he
would be unlikely to bequeath the property to the lady to whom it is leased.
Mrs Mandrake.'

Geoffrey
Anger's lip twitched. Christopher had his answer.

Penelope
Northcott sat on the edge of the bed and held the objects in her hands. She had
not dared to show them to her mother. It had never even occured to her to share
her discovery with George Strype. Whether from fear or consideration of
another's feelings, she kept them hidden and lied to her mother about their
existence. Found during her search of the Westminster house, they had caused
her intense unease yet she could not bring herself to throw them away and
forget that they ever existed. They were too important for that. As she laid
them on the bed, she saw the objects as yet another part of a troublesome
legacy. If she gave them to her mother, she suspected, they would only end up
on a fire in her beloved garden.

Lady
Northcott was quickly learning to live without her husband. It would be cruel
to open yet another gaping wound in her past. Penelope elected to carry the
revelation inside her until it could be divulged to the one person who might
find it instructive. Sir Ambrose Northcott was a private man but even his
daughter had not expected this level of secrecy. She wondered how long this
particular deception had been sustained.

A
tap on her door forced her to abandon her contemplation.

'Penelope!'
called her mother. 'Are you there?'

'One
moment!' she answered, hiding the objects under the pillow.

'May
I come in?'

'Of
course, Mother.'

Lady
Northcott entered with a look of concern on her face.

'Why
have you stayed in your room all afternoon?'

'I
was tired.'

'Well,
I expect some company this evening,' warned the other. 'I would like to
continue the conversation we had in the garden yesterday.'

'Yesterday?'

'About
George.'

'Indeed?'

'I
think that you should consider postponing the wedding.'

Penelope
nodded. 'It has been at the forefront of my mind.'

'Have
you reached a decision?'

'No,
Mother. It would be unfair to do that before I speak to George.'

'And
when is that likely to be?'

'I
am not sure.'

'You
cannot tarry forever.'

Penelope
nodded, moving to the window in thought. She looked into her future with
trepidation then remembered the possessions of her father which she had just
concealed beneath her pillow. When she came back to her mother, there was an
apologetic note in her voice.

'Would
you mind if I did not join you this evening?' she said. 'I will retire early so
that I can leave at dawn tomorrow.'

'Where
are you going, Penelope?'

'Back
to London.'

Her
mother stiffened. 'To see George Strype?'

'No,'
said her daughter. 'Mr Christopher Redmayne.'

The
request amused Henry Redmayne so much that he could not stop laughing. It was
the last thing he expected to hear from his brother when the latter called on
him in Bedford Street. Shaking with mirth, he almost dislodged his periwig.

'So!'
he said. 'You have come to your senses at last. You want to acknowledge your
manhood and enjoy the delights of the flesh.'

'No,
Henry,' said Christopher. 'I merely wish to meet Mrs Mandrake and take a look
inside her premises.'

His
brother sniggered. 'Moll has the most commodious premises I have ever seen.
Warm and welcoming to the few who can afford her. If you board her, dear
brother, beware. Once you are inside, you will wish to stay there in perpetuity.'

'The
lady has no appeal for me in that way.'

'Then
you must choose one of her stable, Christopher, for they are fine fillies, each
one of them. Damarosa is my favourite, an inventive wench, but you might prefer
the gentler touch of Betty Hadlow. There is also a pretty Negress with a rump
which could raise the Lazarus between the legs of a saint and two fresh-faced
sisters called Poppy and Patience, who will share your bed together and take it
in turns.' He gave a smirk. 'But you may not be ready for anything as demanding
as that.'

'I
am not ready for any of the things you imagine, Henry.'

He
explained the purpose of his request. Henry was disappointed to hear that he
would be there solely as an observer but agreed to help. He just hoped that the
presence of his younger brother would not inhibit his own pleasure at the
house. Christopher was given strict advice about what to wear and how to
behave. Before he left, he tossed a name into Henry's ear. His brother's nose
wrinkled with disgust.

'Jean-Paul
Charentin!'

'Do
you know the man?'

'Yes,'
sneered Henry. 'A contemptible Frenchman. A sly, thin-faced, leering fellow
with no breeding. Had not Sir Ambrose brought him to the house, I doubt that
Molly would have admitted him. She maintains the highest standards, as you will
see. Monsieur Charentin is some kind of merchant from Paris. Whatever he trades
in, it is not grace and fashion.'

'How
often have you met him there?'

'Once
or twice. Three times at most.' Henry stared at him. 'What's your interest in
the rogue?'

'His
name has come to my attention.'

'Wait
until Molly's paps come to your attention. Mountains of pure joy. You will have
no interest in a scurvy foreigner when they are bobbing away before your eyes.
I could watch them for hours.'

'Chacun à son
gout, mon frère.'

'I'll
wager that you are equally entranced by her.'

'We
shall see,' said Christopher, heading for the door.

'Wait.
You have not yet told me about your visit to Paris.'

'No,
Henry. I have not and do not intend to.'

'Did
you meet that dog, Charentin, while you were there?'

'Not
in person,' said Christopher, 'but I am wondering if I encountered an
acquaintance of his.'