The Mammoth Book of Best British Mysteries (62 page)

“I need to speak to him.”

“And supposing he doesn’t want to speak to you?”

“Then my sword will give him some encouragement,” warned Christopher, meeting the landlord’s hostile stare. “Is he here now?”

“Aye – Ned is always here.”

“I fancy that he went out a little earlier.”

“Then you must think again.”

“He had two friends with him. Are they here as well?”

The man folded his arms. “Ned’s not stirred from here all day.”

“I’ve only your word for that,” said Christopher, whipping out his dagger and holding it to the man’s throat, “and I wouldn’t trust you for a second. Take me
to him.”

“No need,” said the other, unperturbed. “I’ll call him for you.” He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Ned! Ned Bagwell, you’ve a visitor!”

A string of ripe obscenities issued from the next room then Christopher heard the thump of crutches on the wooden floor. When he appeared in the doorway, Ned Bagwell was a one-legged old man who
let loose another stream of abuse. Christopher had been tricked. The man to whom he had given the money was already spending it in another tavern.

“Tom Thynne shot down in the street by ruffians!” cried Henry Redmayne in dismay. “It’s a devilish crime.”

“I mean to solve it,” vowed his brother.

“I was at Court when the news came. His Majesty was greatly upset. Tom Thynne was a leading member of the Duke of Monmouth’s party. It was his money that has been helping the
King’s bastard to win support around the country. There’s your motive, Christopher,” he went on, wagging a finger. “Some scurvy Roman Catholic has set these men on to kill
poor Tom.”

“I make no assumptions, Henry.”

“But it’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

“Not to me,” said Christopher.

They were in the parlour of Henry’s house in Bedford Street. It was he who had recommended Christopher to Thomas Thynne. The contrast between the two brothers was startling. Christopher
was tall, slim and well favoured while Henry’s features showed clear signs of dissipation. As one led a decent, healthy, conscientious life, the other pursued vice in every corner of the
city. Though he did not approve of Henry’s passion for drink, gambling and lechery, Christopher was grateful for the many introductions his brother had given him to people in search of a
talented architect. Henry Redmayne knew everyone of consequence in London society.

“Tell me about Mr Thynne,” said Christopher. “All that I know is that he was very rich and recently married.”

“Yes,” replied Henry. “We called him Tom of Ten Thousand. How I envied him! Think what
I
could do with an annual income of that size.”

“You’d drink yourself to death in a fortnight.”

“That was not what Tom Thynne did. He was a sober gentleman but not without an eye for the ladies. The beautiful widow, Lady Ogle, was half his age yet he wooed and won her. There was only
one problem.”

“Was there?”

“Yes, Christopher. She let him wed her but not bed her. Repenting of the marriage, she fled abroad to Holland and is rumoured to be staying with Lady Temple. One of the ways her husband
hoped to lure his wife back was to have a new house built for her. That’s why I whispered your name into Tom’s ear.”

“We were supposed to dine at the Golden Fleece today so that we could discuss the project. Mr Thynne was murdered on his way there.”

“The blackguards must be punished.”

“They will be,” said Christopher, gritting his teeth, “but I may need your help to catch them.”

“What can I possibly do?”

“Find out who else knew about the arrangements for dinner. Those men were waiting for him, Henry. Someone told them when and where he would be at a certain time.”

“So?”

“The most likely person is employed in Mr Thynne’s household. You were a guest there in the past. See what you can learn at the house. The body was taken there. You’ll be able
to pay your respects.”

“But I’m expected at the card table within the hour.”

Christopher was decisive. “Solving a murder is more important than gambling away money that you can ill afford,” he argued. “Get over there at once.”

“I take no orders from you.”

“Then take them from His Majesty. You told me how alarmed he was by the turn of events. This news will inflame those who hate the Court and its political friends. What better way to curry
the King’s favour than by helping to track down the culprits? He would be eternally grateful to you. Now ride across to Mr Thynne’s house.”

“Very well,” said Henry, peevishly. He adjusted his periwig in the mirror then preened himself. “What will you be doing in the meantime?”

“Seeing what Jonathan has managed to find out.”

“Jonathan?”

“Jonathan Bale.”

“That gloomy constable? A sour-faced rogue, if ever there was one. He has far too many Puritan principles to be allowed in respectable company.” Henry snorted. “A hue and cry
will have been granted. Westminster will be crawling with officers. Why bother to involve Bale?”

“Because he is so tenacious.”

“Too damned tenacious!”

“He once helped to save your life, Henry.”

“Yes,” wailed the other, “then he read me a lecture on the need to abandon my evil ways. The brazen audacity of the man!”

“Jonathan Bale is a godsend,” insisted Christopher. “He’s not without his faults, I grant you, but he has a gift for finding out things that other men would never even
sniff.”

“When was this, Reuben?” asked Jonathan Bale.

“Soon after I heard the shots being fired.”

“And you
saw
the men?”

“I did,” confirmed Reuben Hopkiss. “The three galloped straight past me and all but knocked over our chair.”

“Did you recognize them?”

“I recognized one of them, Mr Bale. We carried him from his lodging here in Westminster only yesterday.”

“And where did you take him?”

“To the Black Bull.”

Hopkiss was a brawny man in his fifties with the strength and stamina needed to carry heavy passengers in a sedan chair. He knew Jonathan Bale of old but was surprised to see him so far from his
own parish of Baynard’s Castle. Bale seemed to read his mind.

“A certain gentleman has taken an interest in this case,” he explained, “and he sent me a note. I was asked to search for anyone who could put a name to the face of any of the
killers.”

“Lieutenant Stern – that’s what he was called.”

“Lieutenant?”

“A naval man.”

“And a foreigner to boot, then?”

“A Swede.”

“That will make him easier to find. Describe the fellow, Reuben.”

“Gladly.”

As the chairman gave a description of the man, Jonathan Bale memorised every detail. The constable was a big, solid, serious man in his late thirties with an ugly face that was puckered in
concentration. He and Christopher Redmayne had been thrown together in an unlikely friendship, and they had solved a number of crimes together. When the request from Christopher came, Bale had
responded at once. Other constables had combed the scene of the crime for witnesses. Bale was the only one to wander off into the side streets. His encounter with Reuben Hopkiss had been
productive. He now had a clear description of one of the attackers. He also knew where the man lodged and in which tavern he preferred to drink.

Jonathan Bale walked swiftly off to the Black Bull, hoping to catch the Swede – if not his two confederates – at the place. He was out of luck. Stern was not there and neither were
any friends of his. Bale therefore retraced his steps and made for the man’s lodging. Once again, he was thwarted. The landlord told him that Stern had left early that morning and not been
seen since. That worried the constable. He feared that the Swede might have quit London altogether after the crime.

The booming of a bell reminded him that he had been asked to meet Christopher Redmayne at two o’clock. Hastening to Tuthill Street, he found his friend waiting impatiently at the corner.
After an exchange of greetings, Bale told him what had been gleaned so far. Christopher was impressed with his diligence.

“I’ve just come from my brother,” he said, noting the look of disapproval in Bale’s eye at the mention of his sibling. “Henry spoke to the steward at Mr
Thynne’s house. It appears that his master used to dine at the Golden Fleece at least four times a week. Those who lurked in ambush must have known that he would come that way sooner or
later.”

“Can you tell me
why
Mr Thynne was killed?” asked Bale.

“Henry believes that it may be linked to his support of the Duke of Monmouth’s cause.”

Bale frowned. “Yet another of the King’s many bastard sons.”

“The duke is claiming to be the legitimate heir to His Majesty, insisting that he has written proof that the King was legally married to his mother, Lucy Walter, at the time of his
birth.” Bale said nothing. Having fought against the Royalists at the Battle of Worcester, he remained an unrepentant Roundhead. “It provoked the Exclusion crisis,” Christopher
went on. “Monmouth is resolved to exclude the King’s brother, James, Duke of York, from the succession because he is an ardent Roman Catholic.”

“Then you believe this murder to be a Catholic conspiracy?”

“Henry does, certainly.”

“What of you, Mr Redmayne?”

“I think that we should look to the lady.”

“What lady?”

“Mr Thynne’s wife,” said Christopher. “No sooner did she marry him than she took to her heels and fled to Holland. Now, why should any wife do such a thing?”

Bale shook his head. “It’s beyond my comprehension.”

“I can’t imagine your wife behaving so recklessly.”

“Sarah would never let me down – nor I, her.”

“Yours is a real marriage. Mr Thynne’s, alas, was a sham. I think that it behoves us to find out why.”

“How can we do that?”

“We begin with the Swedish gentleman, Lieutenant Stern.”

“But we have no idea where he is, Mr Redmayne.”

“Oh, I think I can hazard a guess,” said Christopher. “Let’s go to the Black Bull. He may not be there but I’ll wager that someone will know where to find him. A
few coins will soon loosen a tongue. If he is a hired killer, he’ll have collected his payment by now.”

“That was my reasoning,” said Bale. “I thought that he would be spending his blood money with his accomplices.”

“Perhaps he sought choicer company.”

“What do you mean?”

Christopher smiled grimly. “Look to the lady,” he repeated, “though this particular one may not merit that title.”

Her name was Jenny Teale and she picked up most of her trade at the Black Bull. The majority of her clients were eager sailors who took their pleasure quickly in a dark alley
before moving on. Lieutenant Stern was different. He bought her favours for a whole night. In this instance, he had come to her at midday and adjourned to her lodging. They had spent frantic hours
in bed before falling asleep in a drunken stupor. Jenny Teale lay naked across his body. When someone pounded on her door, she did not even hear the noise at first. It was only when Christopher
Redmayne’s shoulder was put to the timber that she was hauled unceremoniously out of her slumber.

There was a loud crash, the lock burst apart and the door was flung wide open. Christopher stood framed in the doorway. Jumping off the bed, Jenny Teale confronted him.

“You’ll have to wait your turn, young sir,” she said, angrily.

“I’m here for Lieutenant Stern,” declared Christopher, averting his gaze from her naked body. His eye fell on the rapier lying beside the bed and he snatched it up at once,
using it to prod the sleeping foreigner. “Wake up!” he demanded. “You’re coming with me.”

The Swede let out a yelp of pain then swore volubly in his own language. Sitting up in bed, he saw Christopher standing over him and tried to retrieve his sword from the floor.

“I have your weapon, lieutenant,” said Christopher, “and I daresay that I’ll find your pistol in here somewhere as well. I’m arresting you for your part in the
murder of Thomas Thynne.”

“Ze devil you are!” roared Stern.

“Get dressed and come with me.”

“No!”

Grabbing a pillow, Stern leapt out of bed and used it to beat back Christopher. The Swede then hurled the pillow in his face and, clad only in his shirt, opened the window and dropped to the
ground below. Christopher had no need to pursue him. He had taken the precaution of stationing Jonathan Bale in the garden. When he glanced through the window, he saw that the constable had easily
overpowered the suspect. Christopher gathered up the rest of the man’s clothing together with the pistol that had been used in the shooting. He turned to leave but found that Jenny Teale was
blocking his way.

Naked and unashamed, she gave him a bewitching smile.

“Do you have to leave so soon?” she asked.

“I fear so.”

She spread her arms. “Don’t you like what you see?”

“The only person I’m interested in is the man we just apprehended. He’s a vicious killer,” Christopher told her. “Try to choose your clients with more care in
future.”

Moving her politely aside, he went out of the room.

Henry Redmayne had repaired to a coffee-house near Temple Bar. He was deep in conversation with his friends when he saw his brother enter the room. Excusing himself from the
table, he took Christopher aside.

“Really, sir!” he complained. “Must you always come between me and my pleasures?”

“Count yourself lucky that you are not Lieutenant Stern.”

“Who?”

“One of the men who attacked Thomas Thynne,” said Christopher. “I caught him in bed with his whore. He is now in safe custody. You might pass on that intelligence to His
Majesty, and you can assure him that this crime did not arise from political intrigue.”

“It must have done.”

“No, Henry.”

“The Duke of Monmouth has grown bold. The King exiled him yet he insists on returning to this country to press his absurd claims to the throne. Tom Thynne endorsed those claims to the
hilt. He paid for his folly with his life.”

“I think not.”