The King's Evil (24 page)

'Why
on earth did you not tell me about this, Penelope!' he yelled.

'Because
you would have obstructed me.'

'And
quite rightly so. You had no business to come here.'

'I
believed that I did. Mother agreed with me.'

'Lady
Northcott was distraught over your father's death. When she urged you to come
to London, she did not know what she was doing.'

'Yes,
she did, George.'

'It
was madness, to go driving off like that.'

'We
both felt that it was imperative.'

'You
should have discussed it with me first.'

'Why?'

'Because
I am your fiancée! I have certain rights.'

'You
do not have the right to stop me coming here.'

'I
would have persuaded you of the folly of your action.'

'It
was not folly. Those letters were vital evidence. I had to put them into Mr
Redmayne's hands as soon as possible.'

'That
was the last thing you should have done, Penelope.'

George
Strype was puce with rage. Having ridden to London in pursuit of her, he had
found Penelope at the Westminster house. It irked him that she was showing no
regrets about her intemperate action. Making an effort to control his temper,
he guided her across to a settle and sat beside her on it. He took her hand to
give it a conciliatory kiss.

'Listen
to me,' he said softly. 'When you accepted my proposal of marriage, we agreed
that there would be no deception between us. We would be completely open with
each other. Do you remember that?'

'Yes,
George.'

'Then
why have you gone back on that promise?'

'I
was forced to,' she said.

'Why?'

'Because
I was afraid of you.'

'Afraid?
Of the man who loves you?' He stroked her hand. 'What afflicts you, Penelope?
You need never be afraid of me.'

'You
would have stopped me coming to London.'

'Yes,'
he argued, 'but for your own good. Do you not see that? When you found those
letters, it must have been a dreadful shock for you. I can understand that. But
your father is dead now. His ugly secret belongs in the grave with him. The
last thing you should have done was to expose it to the public gaze.'

'I
merely showed the letters to Mr Redmayne.'

'It
amounts to the same thing.'

'No,
George. I can trust him to be discreet.'

'He
is not family. I am - or soon will be. And my instinct is to close ranks in a
case like this. In betraying Lady Northcott, your father made an appalling
mistake. I admit that. But,' he insisted, squeezing her hand, 'that mistake
should be buried in the past where it belongs. Think of the shame it might
otherwise cause.'

'I
was prepared to withstand that shame.'

'Well,
I am not.'

'Mother
and I discussed it.' 'Without me.'

'We
put our faith in Mr Redmayne.'

'But
I do not!' he roared, leaping to his feet. 'Christopher Redmayne has no cause
to poke his nose into this. What is he? An architect, that is all. A man whose
task is to design houses. Why does he presume to set himself up as an officer
of the law? We want no bungling amateur.'

'He
is trying to discover my father's murderer and needs all the help he can get.'

'Not
from me!'

'How
else can the culprit be arrested?'

'This
investigation should be left to the proper authorities.'

'Mr
Redmayne is working with a constable.'

'Dear
God!' wailed Strype. 'Another pair of eyes peering into our private affairs!
How many more people will see those letters, Penelope? You might as well have
taken them to a printer and had copies made to be sold at every street corner!'

'Why
are you so concerned, George?'

'Someone
has to protect your father's reputation.'

'What
reputation?'

'The
one that the world sees.' He took her by the shoulders. 'What your father did
was unforgivable, Penelope. In our eyes, his reputation has been badly
tarnished. But we do not need to spread his peccadilloes abroad. We keep them
hidden from public gaze. Everyone then benefits. Let me be candid,' he told her
seriously. 'I want to marry into an unblemished family, not one which is
pointed at and sniggered over. Do you understand me?'

'Only
too well, George.'

'We
have to exercise common sense.'

'Is
it common sense to suppress evidence in a murder inquiry?'

'The
family name must always come first.'

'You
mean that George Strype must always come first,' she said angrily, brushing his
hands away as she got up. 'It is disgraceful! You are less worried about
catching a man who killed my father than you are about your own position here.'

'Our
own position, Penelope. Do you want to begin a marriage with this kind of
scandal sticking to us? No, of course not. You have too much pride. Too much
self- respect.' He paced the room in thought. 'I must find a way to retrieve
the situation in which you and your mother have so foolishly landed us.' He
snapped his fingers. 'The first thing is to get those letters back.'

'But
I gave them to Mr Redmayne.'

'Mistakenly.'

'He
said that they were vital clues.'

'I
am not interested in what Mr Redmayne said. It is high time that someone put
him in his place. His duty was done when he brought the news of Sir Ambrose's
death. We do not need him any more.'

'I
do,' she said quietly.

He
turned to stare at her. 'What did you say?'

'I
trust Mr Redmayne.'

'I
heard more than trust in your voice, Penelope.'

'Did
you?'

'Is
that the way the wind blows?' he asked with suspicion. 'Can you have developed
an interest in the fellow on so slight an acquaintance?'

'I
look upon him as a friend.'

'How
did you know where to find this friend?'

'He
gave me his address when he came to Priestfield Place.'

'Did
he, indeed?'

'Mr
Redmayne asked me to get in touch if anything came to light which might help
him to trace Father's murderer.'

'If
you believed those letters were so important, why did you not send them to him?
It was not necessary to bring them yourself.'

'I
felt that it was.'

'Why?'

'Because
I was too ashamed to put them in anyone else's hands.' 'You gave them to
Redmayne.'

'That
was different.'

His
tone hardened. 'When did you arrive in London?'

'Yesterday
evening.'

'Yes,
but at what time?' he pressed. 'It was afternoon when I called at your house
and learned about your flight. I followed you at once but had to stay overnight
at an inn.' He moved in towards her. 'Your mother told me you left before dawn.
It must have been close to nightfall by the time you reached London.'

'It
was.'

'Did
you go straight to Redmayne's house?'

'Yes.'

'Where
did you spend the night?'

'Does
it matter?'

'Very
much.'

Thrown
on the defensive, Penelope shifted her feet and glanced around. Not wishing to
deceive him, she feared the consequences of telling the truth. George Strype
was impatient.

'Well?'

'Do
not glower at me so, George.'

'I
asked you a question.'

'You
have no cause to interrogate me like this.'

'Give
me a simple answer,' he demanded. 'Or must I get it from your coachman? He will
tell me if you stayed in this house or at an inn.'

'Neither,'
she said bravely.

Strype
was simmering. 'You spent the night under
his
roof?'

'Mr
Redmayne was kind enough to invite me.'

'I
am sure that he was!'

'He
treated me with the utmost respect,' she said calmly, 'which is more than you
are doing at the moment. Jacob prepared a room for me and I spent a comfortable
night there.'

'Jacob?'

'Mr
Redmayne's servant.' 'And did this Jacob remain on the premises?'

'Of
course.'

'How
do I know that?'

'Because
it is what I tell you, George. Why should I lie?'

Grinding
his teeth, he watched her shrewdly for a few moments.

'Where
does he live?'

'That
is immaterial.'

'Where
does Redmayne live?' he demanded. 'I wish to know.'

His
manner was so intimidating that Penelope felt obliged to fight back. George
Strype was not behaving like the considerate man who had courted her so
diligently and indulged her so readily. Stress and anger were revealing another
side to his character.

'Why
did you not tell me about Father's ship?' she asked.

'What?'

'You
must have known that he changed its name.'

'Indeed,
I did,' he said, caught unawares by her vehemence. 'But I thought it of no
great consequence.'

'Did
you know
why
it was called the
Marie Louise?'

'No,
Penelope.'

'Is
that the truth?'

'Your
father was a capricious man. He often changed things.'

'Renaming
a ship is much more than caprice,' she asserted. 'He would need a very strong
reason to do something like that. Did you never ask him what that reason was?'

'I
may have done.'

'Your
goods are carried on that vessel. Were you not curious that it suddenly ceased
to be
The Maid of Kent?'

'Naturally,'
he said, recovering his poise. 'But when I questioned your father, he explained
it away as a fancy which seized him. He was prone to such things. As for
telling you about it, there was no point whatsoever in doing so. Sir Ambrose
and I were at one in keeping our business and private lives separate. It was
not a case of hiding something from you, my darling. I simply did not think
that it would have any relevance to you.'

'When
I found those letters, it had the utmost relevance.'

'How
was I to know that?'

He
saw another question trembling on her lips and preempted it.

'No,
Penelope,' he said firmly. 'I had no idea that your father had formed a liaison
with this woman. Had I done so, I would have done everything in my power to
bring it to an end and to remind Sir Ambrose of his marital vows. I am saddened
that you could even think such a thing of me.'

'I
needed to hear your denial, that is all.'

'Then
you have it.'

George
Strype looked so hurt by her doubts about his integrity that she softened
towards him immediately. Her eyes moistened and she moved forward into his
arms, apologising for her suspicion and telling him how glad she was that they
were together again. He held her tight and kissed her gently on the forehead
but his resolve was not weakened.

'Now,'
he murmured, 'tell me where Redmayne lives.'