The King’s Evil

The oven was set in the wall within the fireplace, on the left-hand side. I leaned over the fire and put my hand inside. The bricks that lined the recess were dry and slightly warm to the touch.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Leave it as it is. These papers are damp. I’ll put them here overnight.’

‘What shall I do with them in the morning?’

‘Take them carefully out before you open up the fire. Put them somewhere safe.’ I glanced about the shadowy room. ‘In that bowl on the dresser.’

I wished her goodnight and went back to the parlour, where I spent a few minutes examining the silver key by the light of the candles.

Judging by its size and the quality of the workmanship, it had been designed for the lock of a small box or perhaps for the door of a cupboard set in a piece of furniture. I had seen nothing of that sort at Alderley’s lodgings, but then I had not searched his crowded apartments thoroughly enough to inspect all his possessions. I peered at the monogram again, but still could not come to any conclusion: the entwined letters were so twisted and ornamented that they could have been almost anything. Was that an ‘S’? Or a ‘P’?

I went to bed. But the events of the day came between me and sleep. Threaded among these were troubling thoughts of Olivia, Lady Quincy. I lay on my back in the darkness of the curtained bed and tried to remember her features. I could not. But I remembered those of her African page perfectly, and the way he had stared so intently at me as if memorizing my face.

The following morning, I was awoken at dawn by a scream downstairs.

This was immediately followed by the sound of Margaret shouting. When she paused to draw breath, I heard the deeper tones of Sam’s voice. I swore, got out of bed and went out on to the landing in my shirt.