The King’s Evil

About the Publisher

THE MAIN CHARACTERS (#u564be392-9748-567a-8be7-6d7209f6252a)

Infirmary Close, The Savoy

James Marwood, clerk to Joseph Williamson, and to the Board of Red Cloth

Margaret and Sam Witherdine, his servants

The Drawing Office, Henrietta Street

Simon Hakesby, surveyor and architect

‘Jane Hakesby’, his maid, formerly known as Catherine Lovett

Brennan, his draughtsman

Whitehall

King Charles II

James, Duke of York, his brother

Joseph Williamson, Undersecretary of State to Lord Arlington

William Chiffinch, Keeper of the King’s Private Closet

George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham

John Knight, the King’s Surgeon General

Clarendon House

Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, the former Lord Chancellor of England

George Milcote, a gentleman of his household

Matthew Gorse, a servant

Others

Olivia, Lady Quincy, formerly Mistress Alderley

Stephen, her footboy

Mr Turner, a lawyer, of Barnard’s Inn

Mr Veal, of London

Roger, his servant

Rev Dr Burbrough, of Cambridge

Rev Richard Warley, of Cambridge

Mistress Warley, his grandmother

Frances, a child

Mr Mangot, of Woor Green

Israel Halmore, a refugee

THE ROYAL FAMILY (#u564be392-9748-567a-8be7-6d7209f6252a)

CHAPTER ONE (#u564be392-9748-567a-8be7-6d7209f6252a)

HE COULD NOT help himself. In one fluid movement, he stepped back, twisting to present his side to the enemy. His right leg was slightly bent at the knee, the foot pointing towards danger. In that instant, he was perfectly poised, as his fencing master had taught him, ready to thrust in tierce, ready to spit the devil before him like a fowl for the roasting.

As he moved, he heard a sharp intake of breath, not his own. His right foot was on solid ground. But the left (‘at right angles to the body, monsieur, for stability and strength’) was floating in the air.

‘God’s—’

In that same instant, he stared at the figure in front of him. Dusk was pouring through the grimy windows of the basement like a noxious vapour. He wanted to beg for help. No words came.

He flung out his arms in front of him in a violent attempt to restore his balance. His fingers stretched, groping for a hand to pull him back. Steel clattered on stone.

He fell with no more choice in the matter than a poleaxed ox. His head slammed against the coping. Pain dazzled him. He cried out. His arms and legs flailed as he fell. The damp, unyielding masonry grazed his fingers.

Nothing to hold. Nothing to—

His shoulder jarred against stone. The water hit him. The wintry chill cancelled all pain and drove the breath from his body. He opened his mouth to cry out, to breathe. The cold flooded his lungs. He choked.

Fiery agonies stabbed his chest. He sank. He had always feared water, had never learned to swim. His hands scraped against unyielding stone. His boots filled, dragging his legs down.

His head broke free. He gulped a mouthful of air. Far above him, he glimpsed the shadowy outline of a head and shoulders.

‘Help me,’ he cried. ‘For the—’

But the words drowned as his body sank again and the water sealed him into its embrace. The purest in London, that’s what her ladyship claimed. His fingernails scrabbled against the stone, trying to prise out the mortar to find handholds. His limbs were leaden. The pain in his chest grew worse and worse. It was impossible that such agony could exist.

Despair paralysed him. Here was an eternity of suffering. Here at last was hell.

The pain retreated. He was no longer cold, but pleasantly warm. Slowly, it seemed, every sensation vanished, leaving behind only a blessed sense of peace.

So this, he thought, this is—

CHAPTER TWO (#u564be392-9748-567a-8be7-6d7209f6252a)