The King's Evil

As soon as the barber quit the room, the manservant entered to help his master to dress. It was a silent ritual in front of a large gilt-framed mirror. Henry preened himself at every stage, lavishing particular attention on his petticoat breeches and his new long multi-coloured waistcoat. When he put on his embroidered coat, he stroked it lovingly with both hands then shifted his stance to look at it from several angles before giving a grunt of satisfaction.

It was only then that the manservant dared to speak.

'Your brother has arrived, sir.'

'How long has he been here?'

'A little while,' said the other tactfully.

'Tell him I will be down in a moment.'

The man nodded and withdrew. He knew better than to interrupt his master while the latter was being shaved or dressed. The visitor had been understanding. He had already waited for almost half an hour. Henry added five more minutes to the delay before he pirouetted in front of the mirror for the last time. When he descended to the parlour, he found his younger brother reclining in a chair and gazing intently at a painting of a naval battle. Christopher was still in his dusty travelling clothes. Henry strode across to him and struck a pose.

'So?' he said with a note of reproach. 'You have come at last. We can always rely on your absence when you are most needed.'

Christopher stood up. 'I had work to do in Oxford.'

'Have you finally discovered the concept of work?'

'Do not be so cynical, Henry. We cannot all have a sinecure at the Navy Office, as you do. Besides,' he added, running an admiring eye over his brother's fashionable attire, 'I had a more personal reason for being in Oxford. Father was visiting the city to attend a convocation there.'

'How is the old gentleman?'

'In excellent health.'

'That means he is still preaching interminable sermons.'

'He spoke much about you, Henry.'

'Fondly, I hope?'

'Alas, no,' said Christopher. 'With some asperity. Reports have reached him that you live a dissolute life in London, quite unbecoming to the elder son of the Dean of Gloucester. The fact that you have reached the age of thirty without the companionship of a wife is also of deep concern to him. In Father's mind, that serves to reinforce the truth of the rumours. He demanded to know if you were indeed the seasoned voluptuary of report.'

Henry winced. 'What did you tell him?'

'What he wanted to hear. That you led a Christian life which kept you completely away from the snares of lust and drunkenness. I assured him that you were regular in your devotions and often expressed regrets that you yourself had not taken the cloth. In short,' said Christopher with an amiable grin, 'I lied outrageously on your behalf.'

'Did he believe you?'

'Only up to a point.'

'Oh dear!' said Henry with a sigh. 'In that case, I will soon receive one of his stern letters, chastising me for my sins and urging repentance. How does he gather all this intelligence about me? Can a man not enjoy the pleasures of the capital without their echoes reaching the cloisters

of Gloucester? I will need to be more discreet.'

'Or more restrained.'

'That is out of the question.'

They shared a laugh. It was difficult to believe that they were brothers. Both were tall, slim and well-favoured but the resemblance ended there. Henry's long face was already showing signs of dissipation and the moustache which he took such trouble to cultivate somehow added a sinister quality. Christopher, by contrast, had a more open countenance and a clearer complexion. While he exuded health, his brother looked as if he was well acquainted with disease, especially the kind which might be contracted in a bedchamber. Handsome and clean-shaven, Christopher had dark brown hair with a reddish hue which hung in natural curls. His brother's hair, lighter in colour and straighter in texture, was thinning so dramatically that he had ordered a periwig.

'I am relieved to find you safe and sound,' said Christopher with unfeigned sincerity. 'When I heard news of the fire, I feared that it might have reached this far.'

'Happily, no. It did not progress beyond Temple Bar. But that does not mean I came through the ordeal unscathed,' Henry emphasised, keen to portray himself as a victim. 'For I did not. I shared the misery of many friends who lost their homes and suffered agonies of apprehension on account of my own property. As for the city itself, it was like being locked in Bedlam.'

'What started the fire?'

'That was the problem, Christopher. Nobody knew and so they drew their own conclusions. The blaze was so fierce and so widespread that it seemed to have been started deliberately. Mobs soon formed, believing that London had been torched by Catholics. Passions ran high and the wilder spirits took the law into their own hands. We had open riot.'

'Is there any proof of a Popish Plot?'

'The mobs thought so,' said Henry ruefully. 'They beat confessions out of any Catholic they could find. Innocent foreigners were attacked at random. Frenchmen, Italians and the like who were unwise enough to venture into the streets were set on without mercy. The fortunate ones got away with cuts, bruises and broken bones. I have no sympathy for the Old Religion - remember to tell that to our father - but I do not wish its practitioners to be torn to shreds by an enraged mob. I abhor violence of any kind. It was shameful to behold.'

'Were any arrests made?'

'Dozens. But since most of the prisons were burned down, there was nowhere to keep the miscreants. It has been a gruesome week.'

'Who, then, did start the fire?'

'Investigations still continue but the finger points to a careless baker in Pudding Lane. That is certainly where the blaze began.'

Christopher gulped. 'A vast city razed by the folly of one man?'

'The fellow denies it hotly but he looks like the culprit.'

'Who will buy bread from him after this?'

'Ship's biscuits. That is what he made. Hard tack. I should know,' observed Henry, straightening his back with self-importance. 'His output helps to victual our fleet. His damnable name has probably passed before my eyes a dozen times at the Navy Office. But enough of the fire,' he said, crossing to rest an elbow on the marble mantelpiece and display himself to full effect. 'It has wreaked its havoc and been brought under control. What we must look to now are the rich pickings it may offer.'

Christopher was puzzled. 'What rich pickings? The city has been reduced to a state of abject poverty.'

'Use your imagination, brother.'

'To what end?'

'Future prospects. One city may have vanished but another one must rise in its place. The opportunities for a talented architect are unlimited. Scores of them will be needed to act as midwives if the new London is to be brought into being.'

'That thought did cross my mind,' admitted the other.

'Seize on it, Christopher. It is the chance you have wanted.'

'I never wanted such wholesale destruction.'

'Nor more did I,' said Henry smoothly, 'but I am alert to the openings it suddenly provides. I know you think me heartless and given over entirely to a life of vice but I do honour my promises. When Father enjoined me to take you under my wing in London, I vowed that I would. I am sure that you will be gracious enough to concede that I have kept that vow.'

'You have,' said Christopher. 'I made much of the point to Father. It was the one honest thing I could say in your favour.'

'Did he have no strictures for you?'

'Indeed he did, Henry. He taxed me with my inability to settle in a career and he was not at all impressed when I argued that I had made my mark in several. As I reminded him, I studied law at Cambridge then became embroiled in anatomy before trying my hand, with some success, at writing poetry. Astronomy was my next love and I prospered in its study until the blandishments of philosophy seduced me away. I spent a whole year among fine minds. I tell you, Henry, there is nothing which thrills the blood so much as a lively debate with fellow-philosophers.'