The King's Evil by Edward Marston Read Free Book Online Page B

of the fire, a man in Blackfriars cleared
away the ruins of his old house and began to build a new one on the same site.
Others elected to follow suit but their plans were immediately frustrated.
    On
the thirteenth of September 1666, while the smoke was still rising from parts
of the city, a Royal Proclamation was issued, prohibiting any hasty building
and empowering the authorities to pull down any structures erected before new
regulations were put into place. The haphazard growth of the city over the
centuries, with its narrow streets, its close-built dwellings, its superfluity
of timber- framed properties, its surviving thatch and its inadequate water
supply had contributed to its own demise. It might almost have been designed to
assist the rapid spread of a fire. Such a disaster, it was insisted, must never
happen again. Safety would henceforth be a prime consideration.
    Rebuilding
commenced in earnest the following spring.
    'We
must bear the new regulations in mind,' said Henry Redmayne, sipping his
coffee. 'No half-timbering is allowed. The house must be built entirely of
brick and stone with a tiled roof.'
    'I
would accept nothing less,' said his companion.
    'Nor
must the upper storeys jetty out.'
    'Such
a style would, in any case, offend my taste.'
    'It
is gone for ever from our midst, Sir Ambrose.'
    'Thank
Heaven!'
    'I
could not agree more.'
    'That
was an incidental blessing of the fire. It cleared away decrepit old houses that
had no right to exist and rid us of squalid lanes and alleys where the poorer
sort lived in their miserables holes. Yes,' added the other with easy
pomposity, 'I did not support every recommendation put before us by the
Commission but, by and large, their suggestions were admirable. I was
particularly pleased that noxious trades have been banned from the riverside.
Those of us who import goods were assailed by the most unbearable stink
whenever we went near the wharf.'
    'The
brewers and dyers were the worst, Sir Ambrose.'
    'Then
you have not smelled the lime-burners and the soap-makers when they are
practising their craft. Add the reek of the salt-makers and you have a stench
that stayed in the nostrils for days.'
    'Just
like the smoke from the Great Fire.'
    'Yes,
Henry. Exactly like that.'
    'How
long has it been now? Six months?'
    'Over
seven.'
    'I
still sometimes catch a whiff of that smoke.'
    'Memory
plays strange tricks on us.'
    'Indeed,
Sir Ambrose. It may torment us in perpetuity.' Henry became solicitous. 'Was
the coffee to your liking?'
    'Excellent.'
    'Let
us order another cup.'
    The
two men were sitting in one of the most fashionable coffee houses in the city,
swiftly refurbished now that decisions had finally been made about building
regulations. Henry was at his most immaculate in a blue coat with extravagant
gold braid and a red and green waistcoat. His new periwig lent him an air of
distinction which made him even more a slave to his vanity and he kept
appraising himself in an invisible mirror. Seated opposite him was Sir Ambrose
Northcott, now almost fifty, a man of middle height and corpulent body who
defied his many physical shortcomings with the aid of an expensive French
tailor. Fleshy jowls were tinged with crimson and the nose was absurdly small for
such a large face yet there were no wrinkles to betray his true age and the
eyes had a youthful sparkle.
    Northcott
was an important man. Having inherited his title and a substantial fortune, he
determined to improve himself even more and invested wisely in trade. A Justice
of the Peace in his native Kent, he was also a Member of Parliament and took a
vocal part in the discussions which touched on the future shape and composition
of the capital. Henry Redmayne had cultivated him strenuously for years but he
now had a more pressing reason to court him. Northcott wanted a new house
built.
    Henry
made an urgent question sound like a casual enquiry.
    'Have
you had time to study those drawings, Sir Ambrose?'
    'I
made time,