B004BDOJZ4 EBOK

by Susanna GREGORY

  Bristol shrugged. ‘So what? How is such information supposed to benefit me? I know Thurloe has taken Clarendon’s side in our dispute, but no one cares what he does any more. His day is past.’

  Temple’s eyes gleamed. ‘But think about it, My Lord. Thurloe is upset by what Prynne is doing, and Prynne has the King’s ear. If we can encourage Clarendon to intervene on Thurloe’s behalf, it will pit him directly against His Majesty, who will be irked.’

  Bristol rubbed his chin, then smiled. ‘I like it, Temple. It will deepen the growing rift between the King and his Lord Chancellor without any risk to ourselves. I shall make sure Clarendon hears about Thurloe’s distress, and recommend he acts before the poor man pines away from sorrow.’

  May stepped forward and handed over the missive he carried. ‘This is from Surgeon Johnson, sir. It has just arrived, so I decided to bring it to you at once. I thought it might be important.’

  Bristol broke the seal. ‘It is about the Private Anatomy he offered to arrange for me – I am obliged to wait a few days, it seems. Johnson! The man is a buffoon. Do you know what he did on Saturday? I made some idle quip – drunken quip, if you want the truth – about breaking into Clarendon’s office to look for evidence that he had been embezzling public funds, and would you believe he actually went off and did it? I was appalled – supposing he had been caught, and everyone assumed I had put him up to it! How would that have looked?’

  ‘Not good,’ agreed Temple. ‘Did he find anything?’

  ‘Nothing – except a letter from Thurloe recommending Goddard’s Drops as a cure for fainting.’

  ‘Goddard’s Drops,’ mused Temple, scratching again. ‘It might be code – Thurloe was a Spymaster, after all. We may be able to … can you smell onions?’ He looked round him.

  ‘Not really,’ said Bristol, sniffing the air. ‘And I like onions.’

  ‘I think the Court surgeons might have had a hand in the disappearance of that beggar’s body,’ said May. He shoved a fingernail under his hat and wiggled it back and forth. ‘My sources tell me that a number of people bribed the guards to see the corpse, and that Wiseman was among them.’

  ‘I was among them, too,’ said Temple. ‘Cost me a shilling, which was a waste, because someone had tied a bag around its head, so I could not see the face. I did not make off with the corpse, though, and I imagine Wiseman is far too wrapped up in himself to play pranks on others.’

  ‘Temple is right, May,’ agreed Bristol. ‘I imagine Clarendon stole your dead beggar – you have taken my side against him, so he probably wants to discredit you. You did look like a complete ass when Spymaster Williamson came to view the thing, and you were forced to admit that you had lost it.’

  May’s expression was dangerous. ‘Heyden probably did it, then, on Clarendon’s orders. I swear on my mother’s grave that I will see that man hanged! So, since they have attacked me, I shall attack them back: I will raid Clarendon’s offices for you, My Lord, and I will find all the evidence you need to bring them both down. I am a spy, after all, and experienced in such matters.’

  Bristol shook his head. ‘No – Williamson might find out, and I need you in his camp. You provide me with a good deal of very useful information, and I cannot jeopardise that without good cause.’

  ‘Then I have another suggestion.’ May was disappointed with the decision, and Chaloner wondered why he had elected to throw in his lot with Bristol when his master, Williamson, struggled to remain neutral. ‘The King will not keep his current bedchamber for long – there are plans afoot to place him in new apartments overlooking the river, which means Lady Castlemaine’s chambers will not be as close to him as she imagines. Her move will have been for nothing and when she finds out she will be livid.’

  Temple removed his wig and used both hands to rake his scalp. ‘Really? Are you saying the King’s relocation is Clarendon’s idea?’

  ‘Actually, it is the King’s,’ replied May, rubbing his own head. ‘He wants to use the old rooms as a laboratory. However, there is no reason why Lady Castlemaine should know that. You should tell her this is Clarendon’s latest attempt to keep her away from her royal lover.’

  ‘That is an excellent idea!’ exclaimed Bristol, fingernails clawing under his night-cap. ‘Lord, will it put the cat among the pigeons!’

  ‘And quite a cat, too,’ said Temple approvingly.

  ‘I shall ask Buckingham to tell her,’ said Bristol, taking off his cap and scratching vigorously at the sparse hair underneath. In his tree, Chaloner began to feel itchy, but resisted the urge to move lest he gave himself away. ‘She believes anything he says. I had better catch him before he gets at the wine, though. I need him at least half sober when I confide, or he will forget what he is supposed to do.’

  All three moved away, scratching in unison. Chaloner waited a while longer, then abandoned his hiding place when he saw Eaffrey and Behn, who had come to see if they could help Lady Castlemaine with her furniture. He was pleased to see Eaffrey looking happy, although less pleased to note that Behn seemed to be the cause. Behn greeted him cautiously when she introduced him as Heyden – and Chaloner was relieved when Behn did not appear to associate him with the elderly upholsterer.

  ‘I understand you are a member of the Guinea Company,’ said Chaloner affably, determined to be more courteous to the surly Brandenburger than he had been in his last disguise, out of respect for Eaffrey. ‘And you knew the subscriber who was murdered last month.’

  ‘Matthew Webb,’ said Behn, nodding. ‘He was a very dear friend.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Chaloner, his good intentions slipping a little. ‘I heard you quarrelled, and that you left the gathering early because of it.’

  Eaffrey glared at him, but Behn waved a powerful hand to indicate that he had taken no offence. ‘Webb and I were going to let people believe we argued, but it was actually a ruse – to weaken our rivals. It was Webb’s idea. He was a clever man, and I miss his company.’

  Chaloner stared into the bright-blue eyes and had no idea whether to believe him. ‘Is that why you spend so much time with his wife?’ Eaffrey glanced sharply at him. ‘You miss his company?’

  ‘The grieving widow,’ said Behn, with an expression that was unreadable. ‘I have made it my duty to visit and offer condolences. It was a vicious attack, and I shall delight in watching the killers hang.’

  When Behn was distracted by a screech of rage from Lady Castlemaine, who objected to a servant informing her that her new chambers were now too full to hold any more looted furniture, Eaffrey glowered at Chaloner. She had been irritated by his remark about Silence Webb, and the accusation of infidelity that was implicit in it. ‘Let us talk about something else,’ she said shortly.

  ‘Very well,’ said Behn, turning back to Chaloner. ‘Eaffrey has told me about the adventures she shared with friends – such as you – in Holland. However, it is wrong to put women in danger.’

  ‘It was my choice to go,’ said Eaffrey, before Chaloner could respond. ‘It was nothing to do with Thomas. He would never presume to tell me what to do.’

  ‘I shall, though,’ said Behn coolly. ‘It will be my right, once we are wed.’

  Eaffrey stared at him. ‘That is an archaic attitude to take, Johan. As far as I am concerned, marriage is a partnership in which both sides are free to do as they please.’

  ‘Is that so?’ asked Behn, raising his eyebrows. ‘It is an unusual interpretation of matrimony.’

  ‘Eaffrey is an unusual lady,’ said Chaloner.

  Behn opened his mouth to say something else, but just then Temple approached, all smiles as he raked his fingernails across his scalp, hard enough to leave red marks.

  ‘Ah, Behn,’ he said. ‘I intend to nominate you as the next Master of the Guinea Company. I like your progressive attitude to trade, and wish more of our members were like you.’

  Behn inclined his head. ‘Of course you do, but we can oust the squeamish ones once I am elected. Together, we shall lead your country
to untold wealth and mercantile power.’

  ‘In Africa,’ agreed Temple, nodding vigorously. ‘And in Barbados.’

  ‘You mean by promoting slavery?’ said Chaloner. ‘That will make our country great, will it?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Behn. ‘And anyone who does not see it is a fool.’

  ‘You promised you would have no more to do with that sort of venture, Johan,’ said Eaffrey quietly. ‘I told you I disapproved, and you—’

  ‘I said I would consider your request,’ said Behn, testily. ‘However, you are a woman, so you cannot possibly understand the complexity of the finances involved. Please excuse me now.’

  He took Temple by the arm, leading him away for a private discussion. Almost immediately, he began to scratch his head.

  Eaffrey’s face fell at the curt dismissal. She turned to Chaloner with tears in her eyes. ‘Johan and I have been growing closer for weeks now, and within moments, you manage to initiate two topics of conversation that see us voicing opposing and irreconcilable views.’

  ‘He is not worthy of you,’ said Chaloner simply.

  ‘That is for me to decide. You had better stay away from both of us in the future. You seem incapable of being civil, and I do not want to lose him over some petty quarrel instigated by you.’

  She turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving Chaloner startled and unhappy.

  Chapter 7

  It was some time before the King and his entourage returned from St James’s Park, but when they did, all White Hall knew they were back. Dogs burst yapping into the Palace Yard, with horses clattering behind them. Armies of grooms, kennel-men and stable-boys surged forward to reclaim the animals, while courtiers milled around in a colourful, noisy gaggle. Scot was among the throng, deep in conversation with Brodrick and two lords Chaloner did not recognise.

  The brightest and loudest of the throng was Buckingham, and Chaloner watched Bristol sidle up to him and indicate that he wanted to talk. Buckingham waved him away with an impatient flick of his hand, then slipped his arm around the waist of one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. She was a pretty young woman, who was unashamedly delighted by the attention. The Queen watched with unhappy eyes, then turned to walk inside the Great Hall. She passed close to where Chaloner was waiting to waylay Scot, and gave him a brief smile as she went.

  Scot broke off his conversation the moment he spotted his friend. Brodrick followed him, although the two nobles hurried to join the clot of drooling men who hung around Lady Castlemaine. She was giving her opinion about her new living quarters, delivering the verdict while wearing a gown so low-cut that nothing was left to the imagination.

  ‘We had some dashed good music last night, Heyden,’ said Clarendon’s cousin. His face was pale and puffy, and there was a curiously chemical scent on his breath that suggested he had not long stopped drinking. The whites of his eyes were yellow, and he rubbed his stomach as if it hurt. ‘I am tempted to offer my consort’s services to the Guinea Company, for their feast of Corpus Christi later this month. At the annual dinner, the playing was dismal, because the entertainment was arranged by Webb, who preferred tavern jigs to chamber music.’

  ‘Did you know Webb well?’ asked Chaloner, thinking that perhaps it was just as well he had lost his place to Greeting. He played for personal enjoyment, not to entertain audiences and, as a spy, he tried to avoid doing anything that would thrust him into a position where he would be noticed.

  Brodrick shuddered. ‘God, no! Our paths crossed at the Guinea Company, but that was all – he hated music, you see. And not only was he vulgar, but he was argumentative, too. On the evening he died, I personally saw him squabbling with Temple, Buckingham, Lord Lauderdale, the Bishop of London, that yellow-legged creature of Bristol’s … ’

  ‘Willys?’ suggested Scot.

  Brodrick snapped his fingers. ‘Willys! That is the fellow! Webb was a loathsome specimen. Do you not agree, Terrell? He was not someone you would have wanted in your Royal Society, eh?’

  ‘Indeed not,’ agreed Scot. He did not look at Chaloner. ‘After my lecture on grasses yesterday, I spent the evening with the scientist Robert Hooke, and he told me that Webb had also quarrelled with two of the men accused of stabbing him. He said it happened before everyone sat down to eat.’

  ‘Yes, their names were Fanning and Dillon,’ said Brodrick. ‘They were later arrested and convicted of the crime. Dillon is a Company member, and he brought Fanning as his guest – our current Master lets anyone join these days. Thank God he is due to step down, and we can appoint someone else. I shall vote for Johan Behn, I think – it is time we had a leader who is young and vigorous.’

  ‘Did either of you actually see Webb arguing with Dillon and Fanning?’ asked Chaloner.

  Scot shook his head. ‘As I told you before, I was engrossed in a botanical discussion. I did not see Webb at all – quarrelling with Dillon, Fanning or anyone else. I am only repeating what Hooke said.’

  ‘I saw them at the festivities, but did not witness the row,’ said Brodrick. ‘I do not think Dillon and his guest stayed long – I remember them at the beginning of the evening, but not at the end. Perhaps they sneaked off to lie in wait for him. Or perhaps they went to a tavern in an attempt to blot the row with Webb from their minds. Who knows?’

  Chaloner recalled that Dillon had denied being at the dinner, and was not sure what to think. Why had he lied? Was it because admitting to fighting with Webb that fateful night would have been incriminating? Or were there people at African House who were spreading tales about Dillon because they wanted him to be seen as guilty, perhaps to shield the real killer?

  ‘Do you know an actress called Rosa Lodge?’ he asked, turning his thoughts to his other duties – protecting Lord Clarendon from scandal.

  Brodrick pointed at the woman the Duke was mauling. ‘Temple inveigled her an appointment to the Queen’s bedchamber. However, if you are hoping for a private performance, you will be waiting a long time – Buckingham is there first, and he is unlikely to relinquish her until she is all used up. What is so funny, Heyden?’

  ‘Bristol. Can you see his face?’

  ‘It is as black as thunder. Do you know why?’

  ‘Rosa Lodge was hired to seduce your cousin, and Buckingham has unwittingly ruined the plan – if she accuses Clarendon of raping her now, no one will believe her, because everyone can see she is wanton. Bristol will have to move on to his next plot, which entails telling Lady Castlemaine that it is Clarendon’s idea to move the King’s bedchamber away from her new quarters.’

  ‘Lord!’ exclaimed Brodrick, appalled. ‘Now that is potentially dangerous. I must warn him immediately. The Lady will be furious, and he needs to be prepared.’

  When Brodrick had gone, Scot gripped Chaloner’s shoulder and hauled him into a small room that was used to store harnesses for the royal carriage. He slammed the door shut, and Chaloner was astonished to see the anger in his face.

  ‘Where have you been these last two days? You have not been home, and I was assailed with a terrible fear that May or Behn had dispatched you. I consigned myself to a dreadful evening in their company, desperately trying to catch one of them out in some inadvertent admission.’

  Chaloner was startled to learn Scot should have been concerned, especially over something as ephemeral as a bad feeling. ‘I looked for you, too, at the Chequer Inn.’

  ‘The landlord did not mention it.’ Scot sounded tired. ‘Well, I am relieved to see you safe. The faces of friends lost to spying keep haunting me, and I was afraid yours was about to join them.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  Scot scrubbed at his eyes, hard enough to disturb his disguise. It was unlike him to be careless, and Chaloner saw he was deeply unsettled. ‘Because White Hall is a dangerous place and you have chosen the wrong side – Clarendon’s overbearing pomposity makes him deeply unpopular, whereas Bristol is generally liked. And I was horrified when Behn bested you in that tussle. If you cannot defen
d yourself against him, then how will you fare against May?’

  Chaloner thought he was overreacting. ‘Behn did not “best” me, I lost my balance.’

  Scot glared out of the window, then forced a smile. ‘I am fussing like I did when you were a green youth on his first assignment. You must forgive me.’

  ‘Is something wrong? Has something happened to make you more than usually uneasy?’

  ‘Temperance and Maude, for a start. They are both worthy ladies, I am sure, but Maude is apt to be indiscreet. Has she repeated her clients’ chatter to you? Yes? Then how do you know she is not repeating yours to someone else? I am not saying there is malice in her, but betrayal is betrayal, nonetheless. Then there is your friend Leybourn. Did you know he and May were acquainted well enough to enjoy a drink in a tavern together?’

  Chaloner shook his head uneasily. ‘But he owns a bookshop – he deals with a lot of people.’

  ‘Yes, you are no doubt right.’ Scot sounded relieved – it was never easy to warn colleagues that those they considered friends might be nothing of the kind, and it was clear he was glad it was over without an awkward confrontation. ‘Bear it in mind for the future, though.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  ‘I heard you were you looking for me on Sunday night.’ Chaloner had his own questions to ask about the truthfulness of friends. ‘I do not suppose it had anything to do with the name Peter Terrell being on a list of men accused of murdering Webb, did it?’

  Scot’s smile turned wry. ‘That was one subject I wanted to air, yes. I am afraid I misled you. My alias was on Bristol’s letter, and I neglected to tell you so when you raised the subject at the ball.’

  Chaloner was taken aback by the blunt admission. ‘Why?’

  ‘It is second nature for men like us to keep secrets, so when you started to talk about the letter, I followed my instincts to procrastinate without conscious thought. Barely an hour had passed before I realised there was no need to be furtive with you – and that withholding information might even put you in danger – so I rushed to your rooms to make amends. But you are never there; you do not even sleep there, it seems. I waited for hours – on Saturday night and Sunday.’