‘Really?’ Chaloner was astonished to learn this should be considered a bonus, rather than something to be avoided at all costs.
Evelyn nodded. ‘He sits on lots of committees, so knows many influential people.’
‘Tell Chaloner about Reymes and Doyley,’ prompted Thompson.
Evelyn grimaced. ‘Doyley is a fine man, although I cannot stop sneezing when he is near, because of the snuff he loves so much. Reymes is much harder to like. Good manners prevent me from saying more, but you will understand what I mean when you meet him yourself.’
‘Why was Chelsea’s Theological College chosen as a prison?’ asked Chaloner.
‘Because it was empty and available – although Andrew Kole will tell you that it was nothing of the kind. He thinks he bought it, you see, and beggared himself repairing the place, ready to rent out. Of course, he is not the only one who thinks the College belongs to him.’
‘Ah, you refer to the younger Sutcliffe,’ said Thompson, nodding. ‘The elder – who was Dean of Exeter Cathedral – paid for most of the building work out of his own pocket. He is dead, but his nephew believes the College should now be his, passed to him with the rest of his uncle’s estate. Did you ever meet John Sutcliffe, Evelyn? A more sinister fellow does not exist! Word is that he was an assassin during the wars, and that he thoroughly enjoyed the work.’
‘Yes, I heard those tales,’ replied Evelyn. ‘But then he shifted his interests to the theatre, and I am told that he now prefers Shakespeare to knives.’
They were ranging away from Chaloner’s original question, so he brought Evelyn back on track. ‘Are you happy with the arrangements that are in place for the Dutch prisoners?’
‘Not really,’ sighed Evelyn. ‘Conditions are cramped, and if plague breaks out … well, suffice to say that few will survive. I suggested an exchange – Hollanders swapped for men of our own – but the government feels it is too early in the hostilities.’
‘What about security?’ pressed Chaloner, more concerned about the danger to London. ‘Is it possible for the inmates to escape?’
Evelyn smiled. ‘It is possible, but I doubt any will try. Most do not speak English, and would be recaptured immediately. And even if they did manage to evade our patrols, what could they do? Steal a ship and sail back to Holland? That would not be easy!’
‘If there are several hundred of them, they could march to London and cause trouble.’
‘There are two thousand, actually,’ said Evelyn. ‘But they would never set their sights on London – they would be too frightened of catching the plague. Good heavens – here come Reymes and Doyley! I am popular today.’
Chaloner watched with interest as the two other commissioners were ushered into Evelyn’s parlour. Reymes was all self-important bustle, while Doyley verged on the lethargic; he produced a box of snuff and took a sniff, although it was Evelyn who sneezed.
‘We have been to a meeting in Greenwich,’ explained Doyley, passing Evelyn a bundle of paper that was liberally adorned with brown smudges; more were on his cuffs, suggesting that snuff-taking was not a very clean business. ‘So we took the opportunity to bring you these – the figures for last month’s victuals at the prison.’
He turned his large eyes questioningly on Chaloner, indicating that he wanted an introduction. Evelyn obliged, although Reymes flushed red with anger when he learned that he was in company with a member of the hated Earl of Clarendon’s staff.
‘Satan in Dunkirk House!’ Reymes spat. ‘It was his idea to give us this damned commission, knowing that to refuse would be regarded as an act of insurrection. But it is a terrible post, with meagre pay and no opportunity for advancement.’
‘Oh, come, Reymes,’ said Evelyn soothingly. ‘Think of the good we can do.’
‘I do not want to do good,’ snapped Reymes. ‘I want what I am owed. I gave my all for the King during the wars, and he should compensate me accordingly. It is all very well for you and Doyley – you have wealthy families – but I deserve to be treated more sympathetically.’
Doyley took another pinch of snuff. ‘We are proud to do our duty,’ he said, shooting his friend a look that warned him to guard his tongue in front of Chaloner and Thompson – men they did not know. ‘I should not like anyone to think that we are ungrateful for this opportunity to serve our country.’
Evelyn sneezed a second time, while Reymes sneered his disdain for the remark.
‘Chaloner was just asking about prison security,’ said Evelyn, dabbing at his nose with a grubby handkerchief before tactfully changing the subject, ‘and our ability to keep our charges within its walls. What do you say to that?’
‘I say he mind his own business,’ flared Reymes. ‘I know what Clarendon is doing – he wants his spy to find faults with what we have done. Well, he will be disappointed, because there is nothing amiss with our arrangements.’
It had crossed Chaloner’s mind that his employer wanted there to be problems, so he could strike Reymes with the final coup de grâce. He hoped all would be in order, though: Doyley and Evelyn seemed decent men, and he had no wish to see them used as pawns in political games.
‘That was not why—’ he began.
‘Of course it was,’ snarled Reymes. ‘But the prison is our concern, not his, and if he attempts to interfere again, I shall tell the King that he is organising a break-out himself, and aims to topple the government by using freed Dutch seamen.’
‘You must harbour a very deep dislike for him,’ said Chaloner, astonished by the wild threat – one that not even the Earl’s most rabid adversaries would believe.
‘I hate him,’ declared Reymes uncompromisingly. ‘And I wish him all the harm in the world. I shall wish you the same, if you approach me with this business again.’
There was no point in prolonging the interview, so Chaloner took his leave, declining Evelyn’s offer of a tour of the garden followed by dinner. Reymes ignored Chaloner until he was out of the room, then released a stream of invective that comprised a lot of bad language and imaginative name-calling. Chaloner listened for a moment, but it was all hot air – the Earl had made an enemy of a man who was powerless to fight back, and who was full of bitter frustration about it.
It was mid-afternoon when Chaloner collected his horse from Evelyn’s stable for the return journey. Thompson had decided to stay, eager to see what new arboreal species his friend had acquired since they had last met, and Reymes had business in the village, but Doyley approached with a friendly smile.
‘May I ride back to the city with you? It is unsafe to travel alone in these desperate times.’
Chaloner was more than happy to spend time with a commissioner, especially as Doyley transpired to be an erudite and interesting companion. He had been a professional soldier in the Swedish army until his father had died, at which point he had been obliged to return home to manage his inheritance. Later, he had been knighted by the first King Charles, of whom he had been a fervent supporter. He regarded Chaloner appraisingly.
‘I imagine you fought for the other side, though.’ He smiled and raised his hand when Chaloner opened his mouth to deny it. ‘I knew your uncle – another Thomas Chaloner.’
‘Many people did,’ said Chaloner, rather bitterly.
His father’s brother had signed the old King’s death warrant, which had made him a hero under Cromwell’s government, but a dangerous dissident in the eyes of the current one. He had been a lively, flamboyant character with a vast circle of friends, and Chaloner was always being accosted by people claiming to have known him. He often found himself wishing that his kinsman had been a little less gregarious.
‘He knew how to enjoy himself,’ sighed Doyley wistfully. ‘Yet you do not seem cast in the same mould. He would not have declined an invitation to hobnob with Evelyn.’
‘No,’ agreed Chaloner, and briskly changed the subject, unwilling to discuss a kinsman who would have been executed as a traitor had he not managed to flee the country first. ‘Do you live
in Chelsea, or are you obliged to travel there whenever you visit the gaol?’
‘My town home is in Hatton Garden, so if I need to be in Chelsea for any length of time, I stay with Reymes, who rents a house there.’
‘You do not lodge in the prison? There must be some accommodation for staff and visitors.’
‘There is.’ Doyley chortled, although it turned into a series of snorts as he inhaled more snuff. ‘But I would never consider sleeping there – I might not get out again! It is a secure place, and Warden Tooker manages it very well.’
‘So the College was a good choice of building for the purpose?’
‘I believe so, and it has fulfilled that function before – Oliver Cromwell kept Scottish rebels in it at one point. It was squalid then, but we shall ensure conditions are better this time. It will cost us a great deal of our own money, of course, but that cannot be helped.’
‘So I can report to my Earl that you are satisfied with it?’
‘You may. Have you ever been to Chelsea? It is a lovely place – and famous, too, with Dr Parker and his amazing work in curing lunacy.’
‘Using coffee, apparently.’
Doyley shrugged. ‘It does not matter why he is successful, only that his treatments help the afflicted. Of course, it was unfortunate that one of them died.’
‘I heard about that. It is said that she was murdered.’
‘Strangled,’ nodded Doyley with a sigh. ‘In the orchard, apparently.’
‘How easy is it to gain access to Gorges House?’
‘Not very. There is a high wall around it, and its gates are kept locked for obvious reasons – to protect vulnerable residents from prying eyes, and to prevent the others from getting out. A few of them are seriously disturbed.’
‘Are any dangerous? In other words, could the victim have been killed by another patient?’
‘The governors claim that an intruder did it, but who can blame them? They will lose wealthy clients if it is put about that they accommodate killers.’
‘Do they accommodate killers?’
Doyley shrugged. ‘Well, Dorothy Wiseman is a powerful lady who has hurt others before.’
Chaloner’s heart sank. He did not want to investigate a murder where the chief suspect was his friend’s wife.
For the rest of the journey, Doyley spoke knowledgeably on all manner of subjects, and Chaloner was sorry when they eventually reached the city, as he could have listened for longer. Doyley made his farewells and aimed for the Royal Exchange – emptier than usual, but still active – while Chaloner rode on. It was late afternoon, and the air was parched and still. Dust hung like a miasma, and he wondered if the plague lurked within it. He lit his pipe, although not with much expectation that it would protect him.
He returned the horse to the inn and went home, where he washed and shaved in a bowl of brackish water. Then he donned a clean white shirt, black breeches and grey long-coat, grabbed his viol and set off to Clarendon House. The clocks were just striking six as he walked up the drive.
The soirée was to be in the Chapell Pavilion, a gloriously ornate hall adorned with religious art. Its windows had been thrown open in the hope of catching a breeze, but the sun had been pouring into it all day, so it was like a furnace. Even the Earl, who was unnatural in his appreciation of heat, complained.
‘It makes wearing a wig very uncomfortable,’ he confided to Chaloner. Then he looked the spy up and down critically. ‘Although you seem to have left yours at home.’
‘It was stolen,’ said Chaloner, supposing some good had come out of the servants’ perfidy. He segued to another subject, before the Earl could order him to buy a replacement. ‘I travelled to Deptford today, to ask John Evelyn about the prison.’
The Earl eyed him coolly. ‘I thought I told you to stay in the city.’
‘You told me not to go to Chelsea,’ corrected Chaloner, then decided this might be construed as impertinence, so added, ‘Your unease about the College worried me, sir, so I decided to waste no time. Three of the four commissioners were there, and they all said they were happy with its security, but I shall assess it for myself on Friday.’
‘Reymes is a villain, so leave no stone unturned,’ instructed the Earl. ‘Do you hear me?’
Chaloner nodded, although he was sorry to learn that the main purpose of the exercise was spite, not concern for London’s safety. He turned the discussion to Gorges.
‘While I am in Chelsea, would you like me to investigate the Gorges murder as well as the thefts?’ he asked, purely to let the Earl know that he had found out about it.
But the blood drained from the Earl’s face, and when he spoke, it was in a horrified whisper. ‘What murder?’
‘An inmate,’ replied Chaloner, watching him closely. So he had not known, he thought in surprise, which meant it was something else that his master was so assiduously keeping from him.
‘Which one?’ asked the Earl hoarsely.
‘Nancy Janaway. She was strangled.’
‘Lord!’ gasped the Earl, plainly shocked. ‘You must catch the culprit. Begin your enquiries at tonight’s soirée. All the governors will be here, and you have my permission to ask them whatever you like – including why none of them has bothered to mention the matter to me.’
‘Very well, sir.’
‘Then come to tell me what they say. However, my family must not know what you are doing. Is that clear? They are aware of the thefts, but the death must be kept from them at all costs. I should never hear the end of it if they find out that I pour my precious money into a place where residents perish in suspicious circumstances.’
‘They are still here? I thought they would be in Hampton Court by now.’
‘They were delayed, because the carts were too top-heavy to travel. They will go tomorrow, and I shall follow the day after. But I am glad they are here, as it happens – they have agreed to help me entertain my guests this evening.’
‘You do not need my viol, then?’ Chaloner found himself relieved, which bemused him, as he never usually dodged an opportunity for music. What was wrong with him? Some sort of divine revenge for not caring for Hannah as he should have done?
‘You can play jigs for the first hour, but then I want you to concentrate on getting answers.’ The Earl eyed him disapprovingly. ‘You say your wig was stolen, but what about your livery? I want all my staff in uniform this evening – I cannot have folk thinking that I am too poor to provide my people with suitable attire.’
‘The servants took them too, after Hannah—’
‘Then you must purchase some more,’ said the Earl briskly. ‘Meanwhile, you may borrow a blue coat and yellow breeches from me, and my son will lend you a wig. The clothes will be a tight fit, of course, but that cannot be helped.’
The coat and breeches were not tight at all, given the Earl’s princely girth. Moreover, both were made of thickly expensive material, while the wig was weighty and made Chaloner’s head ache. The Earl regarded him appraisingly when he reappeared, so Chaloner hastened to distract him, lest he ordered some additional article of clothing donned in the name of appearances.
‘Who else is coming tonight, sir, besides the Gorges governors?’
‘A smattering of merchants, the Treasury men, a few Admiralty clerks and some gentlemen from White Hall. I felt obliged to acknowledge their courage before I abandon the city, too. It was my wife who invited the board, though – they are lowly creatures compared to the others. Oh, and the Rector of Chelsea is coming as well.’
‘For any particular reason?’
‘He was standing with the governors when my wife extended the invitation, and she says it would have been rude to exclude him. Personally, I think she should have waited until he had gone, because he is not a very nice man, as you will see when you meet him. But my guests are beginning to arrive, so you had better get to your post.’
The ‘consort’ was to play in an antechamber, decorously out of sight of the guests in the Chapell Pavili
on, but close enough so the music would be easily audible and thus fill any awkward silences in the conversation. Lady Clarendon was already there, fussing over the arrangement of chairs, when Chaloner and the Earl walked in.
‘Have you ordered enough wine, dear?’ she asked her husband. ‘You tend to be miserly on these occasions, but it is better to have too much than not enough.’
‘I am sure the Court debauchees would agree,’ said the Earl sourly. ‘However, this is an abstemious household, so no one will be offered more than one cup of claret. Except the musicians, who will have none. They cannot play and drink at the same time anyway.’
Amusement flashed in Frances’ eyes. ‘Will you have them faint from thirst, then? Let them have what they want – it will calm their nerves. Have you told Thomas who the others will be?’
The Earl obliged. ‘Mr Greeting from the King’s Private Musick, who happened to mention that he was free tonight; my cousin Brodrick; and my daughter Anne.’
Chaloner’s heart sank. Greeting was a talented violist, but Brodrick was mediocre, and Anne was downright embarrassing. He looked to where she was talking in a loud, important voice about the wonders of Hampton Court, declaring that she had not been included in the first wave of refugees from the city because she had been too busy. She was a short, sour-faced woman who considered herself a cut above everyone else because she was married to the King’s brother, and was thus set to become queen if His Majesty died without issue.
‘She wishes it was her decision to stay,’ whispered Thomas Greeting, coming to stand next to Chaloner when the Earl and his wife had gone. His post as one of the King’s professional musicians allowed him plenty of time to indulge in his favourite pastime: Court gossip. ‘But the truth is that she was left behind because she was not wanted.’
‘Really? I thought the King liked her.’
‘Nobody at Court likes her. And she plays the flute like an ape, although she will tell you that she has the fingers of an angel. Do not disabuse her, though, or she will flay you alive.’
The last member of the consort, Sir Alan Brodrick, was one of the Court’s most infamous rakes, which everyone knew except the Earl, who would hear no bad word about him. Brodrick loved good music, which was why he rarely played himself – he knew his own limitations in that regard. He entered the antechamber reluctantly.
The Chelsea Strangler Page 6