‘It will not touch us,’ Misick predicted confidently. ‘How could it, when we all take a daily dose of my Plague Elixir – a potion that the Royal College of Physicians itself has endorsed?’
Taylor glanced up and seemed to notice Chaloner for the first time. ‘Step away,’ he ordered imperiously. ‘I want a private word with my son Evan. Go on. You, too, Misick. Back, I say!’
It was hardly polite, and Chaloner was tempted to say so, but Misick grabbed his arm and drew him to the far side of the room, obviously unwilling to incur the great man’s wrath. Chaloner tugged free, resenting the liberty, a movement that caused him to brush against the wig, which released a thick billow of white powder.
‘It is a remedy against fleas,’ Misick explained, while Chaloner coughed. ‘Wigs are splendid inventions, and I would not be without mine for the world, but they do attract hordes of unwelcome visitors. Do you wear one? If so, I shall send you a packet. You will never have a problem with fleas, lice, ticks or nits ever again.’
Manfully, Chaloner resisted the urge to scratch, and instead took the opportunity to further one of his enquiries. ‘I am told you are friends with Abner Coo and Richard Wiseman.’
The physician’s face clouded. ‘I was friends with Coo, but the poor man was shot yesterday. And Surgeon Wiseman does not have friends, so perhaps “colleague” might be a better description of my relationship with him. Why? Do you know them, too?’
‘I was with Coo when he was killed,’ explained Chaloner, deciding not to mention the fact that Wiseman was his friend, and he considered him a good one. ‘And I should like to see the culprits brought to justice.’
‘Good!’ declared Misick passionately. ‘Coo was a fine man, and did not deserve to be gunned down in so terrible a manner.’
‘Do you know who might have done it?’
‘If I did, I would go after the villains myself. But unfortunately, Coo was willing to tend anyone in need, which meant he mingled with some very undesirable characters. He lived and worked on Cheapside, which is in the domain of a powerful criminal called Baron.’
‘Could Baron have ordered the execution?’
Misick pondered. ‘Probably not, because Coo physicked his trainband. However, I shall keep my ears open for gossip. What is your name, and where can you be reached?’
Chaloner told him, and as Taylor and his son were still deep in conversation, he turned to another matter. ‘Did you know Dick Wheler?’
‘Of course. Between you and me, he was not a very nice man. He paid Baron to collect unpaid debts, and was not fussy about how it was done.’
‘So who might have killed him?’
‘Where to start? His colleagues hated his haughty arrogance towards them—’
‘Including Taylor?’ interrupted Chaloner softly.
‘Yes, along with Backwell, Vyner, Angier, Hinton and every other banker in the city. Then there were the clients he abused – a list that will run to several pages, and will include members of Court and the government as well as tradesmen, clerks and paupers. I applaud the sense of justice that drives you to hunt killers, Chaloner, but concentrate on Coo. He deserves it.’
‘And Wheler does not?’
Misick sighed. ‘I suppose even the wicked have a right to justice. But why wait until now to explore the matter? He died weeks ago.’
‘I know,’ said Chaloner heavily, heartily wishing his Earl would not burden him with such impractical assignments.
It was some time before the Master of the Goldsmiths’ Company deigned to ask Chaloner his business, although the spy did not mind, because Misick kept him entertained with gossip while they waited. The physician was able to tell him nothing more to help with Coo, and he had never heard of DuPont, but he provided a detailed account of what had happened immediately after Wheler’s murder – namely that Baron had moved within hours to seize the gambling dens and brothels, and that Joan had visited Taylor the very next day to discuss an alliance between their houses.
‘It was a clever move on her part,’ Misick said admiringly. ‘Wheler left her very rich, but on her own, she lacked teeth. The alliance with Taylor’s Bank has made her part of the most powerful financial body in the city.’
Chaloner recalled the hard-faced woman he had seen the previous afternoon, and thought she probably had enough ‘teeth’ for all the goldsmiths combined. ‘So she and Taylor run it together?’
Misick’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Not yet, as Taylor is unused to sharing. But she is working quietly and diligently to take her rightful place. She is already indispensable – he rarely attends meetings without her at his side these days. She will succeed, of that I have no doubt.’
Eventually, Taylor beckoned Chaloner forward, and the spy again sensed that he was in the presence of a very powerful man. By contrast, Evan was a nonentity, and compensated for his lack of personality with an attitude of sullen aggression, which sat poorly with his boyish looks and made him seem like a petulant child, although he must have been well past forty.
‘We have met before,’ said Taylor, fixing Chaloner with bright brown eyes. ‘Yesterday, on Cheapside. You were with Coo when he was shot, and almost shared his fate.’
‘Villains!’ muttered Evan, while Chaloner was surprised that Taylor should remember him when he had barely glanced in his direction. It warned him not to underestimate the man.
‘Coo was a fine physician,’ said Taylor soberly. ‘He will be missed.’
‘Who do you think did it?’ asked Chaloner.
‘Baron, probably,’ replied Evan. ‘He is the one with killers in his employ – I assume you are familiar with the criminal gang he calls his trainband? But he should watch himself, because one of those vile rogues might turn on him.’
‘One might,’ agreed Taylor. ‘Just as one turned on poor Wheler.’
‘So you think Wheler was killed by Baron or someone from his retinue?’ probed Chaloner.
‘It was not Baron’s retinue at the time,’ Taylor reminded him. ‘It was Wheler’s. However, I cannot begin to guess which of those villains summoned up the courage to dispatch him, so if you want to know, you will have to ask them yourself. However, if you discover that they are innocent, then some client he annoyed will be the culprit.’
‘They are our clients now,’ put in Evan. ‘Joan brought them to us when she married Randal. However, I have not met any who look like assassins, Father.’
‘You think you could tell, do you?’ asked Taylor with a sneer that made his son bristle, although only behind his back. He turned back to Chaloner. ‘And, of course, Wheler was also disliked by his fellow financiers.’
‘Including you?’ Chaloner tried not to flinch when Taylor’s eyes bored into his own.
‘No, I liked him,’ the banker replied. ‘He was not some chattering monkey, like Backwell, Vyner, Glosson and the others, but a man of steel. I admired his strength.’
When he turned to the papers on his desk, Chaloner began to gabble in the hope of keeping the discussion going. ‘I am a friend of your son Silas. He and I served together in the New Model Army.’
‘We do not mention my brother’s politics,’ said Evan curtly. ‘We Taylors were Royalists in the wars and Royalists in the Commonwealth. Silas was an aberration.’
But Chaloner knew otherwise. Silas liked to drink, and had confided a number of family secrets when in his cups. One was that he was the Taylors’ ‘insurance’, so they could claim to be supporters of Parliament should the need arise. The ploy had worked: Silas’s courage during the conflict meant that Cromwell had given the family the benefit of the doubt when he was in power, while they had reaped great rewards from the King at the Restoration.
‘Silas was always the bravest of my three sons,’ declared Taylor. ‘So he was the perfect choice to enrol in an army – although only when it became clear which side was going to win, of course.’
It was a curious thing to admit, and Chaloner regarded him sharply. There was a thin film of sweat on Taylor’s
face, and was that a hint of wildness in the piercing brown eyes?
‘We have always been Cavaliers, Father,’ averred Evan firmly. ‘We never—’
‘Silas is Keeper of Stores at the Harwich shipyard now,’ Taylor interrupted. He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, but there was something in his slightly manic expression that made Chaloner wonder if he was in complete control of his wits. ‘Evan bought the post for him, on the grounds that there will be plenty of scope for taking bribes.’
‘Not so,’ countered Evan, although with a sickly smile that did much to suggest that Taylor was telling the truth. ‘Silas is an honest man, like us. After all, no banker or public official can operate efficiently if he has a reputation for being corrupt.’
The last words were spoken pointedly, which caused Taylor to whip around and glare at him. ‘Who are you calling corrupt?’ he demanded.
‘Not you,’ gulped Evan. ‘I—’
‘Good.’ Taylor turned to Chaloner again. ‘Now, why did you come here today?’
‘I know Randal, too,’ lied Chaloner, sensing the interview would not last long once Taylor discovered that he was just another debtor, so aiming to learn as much as he could before he was ousted. ‘I should like to see him again, to talk over old times. Where does he live?’
‘We do not give out that sort of information,’ said Evan sharply.
‘Of course,’ said Chaloner. ‘But I should like to buy him a drink. Will you—’
‘He has gone into hiding, on account of some nonsense he wrote about Cromwell’s wife,’ interrupted Taylor. ‘There are people who would kill him for it, and while I have no great affection for the fool, I do not want him dead. But never mind him. Come and look at this.’
He indicated the chest that sat on his table. It was square, with sides about the length of his forearm, made of rosewood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. He made no effort to open it, though, and only stroked it lovingly.
‘It contains power,’ he said with a peculiar leer, snatching it up suddenly and cradling it in his arms. ‘The power of life and death. Have you ever seen anything like it?’
‘Er … no,’ replied Chaloner, when he saw the banker expected an answer.
‘Plague,’ Taylor hissed, leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘I shall release it in the city one day, but the sickness will not claim me. I am taking the best preventatives money can buy.’
‘Speaking of money, we should get down to business,’ said Evan loudly, while Chaloner regarded the older man askance. Taylor was likely to land himself in trouble if he went around claiming that he had the wherewithal to smite London with a deadly disease.
‘Business.’ Taylor smiled rather predatorily as he set the box back on the table. ‘Have you come to beg a loan or to repay a debt? You will forgive me for not knowing, but I have acquired a lot of new clients recently – some bought from my fellow bankers, others who came with Joan.’
‘My wife borrowed from Backwell,’ explained Chaloner, supposing it was time to attend his own affairs. ‘A debt you then bought. I came to see how the matter might best be managed.’
Evan went to a pile of ledgers, where it took but a moment to locate Hannah’s case. She had borrowed three thousand pounds at five per cent per annum. The White Hall clerks had removed twelve pounds and six shillings from her salary each month, which had then been taken directly to Backwell. She was to pay interest only for twenty years, after which the original sum would be due in full – she would raise it either from her savings or by selling the post to someone else. Chaloner stared at the figures, and calculated that by the end of two decades, Backwell would have earned enough interest to double his original investment.
Evan explained how things were now different. ‘We charge fifteen per cent. If you do not like it, you must repay the original three thousand, plus the two months’ interest that is currently outstanding, plus our severance fee, which is another five hundred. That makes three thousand, seven hundred and fifty pounds.’
No wonder so many people were in trouble, thought Chaloner, if that was the way Taylor’s Bank conducted its business.
‘It is perfectly legal,’ said Taylor smugly. ‘Ask the Lord Chancellor.’
‘Perhaps so, but it is unethical.’ Chaloner knew others would have said the same, and he was almost certainly wasting his breath, but he could not help himself. ‘You will ruin your clients, and they will pay nothing at all if they are destitute.’
‘Then we shall seize their assets,’ said Evan smoothly. ‘Such as your wife’s post at Court, her clothes, jewels and any other possessions she might have. It sounds harsh, but it is the way such matters work. She should not have taken a loan if she could not repay it.’
‘Oh, oh, oh!’ cried Taylor, so loudly that Chaloner and Evan leapt in alarm. The banker shot to his feet, and pointed out of the window. ‘Look! A cloud shaped like a snake!’
‘So there is, Father,’ said Evan, although Chaloner could not see one. ‘But—’
The door flew open and Misick scurried in, long wig flying behind him. He glanced around quickly, then looked sheepish. ‘Forgive me. I thought someone was calling for help.’
‘There!’ yelled Taylor excitedly. ‘A serpent with three heads! It is a financial omen, and means the country will be crippled by three calamities: war, plague and the Colburn Crisis.’
‘I am sure you are right,’ said Misick soothingly, while Chaloner tried in vain to see what Taylor claimed to have spotted. ‘I imagine all London will be talking about it tomorrow. But sit down now, and I shall mix you a soothing tonic.’
Evan had summoned henchmen while Misick had been talking, and Chaloner found himself bundled out of the office by three burly men. He could have fought free, but there was no point – the Taylors were not going to change the terms they had decided upon, and he had no choice but to pay what they demanded. It was a fortune, and he was not sure how it could be done – unless Hannah was willing to sell her Court post, of course, but he doubted that was an option.
Out on the stairs, Evan grabbed his wrist to speak in a low, menacing hiss. ‘My father did see a three-headed snake, and if you claim otherwise, or even hint that he is losing his wits, the interest on your loan will rise to fifty per cent. Do I make myself clear?’
Chaloner wrenched away with more vigour than was necessary, and then it was Evan’s arm held in a painful pinch. ‘You do. But while we are exchanging pleasantries, let me say something to you. You will not send your louts to terrorise my wife again. If you have any questions, you will address them to me. Is that clear?’
Wincing, Evan nodded, so Chaloner released him and stalked out.
Chapter 4
Chaloner had learned little to further his enquiries into the deaths of Wheler and Coo, he had failed to learn where Randal was hiding, and his final words to Evan were more likely to exacerbate his financial difficulties than ease them. He had, however, spoken to Misick about Coo, and had questioned Taylor and Evan about Wheler’s murder – although the discussion had failed to tell him whether they could be eliminated or bumped to the top of his list of suspects.
He pondered Taylor as he went. Was there something wrong with the banker’s wits? Misick obviously thought so, because he had had a pre-prepared tonic to hand, while the rants about the box and the cloud were peculiar, to say the least. On the other hand, Taylor had been perfectly lucid when deliberating Hannah’s debt, and had readily grasped the complex figures involved. Chaloner was still mulling the matter over when he heard his name called.
He was surprised by the depth of pleasure he experienced when he turned to see Richard Wiseman. Their friendship had developed slowly, because although Wiseman had quickly decided that Chaloner was worthy of his approbation, Chaloner had not liked the surgeon’s arrogance, hauteur and condescension. Wiseman had persisted, though, and Chaloner had gradually come to appreciate the virtues beneath the irritating exterior: courage, an unwavering loyalty to those few he considered to be friends, and a
n integrity that was rare among courtiers.
Wiseman was an imposing figure in his trademark red. He never wore any other colour, and even his hair was auburn. He claimed it was to be instantly recognisable to the sick, but his detractors – and there were plenty of them – said it was to hide the blood he spilled in botched operations. Personally, Chaloner thought that Wiseman just liked to be noticed.
‘Temperance told me you were home,’ the surgeon said, pounding him rather vigorously on the back. He was a powerful man, and his comradely blows were enough to make Chaloner stagger. ‘Although it does not seem to have taken you long to embroil yourself in trouble.’
‘Which particular trouble is that?’ asked Chaloner.
‘Being in a carriage that was attacked in Cheapside,’ replied Wiseman. ‘Temperance told me how you saved her from an angry mob. She told me about Coo as well. It is not easy to remain compassionate when you see so much suffering, and medici become jaded with time. But Coo never did. He was the best of all of us.’
As he usually had scant time for his colleagues, this was praise indeed. It, more than anything else he had heard, told Chaloner that Coo must indeed have been an exceptional man.
‘He was,’ came a voice from behind them, and both turned to see Misick, his enormous wig undulating in the breeze. ‘I shall miss him terribly.’
‘I thought you would be with Taylor,’ said Chaloner. ‘Trying to restore his reason.’
‘I was ordered out when I failed to agree that his three-headed snake was pink,’ explained Misick. ‘I have just suggested that Evan makes him lie down. The poor man works too hard, and it is lack of sleep that causes these odd delusions.’
‘I know how he feels,’ sighed Wiseman. ‘I have scant time for rest myself these days. Not only do I have an ever-expanding practice, but I am working on a cure for the plague and I am Master of the Company of Barber–Surgeons.’
Chaloner knew this last fact as Wiseman mentioned it almost every time they met. He had been elected not because he was popular or the best man for the job, but because he was the only senior member who had not had a crack at the post, and his repeated rejection by his esteemed colleagues had become embarrassing.
The Cheapside Corpse Page 9