‘Lord! Such sombre talk!’ cried Silas. ‘I am beginning to wish I had not come!’
The Green Dragon was spacious, pleasant and airy. It was also crowded, but unfortunately, Randal was not among the noisy throng. Silas ordered a jug of ale, and Chaloner was glad when the taverner, a plump, greasy, sweating individual named Ned Hanson, declared it was on the house, as he had very little money left – and less than he should have done, because he had bought Silas’s music to assuage his guilt over the forty pounds Hannah owed the Shaws.
‘Hanson is in debt to my father,’ said Silas, to explain the landlord’s generosity. ‘And he hopes I will put in a good word for him. I might. I like this tavern, and should not like to see it closed on my family’s account.’
He turned the conversation to music, and Chaloner soon forgot both his cold and his investigations as they talked, only realising how much time had passed when Hanson brought them a meal of bread and roasted meat. He knew he should leave and do some work, but he was hungry, so he lingered, enjoying Silas’s easy banter, and had just finished eating when Shaw and Lettice arrived.
‘A quartet!’ cried Silas, and promptly demanded the use of a private room. They were given one that was clean, quiet and smelled of the herbs that were springing to life in the garden outside. A bee buzzed among the blossoms, and a blackbird trilled from a tree in the next yard.
Lettice entertained Chaloner and Silas with conversation while her husband went to fetch two viols from his shop, but soon ran out of interesting things to say, and confined herself instead to naming all those courtiers who bought music from her shop. Chaloner was unimpressed when Silas made an excuse to disappear, leaving him to listen to the dull monologue alone.
Bored, he went to stare out of the window and was surprised to see Backwell lurking behind a bush in the garden – and even more surprised to see Silas join him there a few moments later. Both glanced around furtively as they held a low-voiced conversation, so it was clear they did not want to be observed. At first, Chaloner assumed that Silas was just returning the coins he said he had borrowed, but no money changed hands. The spy strained his ears to listen to them, but all he could hear was Lettice’s inconsequential gabble.
‘Do you know Backwell well?’ he asked, when his friend eventually returned.
Silas gave one of his rakish grins. ‘Not at all. He is a dry old stick, so I leave him to the likes of my father and Joan.’
‘But I just saw you talking to him,’ said Chaloner, disliking the lie.
‘You mean in the garden? You saw us, did you? Well, do not tell anyone – it would do my reputation as a man of verve no good whatsoever. Ah, here is Shaw at last. And he has brought songs by Gibbons. Excellent! Which of these viols will you have, Tom?’
Chaloner tried to pursue the discussion about Backwell, but Silas raised a hand for silence while they tuned their instruments, and by the time they had finished, Lettice and Shaw were ready to sing. Silas began playing at once, forcing Chaloner to scramble to catch his place. Lettice giggled once during a rest, but Silas silenced her with a glance, and it did not happen again. The remainder of the piece was blissful, and when it was over, Chaloner did not care about what had transpired in the garden.
They played until the light faded, at which point Silas called for a lamp, and they continued until Lettice declared herself too tired for more. Chaloner was sorry, even though his own fingers were sore from the exercise, and took his leave reluctantly.
Cheapside was busy. Every tavern, alehouse and eatery was doing a roaring trade, and the atmosphere was light and relaxed, as often happened on warm evenings. There was some trouble at the Standard, where Puritans brandishing Randal’s pamphlet yelled abuse at a few Cavaliers, but trainband men appeared and the fracas was soon quelled.
Chaloner walked to Baron’s house, then stood in the shadows of St Mary Woolchurch opposite, thinking that if the King of Cheapside refused to give him the curtains, he would just have to take them. It was not stealing, as the Earl had paid for them, and his only concern was that they might be too heavy for him to carry. He found a comfortable place to wedge himself, and settled down to wait.
Lamps burned inside the house, and he could see Baron on the ground floor, lounging in a throne-like chair while people came and went. Most brought money, which was accepted with polite grace; some did not, and were bundled away to be dealt with by his charmless captains. Hours passed, and the bellman was calling two o’clock before the lamps in Baron’s mansion were finally doused. Only one remained, and Chaloner crept forward to see Baron, Doe and Poachin counting money at a table.
He waited again, and eventually saw a shadow pass across an upstairs window – Baron joining his wife in bed. Chaloner began to prowl, and soon discovered that the felon was very mindful of his security. Not only were there substantial locks on all the doors, but the window shutters had been carefully sealed, and the grounds were patrolled by vigilant guards.
But Chaloner had made a career out of breaking into places that wanted to keep people out, and it did not take him long to identify a window that was weaker than the rest. Meanwhile, the sentries had settled into a routine, so it was easy to predict when they would next appear.
Moving with utmost care, he used his knife to prise open the shutter. He scrambled through it just as the guards reappeared, both engaged in a low-voiced conversation about a house that had been shut up by the authorities. Their voices were sharp with indignation as they agreed that the baby was suffering from colic, not the plague, but its parents had not had the funds to encourage the searcher to concur.
Chaloner lit a candle and began his search, noting that Baron felt sufficiently safe to have left all his money in a pile on the table. He tiptoed on, passing through any number of handsomely furnished rooms. There was nothing of interest on the ground floor, so he descended to the cellar. Curtains – including some exceptionally ugly ones with embroidered roses – were piled neatly on tables, along with tapestries, rugs and the kind of hangings that went around four-poster beds. Unfortunately, none were red with gold thread. Then he heard a noise behind him, and whipped around to see Baron standing there, watching him.
Chaloner doused the candle quickly, aware of the felon surging forward to lay hold of him. He jigged around the man, but Baron managed to snag his sleeve. He punched his way free and ran, but Baron started to yell, and suddenly the house was full of trainband men.
Chaloner aimed for the stairs, knowing instinctively that his best option was to escape over the roof, but Baron’s son blocked his route – the lad was pale but resolute as he gripped a wooden sword in hands that shook. It would be easy to knock him down, but Chaloner was not in the habit of hurting children, so he ran back down the stairs and fought a brisk but brief battle with the men by the front door. They were unprepared for the ferocity of his attack, and were quickly defeated.
He would have escaped handily if it had been a normal door. Unluckily, it was not only locked, but secured with three bolts and two bars. It was too much, and although Chaloner defeated the lock and the bolts, he was still struggling with the bars when Doe appeared. The captain launched himself forward with such force that Chaloner was knocked clean off his feet. Before he could scramble upright, Doe was on him, screaming furiously as he delivered a frenzy of kicks and punches.
Chaloner was not sure what happened next. Doe was still trying to batter him, but his blows either missed or lacked force, and he risked a glance upwards to see Poachin holding his fellow captain off. Then more of the trainband arrived and Chaloner was hauled roughly to his feet. Doe howled at Poachin to let him go, and there was no question that he aimed to kill the intruder with his bare hands.
‘Stop,’ came a commanding voice from the doorway. It was Baron, rubbing his jaw where one of Chaloner’s wild clouts had struck home. ‘I want to talk to him.’
A sly expression crossed Poachin’s face and he released Doe, who was far too enraged to hear orders. He surged forward, ignoring
Baron’s bellow to desist. Chaloner braced himself, but the trainband reacted quickly and intercepted Doe before he reached his target. Doe fought tooth and nail until Baron gripped a handful of his hair, yanked his head back and whispered in his ear. It had no effect at first, but the stream of low words gradually began to calm him.
Only when Doe nodded to say that he had his temper under control did Baron let him go. He shook himself like a dog, while the King of Cheapside shot Poachin a glance that was none too friendly – the attempt to see Doe disgrace himself had misfired. Then Baron turned his attention to Chaloner.
‘What are you doing in my house?’ His voice was soft, but Chaloner knew he was in serious trouble. The trainband comprised the kind of men who would not only turn a blind eye to murder, but who were probably also experienced at disposing of inconvenient corpses. Chaloner noticed Oxley among them, eyes bright at the prospect of violence.
‘Looking for the Earl of Clarendon’s curtains,’ he replied with as much swagger as he could muster. If he was going to be summarily dispatched, then he was certainly not about to give them the satisfaction of showing fear.
Baron stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The trainband joined in, albeit nervously. ‘And you expect me to believe that?’
Chaloner nodded. ‘He will not pay my salary until they are delivered, and my wife is in debt with Taylor, who is inflexible about repayment.’
‘That might be true,’ said Poachin to Baron. ‘Half the Court owes money to Taylor, while Neve told me that Clarendon often abuses his staff.’
‘Leave us,’ Baron ordered his trainband.
They trooped out obediently. Poachin drew a handgun, evidently as uneasy in Chaloner’s company as Chaloner was in Doe’s, who he was sure was still not fully in command of his rage – the younger captain jigged from foot to foot, fingering a dagger he had pulled from his belt and hissing between his teeth.
‘Did you see any curtains that caught your fancy?’ asked Baron mildly.
‘No,’ replied Chaloner. ‘They must be red and gold, colours you do not seem to have.’
‘They are being made by my brother-in-law the linen-draper,’ said Baron smoothly. ‘As I told you earlier, you can have them when you have given me four wealthy clients.’
‘I am going to check the parlour,’ snarled Doe. ‘And if I find one penny missing—’
‘I watched him in the parlour,’ interrupted Baron, a claim Chaloner found unnerving. ‘He barely glanced at our money.’
‘We should kill him anyway,’ said Doe, tossing the blade from hand to hand. ‘For his audacity.’
‘No,’ countered Baron. ‘For three reasons. First, because he is telling the truth; second, because no one has ever invaded my house before and I am impressed; and third, because he could have escaped up the stairs, but he chose another route to avoid harming my son.’
‘That is a good point – no one has broached our security before,’ said Doe, apparently deciding that points one and three were irrelevant. He glared at Chaloner. ‘Tell us how you did it.’
Chaloner saw no reason not to oblige. It could not make his predicament worse than it was already, with Poachin’s gun cocked and ready, and Doe clearly itching to stab him. As he spoke, he let his own knife from his sleeve slip into his hand – they would not find him an easy kill. There was silence when he finished speaking.
‘Work for me,’ said Baron eventually. ‘I could use a man with your talents.’
Chaloner was startled – this was not an outcome he had anticipated. ‘I already have an employer, thank you.’
‘One who withholds your salary on a whim,’ scoffed Baron. ‘You would not suffer that sort of indignity with me, and you will earn more than enough to settle up with Taylor.’
‘It is a tempting offer,’ hedged Chaloner, suspecting his family would disown him if he went to work for a criminal, while Hannah would die of shame. Or should he accept, just to escape Baron’s house in one piece? He could always go into hiding afterwards. ‘I will consider it.’
‘Do,’ said Baron. ‘Your Earl may not be in a position to keep you much longer. That monstrous Dunkirk House will be his undoing, and when he falls, you will fall with him.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Chaloner. ‘I know.’
‘I control all Cheapside, from the Poultry to St Michael’s,’ Baron went on. ‘Seven churches, fifteen taverns, three coffee houses, forty-one shops, a hundred and eighty-three houses and twenty-two alehouses. All pay Protection Tax, which equals a lot of money.’
‘We also own seven houses in Bearbinder Lane,’ added Doe. ‘Tenements, which we lease to the working poor. It is all extremely lucrative.’
‘Bearbinder Lane,’ mused Chaloner. ‘I went there earlier, but it was closed.’
‘It is not closed now,’ said Baron. ‘Mother Sage does not have the plague, just dropsy, thanks be to God.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Chaloner, watching him closely, and wondering whether the searcher had been paid for a verdict that would keep the tenements open and working. ‘Because her neighbour DuPont definitely died of the plague. Dr Coo told me so, before he was murdered.’
The trio exchanged glances that were difficult to interpret. ‘We did not know that,’ said Baron eventually. ‘Was he certain?’
Chaloner nodded. ‘Quite certain.’
‘Do you think someone shot Coo so he would not be in a position to enlighten you?’ asked Poachin, addressing Baron. ‘There must be some reason why the poor man was so viciously gunned down.’
Baron shook his head. ‘If Coo had wanted to talk, he had plenty of time to do it. In fact, the question we should ask is: why did he not come to us with this information? I would have been grateful for it.’
‘He was very absent-minded,’ said Doe.
‘I will find his killer,’ said Baron, his eyes boring into Chaloner’s. ‘And then I shall dispense my own justice. Coo was a good man – kind to my family and my trainband. Moreover, I do not appreciate murder committed in my territory without my permission.’
Chaloner took that to mean that he did not mind it committed if his consent was sought first, and that there was probably a price attached. ‘What about DuPont – did you know him?’
‘Why all these questions?’ demanded Poachin suspiciously. ‘I do not like it.’
‘I do not mind discussing DuPont with a potential employee,’ smirked Baron. ‘He was French, and very charming. Women found him irresistible.’
‘They will not think so now,’ said Doe with an evil snigger. ‘He was shoved in the ground so fast that the priest barely had time to recite the committal. And now we know why.’
‘We should have been told,’ said Poachin worriedly. ‘Not knowing these things makes us look weak.’
‘Why do you think he walked across the city when he was carrying such a deadly disease?’ asked Chaloner, tending to agree. ‘He might have infected dozens of people along the way – people in your domain.’
Alarm flared in Baron’s eyes, although it was quickly masked. ‘Well, if he did bring the plague to Bearbinder Lane, it is under control now. The Howard house is safely shut up, the searcher diagnosed Mother Sage with a different fever, and any deadly miasma DuPont might have brought from Long Acre will have dissipated. We are safe.’
‘Coo did not believe that plague is spread by a miasma,’ said Chaloner. ‘He thought it is transmitted by tiny worms, which may still be in DuPont’s house waiting to—’
‘Rubbish,’ interrupted Doe. ‘Everyone knows it is carried in a stinking mist, and this talk of worms is a nonsense, designed to frighten the gullible.’
‘Why would Coo want to do that?’ asked Baron quietly.
Doe shrugged. ‘Who knows the thoughts of saints? However, we need not worry about the plague – not with all the Turpentine Pills we have been swallowing.’
‘Pah!’ spat Poachin. ‘They are not nearly as good as Red Snake Electuary. And every time I experience a worrying symptom, I put a
dried toad on my chest.’
‘I shall use Mithridatum if I catch the plague,’ Baron informed them confidentially. ‘It has fifty-four separate ingredients, and with that number, how can it not be an effective cure? It is expensive, but no price is too high for the lives of me and my family.’
‘And your friends,’ said Poachin with an odd glance.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Baron flatly. ‘And my friends.’ Then he eyed Chaloner warily. ‘Are you sure you do not have the disease? Your voice was not so husky yesterday.’
‘It is terror that makes him hoarse,’ declared Doe snidely. ‘But what shall we do with him? We can hardly let him go.’
‘Why not?’ asked Baron. ‘I want him to consider my offer of employment. There is always room in my retinue for men who respect my children and do not steal my money.’
Chapter 7
Chaloner woke the next day feeling wretched. His nose was blocked, his eyes were gritty, his throat was sore, and the first thing he did was sneeze four times in quick succession, vigorously enough to wake Hannah.
‘Perhaps you should stay in bed,’ she said, trying hard to sound sympathetic, although he could tell it was an effort not to let her morning temper prevail and give him a piece of her mind for disturbing her. ‘Gram will look after you. Poor Gram. I wish we could keep him. Did you talk to Temperance about taking him in? I cannot imagine what use he will be to her, though. He is so old.’
‘That did not stop you from hiring him,’ Chaloner pointed out.
Hannah scowled, but remembered that she was in the wrong over their finances, so struggled to smile. Then she attempted to distract him with Court gossip, particularly chatter that was pertinent to her own situation and gave credence to her belief that she was a victim.
‘Do you remember Lady Carnegie – the woman who passed the Duke of York that shameful pox? Well, she borrowed nine hundred pounds from Backwell, but under Taylor it became twelve hundred in less than a month.’
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