When Chaloner reached the door, he heard voices. The Earl’s was the loudest, but there were others, too. He knocked, but the room’s occupants were making so much racket that no one heard.
‘You will be in trouble,’ called Edgeman, smirking gleefully. ‘The Earl was furious when he heard that you deliberately ignored his summons in order to wander off with a corpse.’
Chaloner was not surprised to learn that he was about to be given a frosty reception – the opportunity to harm him would have been too much of a temptation for Dugdale. He was exasperated, though. Why did the man have to be so petty? Surely someone of his status should be above such antics?
‘Lady Clarendon, Henry Hyde and Sir Alan Brodrick have been waiting, too,’ Edgeman went on. ‘They are also angry with you.’
‘Waiting for me?’ asked Chaloner in surprise. He had never met Clarendon’s wife, Frances, while the son and heir, Henry Hyde, had always made a point of ignoring him, making it clear that ex-Parliamentarian intelligencers were beneath his contempt. Clarendon’s cousin Brodrick liked Chaloner, though – a feeling that was reciprocated – because they shared a love of music.
‘They will be wanting you to deal with some matter that is too sordid for the rest of us,’ predicted Edgeman unpleasantly. ‘Why else would they be so keen to meet the likes of you?’
Unwilling to listen to more of the secretary’s spiteful speculation, Chaloner knocked again, then jumped back smartly when the door was whipped open rather abruptly. Without conscious thought, his hand dropped to his sword.
The man who stood on the other side of the door was in his mid-twenties, with a catlike face and a long, straight nose. He was dressed in a fashionably elegant silk suit with a profusion of lace. He was Clarendon’s eldest son, who revelled in the title of Viscount Cornbury, although most people simply referred to him by his family name of Hyde.
‘Good God!’ he yelped, when he saw the half-drawn weapon. But he recovered himself quickly, and looked Chaloner up and down in disdain. ‘I see you have dressed for the occasion.’
Chaloner felt he could come to dislike Hyde as much as his pompous, overbearing father, and several tart responses flashed into his mind. Fortunately, prudence prevailed, so he said nothing.
‘Enter,’ ordered Hyde, with an unwelcoming scowl. ‘With your blade inside its scabbard, if you would be so kind. We have been expecting you these last two hours.’
As usual, the office had been heated to suffocation point – the Earl believed cold air was bad for his gout, and always kept the chamber wickedly hot. For once, Chaloner did not mind, although he was disconcerted when his clothes began to steam.
‘Have you discovered who is stealing my father’s bricks?’ asked Hyde in an undertone, catching the spy’s arm to hold him back for a moment. ‘Personally, I think he is overreacting. Anyone who builds a house in London should expect a few items to go missing. It is the natural order of things.’
‘Yes and no,’ argued Chaloner. ‘There is a big difference between “a few items going missing” and the regular and sustained pilfering of—’
‘You are wasting your time,’ predicted Hyde. ‘You will not catch the culprit, so you should forget about it and do the job for which you were hired – protecting my father against the many scoundrels at Court who mean him harm.’
‘Willingly,’ said Chaloner. ‘When will you tell him of this decision? Today?’
Hyde glowered. ‘Watch your tongue. My father may overlook your insolence because he thinks he needs your services, but I am not so indulgent. Now follow me.’
The Earl was on one side of the spacious hearth, and his wife was sitting opposite him. Brodrick was next to her, slumped with his head in his hands in a way that implied he was suffering from a serious hangover, while Dugdale perched on a stool at the Earl’s feet. The Chief Usher looked ridiculous there, like a performing monkey, and Chaloner wondered why he had consented to take such a demeaning position.
‘There you are at last,’ muttered Brodrick, while the Earl pointedly ignored Chaloner and continued speaking to Dugdale. ‘Where have you been? Because of your tardiness, I am missing an important meeting with the King.’
Brodrick was generally regarded to be one of the most dissipated men at Court, although the Earl steadfastly refused to believe anything bad about him and never tired in his campaign to secure him a lucrative post. Fortunately for Britain, others could see Brodrick’s failings, and he had so far been denied a government appointment.
‘You are an Adventurer?’ asked Chaloner. He was not surprised. Brodrick was essentially penniless, but that had never prevented him from enjoying an expensive lifestyle, and investing money he did not have in a badly organised venture was certainly something he would do.
Brodrick nodded. ‘On account of the dinners – they are the best in London, and I do like a good evening out.’
‘Did the Adventurers meet last night, then?’ asked Chaloner, taking in Brodrick’s pale face and bloodshot eyes. ‘Or were you at Lady Castlemaine’s—’
‘No,’ interrupted Brodrick, shooting his cousin an uneasy glance. The Earl hated the King’s mistress so much that he could not even bring himself to say her name; she was always just ‘the Lady’. He would certainly not approve of Brodrick enjoying her soirées, although Chaloner knew for a fact that Brodrick was usually the first to arrive and last to leave. ‘I caught a chill at church yesterday.’
‘Our cousin is a very devout man,’ said Frances. She was a soft, motherly creature who had probably never been pretty, but who had such a kind, generous face that Chaloner instinctively liked her. The wry gleam in her eye suggested that she had Brodrick’s measure, even if her husband remained obstinately blind.
‘Ah, Chaloner,’ said the Earl, pretending to notice his gentleman usher’s arrival.
He was a short, plump man, who liked to dress fashionably, which was unfortunate because the profusion of lace, ribbons and ruffles served to accentuate his short neck, ample girth and double chins. That morning he was clad in the sumptuous robes that marked him as the country’s Lord Chancellor, and a yellow wig reached almost to his waist. Chaloner regarded him in astonishment, wondering what he wore at state functions if he attired himself so elaborately when at leisure.
‘Chaloner has donned his best clothes for you today, father,’ said Hyde slyly.
‘I know you have been obliged to lurk at my mansion since you came home,’ said the Earl, eyeing his intelligencer disapprovingly, ‘but Henry is right. Must you dress so shabbily? You look like a ruffian.’
‘It rained all last night, sir,’ Chaloner started to explain. ‘And—’
‘Never mind that,’ interrupted the Earl impatiently. ‘I ordered you to come here without delay, but Dugdale says you ran off on another errand.’
‘Well, he is here now,’ said Frances soothingly. ‘And I applaud his actions. Would you have had him leave poor Cave in the street, like so much rubbish? He did the decent thing.’
‘If you say so, dear.’ The Earl’s voice said he did not agree, but knew better than to argue.
‘Poor Cave,’ said Brodrick. ‘Did you ever hear him sing, cousin? It was the stuff of Heaven, and his voice will be sorely missed. I was only remarking to Lady Castle—’ He cleared his throat uncomfortably, ‘—to a friend last night that the Chapel Royal choir has been much improved since he came home.’
‘I have often heard him sing,’ said Frances, as the Earl, who had not missed Brodrick’s slip of the tongue, frowned his puzzlement at it. ‘Did his killer escape, or is he arrested?’
‘He escaped, but not before Cave stabbed him,’ supplied Dugdale. ‘I had asked Chaloner to prevent violence, but I am afraid he failed rather miserably.’
Frances regarded him coolly. ‘Did he indeed! Then why did you not intervene instead?’
Dugdale regarded her uneasily. ‘Because I am not qualified to meddle in street brawls, My Lady. I am a gentleman.’
‘A gentleman who claims to hav
e fought for the King during the wars,’ pressed Frances. ‘So you cannot be a total stranger to weapons.’
Chaloner watched Dugdale squirm, and found himself liking Frances even more. Of course, Dugdale was likely to remember the humiliation she had inflicted on him, but it would not be her who would pay the price. It would be Chaloner, for witnessing it. The Earl clapped his hands suddenly, causing Brodrick to wince and put a hand to his head.
‘We have wasted enough time this morning, so I recommend we get down to business. Go and stand outside, Dugdale, and ensure we are not interrupted.’
‘You want me to leave?’ asked Dugdale in disbelief. ‘But I …’
He trailed off when his master pointed to the still-open door. He struggled up from the stool and bowed, although the glance he shot at Chaloner said he was seething. Chaloner, meanwhile, was uneasy. Surely his Tangier report could be of no interest to Frances, Hyde and Brodrick? His disquiet intensified when Hyde followed Dugdale to the door, to ensure his father’s instructions were being followed, and then locked it before joining the group at the hearth.
‘We learned something terrible this morning, Chaloner,’ whispered the Earl, once his son had taken the stool Dugdale had vacated. ‘The most dreadful plot …’
‘He wants you to investigate,’ said Hyde. He glared at his father. ‘Although I am more than capable of solving the case, and so is Brodrick. There is no need to involve outsiders.’
‘I am sure you can, dear,’ said Frances. ‘But we are talking about a man’s life, and Mr Chaloner has skills and experience that you do not. It would be unethical not to seek his assistance.’
‘How may I help?’ asked Chaloner, thinking that a ‘most dreadful plot’ and saving someone’s life sounded a lot more interesting than watching piles of bricks.
‘There is a plan afoot to murder my architect,’ breathed the Earl. ‘Roger Pratt.’
There was silence after the Earl had made his announcement, as he, Hyde, Brodrick and Frances waited for Chaloner to react. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and a ticking clock. It was an expensive one from France, but although it was baroque art at its finest, it was two hours fast, suggesting its makers considered an elaborate case more important than functional innards.
Chaloner stared at the Earl’s family, assuming they had misread whatever intelligence had come their way. Regardless, dispatching an architect was not his idea of a ‘most dreadful plot’.
‘Why would anyone harm Pratt?’ he asked eventually. ‘Is it because people think Clarendon House too grand, and murdering its designer might make you reconsider—’
‘No!’ snapped the Earl angrily. ‘That is not why. If it were, the villains would have struck while it was being raised. It has walls and a roof now, and most of the remaining work is internal.’
‘We told Pratt about the threat, and once he had recovered from the shock, he agreed with us,’ added Hyde. ‘It cannot be an attack on his creation, or it would have happened months ago.’
‘I believe the real plot is an attempt to inconvenience me,’ the Earl went on. ‘My enemies see the house nearing completion, and they want to delay me moving in. For spite. Or jealousy.’
‘You may think it is extreme,’ said Frances, apparently reading the doubt in Chaloner’s face, ‘but you do not need us to tell you that there are some very unpleasant people at Court.’
‘How did you hear about it?’ asked Chaloner, making an effort to take their concerns seriously. ‘Was there a rumour?’
‘We found a letter,’ explained the Earl. He looked at his wife, then at his son, and then at his cousin, before bringing troubled eyes back to Chaloner. ‘In the Queen’s personal correspondence.’
Chaloner was bemused. ‘How did it get there?’
‘Because she is the one who has commissioned the murder,’ stated Hyde baldly.
Chaloner gaped at him. Of all the people in London, Queen Katherine was the last to engage in murky business. She was a shy, convent-raised Portuguese princess who had still not come to terms with the fact that she had married into one of the most sybaritic courts in the world. Chaloner liked her, but she was unpopular with almost everyone else for several reasons: she was Catholic, she spoke poor English, and she had so far failed to provide an heir for the throne.
‘She would never involve herself in such a matter,’ he said, finally regaining his voice. ‘First, I doubt she has ever met Pratt. Second, she is not the kind of lady to kill people. And third, even if she were, she is still a virtual stranger here, and would not know how to go about it.’
‘So you say,’ snapped Hyde. ‘But, as you know, I am her Private Secretary. I found this letter.’
As it happened, Chaloner did not know that Hyde worked for the Queen, and was ashamed of himself for it, because it was the sort of detail spies should know about their employers’ families.
‘May I see it?’ he asked, still sure there had been a mistake.
Hyde looked set to refuse, but the Earl indicated he should hand it over. He did so reluctantly, and Chaloner read what had been written:
Your Majestye is truthfull in her clayme that Clarendone House is an abomination before our most Holie and Catholick God. I will kill Pratt on the Feast Day of St Frideswide, as you ordered. I remayne youre humble and obedient servant in Christ and the Virgin Marye.
‘Well?’ demanded the Earl. ‘How will you prevent this outrage?’
‘There will be no outrage, sir,’ said Chaloner, wondering what had possessed them to take such a patent piece of lunacy seriously. ‘It is hardly Her Majesty’s fault that some madman has elected to send her an insane letter.’
‘Hah!’ exclaimed Brodrick in satisfaction. ‘That is exactly what I said.’
‘Then you are both wrong,’ said Hyde, scowling. ‘The threat is genuine.’
‘It is not,’ argued Chaloner. ‘This letter is a transparent and laughable effort to implicate the Queen in something of which she is innocent. I would have thought the clumsy references to her Catholicism would have made that apparent.’
‘That is a valid point,’ agreed Frances. ‘And her English is still poor …’
‘It has improved,’ said Hyde stiffly. ‘She is not fluent, but she could certainly comprehend what is written here. And she has a motive for harming you, father: she is hurt that you do not visit her as often as you once did.’
‘Because I have no choice,’ objected the Earl defensively. ‘I chose her as a bride for the King, but it was a terrible mistake, because she is barren. If I do not distance myself, my enemies will use her to destroy me. Surely she understands that?’
Poor Katherine, thought Chaloner. Now even those who had been friends were abandoning her.
‘And she wants revenge,’ Hyde finished. ‘She knows how important Clarendon House is to you, so she means to strike at you through Pratt.’
‘No,’ said Chaloner with considerable force. The Earl’s eyes widened at the tone of his voice, and Hyde bristled, but Chaloner did not care. ‘She would never do such things.’
‘The evidence is there,’ snarled Hyde, pointing at the letter. ‘Thank God I intercepted it.’
‘Do you really think a co-conspirator would send such a thing?’ demanded Chaloner, feeling his dislike of Hyde mount. Surely the man owed his mistress some shred of loyalty? ‘Even the most inept of assassins would know not to leave written evidence of his plans.’
‘He doubtless assumed the Queen would destroy it after digesting its contents,’ snapped Hyde. ‘It was only luck that allowed me to find it before she could do either.’
‘Do you not see what is happening?’ Chaloner was becoming exasperated. ‘Someone left it for you to find, with the specific intention of harming her. Only instead of throwing it away, like any rational man, you have played directly into this lunatic’s hands by taking it seriously.’
Hyde glowered. ‘If that were the case, there would have been other messages of a similar nature. And this is the only one.’
‘The only one you have found,’ corrected Chaloner. ‘Or perhaps this is the first, and more will follow.’
‘No!’ barked Hyde. ‘The explanation is obvious: she should have burned it, but she is a novice in such matters, and she was careless. She left it lying on a desk, where I happened across it.’
‘How very convenient,’ said Chaloner acidly. ‘The instigator of this nasty piece of poison must be delighted that you are making his task so easy.’
‘Watch yourself, Chaloner,’ breathed Brodrick, shocked. ‘Or you will be in trouble.’
‘He is in trouble,’ snarled Hyde. He turned to his father. ‘I want him dismissed. He has made no headway with catching the villain who steals our bricks, and now he does not believe the threat against Pratt. I will explore both matters, and you can save yourself the cost of employing him.’
‘You cannot, Henry,’ said Frances reasonably. ‘You do not have the necessary expertise. Besides, you do not believe the theft of our bricks amounts to anything – you tell us to ignore it. How will you investigate something you do not consider to be serious?’
‘Because I know about architecture,’ replied Hyde loftily. ‘I have always been interested in the subject, and Christopher Wren told me only last week that he considers me talented. I know far more about building supplies than Chaloner ever will.’
‘But not about theft and murder,’ argued Frances quietly. ‘And those are the issues here.’
Hyde scowled, and it was clear he resented his mother’s interference. Chaloner appreciated it, though, and suspected she might have just saved him from unemployment, because the Earl’s eyes had glittered thoughtfully when the prospect of saving money had been raised.
‘So what will you do, Chaloner?’ asked Brodrick. ‘How will you begin?’
‘By finding out who sent the message,’ answered Chaloner, not bothering to reiterate his belief that the architect was in no danger, but that the Queen might well be. ‘And—’
The Piccadilly Plot: Chaloner's Seventh Exploit in Restoration London (The Exploits of Thomas Chaloner) Page 5