A Murder on London Bridge (7 page)

For a while, Chaloner had been destitute, but then he had met the Earl, who had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to overlook his past loyalties. However, while the Earl appreciated being able to tap into Chaloner’s arsenal of specialist skills, the fact that they had taken opposite sides during a series of very bitter wars would always be something of a barrier between them.

‘There you are,’ said the Earl icily. Chaloner felt like an errant schoolboy when his master glared at him, hands folded across his ample paunch. ‘I expected you sooner. It is almost eight o’clock.’

‘I am sorry, sir. I spent most of last night in Southwark, trying to find the men who killed Blue Dick Culmer, and I was still trawling through taverns, alehouses and brothels at dawn. I had no idea there were so many of them.’

‘Two hundred and thirty eight,’ replied the Earl promptly. ‘Of course, that is only taverns and alehouses. I would not know about the other places.’ He pursed his lips prudishly.

Chaloner wondered how he came by such a precise number. Perhaps it was something to do with how much they could be taxed – the Court’s expensive tastes had to be financed somehow.

The Earl eyed him balefully when he made no reply. ‘You owe me a number of explanations. Let us start with Blue Dick. Why was he killed when you were supposed to be watching him?’

Chaloner was tempted to say he might have had some answers to give if Leigh had not charged into the situation like a wild bull, but it went against the grain to tell tales. ‘It happened very fast,’ he said instead. He gave a terse account of Blue Dick’s death and the subsequent battle in St Mary Overie, finishing, ‘and no one told us his life was in danger. If they had, we might have been able to save it.’

The Earl gaped at him. ‘Is this your way of blaming
me
? You think I withheld information?’

‘Do you know anything that might allow the killer to be identified?’ Once the question was out, Chaloner realised it implied that he
did
believe the Earl had been less than honest with him. He braced himself for a tantrum, but the Earl only glowered.

‘One day, you will push me too far, Chaloner. But the answer to your question is no. I heard – from a source I decline to divulge – that Blue Dick was in the city, and I was keen to know why. I cannot say I am sorry he is dead, given what he did to Canterbury Cathedral.’

‘Do you have any idea who might want to kill him?’

The Earl nodded vigorously. ‘Just about any right-thinking man and woman in the country. He despoiled priceless works of art, not to mention urinating on the shrine of St Thomas Becket.’

‘I thought Becket’s shrine – and its contents – was destroyed during the Reformation.’

‘It was rebuilt,
sans
bones. But that is beside the point, which is that Blue Dick was a loathsome specimen. I do not know who killed him, but I suppose we had better look into the matter. We cannot have private citizens murdered all over the place. Where would it end?’

‘Very well, sir.’ Chaloner knew, with every fibre of his being, that he was not being told the whole truth. He also knew there was nothing he could do about it, and it was at times like these that he wished he still worked for Thurloe. Thurloe had been a professional in every sense of the word, and would never have sent his people into dangerous situations with only half a story. Moreover, he was a friend, something the Earl would never be.

‘Now let us turn to another matter,’ said the Earl. ‘Namely the complaint I received pertaining to an intruder in Somerset House. The Dowager has accused me of sending a spy last night. Is it true?’

Chaloner was not sure what he was expected to say. Surely, the Earl remembered telling him to watch Somerset House as often as possible? Or was he distancing himself from the instruction, so he could claim the idea had been Chaloner’s own?

‘You did not order me there last night
specifically
 . . .’ he began.

‘You know what I am asking,’ snapped the Earl. ‘Did you climb through a window, eavesdrop on a conversation in the Great Chamber, and then escape by stealing a boat?’

‘I did not
steal
it,’ objected Chaloner. He might be many things, but a thief was not one of them. ‘It can be collected from the Milford Stairs, just a short distance from—’

‘You really are a reckless scoundrel,’ said the Earl, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Do you not understand what would have happened to you, had you been caught?
I
could not have helped – it would have been tantamount to admitting that I sent you there.’

‘Then it is fortunate that I escaped,’ said Chaloner coolly.

‘Fortunate for both of us,’ agreed the Earl blithely. ‘So what did you learn during this perilous escapade? I hope you have something useful to report after taking such a risk.’

‘They are planning something for Shrove Tuesday—’

‘I am already aware of that. The Dowager will host a ball designed to disrupt my Bishops’ Dinner – the occasion I have been organising for weeks. Tell me something I do
not
know.’

‘I have a feeling there is more to it than a ball. And I think it might involve Lord Bristol. There is a report that he has renounced his Catholicism, in the hope that the King will forgive him for—’

‘Never!’ cried the Earl furiously. ‘He will
never
be allowed to return to this country – not as long as I am alive. Are you sure he is not in Wimbledon?’

‘Certain. He
might
be in his Great Queen Street mansion, though, and—’

‘Rubbish! He would not dare come to London. I know he is brazen, but hiding not a mile from White Hall would be wildly stupid, even for him. If you visit Great Queen Street, you will be wasting your time, and I forbid you to do it.’

Chaloner nodded acquiescence, although he thought the Earl a fool to tie his hands so. The Earl scowled when he made no other reply.

‘What else did you hear at Somerset House?’ he demanded.

‘Is that not enough?’ asked Chaloner uneasily. ‘That your enemies plan to make a concerted move against you on Shrove Tuesday, and that it probably involves Lord Bristol?’

‘I suppose it is useful intelligence,’ conceded the Earl ungraciously. ‘But you must learn more. Meanwhile, I am late for a Privy Council meeting. It is to be held in the King’s Presence Chamber today, because His Majesty wants to play cards while we discuss affairs of state.’

Chaloner regarded him askance, not sure if he was joking. But the Earl was not noted for his sense of humour, and it seemed unlikely that he would jest about the King. ‘Play cards with whom?’

‘The Lady,’ replied the Earl through gritted teeth. So deep was his dislike of the King’s mistress that he could never bring himself to utter Lady Castlemaine’s name: she was always just ‘the Lady’. ‘And Buckingham, Progers and that revolting little Chiffinch.’

Chaloner was horrified to think that such feckless, hedonistic people should be in a position to listen to Privy Council debates. It was hardly good for national security. But it was not for him to criticise the King, especially to his Lord Chancellor. He changed the subject.

‘I will return to Somerset House tonight,’ he began, ‘to see if the servants have—’

‘Not tonight,’ interrupted the Earl. ‘They will have posted additional guards, and your capture would be embarrassing so soon after last night’s debacle. Leave it for a day or two.’

Chaloner inclined his head, and turned to another matter. ‘I met two men named Phillippes and Kaltoff yesterday. They are—’

‘They are making me a ring-dial,’ interrupted the Earl. He frowned. ‘Or is it a tide-dial? I cannot remember now, but it is a scientific instrument that deals with tides and dials and rings. I will not bore you with an explanation of its function, because you would not understand it anyway.’

‘Right,’ said Chaloner. ‘Do you know anything about these men? Such as whether they knew Blue Dick or—’

‘Of course they did not know Blue Dick!’ cried the Earl. ‘What wild idea is this? They are scientific fellows, who discuss mathematics with the King. By contrast, Blue Dick was a fanatic who smashed cathedrals and who was clearly in London to cause trouble. They never met.’

‘You seem very sure of that, sir,’ said Chaloner. ‘How—’

‘Because it is obvious!’ snapped the Earl. ‘What can dial-makers and iconoclasts have in common? The very idea is preposterous, and you will dismiss it from your mind immediately. You will not catch the real killer if you hold silly preconceptions, and I order you to forget them.’

‘Very well, sir,’ said Chaloner, bemused by the vehemence. He bowed a farewell and turned to leave, not sure what to think. He knew the Earl was withholding information from him, but did it pertain to Phillippes and Kaltoff? Or did his master genuinely believe that the two men had nothing to do with Blue Dick’s stabbing?

‘Where do you think you are going?’ demanded the Earl, before Chaloner could take more than two or three steps towards the door. ‘I have not said you can go.’

Chaloner regarded him in confusion. ‘I thought you wanted me to find Blue Dick’s killer. And listen to rumours about what the Dowager might be planning for Shrove Tuesday.’

The Earl looked annoyed. ‘I do, but you will escort me to the Presence Chamber first. Leigh has gone to Piccadilly to solve a problem with my new house, and it would not do for me to arrive unescorted. And I can hardly ask Bulteel, who does not know one end of a sword from another. You must do the honour.’

As the crow flew, it was not far to the King’s Presence Chamber from the Earl’s offices – just a few rooms away, and on the same floor. But White Hall was a contrary place, and Chaloner and Clarendon were obliged to walk down the stairs, across the chilly, windblown expanse of His Majesty’s private gardens, then climb the grand steps that led to the Privy Gallery. This was a long hall that was always full of people who wanted an audience with His Majesty, although, given the ‘early’ hour, it was not as crowded as it would be during the late afternoon and evening. The King’s Presence Chamber lay at the far end.

Chaloner did not enjoy walking the length of the Privy Gallery with the Earl at his side. The Earl was hated by the younger members of Court, because he frowned on any activities they deemed to be fun – their wild revelries, lewd plays, duels and debauchery. They glowered at him as he passed, and the only person who smiled was the Bishop of Hereford, with whom the Earl shared some inflexible views on religion.

‘Do not worry, Chaloner,’ whispered the Earl. ‘I am used to this sort of thing, and it no longer bothers me.’

It bothered Chaloner, though. He had known his employer was not the best loved member of Court, but was appalled by how brazen the antipathy had become. He wondered how much longer the Earl would be able to cling to power, especially if the King decided he had had enough of his first minister’s prim ways and nagging tongue. And then what would happen to Chaloner himself?

Eventually, the Earl stopped outside a door, and indicated that the man on duty was to open it. Chaloner was surprised to recognise the guard as someone who had been in the Dowager’s mansion the previous night – one of the four brothers who were thought to be courting her. He was a burly fellow with a wind-burned face, and his clothes were new enough to look stiff and uncomfortable. He was older than Chaloner, with wisps of grey hair poking from beneath his wig.

‘What do you want?’ the fellow demanded. ‘Stand back at once! Both of you.’

‘The Lord Chancellor has an audience with the King,’ said Chaloner curtly, somewhat taken aback by the impudent greeting. ‘Let him pass.’

‘The King is not ready for him.’ Suddenly, the Privy Gallery was silent as everyone stopped talking to listen, and the man’s three kinsmen appeared from nowhere to stand encouragingly at his side. ‘I have been charged to protect His Majesty’s privacy, and that is what I intend to do.’

‘And who are you, pray?’ demanded the Earl, looking him up and down with unconcealed disdain. The man bristled, and Chaloner saw the Earl had just added someone else to his already impressive list of enemies.

‘I am Rupert Penderel,’ replied the man. He nodded to the fellows at his side. ‘And these are my brothers Oliver, Neville and Edward. We are newly appointed Yeomen of the Presence Chamber.’

‘Penderel,’ mused the Earl, while Chaloner thought that here was a title which did not exist – the Penderels had been fobbed off with an office that held no legitimate standing. Of course, given that all four carried swords and looked as though they were ready to use them, legal niceties were hardly relevant. ‘In the last civil war, five brave Penderels helped the King to escape after the Royalist defeat at the Battle of Worcester, but their names were Richard, John—’

‘They are our cousins,’ interrupted Rupert briskly. ‘But we are just as devoted to his cause. Cromwell stole our estates during his reign of terror, so we came to London to throw ourselves on the King’s mercy. He has been very generous.’

Yet more scavengers, using the wars as an excuse to gain something for nothing, thought Chaloner in disgust. It was easy to descend on White Hall, declaring penury due to Royalist-held convictions, and people flocked to do it in droves. And most of the claims were bogus: if Cromwell really had acquired all he was accused of stealing, he would have been the richest man in the world by an enormous margin – and he had been nothing of the kind.

‘Are you Catholic?’ demanded the Earl, somewhat out of the blue. ‘Like your cousins?’

Rupert regarded him with dislike. ‘Yes, we are. What of it?’

‘Catholics are not permitted to hold positions at Court,’ the Earl declared triumphantly. Chaloner winced; this was hardly a statement to calm troubled waters. ‘So your appointments are unlawful.’

‘They are not!’ declared Rupert hotly. ‘His Majesty made an exception for us.’

‘It is a stupid rule, anyway,’ said Oliver sullenly. He was smaller than his brother, but the scars on his knuckles indicated a penchant for brawling. ‘We four are the most loyal men in the country. Why should we not serve His Majesty at Court?’