Blood on the Strand (13 page)

Temple flushed. ‘You are a difficult man to track down at other times, and I cannot waste hours of my valuable time hunting
you out. Will you oblige me with thirty pounds now?’

Brodrick bowed curtly. ‘Stay where you are and I shall fetch it. Do not move.’

He turned and hurried away, and Chaloner was amazed when Temple did as he was told. Personally, he
would no more have expected Brodrick to return loaded with money than see the sun turn blue and drop from the sky. The politician
and his lady had been loitering just long enough to know they had been tricked when they were joined by Bristol, who was clad
in clothes so outdated that he looked like an actor from a theatre. They exchanged meaningless pleasantries, and a waft of
onions drifted upwards. Chaloner wondered what the man did to make them hang so powerfully around him.

Eventually, Chaloner tired of watching courtiers – a complex social dance in which he understood too few of the steps – and
decided to fetch his viol in readiness for Brodrick’s consort. He was about to leave, when the door opened and the Earl bustled
in. He was flustered and unhappy, and waved Chaloner back down when he started to stand.

‘Do not disturb yourself, Heyden. Wiseman has been telling everyone how you narrowly escaped death at my hands. I hope you
do not die – Thurloe will never forgive me.’

Chaloner made room for him on the seat. ‘Wiseman is a loyal friend, sir. He thinks he is helping you fight Bristol with these
tales.’

‘Well, I wish he would not. I do not want a reputation for being a bully-boy. I—’

The Earl broke off when the door opened a second time. Outraged that someone should dare enter without his permission, he
was about to surge to his feet and say so, when Chaloner silenced him with a warning hand on his shoulder. The Lord Chancellor’s
room was about to be burgled, and the spy was keen to know by whom.

As the uninvited guests set about closing the door and discussing who should do what, Chaloner drew the
curtain in a way that concealed the window seat completely. When he was sure the Earl was not going to give them away with
an indignant challenge, he moved until he could see what was happening through a moth-hole in the material.

Two men had invaded Clarendon’s domain. The first was tall, with an unfashionably bushy beard and a puce coat that was stretched
unattractively tight across his ample paunch. The second was an angular courtier, who wore tight yellow breeches and matching
hose, which made his long, thin legs look like those of a heron. While the bearded man stood at the door and kept watch, Yellow
Legs rifled through the desk. The Earl was outraged by the presumption, and started to stand again. Chaloner stopped him.

‘We need to see what they are doing.’

‘We
can
see what they are doing,’ hissed the Earl, his voice loud enough to make Chaloner glance through the moth-hole in alarm.
Fortunately, it coincided with the start of some music in the garden below, and the burglars did not hear. ‘That fellow is
George Willys, one of Bristol’s creatures, and he has his filthy hands in
my
private correspondence.’

Chaloner was grateful the chamber piece wafting through the window was being played with such gusto. ‘We should see what they
want
specifically
.’

‘But Willys will mean me harm – he is Bristol’s man to the core. That bearded fellow is Surgeon Johnson, who also supports
Bristol. He—’

Chaloner stopped him. The burglars were talking, and he wanted to hear what they said.

‘Hurry up,’ snapped Johnson. ‘We do not have all day. I am not sure Bristol was right when he said Clarendon
had gone home early – he may come back to do some work.’

‘He will be exhausted after trouncing that Dutchman,’ said Willys. ‘However, I am afraid there is nothing in his desk, except
papers referring to affairs of state.’

‘Those are no good,’ said Johnson impatiently. ‘Bristol wants us to find something that shows he embezzles public money. We
need bills or letters from shady merchants – Matthew Webb, for example. He is the greatest villain in London, and no upright
man should ever have dealings with
him.
’

‘Webb is dead,’ said Willys.

A crafty expression crossed Johnson’s face. ‘Then he is not in a position to say what letters he received, is he?
We
shall send him something from Clarendon. That should satisfy Bristol.’

‘Actually, it will not,’ came another voice. Chaloner experienced a sickening lurch of shock when he recognised Scot, still
dressed as his Irish scholar.

It was Johnson who recovered his wits first. ‘What do you mean?’ he demanded. ‘Of course Bristol will be happy with evidence
that implicates his rival in something sordid.’

‘I am sure that is true,’ said Scot. ‘However, he will
not
be pleased when the “evidence” is exposed as a forgery, and
he
is blamed. Now, I suggest you stop whatever it is you are doing and leave. This kind of behaviour is beneath professional
men, and you should be ashamed of yourselves.’

‘Who are you to lecture us?’ demanded Johnson. ‘An Irish squire, only interested in flowers!’

‘His name is Terrell,’ whispered the Earl to Chaloner. ‘He is only pretending to be a scholar, and is actually
one of Williamson’s spies, but I cannot recall his real name. Perhaps I was never told. It was an unfortunate name to choose,
though, because there is a dishonest fishmonger called Peter Terrell.’

‘Spymaster Williamson sent me here,’ said Scot coldly to the two burglars. ‘He heard men who should know better were in the
process of breaking into the office of a government official, and he ordered me to stop them before they did anything rash.
If you do not leave immediately, he will have you charged with treason.’

Johnson did not like the word treason, and neither did Willys. Both were out of the door in a flash. Scot closed the door
behind them, and for one awful moment, Chaloner thought he intended to resume the search himself, but he merely closed the
drawers Willys had opened, and set all to rights. When he was ready to leave, Chaloner motioned for the Earl to stay where
he was and emerged from behind the curtain. Scot jumped in alarm, then grinned his relief.

‘You startled me! Did you leave this office open deliberately, to entice that pair to break the law? You certainly succeeded
in springing your trap – they were in like moths at a flame.’

‘They came of their own volition.’

‘Then why are you still here? Are you hoping to prevent Eaffrey from seeing Behn? I would not meddle, if I were you. You will
not succeed in parting them, and she will resent the interference.’

‘Why did you let Willys and Johnson go? You caught them red-handed.’

Scot nodded. ‘Thanks to Wiseman – he told the Spymaster what was afoot. Apparently, he overheard them planning the escapade
in a public room, which goes
to underline how incompetent they are. However, there is no point in prosecuting them – they will deny all, and Williamson
thinks Bristol might use the incident to make similar accusations against Clarendon.’

‘They would not be true.’

‘I know, but dirt will stick, as it always does. Williamson says it will be better for Clarendon if this distasteful farce
is quietly forgotten, and he is almost certainly right.’

‘What would you have done if they
had
found something? They were considering fabricating documents, as you must have heard.’

Scot nodded. ‘Then I would have marched them to Williamson and let him deal with the mess. God help us, Chaloner! All I want
is for my brother to be released so I can take the next ship to Surinam. I am weary of petty politics and incompetents like
Johnson and Willys.’

As soon as Scot left, the Earl emerged from behind the curtain. He was deeply unsettled by what he had witnessed, but relieved
to know that Williamson and his spies were capable of being objective. He told Brodrick, who had come looking for him, to
summon a locksmith first thing in the morning, and wanted a guard posted at his door day and night.

Brodrick had a viol. ‘Greeting’s,’ he explained, when he saw Chaloner looking at it. ‘Play me a scale.’

Chaloner took the instrument, running appreciative fingers over the silken wood. He grasped the bow but found, to his horror,
that the splint limited the movement of his left hand, and he could not produce the right notes, no matter how hard he tried.

‘Wiseman said you would be unable to perform,’ said
Brodrick, regarding him unhappily. ‘Greeting will be pleased, although I shall be sorry to lose you.’

‘This thing will be off within the hour,’ Chaloner said hastily. ‘My landlord will have some tool that will work. He has implements
for everything.’

‘Wiseman claims amateur removal is impossible,’ said Brodrick. ‘It needs some special chemical to dissolve it, apparently,
and he says he will not apply it for at least a month – for your own good. I am sorry, Heyden but I need everyone at his best
tonight, because the Queen will be listening.’

‘Greeting will be difficult to dislodge once he has a foot in the door, cousin,’ said the Earl reproachfully. ‘Heyden will
lose his place permanently if he does not play tonight.’

Brodrick shrugged. ‘It cannot be helped. Locke gave the bass viol some important solo work, and Greeting is the only available
musician capable of mastering it at short notice. Like most courtiers, I am short of funds, and commissions to play in the
houses of wealthy courtiers are fast becoming imperative. I cannot afford to be kind to Heyden, not when the Queen might recommend
me to her entourage.’

Disgusted and dismayed, Chaloner watched him stride away. He was suddenly sick of White Hall, and longed for the peace of
his own chambers. Unwilling for ‘Vanders’ to be the centre of any more attention, he washed the paint and false beard from
his face, and borrowed a cap and coat from Holles. He plodded along a series of little-used corridors, then cut across the
expanse of cobbles known as the Great Court. Like the Privy Garden, it was full of revellers, but there were also servants
going about their business, so no one looked
twice at him as he walked away from the celebrations. Except one person.

‘Thomas Chaloner,’ said a masked woman in yellow, speaking in a voice that was far too loud. It was the lady who had been
with Temple. Chaloner regarded her in alarm, not liking his real name bawled in such a place. ‘What are the palace guards
thinking, to let
you
in here?’

‘Alice Scot,’ said Chaloner, when she removed her mask. It had only been five years since they had last met, but time had
not been kind to her. Bitter lines encircled her mouth and eyes, and even a liberal slathering of beauty pastes could not
conceal the discontent that was etched into her small, pinched features. She did not return his tentative smile of greeting,
and he supposed he was still not forgiven for exposing her first husband as a man with dubious morals. ‘I did not know you
were in London.’

‘I am here because my brother is in the Tower, being drained of secrets regarding the Castle Plot. I intend to rescue him
and take him home to Buckinghamshire, where he will be safe.’

‘Rescue him how?’ asked Chaloner uneasily, hoping she was not planning to embark on some wild scheme that would see her entire
family in trouble.

‘By offering a large sum of money to anyone who will set him free. I am rich, and can afford it – I just need to find out
who to bribe. William thinks
he
can do it by pestering people, but money speaks louder than words, so we shall see who is right. Was it you who suggested
Thomas should hand himself over in exchange for a pardon? If so, it was bad advice.’

He was tempted to tell her the truth – that it had been Scot’s idea – but friendship stilled his tongue. ‘He
surrendered willingly when he learned it would save him from hanging. Besides, he knew by then that the rebellion was a foolish
venture to have supported, and he was eager to make amends.’

‘So, now my poor brother is an idiot, is he?’ she asked angrily.

‘I understand you want to marry,’ he said, to change the subject. As soon as the words were out, he wished he could take them
back. Given that he had fought a duel with her last spouse, matrimony was a topic best avoided.

‘Richard Temple,’ she said, surprising him with a sudden smile. ‘I cannot recall ever enjoying a man’s company as much as
I do his. William refuses to give me his blessing, but what would
he
know about love? Like most men, he is only interested in whores.’

Chaloner considered the pairing of Alice and Temple, and decided that she probably had the better end of the bargain. Temple
was physically unattractive and his association with the slave trade made him loathsome, but he was almost certainly better
company than Alice.

‘May I escort you somewhere?’ he forced himself to ask. It was growing dark in a part of the palace that was not particularly
secure, and she was Scot’s sister, after all.

‘Not when you are dressed so shabbily, thank you. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were still in Ireland. Or
have you forsaken espionage to follow a more respectable profession?’

‘Your father and brothers were spies,’ he pointed out.

‘And look where it has led them. My father hanged, drawn and quartered for regicide, Thomas in the Tower, and William itching
to begin a self-imposed exile in
Surinam. In his last letter, William told me he had discovered a fancy for flowers. I wrote back and recommended that he
consult a physician.’

‘That was unkind. Would you deny him a chance to find contentment?’

‘I will acknowledge
his
new-found love of plants when he accepts
my
liking for Richard.’

‘What is it about Richard Temple that you admire?’ asked Chaloner curiously.

She smiled again. ‘His ambition and financial acumen, mostly. When we marry, he will use my money to buy a sugar plantation
in Barbados. He says it will make us both richer than ever.’