The Body in the Thames (22 page)

‘You should not have come,’ said Ruyven, standing protectively at her side. ‘Your time would have been better spent hunting
for the killer.’

‘
I
wanted him here,’ said Jacoba. Her face was pale: the occasion was a strain. ‘It made me feel as though Aletta was with me.
Have one of these biscuits, Tom. Ruyven has just told me that they are very good. And here is the funeral ring I would like
you to have, to remember Willem by.’

Clearly disgusted that such honour should be bestowed on his old rival, Ruyven left abruptly, shouldering his way through
the mourners so bullishly that they staggered and spilled their wine. Chaloner gazed at the biscuit in his hand. It was embossed
with Hanse’s family arms, as was the custom on such occasions, and he could not bring himself to eat it. He pushed it in his
pocket, along with the ring, hoping no one would see and assume he was like Downing, storing treats for later.

‘Ignore Ruyven,’ said Jacoba, misunderstanding the reason for his lack of appetite. ‘He is distressed, and does not mean to
be rude.’

‘It does not matter.’ Chaloner looked up as someone approached. It was Bulteel.

‘Are you the widow?’ asked Bulteel baldly. ‘Then I have a message for you: Clarendon sends his congratulations … I mean his
condolences
on your tragic loss, and says that he hopes you will not blame England for the fact that Hanse was drowned and left naked
on the banks of the Thames.’

While Chaloner gaped at the tactless choice of words, Bulteel took Jacoba’s hand and started to bow, but someone jostled him,
and he only retained his balance by hauling on her arm. She staggered, and Chaloner was obliged to catch her before she fell.
She started to acknowledge the Earl’s message – although, mercifully, her poor English meant she had not understood most of
it – but Bulteel turned and fled with obvious relief. Jacoba stared after him in astonishment.

‘What a curious little man!’

‘This is a sad day,’ said Kun, arriving at Jacoba’s side with Zas at his heels, and saving Chaloner from the need to reply.
‘I already miss Hanse. I found myself thinking to ask his opinion about a treaty I read this morning, and it will be a long
time before I am used to his absence.’

‘Have you found his killer yet?’ asked Zas. His bright little eyes were everywhere as he spoke, and Chaloner had the sense
that he was a man who missed nothing – that he was quite capable of holding a conversation with one set of people, while watching
the interactions between others. He was paying especially close attention to Killigrew and Judith. Chaloner wondered why.

‘Not yet.’

‘You will,’ said Kun, patting Chaloner’s shoulder encouragingly, although it was clear from his eyes that he was disappointed.
‘And if there is anything we can do to help, then do not hesitate to ask. We are all eager for this villain to be brought
to justice.’

Jacoba began to talk about the book her husband had been writing on stockings, asking Kun and Zas whether they might be prepared
to finish it. Leaving them fabricating diplomatically worded excuses, Chaloner made for the door, feeling he had already done
more than his duty.
De Buat was standing outside, smoking his pipe away from the bustle.

‘Oetje will be buried later today,’ he said. ‘Although I will be the only mourner. Incidentally, I re-examined her
and
Hanse, and I believe that the poison that killed them was not administered in food or drink. It may have been on a sharp
point that was jabbed into their skin.’

‘But there were blisters in their mouths. Surely, that means they swallowed something?’

‘Not necessarily. I found blisters in their eyes, too, and when I opened Oetje up, her liver was—’

‘Stop,’ said Chaloner uneasily. ‘I am not sure it is legal for foreign
medici
to conduct anatomies in London. I do not want to hear any more.’

‘Her liver showed a lot of damage,’ de Buat pressed on. ‘And, had Heer van Goch given me permission, I am sure I would have
found the same in Hanse. It was a particularly nasty substance, and would not have given them easy deaths. Whoever did this
is more than a killer. He is a brute who cares nothing for the sufferings of his victims.’

Chaloner returned to White Hall, where he spent the rest of the day and all evening listening for rumours about the Sinon
Plot, Hanse’s murder, the Earl’s missing papers and the blackmailer. He was a silent shadow in doorways and corridors that
no one noticed, but although he lingered in the palace until well past midnight, his efforts went largely unrewarded.

He learned that Cromwell was indeed suspected of opening the royal tombs in Westminster Abbey, and there was a plan afoot
to remove his rotting head from outside Westminster Hall, lest it actually belonged to someone
else. Chaloner smiled, thinking Thurloe would be pleased: it was not easy for him, seeing the remains of his old friend treated
in so barbaric a fashion.

He also learned that Downing had been making a nuisance of himself among the royal seamstresses, and that most people thought
Hanse was guilty of making off with the Earl’s papers. But it was all based on gossip, not fact, and he decided to give up
his eavesdropping when the servants went home and White Hall was left to courtiers, who were even less well informed than
their minions.

As he walked towards the gate, he saw that a private party was beginning in Lady Castlemaine’s apartments. Her windows were
open, and a lot of manly laughter was wafting out. White Hall’s pitch torches illuminated a number of familiar faces making
their way towards it – Buckingham and his cronies, who attended any event likely to turn debauched, and the foolish Lady Muskerry,
whose services in the bedchamber were likely to be in demand later. Nisbett was there in an official capacity, welcoming guests
and repelling anyone he deemed unsuitable.

Chaloner happened to glance to his left as he passed, and saw someone else he recognised, too, although it was the last person
he would have expected to see there. Hannah was slinking towards the entrance, Bates at her side. Curious to know what they
were doing, Chaloner stepped out of the shadows to intercept them. Hannah did not look pleased to see him and, sensing her
irritation, Bates went to hover in a nearby doorway, tactfully out of earshot.

‘You went to Hanse’s funeral without me,’ she said accusingly. ‘After you promised to let me go.’

‘I did not promise,’ he said tiredly. ‘It was a dismal affair, anyway – a dozen mourners, and a lot of soldiers nearby, ready
to repel attacks by hostile Londoners.’

‘You mean it was dangerous?’ she demanded.

‘It did not feel entirely safe. And it was certainly no place for you.’

‘Did you attend the ceremonies in the Savoy afterwards? And think very carefully before you answer, Thomas, because Judith
Killigrew was there, and I have been talking to her.’

Chaloner felt overwhelmed by the interrogation. Was this how people felt when
he
was asking them questions? ‘Briefly, yes.’

Hannah’s lips compressed into an angry line. ‘Were there cakes and gifts?’

Chaloner handed her the biscuit and the ring, then wished he had not. The value of jewellery distributed at funerals expressed
two things: the state of the deceased’s wealth, and how close he had been to the recipient – the more expensive the item,
the more intimate the association. The ring Jacoba had pressed on Chaloner was a costly thing of gold, and Hannah’s eyes narrowed.

‘This is an oddly generous gift for a passing acquaintance. Why is—’

‘What are you doing here?’ he interrupted, cutting off her offensive with one of his own. ‘Do not tell me you plan on joining
Lady Castlemaine’s games?’

‘I am, actually,’ replied Hannah coolly. ‘But since you are here, perhaps you will give me some advice. You are better at
this kind of thing than I.’

‘What kind of thing?’ he asked suspiciously.

Hannah beckoned to Bates, who approached unhappily, shuffling his feet and looking for all the world as if
he wished he were somewhere else. Chaloner knew exactly how he felt. ‘Explain it to him, Charles,’ she ordered.

‘As you know, Kicke has taken a liking to my wife,’ obliged Bates miserably. ‘Well, more than a liking, if you want the truth
…’

‘And we suspect his wooing campaign has finally won Ann over,’ elaborated Hannah. ‘So we are going to slip into the Lady’s
soiree, to see if it is true.’

‘Ann is already there, you see,’ blurted Bates, close to tears. ‘One of the Lady’s grooms came to fetch her, saying the order
to attend came from the hostess herself. But I believe it was all arranged by Kicke, and that the Countess of Castlemaine
has nothing to do with it.’

‘How do you plan on getting in?’ asked Chaloner. ‘Nisbett is guarding the door.’

‘Charles will distract him while I slip past,’ explained Hannah. She swallowed hard. These were desperate measures, and ones
with which she was not entirely comfortable, although Chaloner admired both her determination and her loyalty towards an old
friend. ‘But now you are here, perhaps you can think of a better idea.’

‘Go home,’ said Chaloner, not liking the notion of her coming into contact with Nisbett – which she would, because the chances
of her sidling past him undetected were negligible. ‘I will do it.’

It was a measure of Hannah’s relief that she did not argue. ‘Thank you. Ann is wearing pale yellow skirts and a blue bodice.
But all we want to know is whether our concerns are justified. Do not tackle Kicke, especially if Nisbett is with him. I do
not want you hurt.’

‘No,’ agreed Bates miserably. ‘Money is not worth a life.’

‘He is being blackmailed,’ explained Hannah, although she had already told Chaloner the tale. ‘Some greedy villain wants fifty
pounds from him.’

‘In return, he will keep his silence over the fact that I am a cuckold and my wife is a whore.’ Bates whispered the last word;
it was painful to him. ‘But Ann is
not
wanton. Just weak.’

‘But if she cavorts with Kicke at this soiree, there will be no need to pay the extortionist,’ Chaloner pointed out. ‘Everyone
will know what is happening anyway.’

Bates winced. ‘Kicke genuinely admires her, and will not want her reputation sullied. In other words, he will not seduce her
in front of witnesses. But I need to know how far they … whether the blackmailer is telling the truth about …’

It was all very sordid, and Chaloner wished Hannah had not let herself become involved. ‘Take my wife home,’ he said to Bates.
‘I will contact you in the morning.’

When they had gone, Chaloner turned his attention to the sumptuous suite occupied by the King’s mistress. Entering via the
main door was out of the question, because Nisbett was taking his duties seriously. But it did not take him long to locate
a loose window shutter, and then it was only a matter of moments before he was inside the building, where the boisterous laughter,
loud music and womanly shrieks were all but deafening.

The Lady’s home comprised six or seven large chambers on the upper floor. Every one was full of revellers, although the corridor
that connected them was relatively empty. It contained several life-sized statues of Greek gods on heavy marble plinths, so
Chaloner stepped behind Zeus, and settled down to wait.

Eventually, a woman in blue and yellow appeared, and tiptoed towards a window that was hung with long, thick curtains. She
pretended to be gazing into the courtyard below when Buckingham tottered past, a giggling courtesan on each arm. When he had
gone, she scanned the hallway carefully, then ducked quickly behind the draperies.

A quarter of an hour passed before Kicke arrived. He loitered in the hallway for several minutes, ostensibly admiring the
artwork, then slunk towards the woman’s hiding place. There was a soft squeal of delight when he disappeared behind the material,
followed by low voices as the couple conversed. Then there was silence, although the bottom of the curtain began to swing
in a suspiciously regular motion. It stopped eventually, and there was more muttering. After a while, Kicke poked out his
head, peered around cautiously, and ushered her out.

Chaloner was not surprised to find Bates waiting anxiously for him when he finally made his escape.

‘I took Hannah home,’ he said. There was an agonised expression on his face, and when he removed his copper wig, he looked
tired, old and ugly, a marked contrast to his vibrantly handsome rival. ‘What did you learn?’

‘Do not pay the money,’ advised Chaloner kindly. ‘Kicke and Ann were careful, but that sort of thing cannot be kept quiet
for long. You will impoverish yourself for nothing.’

‘I have made arrangements for us to leave London next week, so I
will
give him what he wants. He will keep his silence, and people will remember us as a happy couple, not as a cuckold and a …’

‘Does Ann know of these plans?’ asked Chaloner, suspecting she might decline to go.

‘I will tell her tonight,’ said Bates unsteadily. ‘When I also tell her that she has been seen frolicking with Kicke, and
will lose her reputation unless immediate steps are taken to repair the damage. Thank you for your help, Chaloner. And my
offer of documents to incriminate Kicke still stands, but do not leave it too long to ask.’

Chaloner had had enough of White Hall and its sordid goings-on. He started to walk home, but met Wiseman by the Court Gate,
a vast, unsettling figure in his flowing crimson robe.

‘The King has wind again,’ he confided in a booming voice. ‘He should have laid off the onions, as I advised. And his summons
is a damned nuisance, because there are parlour games at the club tonight, and I was enjoying myself.’

‘You and Temperance are friends again, then?’

Wiseman grinned. ‘Thanks to you. She sent me a note, inviting me to visit, and we made up for our quarrel in ways that only
an experienced surgeon and a brothel-keeper could devise.’

Chaloner managed to stop himself asking for details. ‘You should not bray remarks about the King’s digestion. It is asking
to be dismissed.’