The Body in the Thames (9 page)

‘Even so, I wish you had told me sooner. Sometimes, I wonder whether I know you at all. You are full of peculiar surprises.’

‘It is not …’ began Chaloner, stung into attempting an explanation. ‘Aletta is not a subject …’

‘You find it too painful to discuss,’ surmised Clarendon, when he faltered into silence. ‘That is understandable. I did not
enjoy losing
my
first wife, either. Very well, then: we shall say no more about it. We shall talk about Hanse’s death instead. You will have
to find out who killed him. You understand that, do you not? No matter where it leads.’

Chaloner regarded him uneasily. ‘What are you saying, sir?’

‘I am saying that your confidence in this Dutch kinsman may be misplaced – he may have changed since you first met him. And
I am also saying that you will have to ask questions in the Savoy. Not all Hollanders want peace, just as not all Englishmen
want war. You may uncover all manner of treachery and betrayal.’

Chaloner nodded. It had already occurred to him that Hanse may have been dispatched by one of his own countrymen. And there
was the message in the stocking to consider, too: Sinon, the traitor.

‘Do the words “new gate” mean anything to you?’ he asked. ‘Or does Sinon?’

‘Newgate is a prison, Chaloner,’ replied Clarendon contemptuously. ‘Surely you know that?’

‘And Sinon?’ asked Chaloner. His master had avoided addressing that part of the question.

The Earl looked decidedly shifty. ‘Nothing. Why would it?’

‘It relates to Hanse’s death,’ said Chaloner quietly. ‘I will have to find out what it means if I am to solve the case, and
it will be quicker and easier if you just tell me.’

Clarendon stared at him for a moment, then indicated he was to shut the door.

With a sense of misgiving, Chaloner did as he was told. It never boded well when the Earl insisted on speaking behind closed
doors.

‘How did you hear about Sinon?’ whispered Clarendon. ‘It is a secret and only the Privy Council and Spymaster Williamson are
party to it. Them and Sir William Compton. Do you know him?’

‘I met him last week, when I was investigating the White Hall thefts.’

Clarendon was shocked. ‘
He
was one of your suspects?’

‘No, of course not. Everyone agrees that he is a man of integrity. But Kicke was one of his stewards – before he was dismissed
and hired by Downing, that is.’

The Earl regarded him critically. ‘I sense from your tone that you disapprove of anyone hired by Downing. Yet you were in
his employ yourself. Of course, that was when you were in the service of that villain Cromwell. At least Kicke can claim he
worked for Downing
after
Downing shifted his loyalties to the King. You cannot.’

‘I visited Compton to ask why Kicke had been dismissed,’ said Chaloner, declining to acknowledge the remark, partly because
he did not know what to say to it, but mostly because he did not want to talk about the
difficult days when he had been obliged to report to a man he neither trusted or liked. In fact, he thought wryly, looking
at Clarendon, it had not been so very different from now.

‘And why had he?’ asked the Earl.

‘For theft. Compton also told me he had not written the glowing testimonial that Kicke used to secure himself the post with
Downing. Kicke penned that himself.’

‘Downing has certainly been telling everyone at White Hall as much.’ Clarendon smirked. He, like most people who had met the
envoy, considered him a rogue. ‘He wants to distance himself from what Kicke and Nisbett did. And who can blame him?’

Chaloner knew the conversation was being manoeuvred away from where he wanted it to be. He brought it back on track. ‘What
does Compton have to do with Sinon, sir? What is it, exactly?’

The Earl sighed, and for a moment Chaloner thought he was going to change the subject again, but he began to reply. ‘It is
something Compton uncovered. He came immediately to tell me, and we went together to inform Spymaster Williamson. And the
Privy Council had to know, of course. It was a very dark business.’

‘Involving what, exactly?’

‘Riches beyond your wildest dreams,’ replied Clarendon shortly and not very helpfully. ‘But why do you want to know? What
does Sinon have to do with the dead Dutchman and my papers?’

Chaloner hesitated, loath to reveal too much, given his master’s reckless habit of confiding in men like Downing. ‘There is
evidence that it may be connected to Hanse’s death.’

Clarendon frowned. ‘What evidence?’

‘It might be safer for you if you did not know,’ hedged Chaloner.

The Earl regarded him in alarm. ‘Very well, if you think that is best. But are you
sure
you need to know about Sinon? We all swore an oath, you see, to say nothing to anyone.’

‘Who swore? You and Compton?’

‘Yes, along with Spymaster Williamson and the whole Privy Council. Sinon is a codeword for a particular plot. We arrested
the perpetrators, and they are all incarcerated in Newgate. We did not dare put them in the Tower, because it is too public.’

Newgate, thought Chaloner. At least that explained part of Hanse’s message: he had wanted Chaloner to go to the prison and
question the Sinon Plot conspirators. If the Earl ever got around to telling him what they had done, of course.

‘Does it involve treason?’ he asked. It was the obvious conclusion to draw from the name the plot had been given, and there
was always some rebellion brewing in a country that was still reeling from two decades of war and regime change.

‘No, not treason,’ said the Earl. ‘It was something else.’

‘What?’ pressed Chaloner, beginning to be annoyed with him.

The Earl sighed. ‘They were going to commit a robbery. Three weeks ago. They were going to make off with the crown jewels.’

Chaloner left the Earl with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The last thing he wanted to do was visit Newgate, and
he detested cases that involved treasure.
Large sums of money invariably brought out the worst in people, and anyone audacious enough to steal the crown jewels was
unlikely to be someone whose company he would enjoy.

‘Sir William Compton,’ Clarendon called after him. ‘He is the best man to approach for information about the Sinon Plot, because
he is the one who brought the matter to our attention in the first place. Speak to him about it. He lives on Drury Lane.’

Chaloner winced. The Earl’s voice had been strident, and if the Sinon Plot really was a closely guarded secret, then bawling
was unlikely to keep it that way. He walked down the marble staircase and stepped outside, where the afternoon heat hit him
like a physical blow. Sweating uncomfortably, he crossed the Pebble Court, supposing he should visit Compton immediately.

He had liked the man when he had interviewed him about Kicke, and hoped he would be helpful and co-operative a second time
– it would certainly be a relief if Compton provided enough information to obviate an excursion to Newgate. Unsettling images
of the place filled Chaloner’s mind as he passed through the passage that linked Pebble Court to the Great Court, and he shuddered.
They distracted him, along with the sudden blindness caused by going from bright sunlight to the comparative gloom of the
tunnel, and he collided heavily with someone.

‘Come now, sir!’ came Colonel Griffith’s indignant squawk. ‘Watch where you are going, or I shall be obliged to call you out.
And neither one of us will enjoy that, because I am never at my best at dawn, and I shall look an absolute fright. I will
win the duel by
terrifying
you to death.’

Chaloner laughed as the effete colonel flapped his lace.

‘The Spares Gallery was deserted,’ said Bulteel. His dull brown clothes were a striking contrast to his cousin’s bright silks,
and the comparison did him no favours. ‘Which is unusual.’

‘People must be lying down,’ said Griffith, fanning himself with his hand, and looking for all the world like a finicky old
dowager. ‘And in a few moments, I shall be doing the same.’

‘I thought you were going to watch the King play tennis,’ said Chaloner.

‘I have changed my mind,’ declared Griffith. ‘
He
may be able to prance around in this heat, but
I
am delicate. I have tendered my apologies, but tempered the disappointment he will surely feel at my absence by agreeing
to attend a performance of the King’s Private Musick tonight.’

‘Tom is going to that,’ said Bulteel. Then an expression of malicious glee stole across his face. ‘Oh, I am sorry! Hannah
arranged it as a surprise, and now I have ruined it for her. What a pity. I imagine she will be terribly disappointed.’

‘Really?’ Chaloner was delighted by the news. He loved music. Bulteel pulled a face when he saw his friend’s pleasure.

‘All that scraping and screeching. It is a waste of time, and I would far rather be bak—’ He stopped abruptly, shooting a
guilty glance at Griffith.

‘Baking,’ finished Griffith in distaste. ‘A pastime for peasants. How am I expected to turn you into a gentleman if you persist
in enjoying such demeaning activities?’

‘I do it in private,’ Bulteel flashed back. ‘So I do not
see how it will interfere with my desire to join the sophisticated elite. But never mind this. At the moment, I am more concerned
about Kicke and Nisbett. I was incensed when I heard they had been set free.’

‘They are the kind of men who give White Hall a bad name,’ agreed Griffith. ‘The common people believe Court is full of villains,
and this will make them even more convinced of it.’

‘Well, it is true!’ declared Bulteel. ‘Here are two thieves, caught in the act. And do they face the rigours of the law, to
show what befalls men who steal from their colleagues? No! They are hailed as loveable rogues and rewarded with promotions.’

‘Did they steal from you, then?’ asked Chaloner. ‘And your property has not been returned?’

Bulteel looked hurt. ‘That is a wretched thing to say, Tom! It implies my indignation stems from self-interest. Well, it does
not. I am just furious that these felons are not only getting away with their crimes, but are being feted for them.’

‘Not by everyone,’ said Griffith soothingly. ‘Apparently, not as much stolen property was recovered as first thought. A lot
is still missing.’

‘But the Lady does not care,’ snapped Bulteel, while Chaloner supposed that Buckingham had helped himself to rather more than
was reasonable. ‘She does not care about anyone except herself. Horrible woman!’

‘Not so loud,’ warned Chaloner, looking around uncomfortably.

‘Chaloner is right, cousin,’ said Griffith, amused. ‘I have no wish to be arrested for maligning the King’s mistress, and
I would rather you were not, either.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Bulteel, blushing as he lowered his
voice. ‘But it seems to me that the best way to succeed at White Hall is to break the law. I have always followed my principles,
and lived an ethical life, but no one else does. And who is rewarded? Not me!’

‘But people know Kicke and Nisbett have light fingers now,’ said Chaloner. ‘So accusing eyes will look to them every time
something goes missing, regardless of whether or not they are guilty.’

‘True,’ acknowledged Bulteel, brightening.

‘Do not even think of making off with something to see them blamed,’ said Chaloner, reading the secretary’s mind. Bulteel
was a novice at such games, and would end up in trouble.

‘Damn!’ muttered Griffith, pointing. ‘There they are, coming towards us. I do not want to exchange words with them. They are
unmannerly louts, and no company for gentlemen.’

Chaloner turned to see Kicke and Nisbett strutting confidently across the Great Court. They wore Lady Castlemaine’s livery,
flaunting it with pride. Kicke looked handsome and prosperous, his dark locks tumbling around his shoulders in a glossy mass.
Nisbett fared poorly by comparison: his lank ginger hair and bulbous eyes were not attractive features, and the uniform did
not suit his bulk. Chaloner’s inclination was to slip out of sight. He was not afraid of them, but he had no wish for a confrontation.
Unfortunately, Griffith’s voice had carried, and they had spotted him.

‘We will not forget what you did to us on Saturday, Chaloner,’ hissed Kicke in a low, threatening voice as he approached.
‘And you will pay for it.’

‘He helped you get promoted,’ countered Bulteel. ‘You owe him your gratitude and—’

Kicke turned suddenly, and Bulteel’s eyes widened in alarm at the fury in his face.

‘Leave him,’ ordered Chaloner, stepping between them. ‘He has no quarrel with you.’

His back was towards Nisbett, but he ducked when he heard the man lurch forward, and the punch went wide. Then he whipped
around and shoved him while he was still off-balance. Nisbett went sprawling.

Kicke drew his knife, but the one from Chaloner’s sleeve was already in the palm of his hand, and he moved fast. It thudded
into the wall near Kicke’s head, and by the time Kicke had recovered from his shock, Chaloner had grabbed the one from his
boot and held it ready.

‘I will not miss next time,’ he said softly. ‘But the King does not approve of brawling, so I suggest you help your friend
to his feet, and we go our separate ways before we are all arrested.’

Nisbett was clearly ready to risk a spell in White Hall’s cells to exact revenge on the man who had dared to assault him,
because he surged to his feet with murder in his eyes, but Kicke was no fool. He jerked his companion away.

‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘We will deal with him another day. We have plenty of time.’

‘I will set Spymaster Williamson on them,’ vowed Bulteel shakily, when the pair had gone. ‘He and I are not friends, exactly,
but he might be prepared to do me this one favour.’

‘Do not try it,’ advised Chaloner. ‘It is better just to stay away from them.’

‘He is right,’ said Griffith, holding his lace to his nose, as if Kicke and Griffith had left a disagreeable smell
behind. ‘They will soon slip up, and then the Court will not be so accommodating.’