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Authors: Susanna Gregory

Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #General, #Mystery & Detective

The Cheapside Corpse (31 page)

BOOK: The Cheapside Corpse
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‘My uncle had a stoppage in the stomach,’ shouted a woman from the attic of one building. ‘He had been suffering from it for weeks. Ask anyone. It was
not
the plague.’

The watchers took no notice, but there was a sudden flurry of activity at the window, and something was levered out. It was a body, which landed with a crunch that made everyone shy away in alarm.

‘Examine it!’ she screeched. ‘Then you will see.’

The watchers did not oblige, but one onlooker – the laundress, Widow Porteous – stepped forward and pulled off the sheet. Even Chaloner, from his safe distance, could see a notable absence of plague tokens, and wondered whether the authorities might have been over-hasty.

‘A stoppage of the stomach,’ Widow Porteous announced, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. It was shiny with sweat. ‘This is no case of plague.’

‘Then take it up with Williamson,’ said the chief watcher, staring stoically ahead so he would not have to meet anyone’s eyes. ‘We are just following orders.’

There was a chorus of jeers, but the soldiers were armed and the hecklers were not, so there was little that could be done. The mob was, however, thoroughly bad-tempered, and the plague was not the only subject that was cause for dissent. An argument had broken out over Randal’s pamphlet, while a fist-fight was in progress over Coo’s murder – someone had accused Baron of the crime, and members of his trainband had taken umbrage.

Chaloner left them to it and walked to Baron’s house, wanting the matter of the Earl’s curtains resolved as soon as possible so he could be reinstated on the payroll. The door was answered by Frances, who began to chat happily about the ‘pretty jigs’ played at Silas’s soirée the previous evening. Chaloner bristled: it was no way to refer to Lawes, Gibbons and Dumont. Then he reminded himself that here was a woman who had danced a reel to Dowland.

She took him to a parlour, where her children were at their lessons. Then the peace was shattered by a sudden roar of rage from the yard below. Chaloner joined her and the children at the window to see what had elicited it.

Joan was there with a party of Taylor’s henchmen and a lawyer. The cry had come from Baron, who was standing with his horse. With a wail of dismay, Frances raced towards the door, the children at her heels, and all three appeared in the yard a moment later to cluster protectively around the nag. Chaloner opened the window so he could hear what was being said.

‘I am offering you a
good
price,’ Baron was snarling. ‘Why will you not take it?’

‘Because I am disinclined to sell,’ replied Joan loftily. ‘Now step aside.’

‘No!’ cried Baron. ‘You do not want Caesar. You are punishing me because you think you should be in charge of business here. You—’

‘That horse is lawfully mine,’ interrupted Joan coldly. ‘I inherited it, and if you do not believe me, this gentleman has a copy of my late husband’s will.’

The lawyer stepped forward, but Baron waved him away, and there followed as distressing a scene as Chaloner had ever witnessed. Joan refused to negotiate, and sly references to the speed with which Baron had installed himself as King of Cheapside explained exactly why she had struck where he was vulnerable. The children and Frances wept as Caesar was led away, but Baron waved his trainband back when they started to intervene. It was a wise decision: they were heavily outnumbered and Taylor’s men had guns.

‘There,’ said Joan in satisfaction. ‘Our business is done. Good day to you.’

She strode out, head held high, leaving Chaloner thinking that if she was shot or stabbed in the next few days, he would not have far to look for the culprit. She was a fool to enrage such a dangerous man, and he wondered whether it was her idea or Taylor’s. Regardless, the dark expression on Baron’s face told him the incident was unlikely to be forgotten or forgiven.

It was some time before Baron appeared in the parlour. His eyes were red, and the fury that oozed from him in waves reminded Chaloner to be on his guard – he did not want to pay the price for Joan’s spite. Doe and Poachin obviously thought the same, as they kept their distance. A fourth man was with them, and Chaloner recoiled in surprise. It was Jacob, his erstwhile footman.

‘You dismissed your staff, so I took him on,’ said Doe. His tone was triumphant, as if he imagined he had somehow scored a victory over the spy. Chaloner suspected that both men were in for an unpleasant surprise – one when he learned he had hired an inveterate sluggard, and the other when he realised he was employed by a man who expected him to work.

‘Come to my office,’ instructed Baron curtly. ‘I do not do business in this room.’

He led the way, Doe and Poachin at his heels, while Chaloner and Jacob brought up the rear.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Chaloner whispered, feeling obliged to warn the footman against the path he had elected to take. ‘You are—’

‘You ousted me,’ said Jacob coldly. ‘I had no choice but to throw myself on Doe’s mercy.’

‘Hannah will ask at Court whether there are vacancies in—’

‘Do not bother. But I will have my revenge, Chaloner. I shall tell your wife’s fine friends about her frolics with the Duke of Buckingham.’

Chaloner declined to be provoked into a fight in a place where it was likely to see him trounced – or worse – and treated the remark to the contempt it deserved by ignoring it. Jacob was a fool for running to Doe, but if he would not to listen to good advice, then there was nothing Chaloner could do about it.

They reached Baron’s office at the same time as two men carrying sacks and long poles, and it did not take a genius to see that here were a pair of curbers bringing spoils to their masters. Poachin made an impatient noise at the back of his throat and bundled them away before they could say anything incriminating. Baron smiled coldly.

‘My commercial interests are diverse,’ he said, and Chaloner had the feeling that he was being challenged – that both knew stolen goods had just been paraded, and Baron was defying him to do anything about it. ‘God has been good to me. In business, at least. He let me down rather in the matter of Caesar. I shall have to have a word with Him later.’

‘I have supplied you with the requisite number of new customers,’ said Chaloner, declining to comment on Baron’s relationship with the Almighty. ‘Where are the Earl’s curtains?’

‘New customers,’ mused Baron, tapping his chin. ‘Who, exactly?’

‘Lady Castlemaine and lords Rochester, Shaftesbury, Arlington and Buckingham,’ replied Chaloner briskly. ‘Seymour and Southampton will soon follow – almost twice as many as stipulated in our agreement.’

‘Their servants have opened negotiations certainly, but no coins have yet changed hands.’

If Baron intended to wait for money before honouring the agreement, the Earl might never see his goods, thought Chaloner in alarm. Those particular courtiers never settled bills promptly.

‘I have every faith in your ability to collect what you are owed,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘And now it is time for you to keep your promise.’

There was a flash of something unreadable in Baron’s eyes, while Doe tensed, ready to spring forward with his fists, and Poachin fingered the knife in his belt. Chaloner saw he should have been more circumspect. Then Baron laughed, and clapped a friendly arm around his shoulders. Chaloner sneezed, and he removed it quickly.

‘You
should
work for me,’ he said. ‘I could do with a man like you.’

‘No!’ objected Jacob. He gulped when Baron whipped around to glare at him. ‘I mean you do not want him in your retinue, sir. He has a reputation for insolence.’

‘Then I would kill him,’ said Baron, and laughed again. Chaloner had no idea if he was joking. Then the felon gestured to where food had been left to keep warm over the fire. ‘Eat with me, Chaloner. My wife is an excellent cook, and has prepared a mash of eggs with smoked pork and onions. Leave us, Jacob. You, too, Poachin.’

Doe smugly took a seat at the table, and behind Baron’s back, Poachin’s eyes blazed with envy. He did not move for a moment, but stamped out when Baron swivelled around to look questioningly at him. Doe began to pass around spoons and knives, while Baron brought the pot from the hearth. It might have been a homely scene, if Chaloner’s dining companions had not been two very dangerous criminals.

‘Is this a recipe from
The Court & Kitchin
?’ asked Chaloner, once they were seated and Baron had filled their bowls.

‘Certainly not!’ declared Baron. ‘It was political claptrap that tore our country apart for the best part of twenty years, and I want no more of it. God does not approve of needless discord.’

‘Poor Milbourn,’ sighed Doe. ‘He did not deserve such a terrible fate. Poachin—’

‘But accidents happen,’ interrupted Baron smoothly. His expression hardened. ‘Even to lofty ladies like Joan Taylor, who cheat honest men of their horses.’

‘Or envoys of the Lord Chancellor,’ added Doe.

‘Speaking of the Earl, he has asked me to learn more about DuPont,’ said Chaloner. ‘He—’

‘But you already know about him,’ interrupted Baron, eyes narrowing. ‘It was you who told us, if you recall – he died of the plague, God rest his soul.’

‘Clarendon is more interested in his life than his death,’ explained Chaloner. ‘Especially the fact that he was a curber – one who planned to dabble in espionage by stealing documents from Dutchmen living in London.’

‘Is that so?’ said Baron flatly. ‘Well, well.’

‘I imagine Fatherton knew.’ Chaloner looked pointedly at two long hooks that were propped in the corner. ‘At least, it was Fatherton who told DuPont where and when to steal.’

‘Then it is a pity that neither is here to enlighten us,’ sighed Baron. ‘Fatherton has not been seen for several days, and he is believed to have perished in the Bearbinder Lane fire. He may even have started it, the silly fellow.’

Chaloner wanted to press the matter further, but sensed he would be wasting his time – Baron was far too old a hand at interrogations to be tricked or cajoled into a confession. He stood. ‘Give me the Earl’s curtains, and I shall be on my way.’

‘They are not finished yet,’ replied Baron. ‘But sit down and have some more eggs, then tell me about that musical implement you sawed away at last night. Did I hear it called a
vile
?’

It was later than agreed, but Chaloner went to Hercules’ Pillars Alley next, to collect Temperance and take her to Clarendon House. She thought he had forgotten, and groaned wearily when he walked into the kitchen, where she was sharing a pipe and a pot of strong coffee with Maude. The air was so thick with fug that it made him cough, although both assured him that there was nothing better for a cold than a few lungfuls of good Virginia tobacco.

‘We shall have to walk, though,’ warned Chaloner, as Temperance heaved her bulk out of the chair; he wondered if she would make it all the way to Piccadilly, as she rarely left the club and was unused to exercise. ‘I do not have enough money for a hackney.’

Temperance grimaced. ‘You certainly know how to impress a girl, Tom. We shall take my personal carriage then. The horses could do with a run.’

‘No!’ gulped Chaloner, horrified. He would lose his post if the Earl saw the lewd coat-of-arms emblazoned on the side.

‘Yes!’ countered Temperance, adamant. ‘I am
not
going on foot. It is a long way and I am tired. Besides, I like riding in it, and I do not have the opportunity very often.’

‘Perhaps that is just as well, given what happened when you took it along Cheapside,’ remarked Chaloner. ‘We were lucky to escape in one piece.’

Temperance pouted. ‘I shall not go there again. Those rioting thieves would have stripped it bare if Mr Baron had not recognised it and arranged for it to be sent back to me. But Fleet Street and the Strand do not seethe with unrest, so there is no need to fear for your safety.’

‘It was not
my
safety that worried me—’ But Chaloner was speaking to thin air, as she had already hurried away to issue orders to her grooms.

It was some time before the coach was ready as it had to be backed out of its shed, the horses had to be hitched up, and the servants had to don their uniforms. Chaloner chafed at the delay, sure he could have walked there and back twice during the time it took to prepare it all. While they waited, he persuaded Temperance to give Gram a job in the kitchen, although she yielded reluctantly, not liking the notion of a septuagenarian scullery boy.

‘Smoke, Tom,’ she ordered, once they were in the carriage and it was making its stately way westwards. She handed him a pipe. ‘To keep the plague at bay.’

Chaloner obliged, although her tobacco was unusually pungent and irritated his sore throat. The atmosphere soon became thick with two of them puffing.

‘I hope no one sees me,’ said Temperance, although Chaloner thought there was little chance of that –
he
could barely make her out and she was sitting next to him. ‘What would my patrons think if I was spotted entering the home of that villain?’

But despite her sour words, she was in a good mood that day, because Lord Rochester had asked her to a private party. She was not often included in such invitations, and was delighted.

‘He is up to his ears in debt,’ she confided. ‘And Taylor has threatened to seize his art collection if he does not pay, but Rochester cannot abide bankers, and does not see why they should interfere with his social life. He has decided to ignore Taylor and have his soirée anyway.’

‘Good for him,’ remarked Chaloner absently, wondering how he would confront Baron if the curtains in the Great Parlour did transpire to be Temperance’s. The King of Cheapside was unlikely to make it easy for him.

They arrived to find Clarendon House in a frenzy of activity. Two Bernini sculptures were being delivered, along with a consignment of wallpaper. However, work stopped when Temperance appeared, and Chaloner saw her reputation had gone before her – the female servants treated her with icy disdain, while the men hastened to fawn over her. Neve was particularly unctuous, and insisted on taking her to inspect the curtains himself.

BOOK: The Cheapside Corpse
2.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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