Susanna Gregory: The Westminster Poisoner

‘I think he drew it yesterday, but dropped it by mistake on his way out. You mentioned rumours that the Lord of Misrule intends to play a prank on the Earl …’

‘And Brodrick is the Lord of Misrule,’ finished Chaloner in understanding. ‘So he sketched the layout of the Earl’s domain to help him with whatever piece of mischief he intends to perpetrate.’

‘ Brodrick is the Lord of Misrule?’ echoed Haddon in astonishment. ‘I have been trying to find that out since Thursday, but everyone keeps telling me they have been sworn to secrecy.’

They had told Chaloner the same thing, but it had not stopped him acquiring the information anyway. He handed back the paper. ‘It is a stroke of luck for the Earl, because Brodrick will never harm the one person who keeps trying to get him a high-paying post in government. Whatever Brodrick plans, I doubt it will be too terrible.’

Haddon’s expression was troubled. ‘I disagree. Libertines like Buckingham and Chiffinch have been jibing him about his affection for the Earl recently, so he might devise something especially horrid, just to prove himself to them. After all, the Lord of Misrule’s identity is a secret, so how will the Earl ever know who is to blame for whatever outrage is inflicted on him?’

‘Then you must stop it.’

‘I can only act if I know what Brodrick intends. That means I need you to make some enquiries for me.’

‘I cannot. The Earl intends to pit me against Turner, to see who can solve these murders fastest. I will not have time to-’

‘It will not matter which of you is best if our Earl’s feeble grip on power is loosened by some prank of the Lord of Misrule. You must oblige me in this, Thomas — there is no one else.’

‘There is Secretary Bulteel. He will not stand by and see our master harmed.’

‘Yes, but he hates me, because he thinks I am trying to steal his job. Meanwhile, I dislike him, because he is uncommunicative and sly. I need your help.’

Supposing he was going to be in for a busy time, Chaloner nodded reluctant agreement.

The Palace of White Hall was a sprawling affair, said to contain more than two thousand rooms in edifices that ranged from tiny medieval masterpieces to rambling Tudor monstrosities. Most had never been designed to connect with each other, but connected they were, resulting in a chaotic tangle of winding corridors, dead-ended alleys, oddly shaped yards, mysteriously truncated halls and irregularly angled houses. It was rendered even more confusing by the fact that most of its buildings were more than one storey, but the layout of their upper floors seldom corresponded to the layout at ground level. It had taken Chaloner weeks to learn his way around, and even now, there were still pockets that confounded him.

He and Haddon entered the palace via the Privy Garden, a large area of manicured splendour that was used by courtiers for gentle exercise. As they walked, Haddon happily informed the spy that he took his dogs there most evenings, and that the King found them captivating. Chaloner could not imagine His Majesty being charmed by a pair of yapping rats, but kept his thoughts to himself. He glanced up at the sky as Haddon chattered; grey clouds scudded across it at a furious rate, while trees whipped back and forth in a way that was going to damage them. Several were already at unnatural angles, and would have to be replanted.

They parted company in the main courtyard, Haddon to check on some arrangements for a state dinner, and Chaloner to see whether the Earl was in his office. The spy was just jogging up the marble staircase — the Earl’s suite was on the upper floor — when he met someone coming down. It was Turner. The colonel looked particularly dashing that morning, in a black long-coat with yellow lace frothing at the throat and wrists, colours that were reflected in his trademark ear-string. His hat was pure Cavalier, with a huge amber feather, and when he smiled, his teeth were impossibly white.

‘We were not properly introduced last night,’ he said, effecting one of his fancy bows. ‘I am James Turner. Perhaps you have heard of me?’

‘Should I have done?’ asked Chaloner.

Turner nodded cheerfully, unabashed by the spy’s less-than-friendly manner. ‘Yes — either for my valour during the wars, or my exploits during the Commonwealth. I am sure you remember how Cromwell had a clever Spymaster called Thurloe? Well, I was the bane of Thurloe’s life. In fact, I annoyed him so much that he put up a reward for anyone who could bring him my head.’

‘Does the offer still stand?’ Chaloner doubted the claim was true, because he knew Thurloe well, and he was not the type of man to provide money in exchange for body parts.

Turner laughed. ‘Why? Do you wish to claim it? If so, you will have to behead me the next time we meet, because His Portliness is keen to see you, and you should not keep him waiting. He is in a snappish mood, probably because his shoes are too tight, and they hurt his gouty ankles.’

‘You mean the Earl?’ Chaloner was a little taken aback. He would never discuss his master in such uncomplimentary terms with someone he barely knew. For a start, the Earl was sensitive about his weight, and any hint of mockery would see the joker dismissed in a heartbeat.

The merry grin was still plastered on Turner’s face. ‘He wanted us to meet each other this morning, and discuss tactics over these Westminster poisonings, but he grew tired of waiting for you, and dispatched me on a solo mission instead.’

‘What mission?’ asked Chaloner. Turner clearly liked to give the impression that he was a Court cockerel, all frills and no substance, yet there was something about him that suggested he was rather more. Chaloner supposed his affable buffoon act was an attempt to lull rivals into a state of false security, but the spy had met such men before, and knew better than to be deceived.

‘I am to go to the Shield Gallery, and inspect it for clues regarding the statue that was stolen last week — the one you have been hunting. His Portliness says the place is closed because of a leaking roof, so I shall have it to myself. Is it worth my time, do you think? Will I learn anything useful?’

‘You never know. However, I examined it very carefully the morning after the theft, but the culprit left no clues that I could find.’

Turner chuckled. ‘That is what I suspected, so I shall not waste too much time on it. However, the morning will not be a total loss, because the Shield Gallery has a passageway that leads to the Queen’s private apartments — and where there is a queen, there are ladies-in-waiting. I warrant they will be delighted to have a bit of unscheduled manly company.’ He waggled his eyebrows.

Chaloner could only admire his audacity. ‘That is probably true, but the Queen has armed guards as well as ladies-in-waiting, and I imagine they will be rather less delighted by your arrival.’

Turner treated him to a conspiratorial wink. ‘Thanks for the warning — I shall do the same for you some day. I see we will work well together, you and me.’

‘I understand you found Vine’s body,’ said Chaloner, deciding it might be a good time to pump the man for information. ‘That must have been unpleasant for you.’

‘I am a soldier,’ said Turner with a world-weary shrug. ‘So I am used to corpses. Of course, most of my experience is on the battlefield, where you tend not to encounter ones that have been poisoned. Then I come to London, and within three days, I lay eyes on two: Chetwynd and Vine.’

‘I thought Greene found Chetwynd’s body.’

‘He did,’ said Turner, rather hastily. ‘I saw it later, along with a host of other courtiers who were curious to see the mortal remains of a murdered man. I never knew Chetwynd — when I looked at his corpse, his face was unfamiliar — but I did have the misfortune to meet Vine. He was a sanctimonious old fool who called me a libertine, just because I have twenty-eight children. I assured him they are all legally begotten, but he did not believe me.’