Susanna Gregory: The Westminster Poisoner

The city was eerily quiet, sounds being muffled by the blanketing snow. He heard the clocks strike five, and was surprised it was so late; it felt earlier, because most of London still slept. He did not imagine the Earl would be at his offices at such an hour, so he stopped at Worcester House, hammering on the door with a ferocity that hurt his hands. But the servant who answered it told him the Earl was not there — he had already gone to White Hall. Chaloner had miscalculated, and had lost valuable moments doing so.

He reached the palace after what seemed liked an age, and stumbled through the gate. He was able to put on a spurt of speed once he was inside, but knew it was too little, too late — when he arrived and placed his ear against the office door, he could hear Turner speaking. The monologue was occasionally punctuated by the Earl, and once by Haddon. Chaloner rested his forehead against the wall in weary despair. The colonel had already spun his tale, and he was elegant, plausible and charming. Temperance was right: the Earl would never believe Chaloner over his new darling.

So what should he do now? Slip away before he was arrested? But then what would happen to Temperance? He took a deep breath, and tried to hear what was being said.

‘… Greene in the Painted Chamber,’ Turner was declaring.

‘Is he?’ asked the Earl. ‘Then why have you not arrested him?’

‘I would have done, sir,’ said Turner patiently. ‘But, as I just told you, I have only just escaped from Chaloner and his friend the brothel-keeper. They locked me in their cellar all night, and I am lucky to escape with my life. It was they who stopped me from apprehending Greene.’

‘I do not believe you,’ said Haddon indignantly. ‘Thomas would never do such terrible things. You are just trying to have him dismissed, so you can be appointed in his place.’

‘Dismissed?’ echoed Turner. ‘I want him thrown into your deepest dungeon! He stole from the King, not to mention battering poor Tryan to within an inch of his life. And he told me he felt sorry for Greene, because he is a fellow criminal. A man like that cannot be allowed his freedom.’

‘Put up your weapon, colonel,’ ordered the Earl. ‘I do not feel safe with you waving it about.’

Chaloner reached for his own sword, not liking the notion of Turner being in the Earl’s company with a naked blade, only to realise he did not have one. The only remotely sharp implement to hand was Bulteel’s paper-knife. He grabbed it, and had just put his ear to the door again when there was a shriek.

‘Stop!’ cried the Earl. ‘I command you to disarm!’

‘You do not believe me,’ hissed Turner. ‘You think I am lying.’

‘We can talk about this like civilised men,’ came Haddon’s unsteady voice. ‘But putting your sword at the Lord Chancellor’s throat is not the best way to make your case.’

Chaloner had heard enough. He threw open the door and burst in, paper-knife at the ready.

‘Thomas!’ shouted the Earl in relief. Turner jerked around when the spy entered, enabling the Earl to scamper away from him. ‘Thank God! Turner has taken leave of his senses, and means to kill us.’

‘Well, why not?’ demanded Turner. His voice was cold and dangerous. ‘I have spent all night locked in a filthy basement on your behalf, and now you say you do not believe me! How can you take his side over mine? He is a killer, trained by Spymaster Thurloe, no less — and he refused to accept that you were right about Greene. He defied you.’

‘All that is true,’ said the Earl. ‘But you also said he was a thief, and that I will never believe.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Turner. ‘Go to Hercules’ Pillars Alley and see for yourself. He is-’

‘Because he has had plenty of chances to steal in the past, and he never has,’ replied the Earl. ‘His honesty is beyond question. You, on the other hand, know a suspicious amount about these crimes.’

‘Because I solved them!’ yelled Turner in exasperation. ‘You stupid, ignorant old fool! Why could you not have listened to me? We might have enjoyed a profitable partnership.’

‘Partnership?’ echoed the Earl in disbelief. ‘How dare you presume! Well, what are you waiting for, Thomas? I have had enough of this ridiculous situation. Take him into custody immediately.’

Chaloner glanced at his paper-knife, wondering how he was expected to arrest the sword-toting Turner when he was basically unarmed. But the Earl pulled the kind of face that indicated this was an irrelevancy, and that Chaloner should get on with it and stop making excuses.

‘Catch!’ shouted Haddon, tossing his ornamental dress-sword towards the spy.

Unfortunately, Chaloner could not move quickly enough, and Turner reached it first. He kicked it under a chest, then launched a fierce and determined attack, apparently knowing that to lose this time meant certain death. The spy scrambled behind the desk, and lobbed the paper-knife. Had it been a dagger, it would have killed Turner instantly, but it was too blunt to penetrate and only bounced uselessly to the floor. Outraged, Turner lunged across the table towards him, forcing him to retreat faster than his leg appreciated. Meanwhile, the Earl’s expression went from vengeful confidence to alarm when he realised his champion was not as invincible as he had thought.

Chaloner knew he was going to be skewered unless he thought of something fast. He glanced around quickly, then pretended to catch his foot in one of the Turkish rugs. The Earl gave a cry of dismay when he went sprawling. Grinning malevolently, Turner moved in for the kill. Chaloner waited for him to close, then kicked out hard, driving him backwards. There was a resounding clang as the colonel’s head connected with the precariously placed chandelier. He crashed to the floor and lay still. Climbing quickly to his feet, Chaloner ripped a sash from one of the curtains and tied Turner’s hands before he could regain his senses and create any more mischief.

‘I had a feeling he was not all he claimed,’ said Haddon, bolder now the danger was over. ‘I have a gift for sensing wickedness, and there is a lot to sense in him — he is a liar and a thief.’

But the Earl was no longer interested in Turner. ‘There is work to be done, Thomas. Greene is in the Painted Chamber, and it is time he was in custody. Go and apprehend him.’

‘I will come with you,’ offered Haddon kindly, reaching out to steady the spy when he reeled from pure exhaustion. ‘But we had better hurry, or Greene may decide to leave.’

Numbly, Chaloner followed him out, hoping he would have the strength to carry out his orders — he did not think he had ever been so tired. He was not so weary that he forgot to take Turner’s sword with him, however.

Dawn was breaking at last, a pale, distant glow in the night sky. It revealed a world that was unrecognisable, with roofs coated in a thick layer of white, and great clots of snow lodged in the branches of trees. The streets around White Hall and Westminster were used by monarchs and nobles, so labourers had been employed to shovel paths along them, which meant the journey to the Painted Chamber was much easier than the one from Hercules’ Pillars Alley. Even so, Chaloner struggled.

‘What is wrong?’ asked Haddon, eyeing him in concern. ‘Did Turner score a sly hit? I find that hard to believe. The Earl said he could never best you in a thousand years.’

‘Did he? When? Until a few moments ago, he was all for Turner.’

‘Yes and no,’ replied Haddon. ‘He is not a fool, and detected inconsistencies in the tales he was spun — in response to a few hints by me, naturally. Moreover, he was unimpressed by the fact that Turner’s sword broke when the Lord of Misrule attacked him, and asked me to investigate his military claims. I learned he was never a colonel in the Royalist army.’