Susanna Gregory: The Westminster Poisoner

The Earl turned his attention to the statue again. ‘I knew you would find it for me. Now I shall be able to present it to the King as a post-Christmas gift.’

‘I would not recommend that, sir. You see, although Turner stole it, using Meg as his unwitting helpmeet, he had an accomplice. I am afraid his partner in crime was Lady Castlemaine.’

The Earl’s jaw dropped. ‘What? But … how do you know?’

‘Because there was no sign of forced entry in the Shield Gallery, which means someone opened it with a key. Turner had a lot of lovers at Court, but only two were issued with keys: Lady Castlemaine and Lady Muskerry.’

‘And Muskerry is too dim-witted to have kept quiet during the rumpus that followed,’ mused the Earl. ‘But the Lady is not. It is exactly the kind of thing she would do. What was she hoping to achieve? To present it to the King, and earn his undying gratitude?’

‘I suspect she already has that.’ Chaloner hurried on when he saw the Earl’s prim expression. ‘She did it for money. But she judged others by her own corrupt standards, and assumed private collectors would turn a blind eye to where it came from. She is probably amazed to learn that is not the case.’

‘This tale will put the cat among the pigeons!’ gloated the Earl. ‘Revenge at last!’

‘No! If you expose her, her hatred will know no limits — she is bad enough now, but this would make her far worse. I would have nothing to do with it, if I were you.’

The Earl was crestfallen, but he was not a fool, and knew his spy was right. ‘Then what shall we do with it? It cannot stay here, because someone might think I stole it.’

‘Deliver it to Williamson, so he can give it back,’ suggested Chaloner. ‘He said he wanted the credit for its recovery, so let him have it — along with the consequences of crossing the Lady.’

The Earl looked uncertain, but nodded assent. ‘Very well. You can arrange it, although you should be careful. His assassin Swaddell returned to him this morning, blaming his abrupt disappearance on a sick mother. However, I think he fled in terror because of what he saw.’

‘He witnessed Lady Castlemaine entertaining a lover. Is that what you mean?’ Chaloner had assumed the recipient of her dubious favours was the King’s young son, given the rumours about her attempts to seduce the boy.

The Earl nodded. ‘Swaddell spotted her smuggling this beau out of White Hall on a laundry cart. She is said to have been livid, and threatened to cut out his tongue.’

‘A laundry cart?’ Chaloner started to laugh. ‘Then he probably saw the King’s statue being spirited away and did not realise it. What a miserable band of incompetents!’

*

Because he had spent most of Twelfth Night asleep, Chaloner had missed Bulteel’s invitation to dinner. He decided to make amends by visiting the family that evening, taking with him a set of silver spoons as a gift for his godson. He donned his best clothes and set off for Westminster, where the secretary lived in a small, but pleasant cottage that boasted a fine view of the abbey. He knocked on the door, and smiled when Bulteel answered it.

The secretary paled, then glanced around furtively. ‘You did not tell me you were coming.’

Chaloner was taken aback by the cool reception. ‘I came to see my godson, and to pay my respects to your wife. But if it is inconvenient, I can-’

‘No.’ With a smile that looked pained, Bulteel led him along a short corridor to a kitchen. The room was rich with the scent of baking, and on the table was a cake and a loaf of new bread. Chaloner looked around for the lady of the house, but the kitchen was empty of anyone except Bulteel. He also noted there was nothing to indicate a child lived there — no sets of tiny clothes drying, no cradle, no toys. And lastly, Bulteel’s hands were dusted with flour.

‘I like cooking,’ the secretary mumbled. ‘I always have. But it suits me to say my wife bakes, because people would laugh at me if I admitted to enjoying such a peculiar activity myself.’

Chaloner indicated Bulteel was to sit opposite him at the table. ‘How long has she been gone?’ he asked compassionately.

Bulteel hung his head, and when he spoke, he was difficult to hear. ‘She was never here.’

With a start, Chaloner realised that Bulteel had never taken his new son to be admired by colleagues, like most proud parents, and spoke of him only rarely. He frowned in puzzlement. ‘But why did you ask me to be godfather to a boy who does not exist?’

‘Because I wanted you to know the truth,’ blurted Bulteel. He began to cry. ‘It is hard maintaining the pretence, and I wanted one person to … You seemed more likely to understand than anyone else.’

Chaloner did not understand at all. ‘I am?’

‘The Earl hates me,’ Bulteel went on, tears flowing down his cheeks. ‘He relies on me, and trusts me with his business, but he does not respect me or like me. I invented a wife because I wanted him to think someone appreciated me, and then it seemed natural to have a child. And the lie did result in me being given this house, although the deception makes me uneasy …’

‘He will find out eventually,’ warned Chaloner. ‘A neighbour will say he never hears the child cry, or someone like me will call. It is only a matter of time before-’

‘No one is suspicious yet, and it has been three years. The truth is, no one cares enough about me to be curious. I could probably scream the truth from the rooftops and no one would be interested.’

Chaloner still did not understand, but he had been entrusted with far more peculiar secrets in the past, and at least this one did not entail anything illegal or treasonous. Sensing Bulteel’s need to talk, he stayed with him, eating the cake while the secretary told the story of his life, and confided his various fears, dreams and ambitions. When he eventually stood to leave, Bulteel gave a shy smile.

‘Perhaps you will introduce me to the ladies at Temperance’s club,’ he suggested.

‘I doubt they will make very good wives.’

‘Oh, I do not want a wife,’ said Bulteel earnestly. ‘I like living alone, and a spouse might bully me out of the kitchen. All I want is the occasional night of pleasure. Well, perhaps more than occasional .’

Chaloner blinked. ‘I will see what I can do.’

The secretary escorted his guest out, and returned to the kitchen to wash the plates and wipe crumbs from the table. Almost immediately, a man emerged from a cupboard, brushing the cobwebs and dust off his new red hat. Bulteel turned towards him.

‘I know you said I should borrow a baby for when he visits, but I suspect he would have been one of those godfathers who drop in unannounced. He would have caught me out sooner or later, and I am rather pleased by the way I resolved the situation.’

‘Very clever,’ grumbled Williamson. ‘But did you have to keep him here quite so long? It was hot in there, and I kept thinking I would sneeze. What would I have said if he had caught me? I would have had to send Swaddell after him, and I do not want him dead just yet — not after he encouraged the Earl to let me return the statue to the King. I am surprised. I did not think he would do it.’

‘He will have his reasons,’ said Bulteel flatly. ‘And you can be sure they will have nothing to do with pleasing you. When do you plan to deliver it to His Majesty?’

‘Tomorrow night, at a reception in which all the Court favourites will be present — Buckingham, Brodrick, Chiffinch, Lady Castlemaine. I shall be feted.’

‘I am glad to hear it. But what did you think of my performance just now? Was it acceptable?’

Williamson smiled. ‘Actually, it was perfect. There is nothing like arousing a man’s sympathy to keep him on your side. Chaloner already stands up for you when people make accusations, and tonight you have sealed your blossoming friendship. His growing trust can only work in our favour.’