Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

‘He will have been murdered,’ predicted Chaloner. ‘Although I would not recommend opening the corpse to prove it. That would almost certainly put you in danger.’

‘Then I shall abstain,’ said Wiseman, packing away his salve and standing to leave. He hesitated. ‘I do not want to know what is currently occupying your time — not if it involves murder and rats — but it would make me happier if you accepted this. It is the scalpel I use for dissecting eyeballs. No, do not try to pass it back with such a look of revulsion!’

But Chaloner was repelled — the tiny blade was not very clean. ‘I do not need it.’

‘Yes, you do,’ stated Wiseman firmly. ‘It is more easily hidden than the rest of the arsenal you tote around with you, and considerably more discreet. Take it, Chaloner. It may save your life.’

Chaloner doubted such a minute thing would do anything of the kind, but he slid it into the waistband of his breeches, nodding his thanks — he had neither the energy nor the inclination to engage in a battle of wills with Wiseman. When the surgeon had gone, he went upstairs and lay on the bed, where he endured nightmare after nightmare about the strongroom and Congett.

* * *

Chaloner snapped awake a few hours later to find himself clutching a dagger. A creak on the stair confirmed that his return to consciousness had not been natural. He bounded off the bed and was about to pounce on the person who came creeping into the room when he realised it was Hannah.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded suspiciously, seeing him behind the door.

He shrugged sheepishly, dropping the weapon on to the pile of clothes behind his back before she could see it. ‘I heard a sound.’

‘I was trying to be quiet,’ declared Hannah, loudly and on an accompanying waft of wine. It was still dark outside, although a paler glimmer in the east said dawn was on its way. He surmised that she had just enjoyed one of White Hall’s infamous all-night parties.

‘Whisper, Hannah, or you will wake the servants. Where have you been?’

‘Westminster. There was a reception to celebrate the launch of Katherine . The whole Court was there. Indeed, I am surprised you stayed away, as it was a good opportunity to eavesdrop.’

Chaloner ignored the censure inherent in her words. ‘Who was there?’

‘Everyone,’ replied Hannah unhelpfully, twirling around happily and then staggering. ‘It was very lively, especially once the sober, boring types had gone. Such as your Earl and his retinue — with the exception of Kipps, who knows how to enjoy himself. I am sorry for you, having to endure the likes of Hyde, Dugdale and Edgeman day in and day out.’

‘Our paths do not cross very often. Although Dugdale-’

‘Leighton from the Adventurers left early, too,’ Hannah went on, cutting across him in the way she always did when she was not very interested in what he was saying. ‘So did Grey. Well, I suppose we can excuse Grey, because he still mourns Turner and Lucas.’

Chaloner wondered whether that was true. Grey had wept in the Rainbow Coffee House, but had seemed in perfectly good spirits at the Tennis Courts later, when he had chatted and laughed with Kipps. And why had Hyde, Dugdale, Edgeman and Leighton left early? To lock irritating intelligencers in Clarendon House’s strongroom? Chaloner said nothing, and Hannah chattered on.

‘Turner and Lucas were decent men. A little preoccupied with commerce, perhaps, but that is deemed a virtue these days. They were Adventurers, like the King, the Duke and the Queen.’

‘The Queen is not an Adventurer,’ said Chaloner, startled.

‘Yes, she is. Go and look on the charter if you do not believe me. Of course, I imagine she did not know what she was signing, and if any profits do come her way, they will be siphoned off by dishonest officials. Like Leighton and Hyde.’

‘You think Hyde is dishonest?’

Hannah pulled a face. ‘Perhaps dishonest is too strong a word. Slimy is better. Swaddell was there, too, and so was Williamson, although they ignored each other. Williamson asked after you.’

‘Did he?’ asked Chaloner uneasily.

‘He gave me a message for you.’ Hannah rummaged in her purse. ‘Here it is. He was all courtesy and kindness, quite unlike his usual self. And I like his new man, Lester. Lester left early, too, which was a pity, because he plays the flute like a cherub. Of course, he dances like an ox, but a man cannot have every courtly grace at his fingertips.’

She prattled on while Chaloner unfolded the letter. It had been scrawled in a hurry, and said nothing other than that he should visit Williamson without delay. He screwed it into a ball and tossed it away, recalling that he had been ordered to visit the Spymaster’s offices the previous evening too, and Williamson was doubtless piqued with him for failing to arrive.

‘You should go,’ said Hannah, still speaking far too loudly. ‘I told him you were currently investigating four different cases, and he said he might have clues for you.’

Chaloner was horrified that she should have discussed his work with Williamson. ‘It is not-’

‘The first part of the evening was extremely tedious,’ interrupted Hannah, not really caring what he thought. ‘Meneses latched himself on to the Queen again, and I dared not leave her. I could only relax and enjoy myself once she had gone.’

‘What made you uneasy?’ Chaloner swallowed his irritation: berating her for her loose tongue while she was tipsy was unlikely to prove productive. ‘I doubt she would have come to harm in a room full of people.’

‘No physical harm, perhaps, but she is growing fond of him, and I know he will abandon her when he learns she is poor. When he does, she will be terribly hurt.’

‘Then arrange for someone to tell him her status before she becomes too attached,’ suggested Chaloner. ‘Your friend Buckingham will oblige, I am sure.’

‘He tried, but Meneses pretends to have no English. Clearly, he does not appreciate that we are only trying to save him a lot of futile sycophancy. So you can do it. You speak Portuguese.’

‘It is not my place to dispense that sort of advice to foreign barons.’

‘But you will do it nonetheless,’ stated Hannah. ‘Do not worry if the Queen is angry with you — her tempers rarely last long. Damn it! Here comes Joan. You must have woken her by yelling.’

‘I wondered who had slammed the front door and startled us all out of our beds,’ said Joan, regarding Chaloner coldly. ‘Just come home, have you?’

‘He has,’ replied Hannah cheerfully. ‘He arrived a few moments before me.’

‘Well, before you go out again, perhaps you would have a word with George,’ said Joan stiffly. ‘He has eaten the pie Nan baked for today’s dinner. I challenged him about it, but he was quite unrepentant. Horrible man!’

Remembering that Hannah had arranged for him to visit the Queen’s apartments later, Chaloner dressed with more than his usual care that day, selecting a dark-blue long-coat and matching breeches. The shirt had some lace around the neck and wrists — it was impossible to buy them plain in an age where the degree of frill was virtually equivalent to a man’s social status — but not enough to hinder his movements. He added his weapons, including Wiseman’s scalpel, and then was ready for whatever that Saturday might bring.

‘Cut off all your hair and wear a wig,’ advised Hannah, watching him. ‘Few men of fashion keep their own locks these days.’

‘That is because most men of fashion are either grey or bald.’

Hannah snorted with laughter — a sound she would never have made while sober. ‘True. But you will have to conform sooner or later, or you will be the only man at Court with real hair. And then people might think you are poor.’