‘Yes, damn him to Hell! I hope this does not mean Spymaster Williamson is about to follow suit. He has remained neutral so far, and it would be a bitter blow if he were to declare for Bristol.’
‘It is a sorry state of affairs – and petty, too. They should put their energies into something more useful – such as avoiding a war with the Dutch or running the country in a more efficient manner.’
Holles nodded agreement. ‘I doubt May will be much of a bonus to Bristol’s faction, though. He is a good swordsman by all accounts, but not overly endowed with wits.’
‘He is a decent shot,’ said Chaloner ruefully. ‘He picked off that beggar easily enough.’
Holles grimaced. ‘Did the Earl mention that I saw what happened yesterday? I wanted to tell Williamson that the man’s death was not your fault, but Clarendon told me to keep my mouth shut.’
‘I do not suppose you know a surgeon called Fitz-Simons, do you?’ asked Chaloner, wishing the Earl had kept his mouth shut. A few words from a respected soldier like Holles would have counter-balanced the poisonous report May was sure to have made.
‘Yes, of course – a portly chap with a scar over one eye. He is one of four barber-surgeons who hold royal appointments, so they are often here at Court. Fitz-Simons is conspicuous by his absence today, though, and Surgeon Lisle told me an hour ago that he is worried about him. Why do you ask?’
So, that explained why Lord Clarendon had claimed there was something familiar about the beggar, thought Chaloner, and why Fitz-Simons had inside knowledge about White Hall. ‘Did you inspect that beggar’s body yesterday?’ he asked, ignoring the question.
‘No, because May whisked it away too quickly. He brought it here with its head wrapped in a sack, set guards over it, and summoned vergers to cart it off to St Martin’s for immediate burial. The Earl demanded to see its face, though, and that Irish scholar – Terrell – contrived to have a quick peek when the guards were looking the other way. Oh, and Surgeon Wiseman marched up and inspected it at length. May threatened to shoot him if he did not leave, and Wiseman pretended not to hear, which was amusing. But May kept everyone else away – including me.’
‘What excuse did he give for that?’
‘He said putting a corpse on display would be gratuitously ghoulish, although it has never bothered anyone at White Hall before. Do you think he is hiding something?’
Chaloner was surprised he should need to ask. ‘You say Surgeon Lisle is worried about–’
Holles suddenly understood the line of questioning. ‘You think the beggar and Fitz-Simons are one and the same? It is possible, I suppose – both were plump, although I never saw the dead man’s face because of the bag over his head. However, it certainly explains why May was so eager to be rid of the corpse before anyone could identify it.’
‘It does?’
Holles nodded. ‘He will not want everyone to know he shot a Court surgeon, will he?’
‘I imagine that depends on what the Court surgeon was doing. Fitz-Simons was in disguise with a gun, and I wager his motive had nothing to do with medicine.’ Chaloner thought aloud. ‘But if Fitz-Simons had access to White Hall through his royal appointment, then why would he turn himself into a beggar to pass information to Williamson? Why not just waylay him here?’
‘He was only surgeon to the servants,’ explained Holles. ‘He is not like the other three – Lisle, Wiseman and Johnson – who tend monarchs, dukes and earls. Fitz-Simons is not allowed to frequent the parts of the palace that Williamson inhabits.’
‘I have met Lisle,’ said Chaloner, recalling the brown, smiling face of the man who had mixed the potion for the Earl’s gout. ‘Clarendon told me he is friends with another leech called Johnson.’
‘Lisle is a good soul. He volunteers his services at St Thomas’s Hospital, because he believes the poor have a right to surgery as well as the rich, and he helps my men when they sustain injuries during training, even though he is not paid for it. He is trying to remain neutral in the Clarendon–Bristol dispute, because he is Master of his Company, and he does not want to annoy half his membership by declaring a preference.’
‘And Johnson?’
Holles’s moustache dipped in disapproval. ‘Bristol helped him get his Court appointment, so he is Bristol’s man to the core.’
‘What about the last surgeon – Wiseman? Who does he support?’
Holles pointed through the window, to where a man clad in a glorious red robe strutted proudly across the yard. He was unusually large, and cut an impressive figure as he moved, enough to make other people give him the right of way.
‘He likes Lord Clarendon. Unfortunately, the fellow has a tongue like a rapier and, because he is on our side, we are obliged to put up with it.’
‘Had Fitz-Simons chosen any particular earl to support?’
Holles shrugged. ‘He might have done, but he was too lowly for his opinion to matter – as I said, he worked among servants, not courtiers. What do you think he was doing with that gun?’
‘What do you know about the Company of Barber-Surgeons?’ asked Chaloner, again ignoring the question.
‘Just that they have a hall with a dissecting room on Monkwell Street, where they slice up the corpses of hanged felons and give public lectures about them. It all sounds revolting to me, and I would not be seen dead there.’ He winced at his choice of words. ‘I would rather be in a brothel.’
‘I imagine most men feel the same,’ said Chaloner, sure the general populace would not be queuing up to witness such a spectacle.
‘Then you would be wrong. Dissections are very popular at Court, and you are considered unfashionable if you have not attended one. I just thank God I am a soldier, and so not a slave to such trends – I detest the sight of innards and gore.’ Holles shuddered and changed the subject. ‘I have discovered a rather splendid bawdy house in Hercules’s Pillars Alley. Have you been? If not, I can arrange an introduction. It is very selective about its members, but the lady of the house likes me.’
‘She does?’ asked Chaloner, somewhat coolly. ‘And why is that?’
Holles twirled his moustaches. ‘She says I remind her of a soldier in Shakespeare’s Henry the Fourth, which I am sure is a great compliment. I always tip her girls very handsomely, you see.’
Chaloner suspected it was the tips that made him welcome, and assumed Holles had never seen the play, or he would not have been flattered when Temperance compared him to Falstaff.
The colonel escorted Chaloner inside White Hall, then left him to his own devices. The first person Chaloner saw was Eaffrey, who was far too experienced a spy to ignore the elderly stranger, who indicated that he wanted to speak to her. She slipped away from Lady Castlemaine and her simpering entourage, and went to stand near a fountain in the middle of the cobbled Great Court. The fountain had once spouted clean, bubbling water, but it had not worked since the wars, and what filled its marbled troughs was green, sludge-like and malodorous. Eaffrey tossed a pebble at it, and the stone seemed to hesitate on the surface before sinking out of sight.
‘That is an impressive disguise, Tom,’ she muttered, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. ‘You will soon be better than William.’
Chaloner sat on a low wall, and pretended to fiddle with the buckle on his shoe. As he did so, he automatically scanned the people who scurried past. ‘That large man with the yellow hair seems to be watching you rather closely. Do you know him?’
‘That is Johan, my Brandenburg merchant,’ said Eaffrey, waving in a way that was distinctly coquettish. The fellow acknowledged with a salute, although he did not return her smile, and Chaloner wondered whether there was something in his disguise that had aroused suspicion. Behn was tall and broad, with a mane of thick blond hair, and his fine clothes indicated he was a man of wealth. ‘Is he not handsome?’