‘Greeting will be difficult to dislodge once he has a foot in the door, cousin,’ said the Earl reproachfully. ‘Heyden will lose his place permanently if he does not play tonight.’
Brodrick shrugged. ‘It cannot be helped. Locke gave the bass viol some important solo work, and Greeting is the only available musician capable of mastering it at short notice. Like most courtiers, I am short of funds, and commissions to play in the houses of wealthy courtiers are fast becoming imperative. I cannot afford to be kind to Heyden, not when the Queen might recommend me to her entourage.’
Disgusted and dismayed, Chaloner watched him stride away. He was suddenly sick of White Hall, and longed for the peace of his own chambers. Unwilling for ‘Vanders’ to be the centre of any more attention, he washed the paint and false beard from his face, and borrowed a cap and coat from Holles. He plodded along a series of little-used corridors, then cut across the expanse of cobbles known as the Great Court. Like the Privy Garden, it was full of revellers, but there were also servants going about their business, so no one looked twice at him as he walked away from the celebrations. Except one person.
‘Thomas Chaloner,’ said a masked woman in yellow, speaking in a voice that was far too loud. It was the lady who had been with Temple. Chaloner regarded her in alarm, not liking his real name bawled in such a place. ‘What are the palace guards thinking, to let you in here?’
‘Alice Scot,’ said Chaloner, when she removed her mask. It had only been five years since they had last met, but time had not been kind to her. Bitter lines encircled her mouth and eyes, and even a liberal slathering of beauty pastes could not conceal the discontent that was etched into her small, pinched features. She did not return his tentative smile of greeting, and he supposed he was still not forgiven for exposing her first husband as a man with dubious morals. ‘I did not know you were in London.’
‘I am here because my brother is in the Tower, being drained of secrets regarding the Castle Plot. I intend to rescue him and take him home to Buckinghamshire, where he will be safe.’
‘Rescue him how?’ asked Chaloner uneasily, hoping she was not planning to embark on some wild scheme that would see her entire family in trouble.
‘By offering a large sum of money to anyone who will set him free. I am rich, and can afford it – I just need to find out who to bribe. William thinks he can do it by pestering people, but money speaks louder than words, so we shall see who is right. Was it you who suggested Thomas should hand himself over in exchange for a pardon? If so, it was bad advice.’
He was tempted to tell her the truth – that it had been Scot’s idea – but friendship stilled his tongue. ‘He surrendered willingly when he learned it would save him from hanging. Besides, he knew by then that the rebellion was a foolish venture to have supported, and he was eager to make amends.’
‘So, now my poor brother is an idiot, is he?’ she asked angrily.
‘I understand you want to marry,’ he said, to change the subject. As soon as the words were out, he wished he could take them back. Given that he had fought a duel with her last spouse, matrimony was a topic best avoided.
‘Richard Temple,’ she said, surprising him with a sudden smile. ‘I cannot recall ever enjoying a man’s company as much as I do his. William refuses to give me his blessing, but what would he know about love? Like most men, he is only interested in whores.’
Chaloner considered the pairing of Alice and Temple, and decided that she probably had the better end of the bargain. Temple was physically unattractive and his association with the slave trade made him loathsome, but he was almost certainly better company than Alice.
‘May I escort you somewhere?’ he forced himself to ask. It was growing dark in a part of the palace that was not particularly secure, and she was Scot’s sister, after all.
‘Not when you are dressed so shabbily, thank you. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were still in Ireland. Or have you forsaken espionage to follow a more respectable profession?’
‘Your father and brothers were spies,’ he pointed out.
‘And look where it has led them. My father hanged, drawn and quartered for regicide, Thomas in the Tower, and William itching to begin a self-imposed exile in Surinam. In his last letter, William told me he had discovered a fancy for flowers. I wrote back and recommended that he consult a physician.’
‘That was unkind. Would you deny him a chance to find contentment?’
‘I will acknowledge his new-found love of plants when he accepts my liking for Richard.’
‘What is it about Richard Temple that you admire?’ asked Chaloner curiously.
She smiled again. ‘His ambition and financial acumen, mostly. When we marry, he will use my money to buy a sugar plantation in Barbados. He says it will make us both richer than ever.’
‘I have heard that particular venture is on the brink of collapse,’ lied Chaloner. ‘Due to bad harvests and falling prices. Anyone who invests is likely to lose everything.’
‘Richard says otherwise, and I trust his opinion more than yours,’ she said. ‘And now you must excuse me. Supper is about to be served, and I have been asked to sit next to the Earl of Bristol.’
It was late by the time Chaloner reached home, and his ears rang with the sound of loud music and the yells of people who had drunk too much wine. His landlord was still awake, and they spent a long time plying every tool in his arsenal against the splint, but were forced to concede defeat when all they did was warp it into a shape that was uncomfortable. He retired to bed, but his leg ached from his tumble, and he tossed and turned for hours before he was able to sleep. Then he woke as the bells were chiming five o’clock, feeling as though he had only just dropped off. He forced himself up, knowing he should not waste any of the day.
The first thing he did was to go to his viol, which stood near the shelf where he kept his music. He sat, placed it between his knees, and took the bow in his right hand. But the previous night’s tampering had made the splint shift down his arm, so it was impossible to reach the frets, and the tune he produced had his landlord banging on the door to make him stop. He set down the bow with a sigh.
He dressed in some of his better clothes for Chyrurgeons’ Hall – there was no point in going as Vanders, since Wiseman had already seen through that disguise. He wore a dark-blue long-coat with front buttons, knee-breeches and a ‘vest’ – or waistcoat – that was as plain as it could be without being brazenly outmoded. Meanwhile, Temperance’s friend Maude had been true to her word, and one of his shirts – now adorned with so much lace that it was four or five times its original weight – had arrived. His hat was a wide-brimmed one, which matched the sash that held his sword; no gentleman ever went out without a sword.
Thurloe always rose early, and was already in Lincoln’s Inn garden when Chaloner arrived, strolling among the ancient boles in the grey, misty light of dawn. Here, the sweet scent of wet grass and dew-soaked soil was stronger than the ever-present reek of sewage and coal smoke that pervaded the rest of the city. The only times Chaloner noticed London’s noxious stench was when it was not there, when he became aware that there were places where clean air prevailed, although the rapid development of houses in the suburbs meant this happened with decreasing frequency. When he approached Thurloe, the ex-Spymaster had stopped next to a gnarled apple tree, and was touching its bark with outstretched fingers, oblivious to the soft rain that fell soundlessly around him.
‘I do not think I shall stay in London after Prynne has destroyed my sanctuary,’ he said quietly. ‘I shall not find peace in his desert, and the loss of these old companions is too sharp a wound to bear.’