Then he found what he was looking for. There was no time to read the letter and replace it, as Thurloe had recommended, so he shoved it in his pocket and ran to the window. He tried to unlatch it, but it was painted shut. He raced to another one, aware that Bristol was in the next room. He wrenched desperately at the catch, and it opened with a screech. The ground was a long way below, and a scullion was right beneath him, sitting on a stool as he enjoyed an early-morning pipe. Then the office door was flung open, and he heard Bristol give a furious yell as the intruder was spotted.
Chaloner did not look around, because he did not want Bristol to see his face. Taking a deep breath, he scrambled on to the sill, then launched himself into the ivy that covered the wall, aiming to climb down it. It was not as strong as it looked, and began to tear away from its moorings. With a tremendous hissing and scraping, the entire mass peeled away, bearing him with it. He braced himself, expecting to land hard – probably hard enough to damage his lame leg and prevent him from escaping. But the plant was reluctant to yield its hold on the wall, and did so slowly, so he was carried down at a perfectly comfortable pace to land gently on both feet without the slightest jar. The pipe-smoking scullion fared less happily, and disappeared under the billowing foliage with a cry of alarm.
Chaloner fought his way free of the leaves and started to run through the garden, but a sudden, gripping wave of dizziness made it difficult for him to see where he was going. Bristol leaned through the window and yelled orders at his servants, and soon several were in pursuit. Temple, abandoning his breakfast, panted along behind them. Chaloner reached the end of the garden and wrenched open the gate. Then, instead of haring through it into the lane, he ducked back inside and hid behind a rack that was used for drying onions. He knew he could not outrun fleet-footed pursuers while he was sick and reeling, and that concealing himself was his only hope of escape. He leaned against a wall and took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes as he did so. The servants and Temple thundered past, followed by Bristol, who was yelling at the top of his voice. Alice Scot walked sedately after them.
Alice hailed from a family of spies, and knew perfectly well that tearing blindly after an invisible target was a waste of time. She studied the ground as she went, then stopped to inspect a broken twig. Chaloner watched in horror as she looked directly towards his onion rack. She stepped off the path and bent to touch the soil. She had surmised that the culprit had not fled into the lane, but was still in the garden. He swallowed hard, thinking how delighted she would be when she discovered the identity of the thief. He tried to push himself upright, but his knees would not support him.
‘Alice,’ came a familiar voice, just as Chaloner was bracing himself for capture – even a woman would have no trouble securing him when he could barely stand. ‘What on Earth are you doing?’
‘William!’ she cried in delight. ‘I did not expect to see you here.’
Scot did not return her friendly greeting. ‘Obviously not.’
Her face fell when she saw what he was thinking. ‘It is nothing untoward, brother – just a card game that lasted until dawn.’
‘I assume Temple was there, too.’ Scot’s voice was cold.
Alice sighed. ‘Yes, although we were sitting at different tables for most of the night. And you? Are you on an assignment for Williamson? Is that why you appear so unexpectedly in the Earl of Bristol’s vegetable garden in the hour after dawn?’
Scot rubbed his eyes, and Chaloner saw he did not feel particularly healthy, either. ‘I am sure our father was never obliged to do this sort of thing. Espionage is not what it used to be, Alice.’
‘Then why do it? You promised to finish with spying after Dublin. You said it was too dangerous.’
‘Believe me, I shall – the moment Thomas is free.’
‘Have you had any luck? I still have not found the right man to bribe, but I am working on it.’
‘Keep your money, because Thomas’s situation took a great leap forward yesterday – Chaloner told me about a crooked gunsmith, which allowed me to expose some illegal arms dealing. Williamson is delighted, and I sense it will not be long before he persuades his masters to let Thomas go.’
Alice smiled. ‘At last.’
Scot pointed back towards the open office window, and showed her a goblet. ‘Williamson asked me to acquire a gold cup that holds a certain significance for His Majesty – something to do with a mistress. Obviously, I must have made too much noise, because I was almost caught. Will you help me escape? Go back inside, and when he returns, tell Bristol that you saw a large, red-headed thief jump over the wall into the garden next door. Hurry, though! I can hear them coming back already.’
She kissed his cheek and strode away. Moments later, Scot joined Chaloner behind the onions. ‘That was close,’ he said with a grin. ‘She almost had you.’
Scot put his finger to his lips as Bristol and Temple stamped back through the garden, muttering venomously that the felon was too fast for them, and declaring that the servants had better have more luck or there would be trouble. Eventually, they went inside and Scot helped Chaloner to his feet.
‘How did you know I was here?’ asked Chaloner, feeling his stomach roll as he stood.
‘You had gone when I woke, and there is only one man you visit at such an ungodly hour.’ Scot held Chaloner’s ornamental ‘town’ sword in his hand. ‘I set out after you when I thought you might have forgotten this – no sane spy goes unarmed these days.’
Chaloner indicated the military-style weapon he carried at his side. ‘I prefer something a little more robust when I burgle the houses of powerful courtiers. You taught me that. Did you see Thurloe?’
Scot nodded. ‘For the first time since I became a Royalist. He is not a man to bear grudges, but I was uneasy nonetheless. I have never been able to read him, to know what he is really thinking.’
Chaloner was not surprised that Thurloe declined to be open with a man who had defected at a critical moment in the Commonwealth’s painful collapse. ‘He is not an easy man to understand.’
‘As it happened, my apprehension was unnecessary. When I arrived, I found him preoccupied with another matter. His cat had swallowed some of his morning tonic, and had immediately become ill. He suspects poison, and is beside himself with worry, because he said you had taken some, too.’
‘Prynne,’ said Chaloner, holding his stomach. ‘Because Thurloe opposes his garden plans.’
Scot shook his head wonderingly. ‘Hell hath no fury like a lawyer crossed. Anyway, it would have been sheer folly for Thurloe to rescue you himself – I imagine he is horribly out of practice – so I persuaded him to let me do it instead. He is waiting nearby, in a carriage.’
‘His damned tonics!’ muttered Chaloner venomously. ‘My wits were too befuddled from last night’s wine to refuse it.’
Scot brandished the cup. ‘Fortunately, mine were not. I took this to cover up whatever you were doing in there – now they will assume it was a simple theft when they look to see what is missing. We should not talk here, though. Put your arm around my shoulder. We shall pretend we are drunk, as we did in France when you saved me from that vengeful cardinal. We both reek of wine, so our ploy–’
He stepped smartly out of the way when the mention of wine was more than Chaloner’s stomach could bear. The spy felt far better once the tonic had been added to the onions, and he wondered whether they would die as a result. Leaning heavily on Scot, he staggered out of the garden.