He was bemused when Chaloner told him about Bristol’s plan to see him in trouble with Lady Castlemaine, because Brodrick had already given him the details, and they had discussed the matter at length. Lord Clarendon had then raised the matter with the King, who was highly entertained by the situation, but promised to inform ‘the Lady’ that the idea to move apartments had been his own idea, and nothing to do with his Lord Chancellor. The crisis had already been averted.
The Earl was so absolutely certain of Brodrick’s loyalty that Chaloner wondered whether Thurloe was right to question him, especially when the man in question arrived with yet more information about Bristol’s schemes, and had obviously spent the morning working on his kinsman’s behalf. He had learned that the remnants of the incinerated petticoats had been interpreted as firm evidence that Clarendon kept a mistress, and rumours were already rife as to her identity.
‘But it is all false!’ cried the Earl, appalled. ‘How could Bristol say such things about me? I much prefer the company of dogs to loose women.’
Brodrick struggled not to smirk. ‘You had better not tell him that, cousin, or he will be telling everyone to lock up their spaniels as well as their daughters.’ He cocked his head at a knock on the door. ‘That will be Lisle. I asked him to come and see me about a Private Anatomy, which are all the rage these days. I am tempted to ask my consort to play a little chamber music to accompany the dissection. What do you think, Heyden?’
‘The sound of saws ripping through entrails might drown out the quieter movements,’ said Chaloner, thinking such a perverted notion could only have come from a man with too much time on his hands and too great a devotion to increasingly bizarre forms of recreation. He started to withdraw, intending to go home and drink watered ale, but was stopped by Lisle, who peered at him in concern.
‘You look unwell,’ he said. ‘It must be the toxic compounds percolating through the skin of your arm from Wiseman’s glue.’
‘An excess of wine can make a man feel seedy, too,’ said Brodrick wryly, clearly speaking from experience.
‘Actually, it was poison,’ said Chaloner, declining to admit to drunkenness in front of the Lord Chancellor. ‘It was intended for someone else and I took it by mistake.’
‘Poison?’ echoed Clarendon, horrified. ‘It was not meant for me, was it?’
‘What kind of poison?’ asked Lisle. ‘I hope it was nothing containing Goddard’s Drops. They are the latest tonic of choice among the fashionable, but Wiseman has learned that you only have to double the recommended dose for them to be fatal.’
‘How did he discover that?’ asked Chaloner uneasily.
‘He has patients,’ said Lisle darkly. ‘Did this potion taste of silk? Volatile oil of silk is just one of the dangerous ingredients included in Goddard’s Drops. I wish he had made his fortune by marketing a more benign compound, personally.’
‘Bristol is next to that statue of Mars with a bucket of paint,’ said Brodrick, bored with the discussion, so looking out of the window into the garden below. He started to laugh. ‘He is giving him a blond wig like … ah.’ He stopped sniggering and looked uncomfortably at his cousin’s fair curls.
Clarendon shot from the room, Brodrick at his heels, so Chaloner and Lisle left the Lord Chancellor’s offices, and began to walk across the Palace Court towards the gate. It was busy, because the King was showing off one of his new chronometers; Chaloner noticed Surgeon Wiseman among the throng that had gathered to make polite comments about it.
‘You must come to see me on Saturday,’ said Lisle urgently, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear. ‘I could not mention it in front of your earl, because he and Wiseman are friends, and I do not want trouble. In fact, I would appreciate it if you said nothing to anyone about our appointment – keep it between the two of us.’
‘Why?’ asked Chaloner curiously.
‘Because it would be seen as “patient poaching”, which could see me expelled from my Company. However, I dislike seeing people suffer, which is why I work among the poor each Friday. Wiseman has made a terrible mistake with his splint, and I feel duty-bound to rectify it.’
‘Then take it off now,’ said Chaloner. ‘There must be suitable tools somewhere in White Hall.’
Lisle smiled kindly. ‘It is a little more complicated than plying a saw, and I have already told you it needs time to degrade before we can tamper. Do not be too hopeful about the outcome, though – and be warned that you may have to take up something that requires less manual dexterity than the viol. Singing, perhaps. Damn! Wiseman is coming to talk to us, so we shall say no more about our private arrangement. Agreed?’
Chaloner nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘Ground snails with a minced earthworm is something I always recommend for fevers,’ said Lisle as Wiseman approached, speaking as though they were in the middle of an in-depth conversation. ‘It is quite palatable when sweetened with sugar.’
‘I decline to recommend sugar to my patients,’ said Wiseman immediately, making Chaloner itch to point out that invading other people’s discussions without invitation was unmannerly. ‘It is the commodity that makes slavery a necessity, and slavery is an abomination in the eyes of God.’
‘Webb made his fortune transporting sugar from the slave plantations,’ said Chaloner innocently.
Wiseman’s expression was cold. ‘Exactly. He had his just deserts when he was cut down in the gutters of The Strand like an animal. Crime begets crime, and his was unforgivable.’
‘How long had you known him?’ asked Chaloner guilelessly.
Wiseman looked mystified. ‘Why?’
‘Because you puzzled a friend of mine. He heard you arguing with Webb in a coffee house around Christmas time, but when you joined his group of learned companions in a tavern last month – a few hours before the Guinea Company dinner – you denied knowing the man.’
Wiseman sighed, aware that Lisle was regarding him with an expression of dismay. ‘All right, I admit I may have been less than honest. But Robert Hooke was among that particular gathering, and he is vehemently opposed to slavery. As I would like to be elected to the Royal Society, and Hooke is its Curator, I decided to disclaim any prior dealing with Webb. Webb damaged me enough with his spiteful allegations, and I did not want him ruining my chances of joining the Royal Society, too.’
‘Did you go to the dinner, Wiseman?’ asked Lisle. ‘I know we were all invited, but I cannot recall who said he was going. No, wait! I saw you dressed in your best scarlet robes before I left Chyrurgeons’ Hall – I offered you a ride in my carriage, if you recall.’
‘And I declined, because I had business at the hospital to attend,’ replied Wiseman smoothly. ‘It transpired to be more complex than I thought, and I was obliged to miss the feast. I believe I told you as much the following day.’
‘So you did,’ said Lisle. ‘Meanwhile, I had no more reached the doors of African House before I was called away to tend the Lord Chancellor’s gout. We were both prevented from enjoying ourselves.’
However, Chaloner knew that at least one surgeon had been present, because an expert had tended Temple’s broken pate. He believed Lisle, because he had told the same story before, but there was something about Wiseman’s reply that set alarm bells ringing. The man had lied about knowing Webb, so what was to say he was telling the truth about missing the Guinea Company dinner? Had he objected so strongly to Webb’s slave investments that he had been driven to dispatch the man? The rapier had entered Webb’s heart, after all, and an anatomist might well strike with such neat precision.