‘Mon Dieu!’ exclaimed Scot, fluttering his fan. He flicked Temple’s collar with it. ‘I see you have trouble with the laundry, too. They will wash the red with the white, and we shall all wear pink if they cannot be taught otherwise.’
Temple’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is supposed to be this colour. It is the fashion.’
Scot winked at him. ‘Of course, monsieur. That is what I shall say, too. We shall not allow these laundresses to defeat us, n’est-ce pas? I hear you are kin to Sir John Temple of the privy council. You are honoured to have such a man in your family. I have long admired his horses.’
Temple nodded keenly, insults forgotten. ‘I like horses myself. If you come to Hyde Park tomorrow, I shall introduce you to John, and you shall see the best of his collection.’
‘Good,’ murmured Alice in Scot’s ear. ‘John Temple is a powerful voice on the privy council, and may be able to help secure our brother’s release. I should have thought of it myself.’
‘Yes, you should,’ Scot muttered back, a little unpleasantly.
Temple was ready to embark on a detailed discussion about horses, but Brodrick had picked up a candelabra, and was casually admiring it. Instinctively, Temple’s hand went to the pate that had been dented when Clarendon’s cousin had last laid hold of such an implement.
‘I understand you were obliged to call on the services of a surgeon at the Guinea Company dinner, Temple,’ said Chaloner, immediately seeing a way to further his investigation.
Brodrick laughed derisively. ‘He remembers nothing about it – although the wine was responsible for that, not the candlestick. A surgeon was summoned, although none of us recall which one.’
Temple glared. ‘And if the fellow was as drunk as you were that night, then I am lucky he did not saw off my head.’
The company was about to sit down to eat when the door opened yet again, and everyone was startled when Silence Webb glided in. She was clad in a black gown to which had been attached a chaos of white ostrich feathers; Chaloner’s immediate thought was that they made her look like an oversized magpie. Her plump fingers were encrusted with rings, and there were so many necklaces under her chins that she glittered as she breathed.
‘Mrs Webb,’ stammered Behn. ‘We were not expecting you.’
‘I heard you were planning a soirée,’ said Silence with a leer. ‘And when you came to console me for the death of my Matthew, you were kind enough to say that I could visit you at any time. I am sure you have room for a little one at your dinner table.’
‘Of course you must join us,’ said Eaffrey graciously, moving forward to take Silence’s arm. It took a lot more than an uninvited guest to disconcert her. ‘Please come and sit down. We shall make space for you between this handsome French perfumer and–’
‘No, thank you!’ said Silence, regarding Scot with deep suspicion. ‘I do not like the look of him at all. I shall sit between Mr Behn and Lord Clarendon’s aide. Mr Heyden and I are old friends. I knew his kinsman, old Thomas Chaloner, you see.’
‘Chaloner?’ pounced Behn. ‘You mean the regicide? Heyden is kin to him?’
‘He is not,’ said Eaffrey firmly. ‘Although Silence is not the first to notice the uncanny resemblance. Mr Heyden is a mercantile clerk from Manchester, in London to make his fortune by working in White Hall.’
Silence sighed, disappointed. ‘Pity. Old Chaloner was such an amusing man. He was always playing jokes and could put away more wine than my Matthew, which is saying something! But I shall still sit next to Mr Heyden, anyway. He will welcome the opportunity to get to know me better.’
‘Will he?’ asked Eaffrey, while Chaloner tried, by covert signals and desperate glances, to tell her he would not. ‘Then I shall arrange for your place to be set at his side.’
‘Well, come on, then,’ said Silence, plumping herself down and producing a large spoon from the front of her robe. ‘Grab a seat and let us be at the food before it gets cold. I could eat a horse.’
‘I am sure she could,’ murmured Scot to Chaloner, as they took their designated seats. ‘So make sure she does not eat you, too.’
Silence’s rearrangements meant Chaloner was sandwiched between her and Alice, and he resigned himself to a long evening. In proper London fashion, the meal was served in two courses. The first consisted of roasted beef, boiled carp, venison and a dish of sweet potatoes that no one ate. The second comprised pork, tench served with lemons, steamed chicken and two fruit pies. Following the French way, knives and two-pronged forks were provided, although a finger-bowl was required for Silence, who had not been taught how to manipulate a fork, and so was obliged to use her hands.
She rested a hot, heavy palm on Chaloner’s knee, which attracted a scowl from Behn, who sat on her other side. ‘Has Lord Clarendon said anything else about my husband’s murder?’ she asked.
‘I am afraid not, ma’am,’ said Chaloner, moving his chair away from her. He bumped into Alice, who pushed him back more forcefully than was necessary or polite. He glanced at Scot, expecting him to say something, but the older man was talking to Brodrick, clearly intent on making his brother’s case before the courtier became too inebriated for sensible conversation.
‘Mr Behn tells me Dillon is certainly the man who struck the fatal blow,’ Silence continued in a whisper. ‘Him and the other two – except that one has escaped justice by dying of fever. I still believe they were under orders from someone else, although I shall enjoy seeing them die anyway. Will you attend the hangings, Mr Heyden?’
‘No,’ said Chaloner shortly, trying to make himself as small as possible, so he could maintain his distance from Silence without invading the space claimed by Alice.
‘I enjoy hangings, as long as the weather is fine,’ Silence went on. ‘Will you accompany me on Saturday? I would appreciate an escort, and you cannot refuse a recent widow.’
‘I will accompany you,’ said Behn, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. Chaloner glanced at Eaffrey, but her attention was occupied by the chortling teenagers. ‘I am always ready to be of service.’
Silence shot the merchant a smouldering look. ‘You are a true gentleman, sir.’
‘I am not surprised you want to make sure the villains are hanged, Behn,’ said Temple conversationally. ‘You did a lot of business with their victim, I understand.’
‘Yes, Webb was a dear friend,’ agreed Behn.
‘Oh, silly!’ said Silence, thumping him playfully. ‘You know he was not! In fact, he would not approve of me sitting here with you at all, but he is dead, and so not in a position to do much about it.’
Behn looked decidedly shifty. ‘We were close companions, Sil– Mrs Webb. You know we were. We occasionally pretended to be enemies, but that was just to flush out common foes.’
‘You challenged him to a duel,’ countered Silence. Her expression became disconcertingly simpering. ‘I believe it was over me, because he thought you entertained a fancy for his little Silence. Of course, he made sure he was out of London on the relevant morning, and sent you a letter–’
Behn laughed uneasily. ‘A joke, Mrs Webb. Just two merchants amusing themselves.’
Chaloner regarded him thoughtfully, recalling the discussion Temperance had overheard: Behn and Webb had quarrelled, and Behn had left the Guinea Company dinner early. Was Behn the killer? He watched with interest as, desperate to deflect attention from himself, Behn turned on the startled Temple.
‘You were not Webb’s friend, though – you signed a deed at the Guinea Company dinner that would have ruined you. I heard him tell you so after you had put pen to paper – when it was too late to withdraw from the agreement.’