‘Is her carriage outside?’ Chaloner asked, adding without enthusiasm, ‘I will escort her home.’
‘So you can seduce her, I imagine,’ said Alice unpleasantly.
‘Yes, I doubt I will be able to resist,’ he replied acidly. ‘So you had better take her instead.’
Her expression was murderous when she saw she had been outmanoeuvred, and she continued to glare as Chaloner and Behn levered Silence into her coach. Temple declined to accompany them on the basis that it would be improper for him to witness a woman’s indignity, and Brodrick was on his horse and out of Behn’s stable with a haste that was only just decent. Chaloner stepped into the shadows with a sigh of relief, grateful the evening was over, and determined to stay out of sight until everyone had gone – when he would emerge and lie to Eaffrey about how pleasant it had been.
While he waited for the teenagers – drowsy with the lateness of the hour and the wine they had consumed – to be packed into a cart and dispatched home, he breathed in deeply of the blossom-scented air. The stars were very bright, and, as he gazed up at them, he was reminded of the velvety darkness of a summer night at his family’s manor in Buckinghamshire. He experienced a sharp desire to see his brothers and sisters again, to walk in their woods and meadows, and supposed tiredness was making him maudlin.
Scot, Eaffrey and Behn lingered in the yard after the girls had gone, also enjoying the freshness of the evening. When Scot bowed to his hosts and took his leave, Chaloner decided it might be better to write his thanks to Eaffrey the following day, instead of waiting to give them in person. He did not want another encounter with Behn. Then Eaffrey kissed her lover’s cheek, whispering something that made him laugh. Behn tugged her hand in a way that suggested he was ready for bed, but she pulled away, indicating she wanted more time to clear her head. Before Chaloner could emerge from the shadows to speak to her alone, someone else approached. It was Scot.
‘What happened to Chaloner?’ he asked, peering into the house to make sure the Brandenburger had gone. ‘It is unlike him to leave without saying goodbye.’
‘I do not blame him. Sitting between Alice and Silence all night cannot have been pleasant. I know she is your sister, William, but even you must admit that Alice is not an easy lady. I wish he had not disappeared quite so soon, though. There is something I need to tell him about Webb.’ Eaffrey chuckled. ‘Silence has such gall that I am filled with admiration for her. Even I would have baulked at inflicting myself on such a gathering – and I am paid to do that kind of thing.’
‘Your company would never be a burden, though,’ said Scot tenderly. ‘Unlike hers.’
Chaloner was half out of his hiding place, to share their amusement about the evening and its ups and very considerable downs – and to find out what she had to tell him about Webb – when Eaffrey and Scot flew together for a very passionate kiss.
The bells of St Andrew’s Holborn were chiming eleven o’clock as Chaloner left Leather Lane, but he did not feel like going home. He had just consigned himself to sitting alone in a tavern, when he recalled Temperance’s club. He walked briskly down Fetter Lane, hand on the hilt of his sword, because few men had honest business at such an hour and anyone he met was unlikely to be friendly, crossed Fleet Street and aimed for Hercules’s Pillars Alley. The tavern of that name was doing a roaring trade, and noisy patrons spilled out on to the street. The air nearby stank of spilled beer, pipe smoke, vomit and urine. By contrast, only the faintest tinkle of music could be heard from Temperance’s house. Chaloner slipped past Preacher Hill, who was saying goodnight to one of the city’s most prominent judges, and padded along the hall to the kitchen. It was not many moments before Temperance arrived, come to fetch nuts for the Earl of Sandwich.
‘Thomas!’ she cried in delight. ‘Will you join the revels in the main parlour? The Duke of Buckingham has brought Lady Castlemaine again, and there is a lot of laughter and japes.’
Chaloner was not in the mood for foolery. He saw he had made a mistake in coming and stood to leave, loath to keep her from the fun. ‘I do not know why I am here. Your company, I suppose.’
Temperance waved him back down, handing the nuts to one of her girls before sitting opposite him. ‘There is no need to sound begrudging about it. There are occasions when only friends will do, and I am glad you felt you could come here. I am also relieved, because there is something you should know – Maude told me today that Dillon will be the subject of a dramatic rescue, just as the noose is put around his neck. All London is expecting some fine entertainment.’
‘So is Dillon himself.’
‘She also heard that Dillon is innocent of murder, and is going to the gallows because he is an Irish rebel – fabricating charges of murder is the government’s way of ridding itself of such people.’
‘That is false. Why do you think most countries have a secret service? It is so knives can be slipped into the backs of awkward subjects without the need for public trials and executions.’
Temperance regarded him with distaste. ‘Is that what you do?’
‘There is nearly always another solution.’
She was silent for a while. ‘I asked a few of my guests about your surgeons – Wiseman, Lisle and Johnson. Lisle is a good man who spends one day a week working for the poor, and is well liked. Wiseman is unpopular, because he is condescending to his patients, and no one likes being treated like a fool. And Johnson is a fool, but knows enough of his trade to be a menace.’
‘So Johnson and Wiseman are bad; Lisle is good?’
‘In essence. I also heard that you accused Adrian May of sending the letter that saw Dillon and the others arrested. Did you?’
He regarded her askance. ‘Christ, Temperance! Does anything happen in that damned palace that is not immediately brayed around the whole city?’
‘This is not general knowledge; Colonel Holles told me. He came to see me this morning, to apologise for manhandling Modesty the other night – although she does not remember what it is he is supposed to have done. While he was here, he asked me to warn you against antagonising May.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Perhaps he likes you, Tom. There are not many left who are faithful to Lord Clarendon, after all. Did May did send that letter?’
Chaloner nodded. ‘The more I think about it, the more it seems likely. He is jealous of his influence over Williamson, and that missive allowed him to be rid of the main competition. He included his own name, so it would not be conspicuous by its absence.’
‘Does that mean he was involved in the killing of Webb, too? He committed the murder himself, and let Dillon, Fanning and Sarsfeild take the blame?’
Chaloner rubbed his eyes tiredly. ‘I do not have the faintest idea.’
Chapter 9
Chaloner woke early the following day, and sat in his window, making use of the gathering daylight to compose letters to Thurloe, Clarendon and Eaffrey. He used cipher without conscious thought, a different code for each recipient. Thurloe would read his immediately, without resorting to a crib. Clarendon would ask one of his clerks to translate, so Chaloner seldom confided too much in his written messages to his employer. Eaffrey’s was one they had used for years, and could be broken by anyone who knew them. He thanked her for her hospitality and wrote some polite observations about her silver forks, tactfully saying nothing about the company or the level of conversation.