Chaloner did not want to discuss it. ‘Do not tell Williamson about this,’ he warned, watching the secretary load the money into the plinth of a statue.
Bulteel regarded him askance. ‘Do you think me a lunatic? He would have it away from us before you could say “corrupt spymaster”, and it would never be seen again. He has a weakness for yellow metal. And silver metal. And glittering stones of all colours. He would kill to lay his hands on this.’
Chapter 7
The Lord Chancellor was standing at the window when Chaloner entered his office, and the spy saw immediately why he was loath to be at his desk. His chamber still bore evidence of Brodrick’s practical joke, with scraps of bright silk dangling from the ceiling, and lewd murals daubed on the walls. An attempt had been made to wipe them off, but the pranksters had used waterproof pigments, so some serious scrubbing would be required to remove them. The place reeked of cheap perfume, and there was a brazenly feminine undergarment entangled in the chandelier. Chaloner used his sword to hook it down.
‘Thank you,’ said the Earl, not looking around. ‘Toss it on the fire, if you please. I cannot do it myself, because I decline to soil my hands by touching such a filthy article.’
Chaloner did as he was told, then joined him at the window. He was watching the Queen with her ladies-in-waiting in the Privy Garden, and Chaloner smiled when he saw Hannah among the throng. The Earl grimaced when Lady Castlemaine glided to join them, but not nearly as much as the Queen. Katherine had objected furiously when the King had appointed his mistress to Her Majesty’s Bedchamber, but she had been no match for the combined might of husband and paramour. They had won the battle handily, and the Lady attended the Queen when she felt like it and ignored her when she had more interesting things to do.
‘I heard the Lady has converted to Catholicism,’ said the Earl, making it sound as though she had made a pact with the Devil. Of course, Chaloner thought grimly, he doubtless thought she had, given his narrow-minded views on religion. ‘It is supposed to be a secret, but everyone knows.’
‘Probably because she is going around demanding crucifixes from people. She almost had Bess Gold’s the other day.’
The Earl shook his head in disgust. ‘The woman has no shame.’
The ladies were skipping and cavorting happily, while the Queen moved more slowly, as if exercise was still an effort after her illness. She did not join in the laughter when Lady Castlemaine made some quip that had the other women doubled over, and Chaloner was pleased to note that Hannah did not, either. She went and slipped her arm through the Queen’s, whispering something that brought a reluctant smile to the thin, wan face.
‘The Lady is telling everyone that the Queen is barren,’ said the Earl unhappily. ‘And I fear she may be right, because the King has no trouble siring brats with other lasses. The consequences for me are dire, given that it was I who arranged the match.’
‘I suppose they are, sir,’ said Chaloner, thinking they were a lot more dire for the Queen.
‘There is no need to agree quite so readily,’ snapped the Earl, turning to face him with a scowl. ‘If you were any kind of diplomat, you would rush to offer words of comfort.’
‘That would be disingenuous.’
The Earl sighed miserably. ‘Yes, it would, and deceit is something of which I could never accuse you. You are later than I expected. Is it because you have been busy arresting Greene?’
Chaloner smothered his exasperation. ‘I was watching his house when Vine died, sir. He cannot be the killer. Meanwhile, he was with his parish priest when Langston was dispatched. He is-’
‘You do not need to be with someone when they drink the poison you provide,’ the Earl shot back. ‘You told me that yourself.’
‘The victims were not fools, sir — they would not have accepted wine from some hireling in a dark hall after everyone had gone home. The killer is someone who knew them, someone Vine and Langston trusted enough to drink with, despite knowing what had happened to Chetwynd. Greene does not have the strength of character to persuade such a man to kill on his behalf.’
‘But the Lady is going around telling people that he is innocent. What greater proof of his guilt can you want than that?’
Chaloner tried to make him see sense. ‘I could arrest Greene, but what happens when the killer claims his next victim? Everyone will know we have made a mistake. And Greene may sue you for making damaging allegations,’ he added, resorting to a financial argument to make his point.
The tactic worked, because the Earl rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Very well. We shall leave Greene for now, although I want you to keep an eye on him. He is one of those sanctimonious Puritan types, for a start, and I dislike them. What is wrong with the Church of England, for God’s sake? Why must people insist on following these bizarre sects?’
‘They do as their consciences dictate — just as you remained an Anglican, even though you were in Catholic countries when you shared the King’s exile.’
The Earl gaped at him. ‘You overstep the mark, man! A fellow’s religion is his own affair, not to be remarked upon by others.’
The Catholics, Baptists and Quakers would agree, thought Chaloner — that was their point exactly. He changed the subject before it saw him in trouble. ‘I spoke to Greene about Langston, and-’
‘Yes — tell me how he reacted to the news that his housemate was poisoned,’ ordered the Earl.
‘He seemed distressed, although I did not tell him about it. Williamson’s clerk did.’
‘Swaddell? Then Greene is lucky not to have had a blade shoved between his ribs. Swaddell is a deadly assassin, although he tells everyone he is a clerk. Did you hear he is missing? There is a rumour that he tried to steal Jones’s purse, and they both fell in the Thames during the ensuing skirmish. It is nonsense, of course: Swaddell is an experienced killer, and would not have bungled a simple robbery.’
‘Was Jones rich enough to warrant Swaddell attacking him, then?’ asked Chaloner innocently.
The Earl nodded. ‘Yes he was, but men do not carry their worldly goods about on their person — they invest it in banks, or they hide it in their houses. Ergo, Jones must have been killed by some low villain, who thinks a few pennies is worth a man’s life.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Chaloner, declining to comment.
The Earl became animated — he liked talking about money. ‘Do you know a bandy-legged merchant called Tryan? He is said to have a fortune in coins and jewels, all locked up in his front parlour.’
‘Swaddell may still be alive,’ said Chaloner, to steer the discussion back to the missing assassin.
‘Williamson certainly hopes so,’ said the Earl, clearly disappointed that a chat about fiscal matters was to be cut short for something rather less interesting. ‘He has come to rely on him, and they are one of a kind — ruthless, ambitious, greedy and cruel. But it will take more than a river to be rid of Swaddell, just as it will take more than a river to be rid of you.’
Chaloner looked at him sharply, wondering what was meant by the remark. Did he know about his spy’s last encounter with the train-band, and was surprised to see him alive? Or was he just complimenting him on his survival skills? Chaloner had no idea, but did not appreciate being likened to a man who was ‘ruthless, ambitious, greedy and cruel’, regardless.
‘The rumours that you argued with the three victims are spreading,’ he said, after a short and slightly uncomfortable pause. ‘It is-’
‘Yes,’ interrupted the Earl. ‘I know what people are saying, because Turner came today — rather earlier than you deigned to appear — and gave me a full report. I am well aware that my disagreements with Chetwynd, Vine and Langston are common knowledge, and that the Lady is using them to make me a villain. Turner understands the urgency of the situation, and has promised me a speedy solution.’