Haddon sighed sorrowfully. ‘Yes, he did, but I doubt George will continue his father’s good work. Do you think the Earl might spare a few shillings each month to make a puppy happy?’
Chaloner resisted the urge to laugh at the notion of the Earl parting with money for something that would not benefit himself. ‘You never know.’
‘I have something else to tell you, too,’ said Haddon. ‘Turner visited our master this morning, and I eavesdropped on their conversation. He was in some sort of club with Brodrick last night, and they got talking. Brodrick was drunk, and let slip a secret about fat old Jones who drowned the other day. Apparently, Jones liked robbing banks.’
Chaloner was not sure whether to believe Haddon’s claim — Brodrick liked to spin Temperance wild yarns, so perhaps he had done the same to Turner, too. The colonel was not as gullible as Temperance, but the Earl’s cousin had a clever tongue and a plausible manner, and it was not impossible that he had executed one of his practical jokes. Chaloner decided to speak to Brodrick directly, and set off for White Hall, leaving Haddon buying expensive pastries for his pampered dogs.
The first person he saw in the palace was Williamson, who waved to indicate he wanted to talk. Chaloner pretended not to notice, and stepped into a laundry to avoid him. The Spymaster followed, so Chaloner zigzagged through the steaming cauldrons and slipped out through a back door, hiding behind a stack of crates until Williamson threw up his hands in exasperation and gave up the chase. The second person he met was Barbara Chiffinch, who railed about the unkind trick that had been played on the Queen the night before. The King was said to be livid, and the Lord of Misrule had been ordered to leave her alone.
‘Brodrick denies being the guilty party,’ said Barbara angrily. ‘But no one believes him. And quite right, too! Why else would he decree that anyone found out after dark would be doused in green paint? There is a rumour that the whole thing was Lady Castlemaine’s idea, but no one likes to ask her and the King’s fury means she is unlikely to confess, either.’
‘I need to speak to Brodrick,’ said Chaloner. ‘About Jones.’
‘I suppose you have heard that Jones robbed banks.’ Barbara waved away Chaloner’s surprise. ‘The tale is all over White Hall this morning — Brodrick has a slack tongue. However, it is quite true. My husband has just confessed to me that he has known about Jones’s illegal activities for years.’
Chaloner raised his eyebrows. ‘And you believe him? I mean no disrespect, but your husband is not a reliable source of information.’
‘I believe him,’ said Barbara grimly. ‘I can tell when he is lying — and he was not lying today. Besides, he also admitted to being Jones’s accomplice once, helping to relieve Backwell’s Bank of a thousand pounds. He knew details he could not have done, unless he had been directly involved.’
Chaloner rubbed his chin, thinking the story certainly explained why Jones had elected to carry his wealth about on his person — he would know from first-hand experience just how vulnerable banks could be. So, here was yet another government official who presented a respectable face to the world, but who was really something else.
‘Why would he do such a thing?’ he asked, more of himself than Barbara. ‘He earned a good salary as Yeoman of the Household Kitchen, and his family is not poor.’
‘It is not just a love of money that inspires men to steal.’ Barbara’s voice held a note of regret, and Chaloner supposed she was thinking about her husband. ‘It is the thrill of playing with danger. Jones once told me he was bored with his job, so he obviously went out and found other ways to amuse himself. The Backwell’s theft was meticulously planned — the thieves left no clues whatsoever.’
‘Have you seen Brodrick this morning?’ asked Chaloner, supposing he had better hear the tale from the source of the gossip.
Barbara grimaced. ‘Try looking in the wine vaults. He usually visits about this time.’
Brodrick had been and gone by the time Chaloner had arrived, but the spy wanted to speak to the cellarer anyway, because of what the fellow had told Turner about Greene begging for brandywine. Daniel Munt repeated his story, indignation in every word.
‘The first time, Thursday, I felt sorry for him, and let him have a jug, but then I saw his offices in darkness and knew he had played me for a fool. The second time he came, I sent him packing.’
‘So he left empty-handed on Saturday?’
‘I thought so, but after he had gone, I noticed some brandywine was missing. Now, I cannot be certain he took it, because a lot of men come here in the hope of a drink, and young Neale was particularly insistent that night. But it was there at the beginning of the evening, and gone when I locked up at midnight.’
Chaloner resumed his hunt for Brodrick, eventually tracking him down in the Banqueting Hall. In his capacity as Lord of Misrule, the Earl’s cousin had hired the King’s Players to perform a theatrical production, and was busy ensuring the set was built, the props were in place and the costumes were ready. While Chaloner waited for him to finish a frantic consultation with the stage-manager, he watched the actors rehearse, and the bawdy speeches told him The Prick of Love was probably one of Langston’s masterpieces. One thespian cheerfully informed the spy that invitations had been issued to only a very select few, because the play was deemed too ribald for the average ear. After enduring two scenes of silly, predictable vulgarity, Chaloner was glad he was not on the guest list, because it was tedious stuff, and he had better things to do with his time.
‘I am not sure picking this particular play was a terribly good idea,’ confided Brodrick worriedly, as the spy approached. ‘Lady Castlemaine chose it, but I did not realise it was quite so … The King will think me desperately lewd.’
‘I am sure he has seen worse. It was unkind to invite your cousin, though.’
‘The Earl?’ Brodrick regarded him in horror. ‘He cannot come! He would have a seizure! My guests include His Majesty and a dozen close friends. But the Earl …’ He shuddered at the notion.
‘You had better warn him to stay away, then. I doubt he will listen to me, not after what happened the other night. You frightened him, Brodrick.’
Brodrick rubbed his eyes. ‘It will not happen again — I think I have satisfied my cronies that the Lord of Misrule applies his mischief even-handedly. What did you want to ask me about?’
He confirmed what the spy already knew about Jones, adding only that Chiffinch had kept quiet about the fat man’s penchant for theft while Jones had lived, but broke silence the moment he was dead. He had not gossiped about his own participation, though: he had disclosed that only to Barbara.
Chaloner left Brodrick to his preparations, and was about to walk outside when he saw a familiar figure lurking behind a stack of benches. The spy supposed he should not be surprised that Greene had wormed his way into a building where an obscene play was being rehearsed, bearing in mind his friendship with the author and his weakness for cheap whores. He regarded the clerk thoughtfully. Greene did not seem to be deriving any great enjoyment from the spectacle, though, and the expression on his face could best be described as haunted.
‘I understand you have a liking for this sort of thing,’ Chaloner said softly, watching the clerk leap in alarm at the voice so close to his ear. ‘It was an interest you and Langston shared.’
‘You are wrong,’ replied Greene hoarsely. His face was very pale. ‘I was aware that he wrote … a certain kind of verse, but I had never heard any of them until today. I find myself appalled.’
‘I do not believe you. Witnesses say you frequent the lowest kind of brothels, and that you are well-known and popular in them.’
Greene closed his eyes. ‘Then your witnesses have drawn conclusions from half-understood facts. Yes, I visit the Dog and Duck in Southwark, but not to avail myself of the women. I go to give alms, in the hope that some will take the money and make more respectable lives for themselves.’