‘Why?’ asked Chaloner curiously.
‘Because your Earl was a good man, but White Hall is beginning to turn him wicked. However, he is probably redeemable, and I felt Langston was the fellow to save him.’
‘You are in no position to criticise another man’s virtue,’ said Chaloner coolly. ‘I understand you provide materials for Langston’s dramas, but, judging from the rehearsal I saw today, they are hardly morality plays.’
Hargrave’s face flushed red. He shot an uneasy glance at Tryan, but Tryan’s attention was fixed on the cavorting Meg, and he would not have noticed an earthquake. ‘Langston did ask me to help him,’ he muttered uncomfortably. ‘As a favour to a friend. But I had no idea of the lewd content of his-’
‘You must have done,’ interrupted Chaloner, tired of lies, ‘because of the manner of props required. I saw some this morning, and you cannot possibly have been ignorant of what they are required to do.’
Hargrave shot a second uneasy glance in his colleague’s direction. ‘Can we discuss this later?’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps in a tavern? Tryan has a high opinion of me, and I do not want that to change. And I am sure we can come to some arrangement — you will keep a silent tongue, and I will provide you with a little something in return. What do you say to five pounds?’
Chaloner hated it when people tried to bribe him; it told him they held no regard for his integrity. ‘I do not want your money.’
Hargrave winced when the spy made no effort to lower his voice. ‘What then?’ he asked, a little desperately. ‘Information? Such as that the Lea brothers knew about Langston’s obscene dramatics — they wrote out the different parts for the actors to learn.’
‘What about Greene?’ asked Chaloner, to see whether Hargrave would confirm what the hapless clerk had claimed. ‘Did he know what these plays entailed?’
‘I sincerely doubt it. He is a prudish fellow and would have been deeply shocked.’
‘Then tell me about the prayer meetings you attended with Scobel.’
Hargrave blinked at him. ‘Scobel? But he died years ago. What can possibly interest you about-’ He saw Chaloner’s expression, and hurried on quickly. ‘They took place in his home, and comprised a group of men who joined together to thank God for His goodness.’
‘I do not believe you. I think there was more.’
‘I could lie, and so end this embarrassing interview,’ said Hargrave quietly, ‘but we really did meet for prayers. Scobel felt not enough people were thanking God for their good fortune, and set out to rectify the matter. And, for a while, it did seem that we — the grateful men — enjoyed better success than those who just kept asking for things. Obviously, once we realised it, we were keen to continue.’
‘So, it went from being a religious occasion to one of superstition?’
Hargrave winced. ‘You put it bluntly, but yes. Personally, I feel it is time to move on — to end these gatherings and stand on our own two feet. But the others are afraid their luck will change if we stop. They point out that when Langston left, his bank was robbed. Then there is Doling, who renounced us because he objected to what he called our pagan slavishness to Lady Fortune — he lost all at the Restoration, and has continued to lose since.’
‘He certainly lost the court case that came before Chetwynd,’ said Chaloner. ‘Although I imagine your bribe of a cottage had something to do with that.’
Hargrave’s eyes bulged in horror, and he shot another uncomfortable glance at Tryan. ‘I admit I gave Chetwynd a small property, but it had nothing to do with Doling’s claim for fishing rights. The two incidents are entirely unrelated. Perhaps my colleagues are right, and that if Doling had not abandoned our prayer meetings …’ He let the suggestion hang in the air.
Chaloner regarded him in silence for a moment. ‘I do not believe that everyone who attends these gatherings enjoys good fortune.’
‘And you would be right — Symons has not, despite his regular appearances. However, most of us have done extremely well, although I still feel it is time to end them. Unfortunately, Scobel made us promise to remain friends and pray together. We were stupid to have sworn sacred vows to do as he asked — it was a different world then, and we were different men.’
‘I am not sure I understand.’
Hargrave clawed at the scabs on his head. ‘Scobel predicted the Restoration would bring a change in morality, and he wanted to ensure a spark of virtue remained. However, while he was right in that standards have changed since the King returned, I think it is a mistake to follow outdated principles.’
‘So you approve of what you saw at the Tennis Court? You prefer those values to Scobel’s?’
‘I would not go that far,’ said Hargrave stiffly. ‘But I am not comfortable with rabid sanctimony, either. I wish I had the courage to break away from the others, but their superstition has started to infect me — I do not want to end up like Doling, so I keep waiting for someone else to leave first.’
‘What are you two talking about?’ asked Tryan, smiling as Meg flounced merrily through the door, clutching a full purse. She winked before she left, making him blush with pleasure.
‘Our prayer meetings,’ replied Hargrave quickly. ‘And how I think we should end them.’
‘That would be madness,’ said Tryan, turning to give him his full attention. ‘You are wealthy, blessed with a good wife and obedient children. Why would you risk all that? Besides, Scobel made you swear an oath, and you do not want God angry with you for vow-breaking.’
The two merchants began a debate on the matter, and when he saw he would learn nothing more from listening to them, Chaloner bowed a farewell and left, thinking of how little he had achieved that day. He had reinforced his conviction that Greene was innocent, but was no further forward with identifying the real culprit. However, he was determined to put the evening to good use, so he headed for Hercules’ Pillars Alley.
It was early by club standards, and the atmosphere in the parlour was still quietly genteel. Pipe smoke hung blue and hazy in the air, overlain by the scent of ‘burnt’ claret and orange-rind comfits. Temperance was playing cards with Chiffinch. She smiled when she saw Chaloner, and he sighed his relief — it told him she was sorry about their row, too, and was willing to make amends.
‘The Earl’s man,’ said Chiffinch, regarding the spy in icy disdain. There was a network of broken veins across his nose and cheeks, and the whites of his eyes were yellow, both the result of a life spent in pursuit of hedonistic pleasures. ‘I am surprised he pays you enough to let you come here.’
‘Tom is my personal guest,’ said Temperance, intervening before there was trouble. She need not have worried, because Chaloner was not going to let himself be needled by the likes of Chiffinch. Unless he insulted Barbara, in which case the man could expect to be punched.
‘I thought you would be watching the play in the Banqueting House tonight,’ Chaloner said to him amiably. ‘The one Langston wrote.’
‘I have seen The Prick of Love before,’ said Chiffinch sourly. ‘It is far too rude for my taste. The occasion might have been amusing, had your Earl been there, but he sent word that he is ill. He is in perfect health, of course, and I suspect Brodrick lost courage and warned him off. The man is a base coward.’
Chaloner did not like to imagine what the Earl would have made of the performance, if the likes of Chiffinch considered it excessive.
‘I shall fetch you some syllabub, Mr Chiffinch,’ said Temperance, standing and indicating that Snowflake was to take her place at the table. ‘My cook tells me it is the best he has ever made. At least, I think that is what he was saying — he is not always easy to understand.’
Chaloner followed her into the hall. ‘I am sorry about last night,’ he began, the moment they were alone. ‘I was wrong to question you about Bernini-’