The Westminster Poisoner (22 page)

‘It is done,’ said the leader eventually. ‘You two stay here, on the chance that he escaped and is waiting to climb out. The
rest can go home.’

While he talked, Chaloner forced himself underwater, groping in the darkness for Jones, but he soon gave up. The tide had
just turned, and the current had almost certainly swept the hapless Yeoman downstream. It tugged at Chaloner as he clung to
the pillar, and made the seaweed undulate. He saw a ladder leading up to the quay, but he had lost his sword, and he could
not fight the two remaining guards without it. He realised he was going to be trapped in the water until either they left
or the tide went out, allowing him to walk to safety along the beach.

He knew he should concentrate on devising a solution to his predicament before the icy river sucked away his life, but his
mind kept wandering. He thought about the
fact that the pier was provided with a lantern, even though coal was unlikely to be landed at night.
Ergo
, it was used to light some other activity. Then he considered the train-band. They had appeared very suddenly, and were determined
that he would not escape. Of course, the leader had mentioned the ring, which meant they knew it was him they had met in the
Painted Chamber. And after he had jumped, they had referred to him in the singular. He could only assume that they thought
he and Jones were one and the same – that the feeble lamplight had not allowed them to see two men in the water. Three, counting
Swaddell.

His grip on the pillar was starting to loosen, and he was aware of a warm lethargy taking hold of him. It would be easy to
close his eyes and sleep, but something deep within him stirred, and he felt his resolve begin to strengthen. He could not
climb this ladder, but there were other public stairs. All he had to do was let the current take him. He would have to ensure
it did not sweep him to the middle of the river, because then he would never escape its frigid embrace, but he could stay
near the edge. Without giving himself too much time to think, he took a deep breath, let himself slide under the water, and
gave himself to the pull of the tide.

He stayed submerged until his lungs felt as though they would burst, then surfaced with a gasp that sounded deafening to his
ears. He glanced behind him and saw the lamp, but he had been carried beyond the point where the soldiers would be able to
see him. He was safe – or as safe as he could be in a fast-flowing river in the dark. He could see the Westminster Stairs
a short distance ahead, so he struck out towards them. But the current was too strong, and carried him past.

He swallowed water, and began to cough. Then he saw lights ahead, and knew they were his last chance, because the cold was
now seriously weakening him. Mustering every last ounce of his strength, he swam towards them. Were they closer, or was he
imagining it? He closed his eyes, summoning reserves of energy he did not know he had. Then he felt something solid beneath
his feet, and could hear the lap of waves on stone. Struggling to make his limbs obey, he clambered out of the water, and
collapsed in an exhausted heap at the top of a flight of steps. He was not sure how long he lay there, but it was enough to
bring back the warm lethargy. He forced himself to stand.

He knew, from the number of lights, that he was at White Hall, but he was not on the main pier. His heart sank when he realised
he had fetched up on the Privy Stairs, which led to the rooms used by the King and his Queen. Now what? he thought. He was
not inclined to jump back in the river and aim for a more suitable landing spot, so he supposed he would just have creep through
the royal apartments without being seen. It would not be easy, but his cold-numbed mind was failing to come up with any other
options. With water squelching in his boots and weighing down his clothes, he picked the lock at the top of the stairs, and
let himself inside.

It was a relief to be out of the wind, although the little chamber in which he found himself could hardly be described as
cosy. He climbed more steps, then picked a second lock, to find himself in the Shield Gallery with its long line of statues,
ghostly sentinels faintly illuminated by the light of the lamps in the alley outside. Happier now he was in familiar territory,
he stumbled along it, aiming for the door that led down to the lane. From
there, he could reach the Earl’s offices, where there would be a fire – the Earl liked his rooms permanently heated on account
of his gout, and kept blankets to hand for the same reason. Chaloner would thaw himself out, then go home. Or better still,
visit Hannah, who would know how to banish the aching chill from his bones.

He had almost reached the end of what felt like an inordinately long chamber, when a door opened. Instinctively, he dodged
towards a statue, aiming to hide behind it, but his legs would not do what his brain suggested, and he did not move nearly
quickly enough. Light from a powerful lantern flooded the chamber, and there was nothing he could do to prevent himself from
being caught.

Chaloner waited for the yell of outrage that would see soldiers racing to arrest him. Then he would be bundled into some dismal
cell until the Earl rescued him, which was likely to be hours, given that they would be loath to disturb the great man until
morning. Chaloner hated gaols with a passion, and did not relish being locked up when he was soaking wet. Briefly, he considered
fighting his way free, but he was in no condition to do battle with anyone – especially without his sword.

‘Thomas?’ came a voice full of astonishment. ‘Is that you?’

Chaloner blinked against the light. It had sounded like Hannah. Footsteps clattered towards him.

‘It is your lover?’ The question was asked in heavily accented English, and Chaloner was horrified to recognise Queen Katherine.
He tried to bow, but was too cold to move properly, and Her Majesty was lucky he did not topple into her arms.

Soldiers immediately seized him, and he resigned himself to a night in prison. He hoped the Earl would not arrive too late
for work the following day – or worse, decline to take responsibility for him, because it would be an easy way to dispense
with his services. Being caught near the Queen’s bedroom was not something that could easily be explained away, and he saw
he was in very grave trouble.

‘My
friend
,’ corrected Hannah primly. ‘The Earl charged him to investigate the King’s missing statue, which I imagine is what he is
doing here.’

‘Let him go,’ ordered the Queen, addressing the guards. She was not long recovered from a serious illness, and her small,
delicate face was far too pale.

‘That would be unwise, ma’am,’ said the captain, stepping forward to prevent his men from doing as they were bid. He pointed
at the water that had gathered in a pool around Chaloner’s feet. ‘I do not believe he is investigating the theft, because
he would have used the door from the lane, like any normal person. But he came via the river, suggesting he plans to steal
something himself.’

‘Steal what?’ demanded Hannah archly, gesturing at the large paintings and heavy sculptures that surrounded them. ‘Some of
these? How? By swimming off with them? He is not a fish!’

‘My husband’s statue was stole at night,’ said the Queen slowly. ‘It is recreating the crime.’

‘Of course!’ cried Hannah in delight. ‘How exciting! We shall help you, Tom – Her Majesty cannot sleep, and this will be much
more fun than walking up and down until she wears herself out.’

‘She should not be here anyway,’ muttered the captain. ‘The roof was damaged in the last storm, and it has not been mended
yet. It may not be safe.’

‘I play this game,’ said the Queen, smiling. ‘But not here. Too cold. My chambers has fire.’

With open unease, the soldiers escorted her, Hannah and Chaloner to the room in question. Once there, they did not close the
door all the way, but stayed to peer through the crack, ready to dash in the moment there was any hint of a threat. Chaloner
was pleased they took their duties seriously, because the Queen was the one person at Court whom he thought was worth protecting.

Hannah handed him a blanket, and the Queen gestured he was to sit opposite her, by the fire. As he warmed up, he began to
shiver, almost uncontrollably, and it was difficult to keep his teeth from chattering. Hannah knelt between them, poking the
flames with a stick, while the Queen studied him with dark, sad eyes. Politely, he waited for one of them to speak first.

‘We shall use my language,’ the Queen said in Portuguese. ‘I do not have the opportunity very often, now the King has sent
my tiring women home. Incidentally, I never thanked you for travelling to Spain on my behalf this summer, or for sending me
all those intelligence reports. My brother the king was able to make good use of them, and the result is a cessation of hostilities.’

‘But an uneasy one, ma’am,’ replied Chaloner in the same tongue. He saw Hannah regarding him in astonishment, and supposed
he had never mentioned his skill with languages. ‘It will not last.’

‘I pray that it will,’ said the Queen, crossing herself. ‘Now, what were you really doing in the Shield Gallery? It was nothing
to do with locating my husband’s bust, because there are no clues to be gained from studying an empty room, especially so
long after the original theft.
And your explanation does not account for the fact that you are soaking wet.’

Chaloner was not sure how much to tell her. ‘The investigation led to a skirmish that saw me fall in the river,’ he replied,
not about to admit that the ‘investigation’ he had been following had nothing to do with statues.

‘Well, I am glad you are safe, because there is something I want you to do for me.’

Chaloner experienced a lurch of alarm. The Earl had almost dismissed him the last time he had accepted a commission from the
Queen, and had made it clear that he would not countenance it happening again. Of course, that was before the Earl had appointed
a rival investigator. Perhaps this time he would not care.

The Queen interpreted his silence as acquiescence. ‘My marriage contract stipulated that I was to have forty thousand pounds
a year for my household expenses. The money was deposited in the Treasury, and I was to apply for funds as and when I needed
them. I am not extravagant, like … like other women. My expenditure for this year amounts to less than four thousand
pounds.’

It was common knowledge that ‘other women’ – namely Lady Castlemaine – could go through that in a single night. Chaloner waited
for her to continue, wishing he could stop shivering. Meanwhile, Hannah frowned; the rapidly spoken Portuguese was excluding
her from the discussion.

‘I should have thirty-six thousand pounds left, but when I requested funds to travel to Bath – to partake of the healing waters
– I was told it had all gone.’

‘What happened to it, ma’am?’ Thirty-six thousand pounds was a staggering sum to go adrift.

‘That is what you must find out. All I know is that the money has disappeared, and I am prevented from accessing the waters
that may help me conceive.’

She looked away, and Chaloner’s heart went out to her. He recalled the rumour that she was barren, and could not do the one
thing the King demanded of her: provide him with an heir.

‘This is important to me,’ she continued softly. ‘I want you to find out what happened to my money, and then I want enough
of it back to let me go to Bath.’

‘I am not qualified for this task, ma’am,’ said Chaloner gently. ‘You need someone to go through records and other expenditures.
If your lost money was in silver pieces, then I might be able to hunt it down for you, but this is a crime of embezzlement,
and will only be solved by someone skilled at interpreting complex accounts.’

The Queen’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘No one wants to help me. I have appealed to the King and the bishops, but they all hate
me, because they think I am infertile. But when I offer to immerse myself in stinking water – a desperate remedy, but I will
do anything to fulfil my duty – the government refuses to advance me the money. What am I to do?’

Chaloner felt wretched. ‘I would help if I could, but it would be like asking Hannah to translate the Bible into Portuguese.
She does not have the necessary skills, despite her devotion to you. It would be beyond her – and identifying accounting errors
is beyond me.’

The Queen wiped her eyes, and attempted a smile. ‘And I imagine you are busy with the missing statue anyway, and have no time
to devote to a trifling matter like mine. You served me well once, and I suppose it is unreasonable to expect more. But I
can do something for you.’

‘You can?’ Chaloner hoped it was not arresting him for declining to do as he was told.

‘Your master would like to find the bust, but Williamson is determined to reach it first. However, the Earl has always been
kind to me, whereas Williamson is cold and aloof. I want the Earl to win this race, so I shall tell you something that might
bring about a result that will please me.’

‘No,’ said Chaloner firmly. ‘Williamson is vindictive and ruthless, and you should not risk his wrath for any reason. Keep
your secret – do not become involved in his affairs.’

‘No one else would decline free information on the grounds that it puts me in danger,’ said the Queen bitterly. ‘But I am
going to tell you anyway. I trust you not to tell Williamson the source.’

Chaloner wished he was more alert, because he could not think of a way to stop her. He opened his mouth, but she raised her
hand to prevent him from speaking.

‘My servants gossip in front of me, in the mistaken belief that I cannot understand a word they say. I overheard one mention
that my husband’s statue has been offered for sale to a clerk called Greene.’

Chaloner gaped at her, forgetting himself as his thoughts whirled. ‘Who offered to sell it to him?’

‘They did not seem to know. Then they went on to say that he declined in horror, and so the same proposal was made to a woman
named Margaret Symons. Will this information help you?’