The Westminster Poisoner (41 page)

‘Really?’ asked Chaloner. He vaguely remembered feeling that way about his own wife, but they had only been married a year,
so he had no way of knowing whether the affection would have lasted.

Thurloe nodded, rather dreamily. ‘However, I am uncommonly blessed, and I hope I have not led Temperance to imagine that all
matches are perfect.’

‘Have you investigated him?’ asked Chaloner. ‘Ascertained whether he is suitable?’

Thurloe smiled. ‘And what kind of man do you think is “suitable” for a brothel-keeper?’

Chaloner grimaced. ‘You know what I mean.’

Thurloe patted his shoulder. ‘I do. But she guessed what I might do, and came to tell me not to – she does not want him thinking
she has overly protective friends. I agreed to comply, although not happily. Perhaps you will learn something when you meet
him on Twelfth Night eve.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Did you know Margaret Symons is dead? She breathed her last at the exact hour she predicted. Apparently, as soon as she had
her premonition, she wrote out a list of tasks for her husband, to keep him occupied during the first few weeks of his bereavement.
She was wise, because he is the kind of man to mourn over-deeply.’

‘I am not convinced her death was natural. Surgeon Wiseman said it was impossible to tell whether she had a sharpness of the
blood or whether she had been
poisoned, although he offered to run some experiments. Regardless, her demise sounds uncannily similar to Scobel’s.’

Thurloe regarded him sombrely. ‘I am not happy about leaving you here alone. There is plenty of room in the carriage, and
I cannot see how this affair will end happily. You say the Earl was on the verge of dismissing you today. Leave him of your
own accord, and come with me.’

The prospect of spending time with a happy family, away from the scandals and intrigues of White Hall, was an appealing one.
And what did London hold for him, other than a leaking garret, a master who did not like him, and a cat that had started to
hunt birds? He supposed there was Hannah – and there was his self-respect. He had never abandoned a case because he was uneasy
before, and he did not want to start now. Reluctantly, he shook his head.

He escorted the ex-Spymaster to where a coach was waiting to take him to Aldersgate. But although he was sorry to see Thurloe
go, there was also an element of relief. He had not liked the notion of his friend involving himself in the investigation,
and now he would be safely away from the city and its myriad dangers. He watched the carriage rattle away, then turned towards
Westminster. It was cold, dark, pouring with rain and not a time when most men would pay a visit to a charnel house, but if
Kersey had gone home, then Chaloner would just have to break in to see Greene’s body.

The foul weather meant the roads were essentially deserted – even the festivities for the Twelve Days of Christmas could not
induce people to leave their warm homes and brave these elements. Chaloner trudged
wearily along The Strand, thinking the tattered, wind-torn greenery that bedecked its buildings was more depressing than decorative.
A group of beggars had been hired to sing carols outside the New Exchange, but there was no one to hear them, and their voices
formed a mournful duet with the desolate sigh of the wind.

He reached Westminster, and left the relatively well-lit Old Palace Yard to head for the darker streets near the river, where
the mortuary was located. He thought about Greene. Had the clerk been drowned by the same person who had put the ring in his
house? Did the killer hope Greene’s death would mark the end of the matter – that it would be assumed he had committed suicide,
sick with remorse for his crimes? The more Chaloner thought about the callous campaign waged against the hapless clerk, the
more he became determined that the killer would not get away with it.

He was so engrossed in his ruminations that he almost missed the shadow that flitted towards the wharf where Jones had died.
Snapping into a state of high alert, he followed.

He reached the alley’s entrance and peered down it. The blackness was impenetrable, and totally silent. However, it was not
silent behind him, and he whipped around when he heard the unmistakeable sound of a shoe scraping on cobbles, drawing his
sword as he did so. He was only just in time. Two men were bearing down on him, blades at the ready. He parried their attack,
but then became aware of footsteps coming from the alley, too. Two more soldiers were emerging from the darkness, aiming to
trap him in a pincer-like movement. Their confid ent manoeuvres told him they were members of the train-band. Again.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded, backing against a wall so they could not outflank him.

‘You should have gone to Oxfordshire.’ Chaloner recognised the voice of the leader from the last time they had met. ‘It is
a pity you stayed.’

The spy’s stomach lurched at the notion that they knew Thurloe. ‘Who are you?’

‘You think Greene killed those officials,’ the leader went on. ‘You have been listening to the Lord Chancellor and that idiot
Turner, and you let them convince you. You are a fool!’

Chaloner’s thoughts reeled in confusion. ‘How did you—’

‘Our orders were to kill him, not engage him in conversation,’ muttered a soldier who was bigger than the others. ‘You are
too fond of your own tongue, Payne.’

Payne was clearly irked by the reprimand, but was too professional to start an argument when there was work to be done. He
nodded to his comrades, who began to advance. Chaloner was heavily outnumbered, but was not about to go down without a fight.
He launched himself at Payne, taking the man off-guard with the ferocity of his attack. Even so, Payne managed a thrust that
punched a hole through his coat, although the wad of documents he had taken from Greene saved him from injury.

Then the big man was on him. Chaloner fended him off, then attacked Payne again. Backing away fast, Payne missed his footing,
and stumbled into his larger colleague, so they both fell. And suddenly, there was no one between Chaloner and the road leading
to Old Palace Yard. If he reached it, he might yet escape, because he did not think the train-band would kill him in front
of witnesses – and there was always someone
about in Westminster’s busiest square, even on a dark, filthy night like this one.

He began to sprint towards it. Payne released an angry yell and started to follow, his comrades streaming at his heels. Chaloner
did not look around, but powered on, dropping his sword because holding it was losing him speed. Ahead, he could see that
some kind of function had just ended in Parliament House, and carriages were converging there to take the participants home.
Chaloner tore towards them. He gained the edge of Old Palace Yard, and heard several of the soldiers skid to a hasty standstill,
clearly loath to enter such a well-lit area.

Unfortunately, no such reservations hampered Payne. He ran harder, single-mindedly determined that his quarry should not escape
a third time. By contrast, Chaloner’s leg was starting to hurt, and it was slowing him down. Payne was gaining on him, and
he knew it would only be a matter of moments before he was caught – and he had thrown away his sword, so would be unable to
defend himself. Payne would strike him down the moment he was in range, then disappear into the night.

He was vaguely aware of a coach bearing down on him, travelling far too fast. The driver gave a warning yell when he saw Chaloner,
and the spy only just managed to jig to one side, narrowly avoiding the thundering hoofs. Lightning quick, he reached up to
grab the door-handle as the carriage hurtled past. The manoeuvre almost ripped his arm from its socket, and for one agonising
moment, he thought he was going to be dragged under the wheels. But he managed to gain a toehold on one of the coach’s steps,
and then he was being carried along as the vehicle charged towards St Margaret’s Street.

The driver did not see what had happened, but the
coach’s occupant had heard the thump of someone landing on his private conveyance. Outraged, he stuck his head through the
window to see what was going on. It was Brodrick. His eyes widened in astonishment when he saw Chaloner, and they widened
even more when Payne leapt up beside the spy and tried to stab him.

It was not easy clinging to a speeding carriage with one hand while trying to defend himself against a flailing dagger with
the other, and Chaloner was struggling to hold his own. But with unexpected aplomb, the Earl’s cousin produced a sword and
poked Payne in the shoulder. More startled than hurt, Payne dropped away, hitting the ground and rolling several times. Amazingly,
he staggered to his feet and tried to give chase, but managed only a few faltering steps before collapsing. Chaloner saw his
comrades surround him quickly, and bundle him down a quiet lane, away from curious eyes. Relief slackened the spy’s grip on
the door, but Brodrick grabbed him before he fell, and supported him until they had cleared Westminster and were cantering
along King Street. Only then did he shout to the driver to stop.

‘You lead an exciting life,’ he said drily, watching the spy climb to the ground. ‘Fighting bears, tackling mobs, indulging
in reckless chases. What next? Seducing Lady Castlemaine?’

‘I am not that brave,’ said Chaloner, brushing himself down and feigning nonchalance. The truth was that his heart was pounding
and his legs were wobbly.

‘May I offer you a ride somewhere? To Hercules’ Pillars Alley, perhaps? Or would you prefer the more tender ministrations
of Hannah Cotton?’

‘Thank you for your help,’ said Chaloner sincerely. ‘I am in your debt.’

‘Really?’ Brodrick looked sly. ‘Then how about saying nothing to my cousin about my involvement in the bear incident? You
were right this morning – it was a stupid thing to have done.’

‘So why did you do it?’

Brodrick looked pained. ‘The bear was supposed to wander into his office and eat some nuts we had left it. The damned thing
was not supposed to start swiping about with its claws. I knew I should not have accepted the Lady’s advice for a jape. Well?
Will you be discreet about my role in the affair? You owe me something for saving your life.’

Chaloner gave his promise, then watched the carriage rattle away. When he turned, he saw two members of the train-band running
towards him. He melted into the shadows, and when the soldiers arrived moments later, he was nowhere to be found.

The next day was so foggy that when Chaloner opened the door of Hannah’s house, he could not see the opposite side of the
street. It made London dangerous, because hackneys still raced along at a furious lick, hoping the clatter of their wheels
and the occasional yell would be enough to warn pedestrians of their approach. Those on horseback were almost as bad, and
Chaloner only just managed to haul Hannah out of the path of one pack of snorting stallions. It was Buckingham, Chiffinch
and their cronies, riding home after a night of debauchery at Temperance’s club.

‘Buckingham is such a scamp,’ said Hannah indulgently, as the cavalcade galloped on. ‘London would be so dull without him.
Speaking of fun, you have not forgotten that we are to dine with Sir Nicholas Gold this evening, have you?’

‘No,’ lied Chaloner. He brightened at the prospect. ‘You said there would be music.’

‘And food,’ added Hannah wryly. ‘And perhaps even conversation. What will you do today?’

‘Why do you ask?’ he said, before he could stop himself.

She gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Because you listened to me for hours last night – virtually my entire life story – and it
is only right that I reciprocate by enquiring after you in return.’

‘Visit the charnel house, to view Greene’s body.’ Chaloner had not felt up to breaking into Kersey’s domain and inspecting
corpses after his encounter with the train-band the previous evening. He had not really felt up to listening to Hannah, either,
but had forced himself to pay attention. When she had finally gone to sleep, he had been restless and uneasy. Questions whirled
about in his mind, and he had spent most of the night sitting by the window, staring into the street as he tried to reason
some sense into all he had learned. Dawn had found him tired, haggard and frustrated by the lack of answers.

Hannah heard the unhappiness in his voice. ‘It is not your fault he is dead, Tom. You tried to prove him innocent. But people
– including Greene himself – were not honest with you, so how could you be expected to solve the mystery under those circumstances?’

‘Would you mind telling my Earl that? Of course, it does not explain why I have neglected to locate the stolen statue, as
he is sure to point out.’

‘Then he is a fool,’ she declared. ‘You have done your best, and he has no right to expect more. What will you do after you
have stared at Greene, and blamed yourself for the fact that he is dead?’

‘Speak to his colleagues and show them a ring I found.
Visit John’s Coffee House, to ask its owner about the prayer meetings that take place there. Return to the wharf where the
train-band seems to lurk – I need to learn more about them if I am to survive our next encounter.’

Hannah regarded him uneasily. ‘What next encounter? Surely, it is better to stay away from them?’

‘That may not be possible – I did not exactly seek them out yesterday. And I cannot avoid them if they are involved in the
clerk murders – at least, not today. It will not matter tomorrow, because the Earl’s deadline will have passed, and I will
either be victorious or dismissed.’

‘Then why not go to the Queen, and tell her you will look into her missing money? It would be a lot safer than risking your
life for a man who keeps threatening you with unemployment.’

‘I wish I could – she is worth ten of him – but her loss is one of embezzlement, and the only way to find out who cheated
her is to comb through dozens of palace accounts.’

‘Then comb.’

‘I cannot, I am not qualified. Only someone with accounting experience will catch the culprit.’

Hannah looked as if she did not believe him, but he did not know what more he could say to convince her. They parted at the
Court Gate, where he decided to visit John’s Coffee House first, hoping to catch the proprietor before his establishment became
busy. Greene could wait – he was not going anywhere, and Chaloner was not sure what he could accomplish by looking at a corpse
anyway.