The Westminster Poisoner: Chaloner's Fourth Exploit in Restoration London (Thomas Chaloner Book 4)

by Susanna Gregory

  Chaloner tried not to look relieved. Sharing his secrets had been a strain, and he realised he was far happier keeping them to himself. And if Hannah could not live with his reticence, then he would just have to get a dog. But he had a feeling she was growing as fond of him as he was of her, and that their relationship would develop at a calm, unhurried pace that would give them both the time they needed to adjust to their changing circumstances.

  He decided to collect the statue from Temperance before going to see the Earl, although when he arrived at Hercules’ Pillars Alley, he was surprised to find Wiseman in the kitchen, enjoying some of Maude’s poisonous coffee. The surgeon was wearing an unusually vivid shade of red that day, putting Chaloner in mind of a bird in mating plumage, aiming to impress a pair of dowdy hens – Maude was clad in brown, while Temperance had donned grey. There were dark rings under Temperance’s eyes, and there was a sadness in them that had not been there before.

  ‘Delicious,’ Wiseman declared, setting the empty bowl on the table and beaming at his hosts. ‘I have no truck with these insipid brews, and yours is the elixir of champions, madam.’

  ‘Only champions with iron stomachs,’ muttered Chaloner.

  Wiseman toted the heavy bust to a waiting cart as if it weighed no more than paper, and it occurred to Chaloner that there was something to be said for a regime of muscle-honing – he was strong himself, but the kind of brawn that Wiseman now sported would be a very useful asset to a spy.

  While Chaloner set a pony in its traces, Temperance came to stand next to him, speaking in a low voice so the others would not hear. She need not have worried: Wiseman and Maude were engrossed in packing Bernini’s masterpiece with straw to protect it from damage, and were not paying any attention to her.

  ‘I am glad the Twelve Days are over. Bad things always happen at Christmas, and I was a fool to think this one would be any different.’

  Chaloner touched her shoulder gently as she brushed away tears. ‘I am sorry I did not …’

  ‘Did not what? Warn me sooner? I am all grown up now, Tom, and can take responsibility for my own mistakes. Besides, I should have known James was a pig when he flirted with Belle in front of me. Will he hang?’

  Chaloner nodded, not sure what to say to comfort her. She sighed, and walked slowly back inside the house. Maude hurried after her, and he knew she was in kind and understanding hands. He finished securing the statue, and, uninvited, Wiseman climbed on the cart to ride to White Hall with him.

  ‘I like Temperance,’ the surgeon said, glancing back over his shoulder. There was an odd expression on his face that Chaloner had never seen before. ‘She is a charming lady, and told me I can visit her any time I please.’

  ‘Do not go too early,’ advised Chaloner, sure Wiseman would not pursue the friendship once he realised what she did with her evenings. ‘She seldom rises before three.’

  ‘That will not be a problem,’ said Wiseman with a happy grin. ‘We surgeons are used to odd hours.’

  The Earl was delighted when he saw what his spy had brought him. He clapped his plump hands and chuckled as he walked around the bust, viewing it from every angle.

  ‘Bernini really is a genius,’ he declared. ‘He captured the old king’s countenance perfectly.’

  ‘I am sorry, sir,’ said Chaloner. ‘About Greene, and not believing you.’

  The Earl started to look triumphant, but the expression faded before it was fully born. ‘We both made mistakes, Thomas. Mine was hiring Haddon – a man I liked and trusted. But let us discuss happier things. Bulteel returned Jones’s gold to Backwell’s Bank this morning, but less than a quarter of it was theirs. The rest is still in my office.’

  ‘Give some to the Queen,’ pleaded Chaloner. ‘So she can take the waters in Bath.’

  ‘That is an excellent idea, especially in the light of what Bulteel and I discovered as we examined the documents you found in Greene’s house. They allowed us to pinpoint innumerable cases of embezzlement, including Her Majesty’s thirty-six thousand pounds.’

  ‘Who has it?’ asked Chaloner, sincerely hoping it was not Lady Castlemaine – or that he would be charged with the task of getting it back.

  ‘No one. At least, no single person has the missing money in its entirety. Bulteel and I have identified at least three dozen clerks who have been manipulating the books.’

  ‘Christ!’ exclaimed Chaloner, overwhelmed by the scale of the problem.

  ‘Most operated on a fairly modest level, but others were rather more greedy, and money was moved between accounts at an astonishing rate. A small percentage was siphoned off for personal use, but the bulk went towards pleasing patrons – to pay the Lady’s gambling debts, to refurbish the Tennis Court and even, I am ashamed to say, to provide me with extra staff.’

  ‘No wonder Haddon thought White Hall was full of thieves,’ said Chaloner. ‘He was right – it is! But how did Greene find out about it?’

  ‘Because he was a clerk, too. He grew suspicious when the Queen complained about her missing money, and began to investigate. He gathered evidence, and was on the verge of exposing the villains when Haddon came along and distracted him.’

  ‘How ironic,’ said Chaloner softly. ‘By making his findings public, Greene would have done far more to eliminate corruption at White Hall than helping Haddon murder sinful men. Haddon did the country a grave disservice by forcing Greene to kill.’

  The Earl was silent for a moment. ‘But at least I made Haddon pay me five pounds,’ he said, as if that made everything all right again. ‘When he lost his wager over whether you or Turner would solve the case first.’

  ‘Perhaps that was a factor in why he was so determined to kill me,’ said Chaloner wryly. ‘I was responsible for losing him money.’

  ‘I doubt it. He liked you, despite the fact that you were determined to expose his activities. He often told me he admired your integrity, doubtless because it is a virtue he lacked himself.’

  ‘And credulity and stubbornness?’ asked Chaloner with a crooked smile. ‘Did he admire those, too?’

  ‘Probably,’ agreed the Earl with a grin of his own. ‘But enough of Haddon. He is dead, as are Greene and Payne, while Doling is an ethical man who might do some good wherever he and his train-band happen to fetch up. The case is closed, and I think it is best we forget about it.’

  Chaloner nodded agreement. He did not want to dwell on it, either.

  The Earl turned his attention to the statue again. ‘I knew you would find it for me. Now I shall be able to present it to the King as a post-Christmas gift.’

  ‘I would not recommend that, sir. You see, although Turner stole it, using Meg as his unwitting helpmeet, he had an accomplice. I am afraid his partner in crime was Lady Castlemaine.’

  The Earl’s jaw dropped. ‘What? But … how do you know?’

  ‘Because there was no sign of forced entry in the Shield Gallery, which means someone opened it with a key. Turner had a lot of lovers at Court, but only two were issued with keys: Lady Castlemaine and Lady Muskerry.’

  ‘And Muskerry is too dim-witted to have kept quiet during the rumpus that followed,’ mused the Earl. ‘But the Lady is not. It is exactly the kind of thing she would do. What was she hoping to achieve? To present it to the King, and earn his undying gratitude?’

  ‘I suspect she already has that.’ Chaloner hurried on when he saw the Earl’s prim expression. ‘She did it for money. But she judged others by her own corrupt standards, and assumed private collectors would turn a blind eye to where it came from. She is probably amazed to learn that is not the case.’

  ‘This tale will put the cat among the pigeons!’ gloated the Earl. ‘Revenge at last!’

  ‘No! If you expose her, her hatred will know no limits – she is bad enough now, but this would make her far worse. I would have nothing to do with it, if I were you.’

  The Earl was crestfallen, but he was not a fool, and knew his spy was right. ‘Then what shall we do with it? It cannot st
ay here, because someone might think I stole it.’

  ‘Deliver it to Williamson, so he can give it back,’ suggested Chaloner. ‘He said he wanted the credit for its recovery, so let him have it – along with the consequences of crossing the Lady.’

  The Earl looked uncertain, but nodded assent. ‘Very well. You can arrange it, although you should be careful. His assassin Swaddell returned to him this morning, blaming his abrupt disappearance on a sick mother. However, I think he fled in terror because of what he saw.’

  ‘He witnessed Lady Castlemaine entertaining a lover. Is that what you mean?’ Chaloner had assumed the recipient of her dubious favours was the King’s young son, given the rumours about her attempts to seduce the boy.

  The Earl nodded. ‘Swaddell spotted her smuggling this beau out of White Hall on a laundry cart. She is said to have been livid, and threatened to cut out his tongue.’

  ‘A laundry cart?’ Chaloner started to laugh. ‘Then he probably saw the King’s statue being spirited away and did not realise it. What a miserable band of incompetents!’

  *

  Because he had spent most of Twelfth Night asleep, Chaloner had missed Bulteel’s invitation to dinner. He decided to make amends by visiting the family that evening, taking with him a set of silver spoons as a gift for his godson. He donned his best clothes and set off for Westminster, where the secretary lived in a small, but pleasant cottage that boasted a fine view of the abbey. He knocked on the door, and smiled when Bulteel answered it.

  The secretary paled, then glanced around furtively. ‘You did not tell me you were coming.’

  Chaloner was taken aback by the cool reception. ‘I came to see my godson, and to pay my respects to your wife. But if it is inconvenient, I can—’

  ‘No.’ With a smile that looked pained, Bulteel led him along a short corridor to a kitchen. The room was rich with the scent of baking, and on the table was a cake and a loaf of new bread. Chaloner looked around for the lady of the house, but the kitchen was empty of anyone except Bulteel. He also noted there was nothing to indicate a child lived there – no sets of tiny clothes drying, no cradle, no toys. And lastly, Bulteel’s hands were dusted with flour.

  ‘I like cooking,’ the secretary mumbled. ‘I always have. But it suits me to say my wife bakes, because people would laugh at me if I admitted to enjoying such a peculiar activity myself.’

  Chaloner indicated Bulteel was to sit opposite him at the table. ‘How long has she been gone?’ he asked compassionately.

  Bulteel hung his head, and when he spoke, he was difficult to hear. ‘She was never here.’

  With a start, Chaloner realised that Bulteel had never taken his new son to be admired by colleagues, like most proud parents, and spoke of him only rarely. He frowned in puzzlement. ‘But why did you ask me to be godfather to a boy who does not exist?’

  ‘Because I wanted you to know the truth,’ blurted Bulteel. He began to cry. ‘It is hard maintaining the pretence, and I wanted one person to … You seemed more likely to understand than anyone else.’

  Chaloner did not understand at all. ‘I am?’

  ‘The Earl hates me,’ Bulteel went on, tears flowing down his cheeks. ‘He relies on me, and trusts me with his business, but he does not respect me or like me. I invented a wife because I wanted him to think someone appreciated me, and then it seemed natural to have a child. And the lie did result in me being given this house, although the deception makes me uneasy …’

  ‘He will find out eventually,’ warned Chaloner. ‘A neighbour will say he never hears the child cry, or someone like me will call. It is only a matter of time before—’

  ‘No one is suspicious yet, and it has been three years. The truth is, no one cares enough about me to be curious. I could probably scream the truth from the rooftops and no one would be interested.’

  Chaloner still did not understand, but he had been entrusted with far more peculiar secrets in the past, and at least this one did not entail anything illegal or treasonous. Sensing Bulteel’s need to talk, he stayed with him, eating the cake while the secretary told the story of his life, and confided his various fears, dreams and ambitions. When he eventually stood to leave, Bulteel gave a shy smile.

  ‘Perhaps you will introduce me to the ladies at Temperance’s club,’ he suggested.

  ‘I doubt they will make very good wives.’

  ‘Oh, I do not want a wife,’ said Bulteel earnestly. ‘I like living alone, and a spouse might bully me out of the kitchen. All I want is the occasional night of pleasure. Well, perhaps more than occasional.’

  Chaloner blinked. ‘I will see what I can do.’

  The secretary escorted his guest out, and returned to the kitchen to wash the plates and wipe crumbs from the table. Almost immediately, a man emerged from a cupboard, brushing the cobwebs and dust off his new red hat. Bulteel turned towards him.

  ‘I know you said I should borrow a baby for when he visits, but I suspect he would have been one of those godfathers who drop in unannounced. He would have caught me out sooner or later, and I am rather pleased by the way I resolved the situation.’

  ‘Very clever,’ grumbled Williamson. ‘But did you have to keep him here quite so long? It was hot in there, and I kept thinking I would sneeze. What would I have said if he had caught me? I would have had to send Swaddell after him, and I do not want him dead just yet – not after he encouraged the Earl to let me return the statue to the King. I am surprised. I did not think he would do it.’

  ‘He will have his reasons,’ said Bulteel flatly. ‘And you can be sure they will have nothing to do with pleasing you. When do you plan to deliver it to His Majesty?’

  ‘Tomorrow night, at a reception in which all the Court favourites will be present – Buckingham, Brodrick, Chiffinch, Lady Castlemaine. I shall be feted.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it. But what did you think of my performance just now? Was it acceptable?’

  Williamson smiled. ‘Actually, it was perfect. There is nothing like arousing a man’s sympathy to keep him on your side. Chaloner already stands up for you when people make accusations, and tonight you have sealed your blossoming friendship. His growing trust can only work in our favour.’

  ‘Good,’ said Bulteel. ‘Because I do not want him suspicious of me. He is protective of the Earl, and if he ever finds out that I am one of those clerks who moves money from place to place – invariably to the Earl’s detriment – he will show me no mercy.’

  ‘Do not worry. He has no idea you are the biggest rogue in White Hall.’

  ‘Second biggest,’ retorted Bulteel, eyeing the Spymaster pointedly. ‘And speaking of rogues, I delivered Jones’s gold to the Queen this afternoon.’

  ‘All of it?’ asked Williamson innocently.

  Bulteel handed him a heavy purse and revealed his brown teeth in a conspiratorial grin. ‘Minus a commission, naturally.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Williamson, returning the smirk as he slipped the coins into his pocket.

  Historical Note

  In July 1637, a carefully packed crate arrived in England, destined for Charles I’s burgeoning private art collection. It was delivered by a man named Thomas Chambers, following a nerve-wracking journey that involved not only repelling pirates and thieves, but over-zealous customs officials, too. The crate contained the newly completed bust of the king by Gianlorenzo Bernini, a splendid masterpiece based on Van Dyck’s Charles I, King of England, from Three Angles. It was paid for by Queen Henrietta Maria, who sent a diamond ring worth £1000 to the sculptor. The bust, along with many other masterpieces, was sold to raise quick cash during the Commonwealth, but was retrieved after the Restoration and put on display in the royal Palace of Whitehall. Unfortunately, a devastating fire swept through the complex in 1685, and the bust was one of its casualties.

  Most of the deaths in The Westminster Poisoner really did occur between 1660 and early 1664. The first to go was Henry Scobel. He held several important and lucrative posts during the Common
wealth, including Clerk of the Parliament (1649–58) and Clerk to the House of Lords (1659–60). His nephew Will Symons (who married Margaret in 1656) was one of his heirs; Symons lost his post as underclerk to the Secretary of State at the Restoration, and his kinship to a high-ranking Common-wealth official seems to have worked against him finding other employment. Both Margaret and Scobel were said to have predicted the exact time of their own deaths, and Margaret claimed to have seen Scobel standing at the foot of her bed not long before she died in December 1663.

  Christopher Vine, of New Palace Yard, was a Chamberlain of the Receipt; he died in 1663. His son George went on to do the same job, and owned the famous Westminster tavern called Hell. Francis Langston was appointed Sergeant at Arms to the Royal Household in 1660, but was dead by March 1664. Edward Jones was a Yeoman of the Household Kitchen, and also died in 1664. Thomas Greene worked in the Treasury department, and died in 1663. Alexander Haddon resigned his Court post in 1663, although records do not tell us why.

  Sir Nicholas Gold was a merchant and politician, who died in late-December 1663. He was married to Elizabeth, to whom he left a huge estate. Within five months of Gold’s death, she had married the courtier Thomas Neale, who earned himself the nickname of ‘Golden Neale’ for his success in wooing her. Neale became an MP, and speculated in all manner of overseas trade, making and losing at least two fortunes. Elizabeth’s family objected to the match, and even resorted to swords to keep Neale away from her. Neale was wounded in the ensuing fracas, but Elizabeth whisked him upstairs to bed, sent for a priest to recite the marriage service, and presented her furious kin with a fait-accompli.

  It is not surprising that the victorious Royalists should want to wrest the best jobs from their Parliamentarian incumbents, and a number of competent, well-qualified officials were dismissed to make way for the new order. One was John Thurloe, Spymaster General and advisor to Cromwell; he was living quietly between Lincoln’s Inn and his Oxfordshire estate in 1663. Another was Thomas Doling, who had been Messenger to the Council of State. However, two men managed to weather the changes and retain their positions: according to the diarist Samuel Pepys, Matthias and Thomas Lea were the only under-clerks to the Council of State to be reappointed after the Restoration. Thomas Lea was related by marriage to a Chancery clerk named James Chetwynd, who lodged with Richard Hargrave in St Martin’s Lane and died in 1663. Thomas Lea, Will Symons and Hargrave were executors of Chetwynd’s will.