‘It fits because April was when he first hired Kicke and Nisbett,’ explained Chaloner. ‘He said he needed more stewards, so he could host receptions to further the cause of peace.’
Buckingham released a sharp, mirthless bark of laughter. ‘Further the cause of peace? Downing? He is the greatest threat to it, with his nasty innuendos and bullying manner! But it suits me. Our country is not yet at ease with itself after the civil wars and the Commonwealth, and a foreign campaign is just what we need. It will unite us all in a common cause.’
‘Only until the first battle, which we will lose. Then there will be more trouble than ever.’
Buckingham’s expression hardened. ‘Cromwell won when he tackled the Dutch. Are you saying the King is less of a warrior than the Great Usurper?’
Chaloner was saying nothing of the kind, although he suspected it was true: Cromwell had been a talented general. ‘It boils down to resources and money. The States-General have more of both.’
‘That is an unpatriotic attitude! Have you been listening to your traitorous master? Well, it does not matter, because the doves on the Privy Council will not prevail. We shall have our war.’
‘Probably,’ acknowledged Chaloner unhappily. ‘But there is to be a convention in the Savoy Hospital next Sunday. Perhaps our politicians will see sense there, and agree that peace—’
‘It will be a waste of time,’ predicted Buckingham. ‘Although the doves have high hopes for it. But I am not interested in debating politics with you. I would rather you told me how you came to suspect Nisbett and Kicke.’
Chaloner was more than happy to discuss something less contentious. ‘I asked victims and witnesses to name everyone in the vicinity when the thefts were committed. Kicke and Nisbett appeared on more lists than was innocent.’
Buckingham frowned. ‘Is that all? No wonder you held off tackling them until you caught them in the act. Hah! Here is Clarendon’s hairpiece. Return it to him, and I shall see to the rest. Do not look dubious, man! Do you think I might help myself to the belongings of friends and colleagues?’
Chaloner did: few courtiers had much in the way of ready cash, and were quite happy to acquire more by any means arising. But he accepted the proffered wig and left, feeling that monitoring dishonest barons went well beyond his remit. Besides, he had more urgent matters to attend – namely finding Hanse. Stuffing the wig in his pocket, he determined to make the most of what remained of the day.
The following morning, heavy-eyed from lack of sleep – his enquiries had lasted well into the night, after which Hannah had been waiting to rail at him for the unsociable hours he kept – Chaloner walked to The Strand, a bustling thoroughfare where palaces rubbed shoulders with ramshackle shops and grimy public buildings. A number of nobles had homes there, their ownership reflected in the buildings’ names – Essex House, Arundel House, York House, Somerset House, Bedford House. There was also Worcester House, an untidy Tudor monstrosity rented by the Earl of Clarendon while he built himself something better in the pretty fields around Piccadilly.
As it was Sunday, the Earl would be at home, rather than at his offices in White Hall, so Chaloner went directly there. Bulteel was hovering in the hallway when he arrived, waiting to be told whether their master needed him that day. The secretary looked tired, and Chaloner was sorry Clarendon could not see the man’s weariness, and let him have a few hours to himself.
‘You did well yesterday,’ Bulteel said, smiling shyly. ‘People were beginning to think those thieves were uncatchable – that they would plague us until no one had any valuables left.’
‘Success made them reckless,’ replied Chaloner, feeling he had done nothing particularly remarkable. ‘It was foolish to steal in plain sight of half the Court.’
‘Yes, but they would have got away with it, if you had not been there. Do not denigrate what you did – I know it was cleverly done. I told the Earl so, too, but he did not listen. He never does.’
Chaloner did not reply, because Bulteel was right: the Earl rarely heeded his secretary’s opinion. It was a pity, because Bulteel’s views were usually far more sensible than those of his master.
At that moment, the door opened and a gentleman and his servant were shown in. The gentleman was exquisitely attired in pale blue satin, and, despite the steadily rising heat, looked cool and debonair. He held a piece of lace, which he flicked back and forth as if swiping dust out of the way. His cheeks were powdered, and he wore a ‘face patch’ cut in the shape of a crescent moon. Face patches were popular with ladies, but Chaloner had never seen one on a man before.
‘There you are, John, dear!’ the fellow exclaimed. He sank on to a chair, while his servant – a sober, silent fellow in brown – fetched him a footstool. ‘I thought I would never find you. And the weather … well!’
Although Bulteel told everyone that he was happily married, Chaloner was party to a secret: the wife and child were an invention, designed to make his colleagues believe him capable of procuring them. But it had never occurred to Chaloner that his friend’s tastes might run in other directions.
‘No!’ gulped Bulteel, seeing what he was thinking. ‘This is my cousin. His name is Griffith.’
‘Colonel Griffith,’ corrected the man languidly. ‘Introduce me to this fine fellow, John.’
‘He is Tom,’ obliged Bulteel. ‘The Earl’s spy.’
‘No, no, no!’ cried Griffith, putting a hand across his eyes in apparent despair. ‘Have you listened to none of my lessons? Introduce him properly, as I have taught you.’
‘Allow me to present Mr Thomas Chaloner, gentleman usher to the Lord Chancellor,’ intoned Bulteel, blushing uncomfortably as he did so.
‘Better,’ acknowledged Griffith. ‘Although he ranks more highly than I, so you should have presented me to him first, not the other way around.’
‘My cousin is tutoring me in Court etiquette,’ explained Bulteel to the bemused Chaloner. ‘So I will not be so awkward when in the company of great people. I have always admired his elegant manners, and when he arrived in the city, I invited him to stay with me for a while to teach me his skills. By the time he has finished, wealthy patrons will be clamouring to hire my services, and I will be popular and loved by everyone I meet.’
‘Oh,’ said Chaloner, thinking Griffith should have refused the challenge, because it was not one that could be won. Bulteel had many admirable qualities, but his unprepossessing appearance and innate gaucheness meant he would never have the respect he craved. It was cruel and unfair, and Bulteel deserved better, but it was the way White Hall worked.
‘What brings you to London, Colonel?’ he asked, changing the subject before Bulteel could ask whether he had noticed any improvement. ‘Military matters?’
‘Lord, no!’ exclaimed Griffith in distaste. ‘I am a man of business now. I buy and sell fine cloth. My martial days are over. And I thank God for it, because I never did like the noise and dirt.’
‘Which regiment?’ asked Chaloner. An image of this foppish creature on a battlefield crept unbidden into his mind, and he fought down a smirk.
‘Prince Rupert’s,’ replied Griffith proudly. ‘I served with Clarendon once, too, at the Battle of Edgehill. He was minding the young princes, and I was minding Rupert’s dog. Both were sacred trusts, but especially mine. Rupert was very fond of that beast.’
‘The Earl was delighted to meet my cousin again,’ said Bulteel, smiling fondly. Then the expression became pained. ‘Griffith has settled nicely in my Westminster house. My wife and son are away, as you know, so there is plenty of room.’
Before he had left for Holland, Chaloner had advised Bulteel to send his ‘family’ on an extended visit to the country; the fiction was beginning to unravel, and he did not want his friend exposed as a liar. He was surprised Bulteel was willing to deceive a cousin, though – kinsmen were more difficult to mislead than colleagues, because they would want to know to whom they were related.
‘I am pleased to have his company,’ Bulteel went on,
although he looked anything but pleased, and Chaloner wondered whether the strain of having a houseguest accounted for some of his weariness. ‘He has been here since February.’
‘I have,’ agreed Griffith. ‘And I am sure you have noticed a great improvement in John’s deportment and speech in that time. He is very nearly a gentleman.’
‘He has never been anything else,’ said Chaloner, using a compliment to avoid saying that Bulteel had not changed at all.
Bulteel blushed and hastily turned the conversation away from himself. ‘Griffith lived in The Hague once.’
Griffith took the abrupt switch in his stride. ‘But I did not like it. It smelled of cheese.’
Chaloner had never noticed a smell of cheese, and was beginning to suspect that a penchant for fabrication ran in the family.
‘Did you know that one of the Dutch diplomats vanished on Friday?’ Bulteel asked his cousin conversationally. ‘Ambassador van Goch told me today that he fears for the fellow’s safety.’
So did Chaloner, and heartily wished his enquiries into Hanse’s disappearance had yielded clues. For all his efforts, he knew no more now than he had when it had first been reported.
‘Then let us hope he is found safe and well,’ said Griffith, not very interested. He brightened. ‘Come with me to the New Exchange, John. One of its merchants has some lovely taffeta for sale.’
The Earl snatched the wig Chaloner handed him, and studied it minutely. ‘There is a hole in it!’ he cried in dismay. ‘It will cost a fortune to repair.’
‘It was shoved inside a false ceiling,’ explained Chaloner.
‘I never did like Kicke and Nisbett,’ said Clarendon, placing the hair on a special stand. ‘Unfortunately, Downing hired them when you were fooling around overseas, or I would have ordered you to watch them from the start. Has there been any word on that Dutchman, by the way?’
‘No, sir. Not yet.’
‘He has been gone for almost two days now. And if he is as crucial to peace as Heer van Goch maintains, we must do all in our power to locate him. I thought I made that clear to you yesterday.’
‘You did, sir,’ said Chaloner, itching to remind the Earl that he had actually been more interested in catching the White Hall thieves. ‘But all I can tell you about Hanse is that he was last seen at half-past eight on Friday evening, climbing into a hackney carriage outside the Sun tavern in Westminster. The driver was instructed to take him directly to the Savoy, but no one saw him arrive.’
‘How do you know? Have you interviewed his fellow diplomats?’
Chaloner nodded. ‘And their servants.’
‘Perhaps he decided London is too dangerous, so elected to leave. I would not blame him. Hollanders are unpopular here – they cannot leave their lodgings without threats being hurled.’
‘Never. He thinks war will be bad for both our countries, and is determined to avert one.’
The Earl regarded him soberly, and Chaloner tensed, waiting for the obvious question: how did he know what a foreign diplomat believed? He had not concealed his kinship with Hanse from any desire to be secretive, but because he had been trained never to share personal information, and found it a difficult habit to break. He had not even confided in Hannah.
‘Do you think he is dead?’ asked the Earl instead.
‘I hope not,’ replied Chaloner, although the possibility had crossed his mind. ‘It would deal the peace process a terrible blow. And his wife travelled from the States-General with him …’
Jacoba, he thought to himself, recalling the disconcerting experience of seeing Aletta’s eyes smiling at him when they had met the previous week. They had been sisters.
‘Then I shall pray for his safe return,’ said the Earl, rather insincerely. ‘But if he is dead – murdered – then who are your suspects?’
Chaloner tried not to let his master’s callous attitude annoy him. ‘Anyone who wants a war, I suppose. Including some of his colleagues.’
The Earl’s eyebrows went up. ‘But the Dutch came here specifically to argue for peace.’
‘Heer van Goch did. But his retinue of diplomats, servants and soldiers comprises more than two hundred people. Among so many, differences of opinion will be inevitable.’
‘Yes, I suppose the delegation is that large,’ acknowledged Clarendon. ‘Of course, you are in a unique position to know their real thoughts, given that you speak the language.’
‘I do not spy on them,’ said Chaloner immediately.
‘You should,’ countered the Earl. ‘You might learn something useful.’
‘And I might hear it in the wrong context, and tell you something inaccurate or misleading,’ replied Chaloner. ‘There is more to spying than just repeating what is overheard.’
‘Yes, I have been told that the reports you composed when you were stationed overseas were good in that respect. But you know these people and their ways, so I do not see why you cannot manage a little eavesdropping to help your country.’
‘I would need to be there on a full-time basis to be of any real value,’ explained Chaloner, striving for patience. They had discussed this before. ‘Besides, I am sure Spymaster Williamson has his own people in place. Too many intelligencers will cause confusion and be counterproductive.’
The Earl was thoughtful. ‘The negotiations are proceeding far more slowly than they should, and mistrust and suspicion are rife. Perhaps you have just explained why – a surfeit of spies.’
‘Perhaps. Of course, there is also the fact that the Dutch know that most of our country would much rather go to war. It is hardly an attitude that encourages them to make concessions.’
The Earl grimaced. ‘I am aware of that, believe me! But there is another reason why you must find Hanse as quickly as possible. It pertains to the Privy Council papers that were stolen.’
‘What Privy Council papers, sir?’ asked Chaloner warily.
The Earl glared at him. ‘I am sure I told you about them in the park yesterday. They went missing on Friday evening. From this very room! And I want them back.’
‘I see,’ said Chaloner, biting back his exasperation that the Earl had neglected to inform him of such an important matter immediately. It certainly had not been mentioned in the park, and the passage of time would make them that much harder to locate. ‘But how do they relate to Hanse?’
‘On Friday morning, just hours before they disappeared, I entertained two men here: van Goch and Hanse. They must have seen these documents, and decided to steal them.’
Chaloner gazed at him, not sure whether he was more startled by the suggestion that two high-ranking diplomats would resort to theft, or that the Earl should have left such items lying around for foreign visitors to spot in the first place.
‘Hanse and van Goch are not thieves, sir,’ he began.
‘They are—’
‘Well, someone made off with them,’ snapped the Earl. ‘And they went on Friday evening, between six and eight o’clock, when I was dining with my wife and the papers were up here unattended. They could not have been taken before then, because I was reading them.’
‘But van Goch and Hanse left you at noon,’ said Chaloner, recalling the pair walking away to the accompaniment of bells striking twelve o’clock. ‘They were not here between six and eight.’
‘So? All that means is that they saw the papers, and elected to come and steal them later.’
‘How? There are guards on all your doors and patrolling the garden. Or are you suggesting that Heer van Goch climbed up the side of the house and slipped in through a window?’
‘Do not be impertinent!’ barked the Earl. ‘Hanse must have done it.’
‘He has an alibi. He was in the Sun tavern from six o’clock until roughly half-past eight.’ Chaloner did not mention that he was the alibi. ‘He could not have stolen these papers.’
‘I do not believe it,’ snapped the Earl. ‘He did steal them, and that is why he has disappeared. He is ferrying them back to the States-General as we
speak.’
‘I will interview your staff this afternoon,’ said Chaloner, declining to argue.
‘The thief is no one in my household!’ shouted the Earl. ‘They are all above reproach.’
They might have been once, thought Chaloner, but the Earl treated them badly, and one might well have made off with the papers to give him a good fright. He tried another avenue of questioning.
‘What was in these documents, sir? Matters of interest to the States-General?’
‘Maybe,’ replied the Earl cagily. ‘But do not ask me to elaborate, because I am bound by oaths of secrecy. Suffice to say they are highly sensitive.’
Chaloner smothered a sigh. How was he supposed to discover who had stolen the papers, when he did not know who might benefit from reading the things? And if they were so important, why had the Earl waited two days before ordering their disappearance investigated? He was about to press the matter further when there were footsteps outside, followed by a knock on the door. It was Bulteel.
‘There is news, sir,’ said the secretary. ‘Nisbett and Kicke have just been released from custody.’
‘What?’ spluttered the Earl. ‘But their guilt was beyond question!’
‘Apparently, now most of what they stole is back with its rightful owners, people are inclined to see the matter as a bit of harmless fun. Anger has turned to admiration, especially as Kicke claims he did it to protect White Hall – to draw attention to its lax security, so something could be done to remedy the situation.’
‘If that were true, then why did he not say so in the park?’ pounced Chaloner.
‘Quite,’ said Bulteel acidly. ‘But it is all the Lady’s doing. She is taken with their daring, and the story is that it was she who persuaded the King to let them go.’
‘Then let us hope they learn from their narrow escape and leave the city,’ said the Earl.
‘They have not,’ said Bulteel. ‘Downing immediately dismissed them, lest people think he put them up to it. But the Lady has offered them posts instead. At a much higher salary.’
The Earl scowled. ‘She is doing it to spite me, because it was my retainer who caught them.’
The Body in the Thames: Chaloner's Sixth Exploit in Restoration London (Exploits of Thomas Chaloner) Page 3
