Chaloner was astonished when he opened the Earl’s door to find fires lit within. His master suffered from gout and hated the cold, but he should not have been chilly when all London wilted, and plants had turned brown and crunchy under an unrelenting sun. He felt himself break into a sweat as he went from the hall to the oven-like atmosphere of the main office.
The Earl had endured great privation during the Commonwealth, when he had gone into exile with the King, and was busily making up for lost time. His offices were crammed to the gills with fine works of art and exquisite pieces of furniture, while the rugs on the floor were the best money could buy. Personally, Chaloner found the chambers vulgar, and thought they would have been more pleasant with less ostentatious wealth.
‘There you are,’ said Clarendon. He scowled, suggesting the good temper arising from Griffith’s visit had already evaporated. ‘Where have you been? The Dutch ambassador met the PrivyCouncil this morning, and I wanted you there, to ensure there was no trouble.’
‘You were afraid the Privy Council might assault him?’ asked Chaloner. He had not imagined the King’s inner circle of ministers would stoop to those sorts of depths, but at Court, nothing could be taken for granted.
The Earl’s scowl deepened. ‘Do not be ridiculous! I wanted you there to prevent fighting among the minions. Some of the soldiers in his retinue are very feisty, and our own guards love nothing more than a skirmish.’
‘I am sorry, sir. I have been—’
‘Have you retrieved my stolen papers yet?’ demanded the Earl. ‘Is that why you came? To tell me you have them?’
‘It is difficult to know who might have taken them, sir, when I do not know what they contain.’
‘Why should that make any difference?’
Chaloner strove for patience. ‘Because it will allow me to identify potential suspects.’
‘But I cannot tell you what is in them. They pertain to matters of national security.’
‘National security?’ pounced Chaloner. ‘Do you mean statistics for naval—’
‘I said I cannot tell you,’ snapped the Earl. ‘So do not try to trick me with guesses. All you need to know is that I want them back.’
‘But they have been missing for three days now,’ said Chaloner unhappily. ‘Even if I do recover them, their contents will be compromised. They will have been read by—’
‘That is for me to worry about,’ interrupted Clarendon. ‘Not you. I discussed the matter with Sir George Downing last night, and he told me I am right to suspect Hanse. He says he has met the man on several occasions, and considers him sly, because he is always smiling.’
Chaloner was disgusted. ‘Unfortunately, Downing then went to the Savoy and said the same thing there. He has dealt the peace talks a serious blow, because no diplomatic mission likes to be accused of theft. Moreover, the rumour seems to be circulating in White Hall, too.’
The Earl regarded him in horror. ‘Downing shared our conversation with others? But he is Envoy Extraordinary to the States-General – an expert on Dutch affairs, and a man who should be working for peace between our two nations! It is why he was recalled from The Hague, after all. What was he thinking? I spoke in confidence!’
Suspecting Clarendon would not take kindly to being called a fool for airing such a sensitive matter with the duplicitous Downing, Chaloner made no comment.
‘Hanse went missing the same night that the crime was committed,’ the Earl said after a moment. ‘So of course he is the guilty party, although I wish the Dutch delegation did not know I think so.’
‘There is no evidence to link the loss of your papers with his disappearance. And he has been murdered, anyway. His body was found in the Thames last night.’
Clarendon gazed at him. ‘Really? Did you visit the corpse and retrieve the papers?’
‘There were no papers, sir.’ Chaloner wondered whether the Earl was being irritating on purpose.
‘Then you must scour the river bank and locate them, even if they are waterlogged and illegible. They are far too important to be left for just anyone to peruse.’
‘Most of Hanse’s clothes were missing, and I suspect his killer removed them. Ergo, if there had been documents on his person, they would have been taken, too. But Hanse did not—’
‘So Hanse was drowned by someone who wanted my papers?’ asked Clarendon, bemused.
Chaloner struggled to suppress his exasperation. ‘I have no idea why he was killed, but he did not steal your documents.’
The Earl’s eyes narrowed. ‘You seem very sure of this. Why?’
Chaloner decided it was time to be open: Downing knew about Aletta, so it was only a matter of time before he told the Earl that his gentleman usher was related to Hanse by marriage.
‘Because I was with him when your documents went missing. We met at six o’clock, and we were together in the Sun tavern until dusk. He had no papers with him – I would have noticed – and he could not have taken them after we parted company, because you had noticed them missing by eight o’clock, and he was with me for at least half an hour beyond that.’
‘Then he hired someone else to burgle my house,’ persisted Clarendon. ‘It must have been him, Chaloner. He and van Goch were the only ones who visited me that day.’
‘No,’ insisted Chaloner doggedly. ‘He was not a thief. And nor was he a spy. I know, because we were kin. He was my brother-in-law. Married to my wife’s sister.’
Clarendon frowned. ‘Hannah has no siblings – she is an only child. What nonsense is this?’
‘My first wife. Aletta. She died of the plague twelve years ago.’
The Earl’s jaw dropped. ‘Aletta? But that is a Dutch name! Are you saying you wed a Hollander? Why in God’s name did you do that? To allow you to blend into their society, so you could be a better intelligencer?’
‘No,’ replied Chaloner stiffly. ‘I married her because … well, she was dear to me, and …’
Clarendon softened at the confidence, such as it was. ‘Then I am sorry for your loss. But I had no idea you are kin to a Dutch spy! This could be awkward for me, if the tale gets out.’
‘There is no reason for anyone to accuse me – or you – of anything untoward. There are plenty of Anglo-Dutch marriages. And mine did end twelve years ago.’
‘Even so, I wish you had told me sooner. Sometimes, I wonder whether I know you at all. You are full of peculiar surprises.’
‘It is not …’ began Chaloner, stung into attempting an explanation. ‘Aletta is not a subject …’
‘You find it too painful to discuss,’ surmised Clarendon, when he faltered into silence. ‘That is understandable. I did not enjoy losing my first wife, either. Very well, then: we shall say no more about it. We shall talk about Hanse’s death instead. You will have to find out who killed him. You understand that, do you not? No matter where it leads.’
Chaloner regarded him uneasily. ‘What are you saying, sir?’
‘I am saying that your confidence in this Dutch kinsman may be misplaced – he may have changed since you first met him. And I am also saying that you will have to ask questions in the Savoy. Not all Hollanders want peace, just as not all Englishmen want war. You may uncover all manner of treachery and betrayal.’
Chaloner nodded. It had already occurred to him that Hanse may have been dispatched by one of his own countrymen. And there was the message in the stocking to consider, too: Sinon, the traitor.
‘Do the words “new gate” mean anything to you?’ he asked. ‘Or does Sinon?’
‘Newgate is a prison, Chaloner,’ replied Clarendon contemptuously. ‘Surely you know that?’
‘And Sinon?’ asked Chaloner. His master had avoided addressing that part of the question.
The Earl looked decidedly shifty. ‘Nothing. Why would it?’
‘It relates to Hanse’s death,’ said Chaloner quietly. ‘I will have to find out what it means if I am to solve the case, and it will be quicker and easier if you just tell me.’
<
br /> Clarendon stared at him for a moment, then indicated he was to shut the door.
With a sense of misgiving, Chaloner did as he was told. It never boded well when the Earl insisted on speaking behind closed doors.
‘How did you hear about Sinon?’ whispered Clarendon. ‘It is a secret and only the Privy Council and Spymaster Williamson are party to it. Them and Sir William Compton. Do you know him?’
‘I met him last week, when I was investigating the White Hall thefts.’
Clarendon was shocked. ‘ He was one of your suspects?’
‘No, of course not. Everyone agrees that he is a man of integrity. But Kicke was one of his stewards – before he was dismissed and hired by Downing, that is.’
The Earl regarded him critically. ‘I sense from your tone that you disapprove of anyone hired by Downing. Yet you were in his employ yourself. Of course, that was when you were in the service of that villain Cromwell. At least Kicke can claim he worked for Downing after Downing shifted his loyalties to the King. You cannot.’
‘I visited Compton to ask why Kicke had been dismissed,’ said Chaloner, declining to acknowledge the remark, partly because he did not know what to say to it, but mostly because he did not want to talk about the difficult days when he had been obliged to report to a man he neither trusted or liked. In fact, he thought wryly, looking at Clarendon, it had not been so very different from now.
‘And why had he?’ asked the Earl.
‘For theft. Compton also told me he had not written the glowing testimonial that Kicke used to secure himself the post with Downing. Kicke penned that himself.’
‘Downing has certainly been telling everyone at White Hall as much.’ Clarendon smirked. He, like most people who had met the envoy, considered him a rogue. ‘He wants to distance himself from what Kicke and Nisbett did. And who can blame him?’
Chaloner knew the conversation was being manoeuvred away from where he wanted it to be. He brought it back on track. ‘What does Compton have to do with Sinon, sir? What is it, exactly?’
The Earl sighed, and for a moment Chaloner thought he was going to change the subject again, but he began to reply. ‘It is something Compton uncovered. He came immediately to tell me, and we went together to inform Spymaster Williamson. And the Privy Council had to know, of course. It was a very dark business.’
‘Involving what, exactly?’
‘Riches beyond your wildest dreams,’ replied Clarendon shortly and not very helpfully. ‘But why do you want to know? What does Sinon have to do with the dead Dutchman and my papers?’
Chaloner hesitated, loath to reveal too much, given his master’s reckless habit of confiding in men like Downing. ‘There is evidence that it may be connected to Hanse’s death.’
Clarendon frowned. ‘What evidence?’
‘It might be safer for you if you did not know,’ hedged Chaloner.
The Earl regarded him in alarm. ‘Very well, if you think that is best. But are you sure you need to know about Sinon? We all swore an oath, you see, to say nothing to anyone.’
‘Who swore? You and Compton?’
‘Yes, along with Spymaster Williamson and the whole Privy Council. Sinon is a codeword for a particular plot. We arrested the perpetrators, and they are all incarcerated in Newgate. We did not dare put them in the Tower, because it is too public.’
Newgate, thought Chaloner. At least that explained part of Hanse’s message: he had wanted Chaloner to go to the prison and question the Sinon Plot conspirators. If the Earl ever got around to telling him what they had done, of course.
‘Does it involve treason?’ he asked. It was the obvious conclusion to draw from the name the plot had been given, and there was always some rebellion brewing in a country that was still reeling from two decades of war and regime change.
‘No, not treason,’ said the Earl. ‘It was something else.’
‘What?’ pressed Chaloner, beginning to be annoyed with him.
The Earl sighed. ‘They were going to commit a robbery. Three weeks ago. They were going to make off with the crown jewels.’
Chaloner left the Earl with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The last thing he wanted to do was visit Newgate, and he detested cases that involved treasure. Large sums of money invariably brought out the worst in people, and anyone audacious enough to steal the crown jewels was unlikely to be someone whose company he would enjoy.
‘Sir William Compton,’ Clarendon called after him. ‘He is the best man to approach for information about the Sinon Plot, because he is the one who brought the matter to our attention in the first place. Speak to him about it. He lives on Drury Lane.’
Chaloner winced. The Earl’s voice had been strident, and if the Sinon Plot really was a closely guarded secret, then bawling was unlikely to keep it that way. He walked down the marble staircase and stepped outside, where the afternoon heat hit him like a physical blow. Sweating uncomfortably, he crossed the Pebble Court, supposing he should visit Compton immediately.
He had liked the man when he had interviewed him about Kicke, and hoped he would be helpful and co-operative a second time – it would certainly be a relief if Compton provided enough information to obviate an excursion to Newgate. Unsettling images of the place filled Chaloner’s mind as he passed through the passage that linked Pebble Court to the Great Court, and he shuddered. They distracted him, along with the sudden blindness caused by going from bright sunlight to the comparative gloom of the tunnel, and he collided heavily with someone.
‘Come now, sir!’ came Colonel Griffith’s indignant squawk. ‘Watch where you are going, or I shall be obliged to call you out. And neither one of us will enjoy that, because I am never at my best at dawn, and I shall look an absolute fright. I will win the duel by terrifying you to death.’
Chaloner laughed as the effete colonel flapped his lace.
‘The Spares Gallery was deserted,’ said Bulteel. His dull brown clothes were a striking contrast to his cousin’s bright silks, and the comparison did him no favours. ‘Which is unusual.’
‘People must be lying down,’ said Griffith, fanning himself with his hand, and looking for all the world like a finicky old dowager. ‘And in a few moments, I shall be doing the same.’
‘I thought you were going to watch the King play tennis,’ said Chaloner.
‘I have changed my mind,’ declared Griffith. ‘ He may be able to prance around in this heat, but I am delicate. I have tendered my apologies, but tempered the disappointment he will surely feel at my absence by agreeing to attend a performance of the King’s Private Musick tonight.’
‘Tom is going to that,’ said Bulteel. Then an expression of malicious glee stole across his face. ‘Oh, I am sorry! Hannah arranged it as a surprise, and now I have ruined it for her. What a pity. I imagine she will be terribly disappointed.’
‘Really?’ Chaloner was delighted by the news. He loved music. Bulteel pulled a face when he saw his friend’s pleasure.
‘All that scraping and screeching. It is a waste of time, and I would far rather be bak—’ He stopped abruptly, shooting a guilty glance at Griffith.
‘Baking,’ finished Griffith in distaste. ‘A pastime for peasants. How am I expected to turn you into a gentleman if you persist in enjoying such demeaning activities?’
‘I do it in private,’ Bulteel flashed back. ‘So I do not see how it will interfere with my desire to join the sophisticated elite. But never mind this. At the moment, I am more concerned about Kicke and Nisbett. I was incensed when I heard they had been set free.’
‘They are the kind of men who give White Hall a bad name,’ agreed Griffith. ‘The common people believe Court is full of villains, and this will make them even more convinced of it.’
‘Well, it is true!’ declared Bulteel. ‘Here are two thieves, caught in the act. And do they face the rigours of the law, to show what befalls men who steal from their colleagues? No! They are hailed as loveable rogues and rewarded with promotions.’
> ‘Did they steal from you, then?’ asked Chaloner. ‘And your property has not been returned?’
Bulteel looked hurt. ‘That is a wretched thing to say, Tom! It implies my indignation stems from self-interest. Well, it does not. I am just furious that these felons are not only getting away with their crimes, but are being feted for them.’
‘Not by everyone,’ said Griffith soothingly. ‘Apparently, not as much stolen property was recovered as first thought. A lot is still missing.’
‘But the Lady does not care,’ snapped Bulteel, while Chaloner supposed that Buckingham had helped himself to rather more than was reasonable. ‘She does not care about anyone except herself. Horrible woman!’
‘Not so loud,’ warned Chaloner, looking around uncomfortably.
‘Chaloner is right, cousin,’ said Griffith, amused. ‘I have no wish to be arrested for maligning the King’s mistress, and I would rather you were not, either.’
‘I am sorry,’ said Bulteel, blushing as he lowered his voice. ‘But it seems to me that the best way to succeed at White Hall is to break the law. I have always followed my principles, and lived an ethical life, but no one else does. And who is rewarded? Not me!’
‘But people know Kicke and Nisbett have light fingers now,’ said Chaloner. ‘So accusing eyes will look to them every time something goes missing, regardless of whether or not they are guilty.’
‘True,’ acknowledged Bulteel, brightening.
‘Do not even think of making off with something to see them blamed,’ said Chaloner, reading the secretary’s mind. Bulteel was a novice at such games, and would end up in trouble.
‘Damn!’ muttered Griffith, pointing. ‘There they are, coming towards us. I do not want to exchange words with them. They are unmannerly louts, and no company for gentlemen.’
Chaloner turned to see Kicke and Nisbett strutting confidently across the Great Court. They wore Lady Castlemaine’s livery, flaunting it with pride. Kicke looked handsome and prosperous, his dark locks tumbling around his shoulders in a glossy mass. Nisbett fared poorly by comparison: his lank ginger hair and bulbous eyes were not attractive features, and the uniform did not suit his bulk. Chaloner’s inclination was to slip out of sight. He was not afraid of them, but he had no wish for a confrontation. Unfortunately, Griffith’s voice had carried, and they had spotted him.
The Body in the Thames: Chaloner's Sixth Exploit in Restoration London (Exploits of Thomas Chaloner) Page 7
