A Murder on London Bridge (37 page)

‘You have seen Herring and Thurloe together
several
times?’ asked Chaloner, stomach churning.

Pascal nodded. ‘The most recent being in Rider’s Coffee House yesterday morning.’

‘I do not suppose you heard what they said to each other, did you?’ asked Chaloner, struggling to keep his voice even.

Pascal’s expression was pained. ‘I heard them mention Shrove Tuesday. I shall pray for calm, but I sense something dark and deadly has been unleashed, and we shall be powerless to stop it.’

‘I thought you told me that there was nothing sinister about the Dowager’s plans,’ said Chaloner, rather accusingly.

Pascal sighed. ‘I did, and I stand by that claim: her ball is just a ball. However, that does not mean others are not hatching deadly plots. There
will
be trouble on Shrove Tuesday, and I only wish there was something I could do to prevent it.’

He was not the only one, thought Chaloner unhappily.

Chaloner left Nonesuch House with his mind in turmoil. He already knew that Thurloe had met Herring in Rider’s Coffee House, but he had assumed it was an isolated incident. Now Pascal was saying he did it on a frequent basis. What was his friend thinking?

He went immediately to Lincoln’s Inn, but Thurloe was out, so he borrowed pen and paper, and scribbled a message. He used a cipher known only to them, and warned Thurloe that his activities had been observed and that he should take care. As an afterthought, he added a sentence saying that Blue Dick’s killer was likely to be Edward Penderel.

Then he jogged all the way to the King’s Street cookshop and collected his pie. It was golden brown, and the baker declared himself delighted with the result. Chaloner grabbed it and ran, arriving breathless to plant the thing in front of the Earl’s critical gaze a few minutes later.

‘I suppose it will do,’ conceded the Earl, after studying it for so long that Chaloner thought he might have to go and make another. ‘But I stipulated sunset, and you are late. Where have you been?’

‘Trying to locate Luckin and the Penderel brothers. Asking questions about the iconoclasts. Learning more about whatever is going to happen on Shrove Tuesday.’

The Earl regarded him balefully. ‘I hope you are not suggesting that I have given you too much to do. But are you ready to go to Somerset House later tonight? It is imperative that you are there.’

Not for the first time, Chaloner was suspicious. Why was the Earl so intent on him going? But asking would be a waste of time, so he did not demean himself by trying.

Leigh was waiting near the palace gate, and had ten men with him. They were more a rabble than a detachment, and Chaloner wondered whether they would be equal to confronting determined and deadly opponents like the St Mary Overie men. He was tempted to call it off before anyone was killed, but there was too much at stake. Besides, even if they only managed to grab one or two of Luckin’s secret army, it might be enough. Men were often willing to talk when the alternative was a traitor’s death.

But when they arrived at Great Queen Street, there was no sign of the look-outs he had seen earlier, and Bristol’s house was in darkness. A maidservant answered the door to Leigh’s insistent hammering, then blinked in surprise when the little soldier pushed past her and made his way to the parlour. Chaloner followed, then looked around in dismay. The room had been cleaned so thoroughly that there was no trace of the masked warriors – the floor had been swept, the table washed, and there was not so much as a goblet in sight.

He ran up the stairs and looked into the priest-hole, but that had also been purged. The bed and a few sticks of furniture had been left, but there were no blankets and no clothes – and certainly no sign that anyone had slept there. Leigh regarded it all in stony silence.

‘They
were
here last night,’ said Chaloner tightly. He was angry – not with Luckin, but with himself, for allowing something to be postponed that should have been done straight away. He should have made more of a fuss, although the rational part of his mind told him he had done all he could. ‘The delay gave someone time to warn them.’

‘Who?’ asked Leigh coolly. ‘You and I are the only ones who knew what we planned.’

Chaloner gestured around him. ‘This level of cleansing must have taken hours – it was probably going on when I saw those look-outs this morning. So someone not only told them
that
we were coming, but
when
we were coming, too. They knew they had time to eliminate the evidence.’

‘If you say so,’ said Leigh. His voice was distinctly unfriendly. ‘But I am leaving now.’

Outside in the street, he dismissed his men, reminding them that the evening’s adventure was not to be mentioned to anyone else. They nodded acquiescence, but Chaloner knew it was only a matter of time before the escapade reached the Earl’s ears. He sighed. It had not been a good day.

‘Be careful at Somerset House tonight,’ said Leigh, clearly struggling to remain pleasant. ‘Additional guards have been hired, and the Dowager has promised two shillings to anyone who catches a spy. Two shillings is a lot of money, so you can be sure they will be vigilant.’

‘I do not like this,’ said Chaloner worriedly, watching Hannah put the finishing touches to her face paints later that evening. They were in her parlour, and she was preparing for the soiree in Somerset House. ‘Why do you have to go?’

‘To spy,’ explained Hannah, a little impatiently. It was not the first time they had been over his concerns. ‘To learn what atrocity is planned, so you can prevent it.’

‘I will be there anyway, because the Earl has ordered me to go. There is no need for you to—’

‘You will not get close enough to the people who matter,’ argued Hannah. ‘Whereas I am a friend of the Duke. But I am not discussing it any longer. I am going, and that is that. But what about you? How will you get inside? Will you adopt a disguise and pretend you have an invitation?’

‘I imagine they will have people watching the doors for that sort of thing. I have a plan, but it would be safer for us both if you did not know it.’

Hannah pulled a disagreeable face. ‘Very well. But you must promise to be careful. It is quite possible that Luckin and his cronies will be there, and I do not want you falling into their hands.’

Chaloner was counting on the fact that they
would
be present, because it would be an opportunity to monitor them. ‘And you must promise likewise.’

The hug she gave him was brief and dispassionate, and he supposed her mind was already on what she was about to do. They took a hackney carriage to Somerset House, and pulled up near the front door, where, as they had arranged beforehand, Hannah pretended to catch her skirts in the steps. Chaloner used the distraction to slip out of the coach and take refuge in the shadows.

He ran into trouble almost immediately. Leigh was right about the increased security, and there were guards with dogs. One started barking when it scented him, and he was obliged to dash for cover. It tore after him, ripping away from its handler, but when it caught him, it did not know what to do, so stood wagging its tail. Chaloner lobbed a stick into the undergrowth, which it gambolled after with a series of delighted yips.

While it and its owner were distracted, Chaloner raced towards the back of the house, panting heavily as he reached the denser shadows cast by the walls. He began to hunt for chinks in the curtains, aiming to look inside before turning his attention to the dangerous business of actually gaining access. He found one eventually, and saw the gathering in the Great Chamber was far larger than he had expected, with nigh on three-hundred people present.

The Capuchins were there, standing with Father Stephen, who was sweating heavily and looked as though he might faint. Brother Pascal was urging him to drink wine in a caring, kindly manner. There were others Chaloner recognised, too, although he was sorry to note there was no sign of the Penderel brothers or Luckin. Progers was already drunk, his ugly face flushed red, while Winter was paying solicitous attention to the Dowager.

Nearby, Phillippes had cornered Lady Castlemaine, while Kaltoff was with several men whose eccentricity of dress and manner suggested they were scientists from the Royal Society. Kaltoff drew a sheaf of papers from his pocket, and his companions clustered around eagerly. Chaloner assumed he was showing them technical diagrams until they started to laugh. Then he suspected they were being treated to a viewing of his latest caricatures.

Gradually, as he recognised other people he knew, it occurred to Chaloner that everyone was Catholic. Were these Hannah’s ‘decent folk’, who would take a stand on Shrove Tuesday by joining Buckingham’s rally? Or were they people willing to do rather more to get their message across?

A stab of anxiety went through him when the door opened, and Hannah entered on Buckingham’s arm. She was chatting gaily, and the Duke was obviously relishing her company. Would he be so amiable when he learned she was conspiring to prevent whatever he and his cronies were planning? Somehow, Chaloner did not think so, and longed with all his heart to storm in, grab her and whisk her away before she was hurt.

But what
of
the demonstration? Chaloner peered through the curtain and saw merchants, soldiers, lawyers, members of the medical profession and men of learning. Many had brought their wives, astute, intelligent women with opinions of their own. He had no doubt that every person present would oppose the Clarendon Code, and that they believed in their right to worship God as they saw fit. Was that so wrong? Certainly, Thurloe did not think so. Chaloner backed away and closed his eyes in growing despair. These were no rebels, yet they were certainly going to be treated as such unless he did something to stop whatever was unfolding.

He took a deep breath and fought his anxieties down. He had a job to do that night, and dwelling on the uncomfortable ethics of the situation was going to help no one. He began to prowl, hunting for a point of entry. It was some time before he found what he was looking for – a tiny opening near the ground that was probably a vent to a basement.

Getting through it was a tight squeeze, and he heard something rip on his coat as he went. It was also a bigger drop to the floor than he had anticipated, and he knew he would not be leaving the same way – he could not reach it, even on tiptoe. Brushing himself down, he began to explore.

He was in the Dowager’s wine cellar. It was full of casks, some ancient and dusty, but most new, and there were so many of them that he began to understand exactly why the Court debauchees enjoyed her parties.

He made his way up the steps to a dimly lit corridor. Then he waited until a liveried servant came past, hitting the fellow hard enough to knock him out of his senses. He dragged him down to the cellar, where he quickly removed his own clothes and donned his victim’s, completing the disguise with some of Hannah’s face paints. Then he bound and gagged the servant with some rope he had brought. The man would not remain undiscovered for long, because someone was sure to come for more wine, but the ruse might give Chaloner the time he needed to complete his mission. And if the alarm were raised, then he would just have to rely on his wits to escape.

He knew from experience that adopting a confident swagger meant he was less likely to be stopped, so he strode up the corridor and marched into the kitchens. A scullery-maid smiled, but no one else gave him a second glance. He grabbed a tray of glasses, and headed for the Great Chamber.

‘Hey!’

Chaloner kept walking. There were running footsteps, and someone grabbed his shoulder. He turned slowly, ready to use the tray as a weapon. A fat man stood there, face flushed with anger.

‘What is wrong with you? Did you hear nothing I said? Cloths over arms, to be ready in the event of spillages.’ He shoved a clean white towel in Chaloner’s spare hand. ‘Now go.’

Chaloner took a deep breath as he entered the Great Chamber, hoping his disguise would be good enough to fool the people who knew him. He began to circulate, careful not to stop near anyone who might take one of his goblets – if he ran out of them, he would have to return to the kitchen for more, and that was a risk he did not need to take.

The chatter was light, about such matters as the acting in
The Indian Queen
, the sorry state of St Paul’s Cathedral and the rising cost of fish. A few discussed politics, and one even mentioned the Clarendon Code, but the conversation was no more seditious than anything that might be heard in a market place. Phillippes was talking about himself, Winter about the music at his soiree, and Kaltoff was answering questions about his drawings. Buckingham had attracted an appreciative audience with a fair imitation of the Earl’s distinctive waddle, while Progers was discussing women.

Chaloner became bolder, and edged towards Buckingham’s circle. Hannah was there. It took a moment for her to recognise him and when she did, her eyes widened fractionally, but she made no other sign that she knew him. Instead, she turned to the Duke.

‘You are a clever fellow with your mimicry,’ she said, tapping her fan playfully on his chest. ‘But will you take me to meet the people who feel as I do about the Clarendon Code? People who are prepared to take a stand against them?’

Chaloner winced and held his breath at the blunt question, but Buckingham only laughed and gestured around him. ‘But these
are
those people, Mrs Cotton!’

Hannah frowned her confusion. ‘But they are all ordinary folk, and I know most of them from church. None of them will . . . do anything interesting.’

Chaloner was appalled. As an interrogation, it was hardly subtle, and she might just as well have asked him to lead her to the dangerous ringleaders who intended to perpetrate an atrocity. Fortunately, Buckingham only laughed again.

‘Exactly! I am not interested in recruiting rebels and fanatics. My demonstration will comprise normal folk with consciences. That is the purpose of this evening – to show you and your fellow Catholics that we are not violent dissidents, and that they have nothing to fear by joining our Shrove Tuesday protest.’