The Body in the Thames (26 page)

Chaloner patted his shoulder consolingly. ‘You should hear some of the things he says to me.’

Bulteel gave a wan smile. ‘Do you have any good news to report? About the stolen papers?’

‘Not really.’

Bulteel sighed. ‘It cannot be easy, conducting an investigation when there is a wife to keep happy. I know what it is like
to live with another person. I love my cousin dearly – he makes me laugh and it is good to have someone who cares about me
– but I do long for solitude.’

‘He told me he planned to stay with you for one more month. It will soon pass.’

Bulteel nodded. ‘It will, and I shall certainly miss him when he goes, but it will be good to be able to bake again. Incidentally,
you
are still kind to me, but others have cooled now I have no cakes with which to buy their friendship. So when Griffith leaves,
you will be the sole recipient of my wares.’

He went back into his office abruptly, so Chaloner would not see the pain in his eyes.

‘It is too hot,’ the Earl grumbled, when Chaloner entered his office. ‘And I cannot get comfortable. Moreover, the negotiations
with the Dutch are floundering
again
. They promised to accept certain conditions pertaining to trade in New England, and we have spent weeks drafting the details.
But now there is a rumour that they will refuse to sign what has already been agreed.’

‘Is is true?’ asked Chaloner. ‘Or another tale put about to cause trouble?’

‘It is impossible to say, but it is all very disheartening. What is in that bag? Have your investigations uncovered
treasure that you are bringing to me for safekeeping? That would certainly cheer my flagging spirits.’ The Earl’s eyes gleamed;
he liked money.

‘Hannah’s things, sir,’ replied Chaloner. His master was terrible at keeping secrets, but a loose tongue had its uses, and
this time he planned to use it for his own ends. He wanted the fact that they were no longer living together spread around
White Hall, so that whoever had ordered his house watched would leave Hannah alone. ‘She is moving out of Tothill Street.’

‘Your marriage is in difficulties already?’ asked the Earl, with rather salacious interest. ‘But you have barely been wed
five minutes! I thought I advised you to let her have her own way for the first few weeks, and only impose your will on her
gradually, so she would not notice.’

‘You did,’ said Chaloner, recalling that he had thought it dubious counsel at the time; now he was sure of it. ‘But she is
safer away from me at the moment. Too many people mean me harm.’

‘Because of your investigations?’ asked the Earl uneasily. ‘I hope no one sets murderous eyes on
me
, because I would not like that at all. Is that why you came? To warn me to be on my guard?’

‘You should always be on your guard, sir, but I do not think the danger is any greater than usual. I actually came to report
that I have had no success with your documents.’ Chaloner was disinclined to admit that he had done very little to find them.
‘However, if you tell me what they—’

‘No!’ snapped the Earl. ‘All you need to know is that they are extremely sensitive. Why do you think I am so eager to have
them back?’

Chaloner suppressed a sigh. ‘If they contain details about
our navy, then perhaps someone in van Goch’s delegation
did
lay hold of them. But if they relate to the new religious laws, then different people will be interested. As long as I know
nothing about them, I have no idea where to look.’

‘In other words, you have failed. I told you this was important, and you have let me down.’

‘I am sorry, sir,’ said Chaloner, equally cool. ‘But in the absence of clues—’

‘I do not know,’ hissed the Earl angrily. He lowered his voice when Chaloner regarded him blankly. ‘I do not
know
what is in these papers, so I could not tell you even if I wanted to.’

Chaloner frowned his bemusement. ‘But you said you studied them all Friday afternoon – it was how you were able to say they
were stolen between six and eight o’clock. How can you not—’

‘I
intended
to read them, but I was tired after being with van Goch and Hanse all morning, and I fell asleep. They were stolen before
I could open the packet. There! Are you satisfied now?’

Chaloner was still mystified. ‘I do not—’

‘I have no idea
what
secrets are now in the hands of the enemy,’ snarled the Earl. ‘Whoever that enemy transpires to be. And I
said
I read them because I did not want people to think me a fool.’

It explained his stubborn refusal to provide information that might help locate what had been taken, but went nowhere in terms
of clues.

‘Does Bulteel know what these papers were about?’ Chaloner asked. ‘He refuses to discuss them with me, because you ordered
him not to. But if he has read them,
he
can tell me their contents.’

‘I imagine he has,’ said the Earl begrudgingly. ‘He is
the most efficient secretary I have ever had. But I can hardly ask him, can I? It would tell him that I lied about reading
them all afternoon.’

‘He would not care, sir. His loyalty to you is absolute and unquestioning.’

Clarendon sniffed. ‘I suppose so, although I have never been able to like the man. He is so … so
seedy
. But his cousin has taken him in hand, so perhaps he will turn respectable. And loyalty is not a virtue I should dismiss,
especially given what is happening to others.’

‘Sir?’ Chaloner had no idea what he was talking about.

‘Blackmail,’ elaborated the Earl. ‘Rich and powerful men are being held to ransom over intimate matters – at least ten have
fallen victim to a villain who sends letters demanding payment in return for discretion. And
how
did this sly rogue learn these secrets? From loose-tongued servants!’

The hypothesis certainly made sense. ‘Are you sure about this?’

‘Well, no, but it stands to reason. A bishop, whom I had better not name because he is a friend, told me he has been targeted:
the blackmailer knows about a lewd pamphlet he penned as a student. He will become a laughing stock if that is made public.’

‘And you think one of the bishop’s retinue gossiped about it?’

‘I do,’ nodded the Earl. ‘The same is true for Lord Lauderdale, Lady Rochester, Buckingham, and even the reprehensible Downing.
How else can a blackmailer have learned these things?’

‘Well, you have no need to worry about Bulteel. He would sooner cut out his tongue than say anything to harm you.’

‘True,’ acknowledged Clarendon. ‘Well, you may ask him about the contents of the papers. Say I give him permission to enlighten
you, on the grounds that I am too busy to do it myself. But do not tell him the truth. I may not like him, but I do not want
him thinking ill of me.’

Bulteel was relieved when Chaloner repeated the Earl’s instructions. ‘Thank God he has seen sense at last! They comprise minutes
from seven Privy Council meetings – the unexpurgated ones, where secretaries have written down everything that is said. Later,
they are edited, which is the version that will be stored for posterity.’

‘And what was discussed at these gatherings?’

‘Everything – the Dutch problem, religious laws, agricultural policy, taxation. They also touch on who is the most talented
actress in
Worse and Worse
, which of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting has the largest bust, and whose horse will win the next race at Newmarket.’

‘They debate all that?’ asked Chaloner in awe. ‘No wonder their meetings take so long!’

‘The trivia occupies a lot more time than the serious subjects. And when I say the minutes need to be edited, I do not mean
just deleting the irrelevancies. I mean they need to be rewritten in a way that ensures the participants do not look like
complete ignoramuses on important affairs of state.’

‘I see.’ Chaloner frowned. ‘Clarendon has been telling me about the White Hall blackmailer. Do you think he acquires his information
through these unedited minutes?’

‘No. As I understand it, the blackmailer has learned far more intimate secrets than anything aired in Privy Council meetings.’

‘Well, this is all very fascinating,’ said Chaloner with a sigh, ‘but it does not help. The topics covered are so wide-ranging
that half the country will find something of interest in them.’

Bulteel nodded his agreement. ‘However, you can see why we must have them back as a matter of urgency. The opinions expressed,
and the subjects aired, will expose the Council to ridicule, and make the general public even more certain than ever that
our government is unfit to rule.’

A sudden blare of trumpets from outside drew them to the nearest window. Van Goch and his retinue had arrived at the Banqueting
House, splendid in their ceremonial finery, so Chaloner and Bulteel joined the other courtiers and servants who left their
duties to watch. They hurried across the Pebble Court, and took up station just inside the Banqueting House’s main entrance.

The King, clad magnificently in red and gold silk, was sitting in a throne at the far end of the hall, surrounded by his favourites.
The Queen was at his side, totally overshadowed by the glorious peacock behind him that was Lady Castlemaine. There was a
short commotion when Clarendon waddled in at full speed, to take his place at the King’s right shoulder – someone had neglected
to send his invitation, and he had almost missed the occasion – and then all was ready. Chaloner looked around at the others
who had gathered to take part.

Downing was nearby, standing rather closer than was nice to the buxom Lady Muskerry, while Kicke and Nisbett were with the
Lady’s retinue, looking smug, prosperous and confident. Kicke did not notice Chaloner, but Nisbett pointed a finger in a way
that was meant to be
intimidating. Chaloner stared back evenly, unmoved by the threat.

Then there was another fanfare, and all attention snapped towards the door, where the diplomatic parade was on the move. The
standard bearers were first. They included Ruyven, whose eyes moved restlessly across the onlookers, as if hunting out potential
assassins. His gaze lingered on Chaloner, but then he was past.

Van Goch was next in robes of blue and orange. The lesser members of his party followed. Kun first, his kindly face sober,
then Zas, sharp-eyed and watchful. Jacoba was there, too, invited perhaps to take her mind off her grief. She smiled at Chaloner
as she passed. De Buat the physician was at the very end, and when he saw Chaloner, he stepped out of line to speak to him.

‘I have learned something more since we last met,’ he whispered. ‘It concerns Hanse’s drinking. Do you recall me telling you
that I thought he was imbibing more wine shortly before his death than when he first arrived?’

‘Yes. You said it did not lead him to violent or uncharacteristic behaviour.’

‘And I still stand by that contention. However, I have been asking questions of his friends, and they tell me this increased
consumption occurred within the last six weeks. I discussed it with Kun, who reluctantly admitted that he thought something
had happened to drive him to it. He says he does not know what, though, and I believe him.’

‘If Kun is ignorant, then what about Zas or Ruyven?’ asked Chaloner, annoyed that this particular fact had not been aired
in the Brown Room. ‘What do they know about it?’

‘They claim they have no idea what I am talking about.’

‘Do
you
have any suspicions about what might have been worrying him?’

‘None whatsoever. And there is another thing: the servants say Oetje owned no gun. Apparently, her brother was shot, and she
owned a deep abhorrence of them.
Ergo
, the one I gave you must belong to her killer – he dropped it as they struggled.’

Chaloner’s heart sank. As Williamson had commissioned the gun – and others like it – it seemed reasonable to assume that he
was involved in her murder. Or was he? It was also possible that the killer had acquired the weapon from London’s underworld,
as Gunsmith Trulocke assumed Chaloner had done. In other words, de Buat’s intelligence told him little that would help him
unravel the mystery.

The physician moved away when another blast of trumpets announced the beginning of the speeches. Spitefully, Buckingham called
on the Earl to begin, knowing perfectly well that the Lord Chancellor had had no time to prepare. But Clarendon was a statesman,
and rose to the occasion with a prettily worded homily in Latin. Kun replied in kind, his strong, pleasant voice carrying
to the farthest corners of the hall. When he had finished, others made contributions, and Chaloner eased towards the door,
bored. It was far too hot to be in such a crowded building.

Chaloner was grateful to be outside, where the air was cooler, but had not gone far before someone stepped out of a doorway
to intercept him. It was Williamson, with his assassin Swaddell at his side. The little dagger immediately dropped into the
palm of Chaloner’s hand.

‘Small guns,’ said the spy, going on the offensive
before they could regale him with questions about his foray to Newgate that morning. ‘How many have you had made?’

‘How small?’ countered Williamson cagily.

Chaloner showed him the one de Buat had found. ‘You pass these to your intelligencers. Of course, they are expensive, so I
doubt you dispense many. Who owned this one?’

‘I really could not say,’ replied Williamson. He held out his hand. ‘Although you are right in that they are expensive, and
I am grateful to you for returning it to me.’

Chaloner had no intention of handing the Spymaster a loaded firearm; it might represent too great a temptation. ‘I need to
keep it a while. It may allow me to identify Hanse’s killer.’

‘I thought he drowned,’ said Swaddell, puzzled. ‘Are you saying he was shot?’

‘Well, if he was, then
I
had nothing to do with it,’ said Williamson, before Chaloner could reply. ‘I can barely keep up with dispatching home-grown
villains – assassinating foreigners would stretch my resources well past breaking point.’