‘He has done that already, but I was able to exchange them for some laundry bills. Kelyng is more nuisance than danger, although I would be a fool to ignore his antics completely.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’ Chaloner had not worked for Thurloe without incurring some sense of obligation, and disliked the notion of Kelyng trying to bring him down by underhand means.
Thurloe smiled, pleased. ‘Thank you, Tom. There are two things that would help enormously. First, I would like to be told of any rumours concerning Kelyng or his men. They might allow me to stay a few steps ahead of the wretched fellow.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Chaloner supposed he had better start frequenting taverns and listening to more street gossip. ‘And the second?’
Thurloe raised a finger. ‘Before we discuss that, we should assess your situation. You are eager to return to your duties – preferably in Holland – but that is out of the question at the moment. Downing’s replacement will not hire you, given what Downing wrote in his official report. However, that is not to say that we cannot take steps towards your eventual reinstatement. The first stage is to have you noticed by the right men.’
‘Williamson?’
‘Williamson, yes. But I do not know him, so I will send you to the Lord Chancellor instead. Once established at White Hall, you will have to work hard to prove your worth – and even then, you may never be trusted. But it is a chance, and I know you will make the best of it.’ Thurloe studied the younger man thoughtfully. ‘Your young lady is Dutch, is she not? What is her name?’
‘Metje de Haas,’ replied Chaloner, wondering whether the relationship would count against him; the Earl of Clarendon might think his loyalties were divided. ‘Her mother was English,’ he added, although it occurred to him that the ex-Spymaster might know more about Metje than he did. He and Metje seldom discussed families, because she did not like hers and he had been undercover with a false name, so not in a position to say much about his own.
‘I imagine it was useful to have a Dutch citizen in tow when you went about your duties for me?’
‘I never involved her, sir. It was safer that way – for both of us.’
‘Very wise. How does she feel about being a foreigner in England?’
‘She likes being a companion to a jeweller’s daughter, but complains about the growing antipathy towards the Dutch in London.’
Thurloe nodded. ‘If we go to war with Holland, she may find herself in considerable danger. But this is none of my affair.’ He cleared his throat and became businesslike. ‘So far, I have sent only six intelligence agents to the Earl – five spies experienced at rooting out rebellions, and an investigator by the name of Colonel John Clarke. None were passed to Williamson, unfortunately.’
‘I met Clarke once, when he visited The Hague.’ Chaloner had quarrelled with him. ‘He tried to seduce Metje. When she repelled his advances, he turned his attentions to Downing’s wife.’
Thurloe pursed his lips in disapproval. ‘He promised he would mend his ways after that scandal involving Cromwell’s niece. I am his kinsman, you see – his new wife Joan was married to my half-brother Isaac Ewer. Isaac died of fever in Ireland ten years ago.’
Chaloner regarded him in surprise. Isaac Ewer was one of the better-known regicides, which meant Chaloner was not the only one unlucky enough to own kin who had executed a monarch.
‘Clarke was a fine investigator, despite his fondness for other men’s wives,’ Thurloe went on. ‘But he was murdered last week.’
Chaloner hid his shock. ‘By the Lord Chancellor?’
Thurloe was startled by the suggestion. ‘Of course not by him! He is eager for good spies, and you do not demand the cream of the crop and then kill them. He is as angry about this as I am.’
‘What about the other five?’ asked Chaloner uneasily, wondering what he was letting himself in for by going to White Hall. ‘Are they still alive?’
‘Alive and impressing the Earl with their diligence – he sent me a note praising them only this morning. You will be the seventh man I recommend, although I am uneasy about doing so, knowing what happened to Clarke.’
‘What did happen, exactly?’
‘He was stabbed in the belly, although White Hall did not want itself tarnished by the reek of murder, so Clarendon spirited the body out of the palace and dumped it by the Thames. Everyone assumes Clarke was murdered by footpads, and very few know what really happened.’
‘But the Earl told you?’
‘Yes, he did. He feels guilty that I sent him a man – a friend – who was then killed.’
‘A friend?’
Thurloe’s expression was cool. ‘I do have some, Thomas, despite rumours to the contrary. I was fond of Clarke, and when I write to Clarendon, I may ask him to let you find his killer. You offered to help me, and this is the second thing you can do.’
‘Me?’ Chaloner was uncomfortable; it was a long way from reporting the movements of Dutch ships.
‘You have investigated murders before – Downing said you solved at least two when you were in The Hague. Be careful, though. White Hall is a pit of vipers, no matter which government occupies it, and I shall be vexed if you take unnecessary risks. And then, when you have discovered the identity of the killer, please come to me with the answer. Do not tackle Kelyng alone – that might endanger both of us, especially if any animals are involved. He has a passionate liking for them.’
‘So you have already decided Kelyng is the guilty party.’
Thurloe gave a humourless smile. ‘It stands to reason he is involved: he knows Clarke and I were related, and that I held him in brotherly esteem. Perhaps he stabbed him in the hope that I would become careless with grief, and let slip with something incriminating. However, you must not let my opinion cloud your judgement – Kelyng is not my only enemy. And Clarke’s death may have nothing to do with me, anyway. He may have been killed over whatever he was doing for Clarendon.’
‘I will do my best to find his murderer, sir.’
‘I know you will, Tom. But you cannot go to Clarendon dressed like a pauper, so buy yourself a decent cassock-coat and a new wig.’ Thurloe passed him a heavy purse. ‘I would not ask you to do this if there was anyone else I could trust. Your uncle would not approve of me shoving you into the lion’s mouth.’
Chaloner was not so sure. His uncle had done a good deal of shoving himself, and had made it perfectly clear that he considered the youngest son of a younger brother to be a readily disposable asset. He had not enrolled his own boys in the wars that had almost claimed his nephew’s life, and nor had he encouraged them to become intelligence agents in countries that would shoot them if they were caught. ‘He would have understood.’
Thurloe gave a grim smile. ‘He was a practical man. I asked my other agents to send me reports on Kelyng, too, but Clarke was the only one who did. I thought Simon Lane might oblige, but he obviously thinks it is too risky – that communicating with me might be misconstrued.’
Lane was a smiling, cheerful man whose tuneful baritone had often accompanied Chaloner’s bass viol. ‘If I see him, I will ask.’
‘No, he has made his choice, and it is the sensible one under the circumstances. You may feel the same way in a week, although I hope you will not forget me entirely – that you will find time to visit.’
Chaloner wondered whether there might be truth in the whispers about Thurloe’s lack of friends after all. ‘If you like, sir.’
Thurloe regarded him appraisingly. ‘Go shopping, then – and throw that wig in the river at the earliest opportunity. It smells of horse.’
Chapter 3