‘She will not have me until I secure a permanent post with Clarendon.’
‘Then unless she wants to be a widow, she should encourage you to look elsewhere. You seem a decent fellow, Heyden, and poor Simon’s fate keeps preying on my mind – I do not want you to go the same way. Why not apply to the Treasury? They are always looking for clerks.’
‘That would be safe,’ remarked Chaloner caustically. ‘Just ask Lee.’
Evett was suddenly more interested in what was happening on the other side of the hole ‘That is Buckingham with her,’ he whispered disapprovingly. He squinted and angled his head to one side as she released a moan of delight and Buckingham sniggered. ‘What are they doing?’
Chaloner pushed him gently, to make him move on, but Evett was intrigued by the curious positions the lovers had adopted, and refused to budge. Chaloner shoved him harder, then glanced through the gap in alarm when Evett stumbled against the panelling hard enough to make a substantial thud. The two people entwined on the bed either had not noticed or did not care, because they showed no sign of interrupting their antics to investigate.
‘This is where Clarke died,’ said Evett, when they reached a hallway that was somewhat more public than the ones they had just travelled. ‘He was found at dawn, and I was the one who had to take his body to the river – Clarendon thought it was unwise to have rumours about murder in the royal household. All these chambers are used as offices by palace administrators during the day.’
‘And at night?’
‘They are empty, as you can see. The clerks do not work after dark, because the light in this wing is poor, and it is too expensive to provide them all with lamps.’
‘So, these offices are always empty after dusk? This corridor is deserted?’
‘Not necessarily. Some of the King’s celebrations are very wild, and his barons copulate everywhere – with any woman who possesses the requisite body parts, usually. Because these rooms are relatively secluded, they are occasionally used by those who exercise discretion in their trysts.’
‘Using a clerk’s office is being discreet, is it?’ Chaloner was amused.
Evett nodded with great seriousness. ‘Yes, when the rest of them use the public rooms. I like women, as you know, but even I disapprove of the Court’s behaviour. The common people are beginning to mutter about it, and the King should be setting a moral example, not engaging in orgies every night of the week – or at least, not orgies that everyone knows about.’
Chaloner shrugged. ‘The problem lies not in the Court’s decadence, but in the fact that it follows so hard on the heels of Cromwell’s strictures. One was too repressive, and the other too free. I think it is the contrast that unsettles people.’
‘Moderation,’ said Evett with a grin. ‘We are there again. At every turn I am proven right.’
Chaloner turned his attention back to the hall. ‘So, in essence, anyone can come here? It is used mostly by servants and clerks, but courtiers have access, too? Especially at night?’
‘Yes. The killer took quite a risk in choosing it for his crime.’
Chaloner rubbed his chin, thinking about the deserted tunnels he had just travelled, which would have been far better places to commit a stealthy murder. ‘Perhaps you should consider the possibility that the culprit is someone who does not know White Hall very well.’
Evett was unimpressed by this. ‘But Buckingham knows White Hall like the back of his hand, and so does Downing. Even Kelyng and Bennet have a working knowledge of the place, because they come here to report to the King. Your suggestion will take me away from my main suspects.’
Chaloner pointed to the floor. ‘Is that blood?’
Evett nodded. ‘The maids scrubbed and scrubbed, but it will not come out.’
Chaloner bent to examine the mark, which was huge and suggested Clarke had bled profusely. ‘A proficient assassin would never have made such a mess, so perhaps he was stabbed by someone unused to killing – someone who does not know how to do it with a minimum amount of spillage.’
Evett regarded him askance. ‘The things you say! But I suspect few courtiers have experience of actual slaughter, although I imagine Buckingham has done it, and Kelyng and Bennet certainly have. What about Downing? Has he stabbed anyone in the past?’
‘I do not know. Was the knife left with Clarke’s body?’
Evett pulled a blade from his belt, making Chaloner step back instinctively. ‘Easy! I am no silent assassin – especially in a half-public hallway like this one. I have taken to carrying this dagger around with me, in the hope that someone might recognise it, but no one has, as yet.’
Chaloner was not surprised, since recognition might go hand in hand with an accusation of murder. He inspected the weapon. It was a fine one, with a jewelled hilt. He thought it unlikely that a servant would have owned it, because it was far too valuable to have been left behind. He said as much to Evett, who looked pleased.
‘Good. That means I can concentrate on my wealthier suspects – such as Buckingham.’
‘Do not allow your judgement to be clouded by dislike,’ warned Chaloner. ‘If you look for clues that point only to him, you may miss evidence directing you towards the real culprit.’
Evett nodded, although Chaloner had the feeling the advice would be ignored, and pointed to the dagger. ‘What else can you tell me about it?’
Chaloner turned it over in his hands. ‘It is small, which means it was probably concealed. The killer could have hidden it in his hand, then turned and struck upwards. Like this.’
Evett did not enjoy playing the role of victim with a sharp blade slicing through the air towards him. He jumped away in alarm. ‘And how does knowing that help us?’
‘It suggests a sudden attack, which left Clarke no time to defend himself. It also indicates that he did not suspect the person intended to harm him.’ Chaloner was thinking aloud. ‘He may have been lured – he followed the killer here, perhaps with the promise of information or a tryst.’
‘Not a tryst,’ said Evett. ‘Clarke liked women, and would never have let himself be seduced by Buckingham, Downing or Kelyng’s fellows. So, one of them must have promised information – perhaps about the missing knives from the kitchen.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Chaloner cautiously, thinking about the coded messages discovered in Clarke’s secret pocket. He had obviously been investigating something other than the theft of silverware, and might well have gone to the hall in the hope of learning something useful – perhaps about praising God or the Seven.
Evett sighed, then threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Questions and speculation! That is all there is with this case. I hate this kind of work! I wish I was someone else’s aide.’
Chaloner smiled ruefully. ‘And I have no idea how to find Barkstead’s treasure, so I suggest we both leave White Hall before the Earl sees us and demands a progress report.’
Evett led the way out of the corridor, and Chaloner was uneasy to note it emerged in the wing where Clarendon had his rooms. Almost immediately, the Lord Chancellor waddled out of his office, driving a crowd of petitioners before him like a flock of geese. Chaloner tried to escape while the rabble took issue about their abrupt dismissal, but Clarendon spotted him and cocked a chubby forefinger, beckoning agent and aide into his office with one hand, while he flapped away his clamouring visitors with the other. Chaloner complied, wishing he had something more to tell his new employer than ‘questions and speculations’.
When he entered the Earl’s chamber, the first thing he saw was a peculiarly shaped object, crazed with cracks and knobbly with glue: he had been right when he had predicted that repairing the crystal vase was impossible. He also noticed Clarendon’s desk had been cleared, and sensitive documents no longer sat in full view. Of course, he thought grimly, with six of his seven agents dead, there were probably very few secret reports coming to him.