‘Have you made a will, Heyden?’ asked the Earl, closing the door behind them.
Chaloner regarded him warily. ‘I do not own any property, sir.’
‘None at all? Thurloe told me you had a bass viol.’
‘Why do you want to know?’ Unease made the question more curt than Chaloner had intended.
‘A will would be helpful in the event of … well, you do not need me to tell you that your kind of work can be dangerous. Talk to Thurloe. He should be able to draft something out for you.’
‘Is life at White Hall so perilous, then, My Lord?’ asked Chaloner, aware of Evett’s frantic signals, urging him to say nothing that would reveal he had been told about the sad fate of Lane and the others.
The Lord Chancellor gave a patently false smile. ‘Not at all, except for poor Clarke, of course. All the others are in fine fettle, and are very happy working for me.’
‘Good,’ said Chaloner coolly. ‘Because Simon Lane is a friend of mine.’
‘Was he?’ muttered Clarendon unhappily. ‘Damn!’ He cleared his throat and became businesslike. ‘Have you been looking for my treasure today?’
The use of the possessive pronoun did not escape Chaloner’s attention, and he wondered whether the man planned to keep the entire seven thousand pounds for himself. His anxiety deepened, knowing perfectly well that while Clarendon was unlikely to be hanged for defrauding the King, the agent who abetted him would be tried by a different set of laws altogether.
‘He has not found it yet,’ said Evett, when Chaloner did not reply.
‘Well, keep looking,’ ordered the Earl. He seemed out of sorts, and Chaloner supposed the petitioners’ demands had annoyed him, along with the reminder that six spies had died doing his bidding. ‘It will turn up. Lost objects always do.’
‘We have just come from the Tower,’ said Evett conversationally. ‘You asked me to show Heyden where we dug for the gold. We met Robinson, and there was a lion on the loose. It had escaped, and was looking for someone to eat. Robinson sent us out through the Traitors’ Gate, thinking to keep us from its waiting maw, but it almost had us anyway. Someone had tied a rope across the steps that led to the water, obviously intending to see us fall to its mercy.’
‘We do not know it was put there for us,’ said Chaloner reasonably. Indeed, he strongly suspected it was not, since no one could have predicted they would leave the Tower that way.
Anger crossed Clarendon’s face. ‘Let me understand you correctly. A lion – presumably the mad one – was released into the Tower grounds when you were in them? It was inside the Traitors’ Gate, and Robinson sent you in there with it?’
‘I do not think he did it deliberately, sir,’ said Evett, although he sounded uncertain.
‘Do you not?’ shouted the Earl, his temper breaking. ‘Do you not? Well I do! It was a deliberate strike against me! He tried to murder my aide and my new spy – to make Thurloe angry with me for losing yet another one.’ He grimaced, annoyed with himself for the inadvertent admission.
‘Robinson wanted me dead?’ asked Evett, aghast.
‘Of course he did,’ hissed the Earl. ‘Do you not agree, Heyden?’
‘I have no idea, sir,’ replied Chaloner, wanting to say that he did not think Robinson would waste his time on Evett. He was a pleasant fellow, but hardly represented a threat. ‘We had no appointment to visit the Tower, so it would have been a very last-minute attempt.’
But there had actually been plenty of time to organise it, given the number of hours they had spent there. Robinson had been very determined that they should leave by the Traitors’ Gate, and he would also have known that they had been disarmed before they had entered his castle. Then there was the rope: it had been pure luck they had not been injured by it. And the reason for such an attack? Did Robinson want to find Barkstead’s treasure, and either keep it for himself or donate it to the Brotherhood? Chaloner thought about Lee, described as a kinsman of one of Robinson’s friends. What was going on?
‘Robinson saw an opportunity and he seized it,’ declared Clarendon angrily. ‘For two reasons. First, to weaken me by depriving me of men. And second, because he wants to prevent further searches for the treasure. Go and fetch me some wine, Philip. I am so angry that my heart is all a-flutter.’
Evett disappeared, and some of Clarendon’s rage seemed to go with him.
‘I thought Robinson had no interest in Barkstead’s money,’ said Chaloner. ‘He was never in line for a share of it.’
‘He will have a share if he finds it on his own. I may not be up to Thurloe’s standards, Heyden, but I have a few informants in place, and I know for a fact that he went digging himself one night. And I can assure you he was not looking for mushrooms.’
‘He will not find it, sir,’ said Chaloner, supposing the same people had also reported Evett’s excuse for his presence in the Tower that day. ‘It is in none of the obvious places.’
The Earl pursed his lips. ‘Then you must look in the less obvious ones – before he does. Barkstead had a family. Talk to them and ask where else he might have put it.’
‘His wife and son – a child of six – are in Holland, and he has no other relatives. Would you like me to travel to the United Provinces and speak to–?’
‘No, I would not,’ snapped Clarendon. ‘Once you are there, you might decide not to come back – I know you are fond of the place and that you keep a Dutch mistress. What about his friends?’
‘They were Parliamentarians, either dead, fled or in prison. Those who are incarcerated or in hiding will not betray his trust, and those who are dead cannot.’
‘Those in gaol may reconsider their loyalties if we promise them their freedom,’ suggested the Earl. ‘You can visit them, and see what they say.’
‘With respect, sir, they will not parley with me. I do not have the authority to make offers they would trust.’
‘I will go, then. I am the Lord Chancellor – they will believe me.’
‘I am not sure that is a good idea, either,’ said Chaloner, knowing any such approach would be treated with the suspicion it deserved. ‘Trouble-makers like Kelyng would accuse you of treason before you had asked Robinson for the keys to their cells.’
Clarendon scowled, giving the impression that promises would have been made with no intention of honouring them. ‘He must have had other friends. Find them. I want that money!’
Barkstead did have other friends, Chaloner thought, as the Lord Chancellor turned on his heel and stalked away. He had the Brotherhood. Chaloner saw he would be spending the next few days interviewing its senior members, and hoped one would give him a clue that might take him forward. And then there was Mother Pinchon. Perhaps there was a detail she had forgotten, which skilled questioning might shake loose. He was planning his strategy when the Earl turned around.
Chaloner was startled by the transformation. Gone was the fussy little fellow who had almost stamped his feet in impotent rage, and he was replaced by something far more unnerving, leaving Chaloner with the absolute conviction that here was a man who would have what he wanted. For the first time, he understood how Clarendon had risen to become Lord Chancellor of England.
‘You had better not fail me, Chaloner,’ he said in a soft voice. He did not need to add threats. The tone of his voice spoke them all.
Night had fallen by the time Chaloner left White Hall, and lamps were set along some roads in compliance with the city fathers’ ordinances. But mostly, the highways were dark, and there was already a different kind of crowd emerging to slouch along them. Chaloner was not worried about street ruffians. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and the other on the dagger at his waist, and the weapons would be out without conscious thought at the first sign of danger. One man tried to bump into him as he walked, probably to pick his pocket, but Chaloner side-stepped him and the fellow staggered into nothing. Linksmen with pitch torches wanted him to pay them to light his way, while beggars in doorways snatched at him as he passed. He rummaged for change, but his purse was empty. He was hungry himself and could not even find a farthing for a pie.