As they ate, Chaloner and Scot discussed their families. Chaloner’s was maintaining a low profile in a quiet part of Buckinghamshire, patiently waiting for Cavaliers to tire of baiting old Roundheads. Meanwhile, Scot’s father, executed for regicide, had been Thurloe’s predecessor as Spymaster, and his two sons had followed him into espionage. Unfortunately, Thomas was not very good at it, as his incarceration in the Tower attested. Finally, there was the daughter of the house.
‘And Alice?’ Chaloner asked cautiously. He was always uncomfortable when discussing the one member of the Scot family who did not much care for him. ‘How is she?’
Scot clapped him on the shoulder, laughing at his unease. ‘She still has not forgiven you for fighting that duel with her first husband, and spits fire every time your name is mentioned.’
‘He challenged me,’ objected Chaloner. ‘I was willing to overlook the fact that he had been selling Cromwell’s secrets to the enemy, but he was the one who insisted honour should be satisfied. He was lucky you were there to plead his case, because I should have killed him for what he had done.’
‘The fact that he was in the wrong makes no difference to Alice,’ said Scot, still grinning. ‘But her wrath will fade eventually, especially now he is dead. Incidentally, her period of mourning is over now, and she is on the prowl for a replacement. However, I categorically refuse to give my blessing to her current choice. Sir Richard Temple is not a man I want as a brother-in-law. He is corrupt, greedy, selfish and – worst of all – a politician.’
‘Leave her alone,’ advised Eaffrey. ‘A woman her age does not need a meddling brother telling her what to do.’
‘The meddling brother does not want her hitched to a man who is only after her money,’ retorted Scot tartly. ‘I despise Temple, and will do all I can to prevent the match.’
Chaloner recalled that Alice’s first husband had been rich, and she had inherited everything when he had died. ‘Surely her wealth will attract someone more suitable? There must be hundreds of decent, but poor, men who might … ’ He thrashed around for a more polite alternative to ‘put up with her’.
‘She says Temple is the only one who fulfils her exacting standards,’ explained Scot. ‘God alone knows what they are, because they certainly do not include looks, character, integrity or charm.’
‘I have a lover,’ said Eaffrey casually, after a brief silence during which Wilkinson brought more beer. ‘His name is Johan Behn and he is a merchant from Brandenburg. I shall marry him soon.’
Chaloner was amazed. Eaffrey’s lifestyle – like his own – was not suited for serious relationships, and she had always declared that she would never give up her freedom for something as mundane and repressive as a husband. He supposed her opinions must have moderated over time, and recalled her mentioning someone special when they had been in Ireland. They had been too busy to discuss it then.
She smiled dreamily. ‘I missed him dreadfully when we were in Dublin, and I find myself happier in his company than at any other time. I suppose that is love. And he is very handsome.’
‘Rich, too,’ added Scot impishly. ‘Which is far more important.’
‘That is probably what this Temple thinks about Alice,’ said Chaloner. He changed the subject before he could land himself in trouble – Scot was fiercely protective of his siblings. ‘What do you know about my Earl’s feud with Bristol? So far, I have only heard one side of the story.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Scot wryly. ‘Clarendon holds forth to anyone who will listen and, as his spy, you can hardly ask him to talk about something else. However, while he is decent and honest – albeit deadly dull – there is something a little knavish about Bristol.’
Eaffrey ate some tansy. ‘He kissed me last week, and I thought I would faint from the reek of onions. I swear he eats them raw! And his clothes are horribly unfashionable. Yet even so, I prefer him to Lord Clarendon and his moralising.’
Chaloner regarded her askance. ‘You are in love with your new beau, but you let Bristol kiss you?’
She pushed him playfully. ‘I still need to earn a crust, and Spymaster Williamson wanted information only Bristol could provide. It was not easy to flutter my eyelashes at one without the other noticing, but I have always enjoyed a challenge.’
‘I wish you would not take such risks,’ said Scot unhappily. ‘Now you have captured Behn’s heart, you have no reason to court danger on Williamson’s behalf.’
‘Bristol is hardly dangerous,’ said Eaffrey contemptuously. ‘Not to me, at least – although Lord Clarendon should watch him. Do not look shocked, Tom. I have always said that lying with a man is the easiest way to make him part with his secrets, although I would not recommend you try it. It is best left to women, who know what they are doing.’
‘I am not shocked,’ said Chaloner, who knew perfectly well why Eaffrey often succeeded where her male colleagues failed. ‘I am concerned. White Hall is a breeding ground for gossip, and it will only be a matter of time before someone tells your Johan about Bristol. You may lose him … ’
She flapped her hand impatiently. ‘He will never find out. Try this tansy. It is rather unusual.’
‘Sugar-coated spinach is rarely anything else.’ Chaloner tried again to make his point. ‘If your lover learns that you and Bristol–’
‘Did you hear about that murder on The Strand three weeks ago?’ interrupted Eaffrey. She ate more tansy, not seeming to care that the landlord had provided them with some very odd victuals. ‘A wealthy merchant was reeling home from the annual Guinea Company dinner, when he was stabbed.’
Scot grimaced. ‘I inveigled an invitation to that particular feast – as Peter Terrell – because my would-be brother-in-law is a member of the Guinea Company, and I wanted to watch him on his home turf. It was a tedious occasion, and I shall devise another way to spy on the fellow in future.’
‘You found it tedious?’ asked Eaffrey. ‘Johan was there, and he said it was overly lively. He reported several violent arguments, three of which were settled by duels the following morning.’
Chaloner watched her eat. ‘Is that what happened to the man killed on The Strand? He lost a duel?’
‘I have no idea – I only mentioned him as a means to stop you passing judgement on my personal life. It was the first thing that came into my head. The second is William’s brother: how is he surviving in the Tower?’
‘Why is he still in prison at all?’ asked Chaloner curiously. ‘Surely he must have told Williamson everything he knows by now? And anyway, I thought the agreement was for him to reveal the identities of his conspirators and then be allowed to live out his days in peaceful exile.’
‘So did I,’ replied Scot bitterly, ‘but unfortunately, some senior officials are now saying Williamson did not have the authority to make such a pact. I wish you were not so keen to follow a career in intelligence, Chaloner. Now is the time to leave the spying business, not immerse yourself more deeply in it.’
‘The beggar May shot today mentioned you before he died,’ said Chaloner. He did not have the luxury to make the choice Scot was suggesting, because he needed to earn a living and was qualified to do very little else. ‘He told me Terrell is not what he says.’
Scot regarded him uneasily. ‘Obviously he is right, but how did he know?’
‘He must have discovered that “Terrell” is an alias.’ Eaffrey finished the tansy with a satisfied sigh. ‘Someone in Williamson’s office has been indiscreet.’
Scot was thoughtful. ‘The only spy I do not trust is Adrian May, but even he has more sense than to gossip about such matters. However, there is a fishmonger called Peter Terrell – I have never met him, but I am told he is a terrible rogue. Perhaps this beggar was talking about him.’