‘How is the Queen?’ asked Chaloner, standing at the Earl’s side. Although the Lord Chancellor had clawed back some of the power he had lost during his recent spat with the Earl of Bristol, he remained an unpopular man — the other windows were crowded, but the Earl had one all to himself, because no one wanted to be with him.
Clarendon regarded him sharply. ‘She is better, but certainly not well enough to see you. She was pleased with your reports, as I said, but she can have no need of a spy in White Hall. Your only hope is to please me over this Newburne business. What have you learned?’
Chaloner shrugged apologetically. ‘The more information I uncover, the more questions it poses. I have uncovered a lot of information about Newburne, but at the same time I seem to know less.’
Clarendon gave him a wan smile. ‘It sounds like a paradox, but I know what you mean. I feel the same way about my enemies at Court. Dorcus Newburne was here again yesterday, by the way, demanding her pension. Wretched woman! Her husband left her well provided for, so I do not see why she should expect me to impoverish myself to give her more.’
‘No, sir,’ said Chaloner.
He was about to outline what he had reasoned about the music, but the Earl clearly had better things to do than listen to the vague theories of his spy. He started to walk towards one of his few courtly allies, then glared pointedly when Chaloner made no move to leave.
‘Is there anything else, Heyden? If not, you had better go and find me some sensible answers, because you only have two more days, and I will dismiss you if you do not tell me what I want to know.’
Chaloner did not think he would be very impressed with the few facts he had gathered, so decided it was better to say nothing. He bowed and left without another word.
Maylord’s funeral was not until noon, and the day was still young, so Chaloner decided to visit Dorcus. On his way, he stopped to see Temperance; she was still in bed, but rose when told the identity of her visitor. Maude was already bustling about the kitchen, making some of her poisonous coffee. She offered Chaloner a dish, but he declined. Preacher Hill had once told him Maude’s brew was so potent that her first husband had sipped some and died on the spot. Chaloner had no idea whether the story was true, although he did know that even a few mouthfuls invariably resulted in a rapidly pounding heart and an unpleasant burning in the stomach.
‘I am sorry,’ he said as Temperance joined him at her kitchen table. He looked around surreptitiously to see if there was anything to eat. ‘I am used to you being up at dawn for chapel, and I never expect you to be in bed this late.’
‘Eight o’clock is hardly late,’ objected Temperance with a yawn. ‘And my days of rising at ungodly hours for church were a long time ago. I only go on Sundays now, because I have abandoned the Puritan fancies my parents taught me. And you do have a nasty habit of arriving overly early, Thomas. Come later in future because I seldom retire before four.’
‘Four in the morning?’
‘Well, I do not mean four in the afternoon.’ She grimaced. ‘The Puritans are wrong to insist on dawn devotions. The King should do something about them.’
‘You think they should be suppressed?’ Chaloner tried not to sound shocked.
‘Yes, I do. You cannot reason with fanatics, and allowing them to express their bigoted opinions encourages them to shout all the more loudly. It is only a small step from yelling hate to putting it into practice with guns and swords, and outlawing their gatherings will make the country far more safe.’
Chaloner struggled to conceal his unease. He had never expected to hear such sentiments from a woman whose family had endured a good deal of suffering for its religious beliefs. Yet his dismay at her changing political views was nothing compared to his astonishment when she produced a pipe and began to tamp it with tobacco.
‘Christ, Temperance!’ he exclaimed. He supposed he should hold his tongue, but he could not help feeling some responsibility for her well-being. ‘You are full of surprises this morning.’
She examined the pipe fondly. ‘I have been developing a fancy for it. We are told smoking is for men, but why should they have all the fun? Besides, I do not do it in public, only with friends. Would you care to join me? I have several spares.’
He shook his head, hoping she might offer him some breakfast instead. She did not, although Maude handed him a pile of mended and cleaned clothes. He offered to return the ones he had borrowed, but the women waved him away.
‘You look nice in them,’ said Temperance, puffing contentedly. ‘And you probably need to go to Maylord’s funeral today, so you should dress properly for the occasion. Our boy will deliver these others to your house, so there is no need to take them with you now.’
‘They are saying in the coffee houses that the river has burst its banks at Deptford,’ said Maude conversationally, when the spy had lavished a suitable amount of praise on her handiwork.
‘Did they read that in Muddiman’s newsletter or The Newes?’ asked Chaloner, wondering how Maude was party to coffee-house chat. Such establishments were supposed to be exclusively for men, although he did not imagine many would have the courage to ask her to leave if she did decide to avail herself of one.
Maude pulled a disparaging face. ‘All The Newes contained was a lot of rubbish about a dirty prayer-book and the Turks being “up and down” in Vienna. And the Queen is recovered from distemper, but now she is said to have an indisposition, which is probably worse.’
‘The note about Sherard Lorinston’s bay mare was interesting, though,’ said Temperance. ‘Someone read his advertisement in the newsbooks, and saw the animal being sold in Limehouse. The good Samaritan has a reward, Lorinston has his mare back, and the thief has nothing. I shall ask him about it when he comes tonight.’
‘Ask the thief?’ queried Chaloner.
Temperance pulled a face at him. ‘Ask Lorinston. We do not entertain criminals here, Thomas. It is a gentlemen’s club, and we are very selective about our members.’
‘I thought the Duke of Buckingham was among your clientele. You cannot be that selective.’
‘Now, now,’ tutted Maude. ‘There is no need to malign the duke; he cannot help being a rake.’ She changed the subject in the interests of avoiding a spat, because Temperance was looking irritated. ‘When I was coming back from buying eggs just now, I heard that Smegergill’s will was read in the Inner Temple this morning.’
‘Before eight o’clock?’ asked Chaloner. ‘At such an ungodly hour?’
‘You are sharp today,’ said Temperance coolly. ‘Besides, wills are read by lawyers, who love ungodly things. Did you once say you studied law at Cambridge, Thomas, and that you were at Lincoln’s Inn with a view to becoming a clerk before Thurloe recruited you to an even more devious occupation?’
‘Greeting is the sole beneficiary,’ said Maude before Chaloner could reply. ‘He is said to be astounded, although Smegergill had no family, so obviously he was going to favour a friend.’
Chaloner thought about the ring and the key he had taken from the old man, and supposed he could now pass them to their rightful owner. It would be good to be rid of the responsibility, although he hoped he would be able to do it without being accused of murder.
‘Greeting told me Smegergill kept visiting the costermongery in Smithfield after Maylord died,’ said Temperance. ‘But Greeting is an odd fellow, and I never know when he is telling the truth. I do not suppose he studied law, did he, Thomas?’