Chaloner did not tell him that he had visited that particular bordello on numerous occasions, because he was friends with its owner.
‘I suppose I can let you pass,’ said Wright, looking Chaloner up and down critically, although he was deluding himself if he thought he could stop him. ‘You are almost respectable today.’
Once inside, Chaloner walked across the Great Court towards the Earl’s offices. In the Privy Garden a group of drunken courtiers, which included the Earl’s debauched kinsman Brodrick, were throwing pebbles at Lady Castlemaine’s windows, hoping to secure her attention. There was a cheer when she appeared in a dangerously low-cut robe.
‘I am going to tell my father about Cousin Brodrick. His behaviour is disgraceful!’
Chaloner turned to see Hyde standing there, although he could not help but wonder whether the younger man’s disapproval stemmed from jealousy — the Lady was obviously delighted to flirt with Brodrick, but she had not included Hyde in her sultry salutations.
‘I was hoping to catch you today, Chaloner,’ Hyde went on, reluctantly tearing his attention from the Lady’s generous display of bosom. ‘I found another letter yesterday. This time it was in the hearth, and you can see it is singed. Obviously, the Queen tried to burn it but failed to ensure it was done properly.’
Chaloner took it from him and saw the edge was indeed charred. The writing was identical to the previous missive, and confidently informed the recipient that Pratt would die on St Frideswide’s Day, when the whole Catholic world would rejoice at his demise. Chaloner handed it back.
‘Let me guess: it was placed at the front of the hearth, where it would be seen. And it happened to be there at a time when you were the one most likely to notice it.’
‘It was in a prominent position,’ Hyde acknowledged stiffly. ‘And being a man of habit, I always go to the hearth the moment I arrive at work. But it was not put there for me to find. The Queen is dabbling in dark business, and the sooner we dissuade her from such foolishness by catching her confederates, the sooner she will be safe. Have you unveiled them yet?’
‘No,’ replied Chaloner. ‘But-’
‘Then I suggest you refrain from regaling me with unfounded opinions and do your job,’ interrupted Hyde coldly. His glower intensified. ‘My father should never have appointed a spy — especially one with Parliamentarian leanings.’
He stalked away before Chaloner could inform him that he no longer had leanings one way or the other, being heartily disillusioned with both sides.
The new letter was worrying. It suggested that someone was determined to see the Queen in trouble, and that whoever it was had slipped past Captain Appleby to put his nasty note in a place where he knew it would be discovered by the credulous Hyde. But there were still seven days before the Feast of St Frideswide, so there was ample time to explore the matter. At least, Chaloner hoped so.
When Chaloner arrived at the Earl’s offices, it was to find Chief Usher Dugdale there, rifling through the drawers of a cabinet. Edgeman the secretary was sitting at the desk, also rummaging, while Kipps stood in the window. The Seal Bearer had placed himself so as to secure an unimpeded view of the Lady in her flimsy gown.
‘Where have you been?’ Dugdale demanded, using anger to mask his chagrin at being caught pawing through his master’s belongings. ‘I told you to report to me every day, and you failed to appear yesterday.’
‘Actually,’ countered Chaloner, ‘what you said was that you wanted to know my every move. It is not the same thing.’
‘You insolent dog!’ snarled Dugdale. ‘How dare you talk back to me! Do you-’
Chaloner stepped towards him, fast enough to make him cower involuntarily. ‘Please do not call me names. Unless you want to repeat them on the duelling field?’
‘Duelling is illegal,’ blustered Dugdale. ‘And I do not break the law.’
‘It is only illegal if you are caught,’ said Kipps, tearing his eyes away from the Lady and turning towards them. ‘Do you need a second, Chaloner?’
‘No, he does not,’ cried Dugdale, alarmed. ‘The Earl expects high standards of his gentlemen, and you will never coerce me into behaving disreputably.’
Chaloner looked pointedly at the recently searched cabinet. ‘You need no coercion from me.’
‘Tell me what you intend to do today,’ ordered Dugdale, immediately going on the offensive. ‘I shall then decide whether to give my permission.’
Chaloner had no intention of confiding his plans. ‘It depends on what the Earl says after he has heard my report. Where is he?’
It was Edgeman who replied. He smirked spitefully. ‘You have had a wasted journey. He will come late today, because he is going to watch the King dine at the Banqueting House. I might join him there. It is always an entertaining spectacle.’
‘Is it?’ Chaloner had been once, but had failed to understand the attraction in watching someone else eat. It was not as if His Majesty hurled food around or told clever jokes while he feasted. But it was a popular pastime for many, and the Earl rarely refused an invitation.
‘You are incapable of appreciating the finer things of life,’ sneered Edgeman. ‘Because-’
‘The same might be said of you two,’ interrupted Kipps sharply. ‘I invite you to spend an evening at the best brothel in London, and what do you do? Decline!’
‘Because we do not indulge in sordid wickedness,’ said Edgeman loftily. ‘Do we, Dugdale?’
‘No,’ agreed Dugdale piously. ‘Only low-mannered scum frequent brothels.’
‘The King is a regular at this one.’ Kipps smiled rather wolfishly. ‘Shall I tell him your opinion then? I am sure he will be interested to hear what you think of him.’
He spun on his heel and stalked out. Chaloner followed, wondering what it was about White Hall that seemed to attract such dreadful people. He was sure the foreign courts in which he had worked had not housed such a profusion of them.
‘Baiting them gives me great pleasure,’ confided Kipps, once they were out of earshot. ‘Yet I cannot help but wonder whether it is expensive fun. We shall never have the better of a man like Dugdale, because he is so damned slippery.’
‘Why were they searching the Earl’s drawers?’ asked Chaloner.
‘Were they? I did not notice. I try not to look in their direction whenever possible, especially Dugdale’s. The very sight of him stirs me to violent impulses.’
‘You like him well enough to invite him to brothels.’
‘Only because I knew he would never accept,’ replied Kipps, with a conspiratorial wink.
The first thing Chaloner did after leaving White Hall was to visit Mrs Reyner. It was a pleasant day, and the sun had turned the sky pink in the east. He breathed in deeply, then coughed as grit caught at the back of his throat. As always, London was swathed in a yellow-black haze, from its citizens lighting sea-coal fires for heat, hot water and cooking.
When he reached the Feathers, he listened carefully outside, to ensure Harley and Newell had not kept her company overnight. When he was sure she was alone, he knocked, and when the door was answered, he was hard-pressed to prevent himself from recoiling at the stench of wine on her breath. Clearly, she was a woman who liked to give her sorrows a good dousing.
‘My son is dead,’ she said, sharply. ‘And if he owed you money, then that is too bad, because I am not responsible for his debts.’
‘I heard what happened to him,’ said Chaloner gently. ‘I am sorry.’
She softened at the kindness in his voice. ‘Well? What do you want? It is cruel to keep an old woman on her doorstep in the chill of the morning.’
‘Then I had better come in,’ said Chaloner, stepping past her and entering a dingy hall.
She made no complaint, and only shuffled to a pantry, where she poured herself a generous measure of wine. Her movements were uncoordinated, which he supposed was to his advantage: if she were drunk, she was less likely to wonder why he was interrogating her.