‘The Queen’s manners are delicate,’ said Janszoon quickly, also in the clipped, uncertain way of the non-native speaker. He smiled benignly. ‘Not like the … what is the word? Strumpet? Yes, strumpet. The Queen is more delicate than the common strumpet on the King’s left.’
Chaloner winced on his behalf, suspecting that someone had taught him the word as a joke. Then Fitzgerald stepped forward and whispered something. Janszoon was patently puzzled, but nodded agreement, and all three left, the guards at their heels. Chaloner tried to follow, but the press was too great, and he gave up when he realised they would be gone before he could reach the door.
‘Lord!’ came a familiarly peevish voice. ‘I cannot say I approve of that sort of judgement being passed about Lady Castlemaine. She is hardly a common strumpet.’
It was Roger Pratt, and his comment broke the uncomfortable tension that had followed the Janszoons’ departure, because people started to laugh. The architect looked bemused: he had not intended to be droll.
‘They are Dutch,’ explained Jones to the people who still regarded him uncertainly. ‘With poor English, so they cannot be expected to know how to behave in polite society. Unlike the Portuguese.’ He smiled ingratiatingly at the man in black.
Another bray of bugles interrupted any more that might have been added, and then there were coos of wonder, because one of the dishes comprised an enormous gelatine castle, wobbling precariously on a tray of live eels. The King plunged a spoon into one of the towers, accompanied by an encouraging cheer from the audience, but its taste apparently did not equal its appearance, because he pulled a face and did not take any more.
Feeling he should at least try to glean some useful information that day, Chaloner approached Harley and Newell.
‘So you are Clarendon’s creature,’ Newell said in disgust when he saw Chaloner’s uniform. ‘I might have known. The man has a reputation for meddling where he is not wanted.’
‘Reyner is dead,’ said Harley, his devil-eyes boring into Chaloner’s. ‘And if I learn you had anything to do with it, I will slit your throat.’
‘Why would I want Reyner dead?’ asked Chaloner with quiet reason. ‘I barely knew him.’
‘You had better be telling the truth,’ said Harley in a low, menacing voice. ‘I dislike liars.’
‘So do I,’ said Chaloner, returning the scout’s hard stare. ‘Have you thought about my proposal, by the way? The Tangier Committee is now certain to order an inquiry, and-’
Harley moved suddenly, and shoved him against the wall. The knife from Chaloner’s sleeve dropped into his hand, but he did not use it.
‘We do not need your good auspices, because there are others who will protect us,’ the colonel snarled. ‘Now leave us alone, and do not bother us again.’
He released Chaloner and stalked away. Newell followed, and Chaloner saw he would have to find another way to make them tell him what had happened that fateful day on Jews Hill.
The King did not take long to demolish his nine courses, and was leaping up from the table by the time Chaloner returned to the Earl. The entertainment over, people began to file out of the Banqueting House. Clarendon claimed his feet hurt, and sent his Seal Bearer and ushers to find him a sedan chair. As other courtiers wanted them, too, the commission was likely to take some time, so Dugdale ordered Chaloner to wait with him — a number of his enemies were nearby, and Chaloner was the only member of the retinue wearing a sword.
‘Who has cornered my wife?’ asked the Earl, perching on a plinth and slipping his feet out of his tight shoes to waggle his plump toes in relief. ‘Does she look as if she needs rescuing?’
‘That is Ellis Leighton, sir,’ replied Chaloner. ‘The Adventurers’ secretary.’
‘So it is.’ The Earl grimaced, then pointed rather indiscreetly. ‘Do you see that portly man and his skinny companion, talking near the door? They are Sir Edward Turner and Lord Lucas — also Adventurers, and two of the richest men in London. I cannot imagine why they elected a man like Leighton to be their leader. He is said to be a criminal.’
Turner was enormously fat, while Lucas was painfully thin, and they made for a curious pair as they stood together. Both had the smug, self-satisfied air of men who had done well for themselves.
‘They are particular friends,’ the Earl went on. ‘Look! Other Adventurers are going to join them now — like moths around a flame.’
Chaloner recognised most. They were either wealthy or had positions at Court, and he eyed them with distaste, aware that here were the people who owned the nation’s monopoly on the slave trade.
‘Frances is probably asking Secretary Leighton not to lead our son astray,’ said the Earl, his attention snapping back to his wife. ‘But she is wasting her breath. Damn! She is bringing the fellow over, and there is something about him that has always made me uneasy.’
‘My Lord,’ drawled Leighton as he approached. Despite the elegant bow he effected, there was something that said he was anything but submissive, and when the Earl nodded back, it was he who seemed the lesser of the two. ‘I trust you are well?’
‘No, actually,’ replied Clarendon shortly. ‘I am in pain, and my ushers are taking an age to summon me a sedan chair. I knew I should have brought my personal carriage.’
‘Then you must join me in mine,’ said Leighton graciously. He turned to Turner and Lucas, who were suddenly at his heels, clearly eager for an opportunity to ingratiate themselves with the Lord Chancellor. ‘There is room for another, is there not?’
‘Of course,’ gushed Turner, multiple chins wobbling as he nodded. ‘I hope it arrives soon, though. I have not eaten in more than an hour, and the sight of all that food …’
‘It made me feel sick,’ countered Lucas, clutching his concave middle. ‘I think I shall stay with you tonight, Turner. I do not feel equal to riding home after that display of gluttony.’
‘Gluttony?’ asked Turner, startled. ‘They left half of what was provided. Personally, I would not have moved until every last crumb was consumed. It looked far too good to waste.’
Leighton smiled at them, although it was a curious expression and one that made even Chaloner uncomfortable, although he could not have said why. ‘I shall summon my coach.’
The Earl started to decline, but Leighton was already moving towards the gate, using the curious scuttle Chaloner had noticed the first time he had seen him. When Lucas and Turner had gone, too, the Earl shot his wife a pained glance.
‘Leighton is said to treat with felons, and now I am obliged to sit in his coach! I would sooner walk, but I dare not offend him. He might make me disappear, like he has some of his enemies.’
‘Nonsense, dear,’ said Frances mildly. ‘Mr Leighton is perfectly genteel. And he has agreed to ensure that Henry does not fall by the wayside at the Adventurers’ dinners, too. I know you have asked Cousin Brodrick to oblige, but that is rather like putting a fox in charge of the hen coop.’
‘I do not know what you mean,’ said the Earl, offended on his kinsman’s behalf. He started to add more, but was interrupted by the arrival of the son and heir himself, puffed up with importance and towing Kitty and O’Brien in his wake. O’Brien was grinning widely, informing the world at large that watching the King eat had been one of the most delightful experiences of his life. Chaloner could only surmise that he did not get out much.
‘I would like you to meet my new friends, father,’ said Hyde, openly thrilled to have secured the company of the King’s favourites. ‘Kitty and Henry O’Brien.’
‘Upstarts,’ muttered the Earl unpleasantly. ‘Made wealthy from the sale of a bit of copper.’
It was rude, and Chaloner was not surprised when O’Brien looked offended. The nobleman opened his mouth to respond, but was apparently not someone with the intellect for witty ripostes, so he closed it again. Kitty stepped forward and took his arm. Her pretty face was flushed, although with anger or mortification was difficult to say.