Lester gaped at him. ‘How in God’s name did you know that? I had no idea what Elliot did in his spare time until he confided it to me on his deathbed.’
‘Why did he agree to work for a man like Williamson?’
Lester looked pained. ‘I invested the money we made from capturing Dutch prizes at sea, but his went to the gaming tables. He needed a way to pay his debts.’
‘Did Williamson recruit you, too?’
Lester was affronted. ‘No, he did not! I have no desire to meddle in the affairs of landsmen — they are always complex and sordid. Nothing like being on a ship.’
Chaloner laughed. ‘I have spent time at sea myself, and people are people whether they are afloat or on solid ground.’
‘Which vessels?’ asked Lester keenly. ‘Navy or merchantmen?’
Chaloner waved the question away. Instinctively, he liked Lester, but he was not in the habit of divulging his past to men he barely knew. ‘There was something odd about the fight between Cave and Elliot. Cave was not a man to challenge battle-hardened mariners to swordfights.’
Lester nodded. ‘Others have told me the same. Of course, Cave was in love with Brilliana, and men act oddly when in Cupid’s grip. But I must go. There is a meeting of sea-officers who object to transporting slaves today. Someone must make a stand against that foul business, and we hope that the trade will founder if we refuse to accept human cargo.’
Chaloner was heartened. ‘How many of you are there?’
‘Four. But we aim to recruit more. I was on Henrietta Maria’s maiden voyage, and it was … Suffice to say that I believe God sank her because He was appalled by the venture.’
‘For every one of your four officers, there will be ten willing to take such commissions.’
‘More like a hundred,’ said Lester gloomily. ‘But it is a start, and I cannot stand by and do nothing while greedy villains profit from the misery of others. Call me naive if you will, but it is a matter of conscience.’
‘Then go,’ said Chaloner. ‘You should not be late.’
Chaloner was tired when he reached Tothill Street, and half hoped Hannah would be out. But as soon as he opened the door, he could tell by the acrid stench of burning that not only was she home, but that she was baking. He coughed as smoke seared the back of his throat, and approached the kitchen with caution, knowing that to do otherwise might result in bodily harm — she was not averse to hurling her creations across the room if they did not turn out as she expected. And as her loaves had the shape and consistency of cannonballs, being hit by one was no laughing matter.
She was at the table, peering at a smouldering tray. Joan was next to her, a bucket of water at the ready, while Nan and Susan were scrubbing a wall that looked as though something had exploded up it. All were uncharacteristically subdued. George, resplendent in new clothes of which any courtier would be envious, lounged by the fire, peeling an apple. He glanced up when Chaloner entered, but made no move to stand. Hands on hips, Hannah glared at her husband.
‘I hope you did not go to White Hall dressed like that, Thomas.’
Chaloner looked down at himself. He was perfectly respectable. ‘Why?’
‘Because no one is wearing green this year. And you should have donned a wig. We have been through this before. Dress is a gesture of class consciousness, and an inability to conform means either a slovenly display of bad taste, or a provocative demonstration of nonconformity.’
‘I am not a nonconformist,’ said Chaloner, obliquely referring to the fact that she, as a Catholic, was far more of one than he would ever be.
Hannah’s eyes flashed. ‘Do not take that tone with me. I have had a terrible day.’
‘Have you?’ Chaloner tried to sound sympathetic. ‘Then tell me about it.’
‘Just as long as you promise not to fall asleep, like you did last time. God only knows how long I was talking to myself.’ Finally, it dawned on Hannah that railing at him in front of the servants was unedifying. She grabbed his hand and hauled him towards the door. ‘Put my cakes on a plate, Joan,’ she ordered crisply. ‘And bring them to the drawing room. Tom would like one.’
Normally, Joan, Nan and Susan would have smirked at this notion, and Chaloner was surprised when there was no reaction. He was also aware of George settling himself more comfortably in his chair, at the same time tossing the apple core on to the floor. Nan swooped forward to pick it up.
‘He seems to have settled in,’ Chaloner observed, as he was bundled along the corridor.
When they reached the drawing room, Hannah closed the door and lowered her voice. ‘You made a mistake when you hired him. He is a bully, and our women are terrified of him.’
‘Perhaps they will resign, then,’ said Chaloner hopefully. ‘And I did not hire him, Hannah. You did, no matter what you have led Joan to believe.’
Hannah had the grace to look sheepish, but declined to apologise. ‘You must dismiss him. He will find another post if we give him decent testimonials. He is big, strong and intelligent. Rather alarmingly so.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I caught him reading some of our papers today. They were only deeds about the lease of the house, but it made me uncomfortable even so. He was spying, Tom.’
‘So do Joan, Nan and Susan,’ Chaloner pointed out. ‘All the time.’
‘Yes, but they have never worked for Fitzgerald the pirate, have they.’
Chaloner stared at her. ‘You think Fitzgerald ordered him to watch us?’
‘Yes — because I work for the Queen and have influential friends, while you are embroiled in God knows what unsavoury business for your horrible Earl. It is common knowledge that Fitzgerald is short of money, so he probably intends to blackmail us.’
‘Then he will be disappointed, because there is nothing to blackmail us about.’ Chaloner shot her an uneasy glance. ‘Is there?’
‘Not on my account. But even if George is not under Fitzgerald’s orders, I do not want him in my house. You must get rid of him.’
‘No,’ said Chaloner firmly. ‘I am sorry, but he is not like the other servants. He is a stranger in our country, and it would not be right to turn him out. You wanted a fashionable household, so you must live with the consequences.’
He expected her to argue, but she only sighed, reminding him that under her sour temper was a decent woman. ‘Then the only way to be free of him is to find him another post. I will start making enquiries tomorrow. Perhaps the Duke will take him.’
She referred to Buckingham, with whom she had developed a rather unfathomable friendship. Chaloner failed to understand what she saw in the man, but she was fond of him and the affection was fully reciprocated. She knew Chaloner disapproved, but maintained that her acquaintances were her own affair, and not to be dictated by a mere husband.
‘Is George the only reason you have had a terrible day?’ he asked with polite concern.
‘No. We had hopes that the Queen might be with child, but it was another false alarm. She was bitterly disappointed, and cried all afternoon. Ah! Here is Joan with your cakes.’
‘They are sure to be delicious,’ said Joan, placing the platter of singed offerings on the table. She smiled maliciously. ‘You will certainly want several.’
As she knew he would not, Chaloner could only suppose it was yet another attempt to create friction between him and his wife. When he hesitated, Hannah slapped one in his hand. It was still hot, obliging him to juggle it, and a tentative gnaw made him wonder whether she wanted him toothless. He tried again, while she waited for a compliment.
‘Very nice,’ he lied, when he had eventually managed to bite a piece off. In truth, it tasted like all her efforts in the kitchen — of charcoal. Disappointed, Joan left, slamming the door behind her.