Chaloner was not sure what to say. He had lost his first wife and child to plague, and since he had arrived in London, he had come to believe that it would be unwise to start another family when his own life and future were so uncertain. He was astonished to learn that Hannah thought otherwise, and it underlined again how little they knew each other.
‘The Queen’s failure is rather more serious than mine, though,’ Hannah went on. ‘So I am toying with the notion of acquiring a baby, and passing it off as hers.’
‘Please do not,’ begged Chaloner, recalling uncomfortably that there was a rumour about that very possibility. ‘Royal surgeons will need to be present during the birth, and-’
‘Surgeons can be bribed.’
‘If they can be bribed, then they are likely to be treacherous. They will betray you.’
‘I will not recruit anyone dishonourable,’ declared Hannah, in the kind of statement he had once found endearing but that now made him wonder whether she was in complete control of her wits.
‘Your plan will see the Queen accused of treason.’ Chaloner hesitated, but then forged on — Hannah should know her mistress was in danger. ‘Letters have been found that implicate her in a murder. Obviously, she is innocent, but it shows that someone is keen to harm her.’
Hannah paled. ‘Who has been murdered? And who found these letters? Do not tell me — Hyde! That treacherous little beast! He told his father and the Earl ordered you to look into it. Am I right?’
Chaloner nodded. ‘We know the Queen is innocent of wanting Pratt dead, but-’
‘But others will not care whether it is true or not,’ finished Hannah angrily. ‘They will use it against her, regardless. You must exonerate her immediately.’
‘I shall try my best. Hyde discovered these messages in her apartments. Do you know how they might have arrived there?’
‘It would not be easy,’ replied Hannah, still livid. ‘But you might see how it was done if I show you her quarters. Meet me there tomorrow … No, I shall be busy tomorrow. Come the day after — Saturday — late in the afternoon. And dress nicely, Tom, because she might be there.’
Back in Tothill Street, Chaloner burned the ripped-up letter on the kitchen fire. Then he took a bowl of Hannah’s stew, but the reek of charred garlic was so strong that it made him gag. He poured it on the flames, leaping back in alarm when something in it produced a great billowing blaze that almost set him alight. There was bread and cheese in the pantry, along with a jug of milk, so he took them to the drawing room, and started to work on the cipher he had found in the Crown.
Unfortunately, he was no more alert than he had been that morning, and it was not long before the letters blurred in front of his eyes. He tossed down the pen, feeling the need for the restorative effects of music. His best viol was at Long Acre, but he kept another one in the cupboard under the stairs at Tothill Street. There was no Hannah to complain, and no female servants to make disparaging remarks, so he went to retrieve it.
As he played, the tensions of the day drained away. He closed his eyes, allowing the music to take him to its own world, and did not hear the knocking at the door until it was loud enough to be impatient. He was alarmed — that sort of inattention saw spies killed.
‘Are you deaf?’ demanded Surgeon Wiseman, when Chaloner opened the door. ‘I have been hammering for an age, trying to make myself heard over your private recital.’
‘What do you want?’ asked Chaloner, resenting the return to Earth and its attendant problems.
‘To bring you some news,’ said Wiseman, equally brusque as he pushed past Chaloner and made for the drawing room. He sat, and warmed his hands by the fire. ‘About Cave’s funeral.’
‘Has a date been set?’
‘Yes,’ replied Wiseman. ‘It took place on Tuesday — two days ago.’
Chaloner regarded him in surprise. ‘But I thought it was to be the “social event of the month” with music by the Chapel Royal choir and the Bishop of London presiding.’
‘So did everyone else. But it was discovered this evening that he was quietly buried in St Margaret’s churchyard on Tuesday morning. It might have gone unrealised for longer, but the curate who conducted the ceremony happened to mention it in passing to the Bishop. Needless to say, a lot of people feel cheated.’
‘Who arranged for him to be buried? I thought he had no family.’
‘We all did, but we were wrong — he had an older brother named Jacob. However, I cannot imagine what possessed him to shove Cave in the ground with such unseemly haste.’
‘Can you not? The ceremony planned by the Chapel Royal choir would have cost a fortune — an expense that Jacob would have been obliged to bear.’
‘Cave was comfortably wealthy. He probably had enough money to cover it.’
‘But he might not, and the fact that he never mentioned Jacob to his friends means they were not close — no one wants to be bankrupted by the funeral of an unloved sibling. Besides, if Cave did have money, I imagine Jacob would rather keep it for himself.’
‘You might be right,’ acknowledged Wiseman. ‘Are you drinking cold milk, Chaloner? Surely, you know that is dangerous? Have you no wine? I shall accept a cup, if you do.’ He watched Chaloner go to pour it, then resumed his report. ‘A lot of people are upset by what Jacob has done, including a woman named Brilliana Stanley. And we do not want her annoyed, believe me. She is a very disreputable character.’
‘So I have heard.’ Chaloner decided to make use of the surgeon, as he was there. ‘Do you know a minister named Addison? I need to talk to him, but I do not know where he lives.’
‘Tangier’s chaplain? He has taken rooms on The Strand, near the Maypole. Why? Surely you do not suspect him of being complicit in Cave’s shameful send-off?’
‘It relates to another matter.’
‘Teviot’s fate?’ Wiseman shrugged at Chaloner’s surprise. ‘The Earl told me that you were looking into it, although it seems unreasonable to expect you to find answers so long after the event. Still, I suppose Addison might have a theory; he is an observant fellow. Incidentally, did you hear what happened in the Theatre Royal earlier today?’
Chaloner shook his head.
‘The Parson’s Dream is playing there. It is one of the bawdiest plays ever written — I was mortified, and I am an anatomist. But that is beside the point, which is that a Dutch couple were in the audience, and misunderstood something said by the character Mrs Wanton, with rather embarrassing consequences.’
‘I do not suppose they were the same Dutch couple who revealed their shaky English in the Banqueting House yesterday, were they?’
‘Very possibly. Unfortunately, people are not very forgiving of Hollanders with a poor grasp of our language, and the increasing dislike for this particular couple will do nothing for the cause of peace. Fortunately, someone defused the situation before they could be harmed.’
‘Who? And how did he do it?’
‘He escorted them outside before they could be assaulted. I believe their saviour was Fitzgerald the pirate. Or should I say Fitzgerald the privateer?’
They were silent for a while, Wiseman sipping his wine and Chaloner pondering how Fitzgerald fitted into his various enquiries. Eventually, the surgeon spoke again.
‘The Earl said you were looking into his stolen bricks, too.’
Chaloner wished his master would not gossip about his investigations. He trusted Wiseman to be discreet — for all his faults, the surgeon was sensible of the fact that talking out of turn might endanger lives — but the Earl tended to be loose-tongued with a lot of people.
‘You should accuse Oliver of the crime,’ Wiseman continued. ‘I do not like him. He hired me to cure his bunions, but then refused to pay, just because my lotion made them worse.’
Mention of Clarendon House reminded Chaloner of something else he needed to do. ‘Do you recall inventing a substance for immobilising broken limbs? You tried it on me once, and I thought I might have to wear it on my arm for the rest of my life.’