‘Good,’ said another voice. It was a man and he sounded pleased. ‘I am looking forward to seeing the place where you spend so much time.’
Chaloner wondered whether the couple were actually being conveyed there so they could be arrested — that when they arrived, they would find themselves whisked into a grim little cell for the purposes of interrogation. It had certainly happened before. But Williamson climbed out of the carriage and began to make introductions. Chaloner was surprised a second time, because the Spymaster had never afforded him such courtesy before. He was immediately on his guard.
‘These are my very dear friends Kitty and Henry O’Brien. O’Brien and I were up at Oxford together.’ Williamson addressed the occupants of the carriage. ‘Chaloner is the fellow I was telling you about, who helped me with that business concerning the Dutch ambassador last June.’
Chaloner was not sure whether he was more taken aback to meet O’Brien and his wife so soon after the discussion in the charnel house, or to be informed that Williamson had friends. The only other man he knew who was willing to spend time in the Spymaster’s company was the sinister John Swaddell, who claimed to be a clerk, but whom everyone knew was really an assassin.
He regarded the pair with interest as they peered out. Kitty’s beauty was indeed breathtaking. Red hair tumbled around her shoulders, and there was both intelligence and humour in her arresting green eyes. He bowed politely, thinking that Kersey’s claims about her loveliness were, if anything, understated.
When he turned his attention to her husband, he thought for a fleeting moment that she had married a child, but O’Brien was just one of those men who had retained boyish looks into his thirties. He had fair curly hair, blue eyes, and the lines around his mouth said he laughed a lot. They were an attractive couple, and Chaloner was not surprised that the King had deigned to grace them with his favour. Their clothes said they were indeed wealthy, and the ruby that gleamed at Kitty’s throat was the largest that Chaloner had ever seen.
‘O’Brien has just received some sad news,’ said Williamson, addressing Chaloner. ‘A musician from the Chapel Royal, of whom he was very fond, is dead.’
‘Killed by one of your spies, Williamson,’ put in O’Brien sourly.
Kitty rested a calming hand on his arm. ‘He cannot hire choirboys for the dirty business of espionage, so it is hardly surprising that some transpire to be unruly. Like that odious Swaddell. I am glad he is no longer in your service, Joseph. He was downright sinister.’
‘Swaddell has left you?’ Chaloner was astounded — he had thought the bond between the two men was unbreakable, mostly, he had suspected uncharitably, because neither could find anyone else willing to put up with him.
Williamson grimaced. ‘I am afraid so.’
‘I shall miss Cave,’ O’Brien was saying unhappily. ‘He was an excellent tenor, and the only man in London capable of understanding how I like to perform. What shall I do without him? The King liked to listen to us sing, and he will be devastated when he hears what has happened.’
Chaloner doubted the King would care, especially if O’Brien financed some other form of entertainment. He did not usually make snap judgements about people, but there was something about O’Brien that said he lacked his wife’s brains, and that he was vain and a little bit silly.
While Kitty murmured soothing words in her husband’s ear, Williamson drew Chaloner to one side, so they could speak without being overheard. ‘One of my informants witnessed what happened. He told me you tried to prevent the skirmish.’
‘But unfortunately without success.’
‘It is a pity, especially as the quarrel was trifling. I cannot say I like Elliot, but he is a decent intelligencer.’
‘He is still alive?’ asked Chaloner, recalling the vicious blow Cave had delivered, and the dagger protruding from Elliot’s innards.
‘At the moment,’ nodded Williamson, ‘although his friend Lester fears he may not stay that way for long. And I hate to lose him. He was making headway on a troublesome case-’
‘The Earl is waiting,’ said Chaloner, unwilling to be burdened with the Spymaster’s concerns when he had more than enough of his own to contend with.
‘You can spare me a moment,’ said Williamson reproachfully. ‘And I am having a terrible week, what with Swaddell leaving, Elliot attacking Cave, and more plots to overthrow the government than you can shake a stick at. And the Privy Council has cut my budget. Again.’
‘Where has Swaddell gone?’ asked Chaloner, not liking the notion of such a deadly fellow on the loose. Williamson had never done much to control him, but he had been better than nothing.
‘To someone who can pay him what he deserves,’ replied Williamson shortly. ‘I wish I could offer him double, but how can I, when I barely have enough to make ends meet?’
‘Perhaps your friend O’Brien can secure you better funding,’ suggested Chaloner. ‘Ask him to mention it while he warbles for the King.’
‘I most certainly shall not,’ declared Williamson indignantly. ‘It would be ungentlemanly to raise matters of money with a friend. Besides, he is too distressed by Cave’s death. I am taking him to see my Westminster offices, as a way to take his mind off it. For something pleasant to do.’
Chaloner regarded him askance. ‘You think that is pleasant? A heavily guarded hall filled with labouring clerks, and dungeons below containing God knows what horrors?’
Williamson looked exasperated. ‘Then what do you suggest? I am not a man for frivolity, but I feel compelled to offer some sort of diversion.’
‘What is wrong with a visit to the Crown Jewels or the Royal Menagerie? Or even a play?’
Williamson nodded slowly. ‘Those are good ideas. But I did not stop you to ask for advice about my social life. I want to know why Cave and Elliot fought. My informant’s account made no sense.’
Seeing no reason not to oblige him, Chaloner gave a concise account of the squabble. When he had finished, Williamson frowned unhappily.
‘But why did Cave and Elliot become agitated over so ridiculous a matter? Men do not squander their lives on such trivialities. There must be more to it.’
‘Very possibly,’ acknowledged Chaloner, glad he was not the one who would have to find out.
‘Cave will have a grand funeral in Westminster Abbey,’ Williamson went on. ‘The Chapel Royal choir will provide the music, and the Bishop of London will almost certainly be prevailed upon to conduct the ceremony. It will be a lofty occasion, and I should not like it spoiled with the taint of suspicion. I do not suppose you have time to-’
‘No,’ said Chaloner firmly.
Chapter 2
The guard on duty at White Hall’s Great Gate that day was Sergeant Wright, a petty, grasping individual who was heartily disliked by those soldiers who took pride in their work; those who were shirkers considered him an icon. He was an unattractive specimen with a bad complexion, stubby nose, and eyes that were too small for his doughy face.
‘You cannot come in dressed like that,’ he declared, when he saw Chaloner. ‘You are wet, dirty and there is blood on your coat. Someone else’s, more is the pity. Other gentlemen ushers do not-’
‘Let him through,’ came a commanding voice from behind them. The interruption was timely, because Chaloner did not take kindly to being berated by the likes of Wright, who was no picture of sartorial elegance himself with his food-stained tunic and greasy hair.
The speaker was Thomas Kipps, the Earl’s Seal Bearer, a tall, handsome man with an amiable face. He was dressed in the Clarendon livery of blue and gold, and it was his duty to walk ahead of his master in formal processions. Unfortunately, the Earl liked the ritual, and encouraged Kipps to escort him when he wandered around White Hall, too. Such vanity was ill-advised, because it gave his enemies the means with which to mock him — Chaloner had lost count of the times he had seen the Court rakes mimic the Earl’s waddling gait, preceded by another of their own bearing a pair of bellows in place of the seal.