Neale possessed a mop of golden curls that would not have looked out of place on a cherub, and his youthful face was more pretty than handsome, like an overgrown choirboy. Meanwhile, Lady Gold was a plain girl, with pale, tightly curled hair and vacant eyes that put Chaloner in mind of a sheep.
Leaving Thurloe in the shadows, Chaloner identified himself to Neale as the man investigating the clerk murders on behalf of the government. He declined to mention the Earl, on the grounds that the case was Spymaster Williamson’s to explore, and his master should have had nothing to do with it.
‘Call me Bess,’ simpered Lady Gold, when Neale introduced her. ‘Everyone else does, and “Lady Gold” makes me sound boring. Besides, you might confuse me with Nicky’s previous wives and I would not like that. They were old, whereas I am only nineteen.’
‘I see,’ said Chaloner. ‘Are you recently wed, then?’
‘Oh, no! Nicky and I have been married for three months now, which is absolutely ages.’
‘Where is your husband now?’ Chaloner was perfectly aware that courtiers did not let a small thing like marriage interfere with their fun, but he was astonished that Gold was willing to let his wife sit half-naked with a youth who was quite so obviously intent on bedding her.
‘He went home at ten o’clock last night,’ replied Bess, fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly. ‘That is his bedtime, and he said he was not going to change it on account of Babylon. He missed a treat, though, because the ball was lovely — except the bit when Brodrick made us all jump in a vat of mud to wrestle with each other. Lady Castlemaine did not mind, though — she was in like a shot.’
‘That was because Colonel Turner was already there,’ remarked Neale snidely. ‘She wanted to make a grab for him under the surface, where no one could see what she was doing.’
‘I would have taken the plunge for Colonel Turner,’ said Bess with an adoring sigh. ‘He is very handsome. He gave me this.’ She brandished a crucifix, which, given the current unpopularity of Catholicism, was not the wisest of objects to be toting around. ‘Is it not pretty?’
Neale regarded it disparagingly before turning to Chaloner. Clearly, he both disliked and disapproved of the competition. ‘You said you wanted to talk about Chetwynd. What do you want to know? About his corrupt verdict on my legal case?’ His tone was petulant.
‘Chetwynd was dull,’ declared Bess. ‘He used to visit my husband, and they sat in our parlour for hours, praying together. When I told Nicky I would rather go to the theatre, he sent me to my room.’
‘I am not sorry Chetwynd was poisoned,’ said Neale defiantly. ‘Personally, I think it serves him right. You see, I was hoping to inherit my grandfather’s fortune, but he decided it should go to my older brother instead. It was a stupid decree — I would have put the money to good use, whereas John will squander it all on drink and gambling.’
Chaloner was bemused by Neale’s resentment, because primogeniture was law, and the moral character of an heir was irrelevant — Chetwynd would have had no choice but to find in favour of the older brother. Thurloe was right: Neale disliked Chetwynd purely because he had lost his claim, and his accusations had no basis in fact. He stood to leave, feeling he was wasting his time.
Thurloe accompanied him when he went to talk to Doling, because the two had been colleagues during the Commonwealth, and he felt his presence might work to the spy’s advantage. Doling was a squat, dark-haired, powerful man with an unsmiling face. He reminded Chaloner of the tough, cynical soldiers he had served with during the wars, and nodded when the spy asked if he had seen active service.
‘Naseby,’ he replied. ‘You are too young to remember, but it was a glorious victory.’
Chaloner remembered it all too well, as did his leg. And he should have been too young, but his regicide uncle had taken him away from his studies at Cambridge, because he said Parliament needed every able body it could get. By the time the two opposing armies had assembled at Naseby, Chaloner had been a seasoned warrior, despite being only fifteen.
‘General Fairfax noticed me at Naseby,’ Doling went on, eyes gleaming at the distant memories. ‘And later, he got me a post in government. But I was rudely dismissed when the Cavaliers strutted back to take over the country, and for a while I was destitute.’
‘And now?’ asked Thurloe encouragingly. ‘I recall writing a testimonial for you a few months ago.’
Doling nodded. ‘For which I am grateful. It earned me a job guarding Backwell’s Bank — they were robbed last summer, and decided to upgrade their security. It is not a very interesting occupation, but I am well paid and no one tells me what to do. I am happy enough.’
He turned to his ale, glaring at it in a way that made Chaloner wonder whether he was telling the truth about his contentment. Or was he just one of those men who looked angry even when he was in high spirits? Chaloner decided Backwell’s Bank had made a good choice, though, because Doling’s saturnine visage alone would be enough to deter most would-be thieves from trying their luck.
‘My case was a complex one,’ Doling replied, when Thurloe asked him about Chetwynd. ‘It concerned fishing rights in the river that forms the boundary between my garden and estates owned by a man called Hargrave. But Chetwynd took a mere ten minutes to decide in Hargrave’s favour.’
Thurloe frowned. ‘I examined your case, too — it was complex, and took me the best part of a week to unravel. However, Chetwynd’s decision was the right one: you should not have fishing rights.’
‘I know that now. However, my grievance lies not in the fact that he ruled against me, but in the speed he took to reach his decision. And then later, I learned that he and Hargrave were friends — and that Chetwynd rented his London house from Hargrave.’
‘Really?’ asked Thurloe, troubled. ‘That is the kind of behaviour that gives lawyers a bad name. Your case should have been adjudicated by someone who was a stranger to you both.’
‘And do you know the final indignity?’ Doling went on bitterly. ‘A few weeks later, Hargrave gave Chetwynd a gift — a cottage on his estate with access to the river. Chetwynd visited it every Sunday, and never failed to catch a trout.’
‘I knew none of this,’ said Thurloe unhappily. ‘And I am shocked, because Chetwynd had a reputation for being honest.’
‘And that is why no one will listen to my complaints,’ said Doling morosely, ‘although the facts are easy enough to check. Look into the matter, Mr Thurloe. You will find I am telling the truth.’
Thurloe was keen to investigate Doling’s claims for himself, but insisted on accompanying the spy to see Chetwynd’s heirs first. When Chaloner had broken the news of their kinsman’s death on Christmas Day, the Lea brothers had been so delighted to hear they were going to inherit sooner than they had anticipated, that they had literally danced for joy. He had given up trying to elicit sensible answers while they were pirouetting around the room, and had elected to leave the interview until they were more calm. He had managed a brief word with them while he had been shadowing Greene, but that was all, and a serious discussion was now long overdue.
‘Who is investigating these poisonings for Williamson?’ asked Thurloe, as their coach rattled up King Street towards St Martin’s Lane. ‘As Spymaster General, it is his responsibility to produce a culprit.’
‘I have no idea,’ replied Chaloner. ‘But if he has appointed someone, then the fellow is keeping a very low profile, because I have not come across him.’
Thurloe frowned. ‘How odd! Most spymasters would consider poisoned government officials a priority case, and would insist on a highly visible investigation. I know I would. But I suppose Williamson knows what he is doing.’