Jones remembered his manners. ‘This is John Swaddell, Williamson’s new secretary, whom he says is indispensable.’ He gestured to Chaloner. ‘And this is-’
‘I know,’ interrupted Swaddell. ‘The Lord Chancellor’s intelligencer, and the current beau of Hannah Cotton. My master has mentioned him on several occasions.’
Chaloner was uncomfortable with the notion that he — and his friendship with Hannah — had been the subject of discussions involving Williamson. ‘What did he say?’
Swaddell shrugged. ‘Only that he dislikes you, and that I am to ensure you do not harm him.’
‘Harm him?’ echoed Chaloner in disbelief. ‘He is Spymaster General, with an army of highly trained men at his command. I would not dare go anywhere near him!’
This was not entirely true, because Court security was so lax that Chaloner knew he could ‘harm’ anyone he pleased. However, he did not want Williamson thinking him dangerous, and was keen for Swaddell to report there was nothing to worry about. Enemies of Williamson were apt to disappear, and Chaloner did not want to be stabbed in a dark alley just because the Spymaster was uneasy.
Swaddell was about to add more, but was distracted by a sudden screech of rage. It came from the Lady, who was given to abrupt displays of temper. This time her ire was focussed on a couple who had just alighted from a splendid carriage. It was Bess Gold and her elderly husband. A number of male courtiers were beginning to converge, eager to offer Bess an arm across the cobbles — a young woman with an ageing and very rich husband was an attractive target for the fortune-hunters who haunted White Hall. However, the moment they realised she was engaged in an altercation with Lady Castlemaine, they melted away like frost in the sun.
‘I said I like it,’ the Lady was yelling, eyes flashing as she fixed Bess with a glare that held poison. ‘That means I want it, and you should give it to me. Do I have to spell it out, you stupid child?’
Buckingham was trying to calm her, although his impatient manner was doing little to ease the situation. ‘It is just a bauble,’ he snapped irritably. ‘I will buy you another. But you cannot have this one, because its owner is unwilling to part with it.’
‘You are right, kind sir,’ simpered Bess, batting her eyelashes at him. ‘I am.’
Chaloner watched with interest as the scene unfolded. Gold was cocking his head in a way that suggested he could not hear a word that was being said, while Buckingham was itching to get back to his game. Bess beamed at the Duke, and seemed wholly unaware that she was playing with fire by refusing a ‘request’ by the Lady — and by flirting with her handsome playmate.
‘I am a Catholic,’ the Lady announced in a ringing voice. ‘A secret one, it is true, but I am a faithful daughter of the Church, and I do not yet have a crucifix. Yours has rubies in it, which would look nice with the gown I intend to wear to confession. I want it, and you will give it to me.’
‘Eh?’ said Gold. ‘Speak up.’
‘It is not a crucifix,’ objected Bess. The object in question hung around her neck, and she fingered it possessively. ‘It is a cross with a figure of Jesus on it. And it was a special gift from Colonel Turner, so you cannot have it.’
‘You should not wear rubies to confession, anyway,’ said Buckingham, grabbing the Lady’s arm and attempting to haul her away. She flashed her teeth at him, apparently threatening to bite, and he released her hastily. ‘The priest would demand them for the poor, and, as a “faithful daughter of the Church”, you will be obliged to hand them over for the Pope’s coffers.’
‘Bess is not my daughter,’ declared Gold loudly. ‘She is my wife. And I would rather you did not mention coffins in my presence, not when I am fast approaching the day when I shall be in one.’
‘I shall buy you a nice casket when the time comes,’ offered Bess brightly. ‘Although it should not be too expensive, given that you will only be using it the once.’
All four turned when one of the hovering courtiers, braver than his fellows, strode towards them. It was the cherub-faced Neale. ‘What seems to be the trouble, Bess?’ he asked. ‘May I help?’
‘You may not,’ snapped Lady Castlemaine, giving him a shove that was hard enough to make him stagger. ‘Go away and mind your own business, boy. You are not wanted here.’
‘You may not want him, but I do,’ said Bess, with something of a leer. Fortunately for Neale, Gold’s ancient legs were tiring, and his attention was fixed on holding himself upright by hanging on to Buckingham, so he did not see her expression. The Duke grimaced and tried to extricate himself, but Gold’s gnarled fingers were stronger than they looked.
‘I shall accompany you home, Bess,’ declared Neale gallantly. ‘Away from this place.’
‘It is a disgrace,’ agreed Gold loudly, shifting so the hapless Duke bore almost his entire weight. ‘Uneven cobbles should be banned by royal decree — a man could break his neck in this yard.’
Lady Castlemaine ignored him and put her hands on her hips. ‘Excuse me,’ she snarled at Neale. ‘But I just told you to mind your own business. You had better oblige or Buckingham will run you through. He can do it, you know. He has a rapier.’
‘Not with me, though,’ said Buckingham with a grimace, struggling to stay upright under Gold’s dead weight. ‘So it will have to be later. Tomorrow at dawn, in Lincoln’s Inn Fields? That is where such matters are usually settled.’
‘That is very kind, Buckingham,’ bellowed Gold. ‘I would be honoured to be your guest at Field’s tomorrow. I understand it is one of the more exclusive coffee houses, patronised by members of Court and parliament. Dawn is too early, though, and a man of my mature years needs his sleep. Midday would be much more convenient, so I shall see you then.’
He grabbed the arm Neale was proffering to Bess, and leaned on it so heavily that the young man was hard-pressed to keep his balance. As Bess and Neale escorted him away, Gold began a litany of compliments about Buckingham’s gracious manners. Chaloner laughed when he saw the stunned expressions on the faces of the Duke and the Lady, although not loudly enough for them to hear him.
‘It was a paltry crucifix anyway,’ said Buckingham, when he had regained his composure. ‘And those were not rubies, but coloured glass. I shall buy you a much nicer one.’
‘For my priest to steal?’ asked the Lady icily. ‘No, thank you! Perhaps I will return to Anglicanism, if papists are going to prove miserly. I am bored of the religion, anyway, and only converted to annoy the Queen. She wallows in her Catholic devotions, and I wanted to show her that I can wallow just as prettily. I can produce royal children prettily, too. Unlike her.’
‘You can produce royal bastards,’ corrected Buckingham tartly. ‘Only a queen can produce royal children, but our dear Lord Chancellor has ensured that we shall never see any. He did England a grave disservice by foisting a barren wife on our King.’
Chaloner was spared from having to report his progress — or lack thereof — to the Earl, because his master was at a meeting of the Privy Council, and so unavailable. He ate some seedcake made by Bulteel’s wife, listened to Haddon wax lyrical about the delights of owning a dog, and spent the first part of the evening in the Banqueting House, where the Court had gathered for a performance of the King’s Musick. He made a few desultory enquiries, but Locke was one of his favourite composers, and it was not long before he became lost in the exquisite harmonies. Afterwards, guilty that he had squandered so much time — especially as Turner was busily darting from woman to woman, looking as though he was gathering intelligence aplenty — he went to the kitchens, hoping the servants would be in the mood to gossip. They were, but he learned nothing useful anyway.