He knelt by the fire and prodded it absently. ‘The obvious suspects are the men who attend these prayer meetings. For example, Hargrave — he wants the occasions to end, so perhaps he killed the three clerks because they did not.’
But, he thought, Tryan did not want them to end, either, and he was not dead. Did that mean Hargrave was innocent? Or was Tryan spared because he was Hargrave’s friend, and murdering mere acquaintances was not the same as dispatching a man he obviously liked and respected?
‘Who else is on your list?’ asked Hannah, when he faltered into silence.
‘Gold.’
‘Sir Nicholas? No! He has asked us to his soirée on Monday — in two days time — and a killer would not do that. Besides, he is too old to go a-murdering.’
Chaloner smiled at the notion that issuing invitations to parties should be considered an exonerating factor. ‘He is not as frail as he looks. I saw him attack a man who assaulted Bess the other night.’
‘Neale!’ pounced Hannah. ‘Now there is a man who would not hesitate to kill by poison.’
Chaloner inclined his head to acknowledge it was possible. ‘Meanwhile, Doling left the prayer group after the Restoration. Perhaps envy drove him to kill three men who have been very successful. The same is true of Symons. Or perhaps I am over-complicating matters, and the Lea brothers or one of the Vines are the culprits — killing an unloved kinsman in order to secure an inheritance.’
‘And dispatching two more in an attempt to lead you astray,’ mused Hannah, nodding. ‘Do not forget George Vine devised a plot to assassinate Cromwell, either — that shows him to be murderous. Are there any other suspects?’
‘A corn-chandler called Reeve, who wears a disguise when he goes to John’s Coffee House.’
There were also Turner and Swaddell, both of whom had infiltrated the meetings to spy. Could one of them be the killer? There was certainly more to Turner than the amiable buffoon he liked to project, while Swaddell was a spymaster’s assassin. And, of course, there was Williamson himself. But Hannah did not need to be told about any of them — the knowledge might prove dangerous to her.
‘Was there any other link between the victims?’ she asked. ‘Besides these religious assemblies?’
‘They all argued publicly with my Earl. And they all appeared to be virtuous, but transpired to have the usual human flaws — dishonesty, corruption, licentiousness.’
‘So your killer dispatched not good men, but sinners? Are there any vicars among your suspects?’
Chaloner shook his head. ‘I should visit John’s Coffee House tomorrow, and talk to the owner. So far, only the people who actually take part in the meetings have told me what transpires in them.’
‘So, I have helped,’ announced Hannah with satisfaction. ‘I have given you a new direction to follow. Now, let me see what else I can accomplish. Tell me what you know of the culprit himself.’
‘He used poison to kill his victims. And he may have dropped a ruby ring — a small one, like a woman’s — then sent members of an elite train-band to retrieve it for him.’
‘A woman’s? Then it will be irrelevant,’ declared Hannah immediately. ‘The killer is not a lady, and you had better ignore this bauble, or it will mislead you.’
‘Very well,’ said Chaloner, although he had no intention of doing so. He wondered why she was so vehement, and recalled Temperance’s words about the same clue: that he should bear in mind that a lady could be responsible. It was odd to hear two such different views within a short space of time.
‘What about the statue?’ asked Hannah, changing the subject rather abruptly. ‘Any progress there?’
‘None,’ replied Chaloner gloomily.
Hannah was silent for a moment, then started to speak. ‘When Bernini finished the bust, a courtier was charged to escort it from Rome. It took him three months of dangerous travel to bring it to London. His name was Thomas Chambers, and he was my father.’
Chaloner stared at her, asking himself why she had not mentioned it sooner. Was this why the Queen had elected not to share with her the tale about it being offered to Greene and Margaret Symons? Because Hannah had a curious and unique connection to the thing? ‘I see.’
‘I was a child at the time, but I remember him coming home, and telling my mother and me about his adventures. The other thing I recall is that the bust was very heavy.’
‘Large pieces of marble usually are.’
Hannah pulled a face at the coolness of his voice. ‘I am trying to help, Tom, so do not be acerbic with me. If the Bernini bust was weighty, then a thief cannot have shoved it under his arm and walked off with it. He would have needed transport. Or a large and very strong sack. Ergo, there will be a witness to the crime. You just need to find him.’
‘I have asked virtually everyone in the palace, and if there is a witness, then he is not talking. And the area around the Shield Gallery is deserted at night, anyway, and security is minimal. I could steal anything I like, and no one would be any the wiser.’
‘That is not a good thing to claim — it could see you in trouble. But you should sleep.’ Hannah ended the discussion by jumping back into bed. ‘You will need your wits about you tomorrow, if you are to fathom any sense into these mysteries.’
It was raining hard when Chaloner woke the next morning, and windy, too. He wondered what state his Fetter Lane rooms were in, and was glad to be in Hannah’s cosy home. She toasted bread over the fire for breakfast, smearing it thickly with a marmalade of quinces. She chattered happily as she worked, asking about his plans for the day, and demanding to know how he intended to prove he was a better investigator than Turner. He gave monosyllabic answers, most of his attention on the statue of Venus that Margaret Symons had carved. It really was exquisite, and he thought it a pity she had died before achieving the recognition she had so clearly deserved.
‘You will have to find time for church, too,’ Hannah babbled on, handing him a cup of warmed ale. ‘It is Sunday, and you do not want to be on a list that says you are a Catholic. Like me.’
‘You are on a list?’
‘No, I am Catholic. I converted when I was appointed to serve the Queen. Does that shock you?’
‘Oh, deeply.’ He saw her wince, and hastened to be serious. ‘Of course not. Besides, the crucifix by your bed is something of a giveaway, and so are the specific times you tend the Queen.’
She regarded him curiously. ‘You are not going to suggest I change back again?’
‘Why would I do that? Your devotions are your own business.’
‘That is an unusually enlightened attitude, especially from a man who serves the Earl. I suppose it comes from spending so much time overseas.’
Or from seeing the trouble religious dissent could cause, thought Chaloner, as he and Hannah set out for White Hall together. He abandoned her when he saw their path was going to intersect that of Williamson, and went to lurk in an alley near the Tennis Court until the Spymaster had gone. As he peered out from his hiding place, he saw Williamson and Hannah stop to talk to each other. The exchange appeared to be cordial, and Chaloner frowned, wondering why she should deign to associate with such a fellow.
Knowing the Spymaster was loose in White Hall made Chaloner decide to go to Westminster instead. He went a second time to look at the lane where Jones had died, but it was jammed tight with carts, all waiting to be loaded with coal from a barge that was docked at the pier, and there were too many people around to permit useful skulking. He decided to come back when it was less busy. He met Symons in Old Palace Yard, and offered his condolences for Margaret’s death, but the man barely acknowledged him before shuffling away with his spiky orange head bowed.