Death in St James's Park (38 page)

Le Notre looked puzzled. ‘The fellow who Palmer tells me smashed the windows in his house the other night? I assure you, I do not.’

‘You would remember if you did,’ interposed Palmer. ‘He is a peculiar-looking specimen – as white as a ghost and with black eyes that look like beads.’

‘Oh, him,’ said le Notre. A flicker of something unreadable flashed across his powdered face. ‘I met him in the club at Hercules’ Pillars Alley on Tuesday night. Was
he
the villain who gave us such a fright with that hail of missiles, then? Good God! I would not have chatted to him so merrily had I known. He introduced himself as an expert on French porcelain, a subject close to my heart.’

‘Is that what he does for a living, then?’ asked Palmer doubtfully. ‘Sell crockery? I would not have predicted that.’

Nor would Chaloner, who did not believe it. ‘You gave him a lift. Did you take him home?’

‘He asked to be dropped at the Smithfield Meat Market,’ replied le Notre evenly. ‘He said he had business there, but did not elaborate, and I did not ask. I am not very interested in meat.’

‘So do you know where he lives?’ asked Chaloner, a little impatiently. Le Notre was beginning to annoy him.

‘No one knows.’ Palmer had answered before le Notre could speak. Was it relief that Chaloner read in the Frenchman’s face? ‘He appears
and disappears at will. He is quite a mystery.’

‘I only met him the once,’ said le Notre. ‘But I did not take to him, and I shall avoid his company in future, no matter how great his knowledge of Nevers china.’

Chaloner watched their coach leave, wondering yet again about the enigma that was le Notre, and why Palmer should have befriended him.

The temperature had plummeted to well below freezing by the time Chaloner arrived at White Hall, but the Earl’s rooms were so hot that he wondered how his master could breathe. Clarendon was sitting at a desk behind a mountain of papers, although it was after seven o’clock and he was almost certainly the only government official still working. Chaloner read one document upside down, and saw it was a letter from his tailor, so the documents did not all pertain to affairs of state.

‘Where have you been?’ the Earl demanded angrily. ‘I told you to report to me yesterday.’

‘I tried, sir, but you were with—’

‘The King, yes, and he asked me about the villains who are killing his fowl. Well? Are the rogues in custody? Or have I been paying you for nothing all this time?’

‘Three of them are dead, sir – Leak, Smartfoot and Copping.’ Chaloner took a deep breath and forged on. ‘They were all postal clerks. Unfortunately, I do not know why they did it, but if you issue warrants for the arrests of Oxenbridge, Rea and Harper, I shall find out.’

The Earl gaped his disbelief. ‘But I told you to stay away from the Post Office.’

‘You told me to catch the duck-killers.’ Chaloner tried not to sound insolent. ‘And that is where the trail led. It also led to
Mary Wood, who lives nearby. As does the Curator of Birds.’

The Earl stared at him. ‘Wiseman told me that Mary had been murdered, and an agitated clerk named Vanderhuyden came here yesterday, demanding that the matter be investigated.’

‘She was forced to swallow the same substance that killed the King’s birds,’ explained Chaloner. ‘Her death and theirs are the same case.’

‘I did not know that.’ The Earl’s face was white. He swallowed hard, and was silent for a moment, but then became businesslike. ‘I shall pass the information to Gery, along with your allegations about Oxenbridge, Rea and Harper. He should be along to see me soon.’

‘They are not allegations, sir. I have evidence to—’

The Earl flapped his hand, a gesture Chaloner had come to associate with decisions that were reckless or foolish. ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention. You may leave now.’

But Chaloner was not yet ready to concede defeat. ‘Oxenbridge is the key to all that is happening. I need to talk to him and—’

‘Why must you always argue with me?’ cried the Earl. ‘I said I want you to leave. And I do not mean White Hall either – I mean London. It is time for you to go to Russia. I have urgent dispatches for the Tsar, and you must take them. At once.’

‘What is wrong, sir?’ asked Chaloner in a low voice, acutely aware that the Earl’s offices were far from secure. ‘I may be able to help.’

The Earl hesitated, and for a moment Chaloner thought he might relent and explain what was happening, but then his expression hardened. ‘I want you gone. Your wife will not
be pleased to lose you so soon, but it cannot be helped. And I doubt she will want to go with you. Not to Russia.’

‘May I visit my family in Buckinghamshire first?’ asked Chaloner, thinking fast. ‘Russia is a long way away, and I should like to tell them …’ It was his turn to wave his hand, because he was not sure what to say that the Earl would believe.

The Earl regarded him with an expression that was difficult to read, but Chaloner thought he saw sympathy there, mingled rather disconcertingly with guilt. Again, he wondered whether he was being sent to such a desolate part of the world so that Gery might be rid of him permanently.

‘Very well. I have chartered a ship, and I suppose we can delay it for a day or two. I shall ask the captain to set sail for Archangel on Sunday night, and I shall expect you to be on it. And do not say that a frozen sea will prevent it from going, because I have already explained that conditions are such that ice will not be a problem this year.’

Chaloner glanced out of the window, where frost lay in a thick white crust on the sill, and where the bowl of water left out for the sparrows had set like iron. ‘Are you sure, sir?’

The Earl scowled. ‘Yes. Now hire a horse to take you to your family before I change my mind and send you to the Tsar early.’

Three days was hardly enough time to ride to Buckinghamshire and back, but Chaloner had no intention of going anywhere. It was perfectly plain that the Earl needed his help, whether he knew it or not. And Chaloner had just seventy-two hours to give it.

*   *   *

He was glad he had played
out the charade of asking for permission to leave London when he opened the door to discover that Morland had been eavesdropping behind it.

‘Give my regards to your siblings,’ smirked the secretary, smoothing an imaginary crease from his smart coat. ‘Russia is a dreadful place, full of endless forests and poverty-stricken villages. It is dangerous, too, so it might be the last time you ever see them.’

‘London can also be dangerous,’ said Chaloner, gratified to see Morland blanch at the menace his voice. ‘Incidentally, there are rumours that something is being built in the Post Office, and as you consider yourself an inventor—’

‘I do not
consider
myself an inventor,’ interrupted Morland indignantly. ‘I
am
one. And nothing is being built in the Post Office, or I would have noticed. However, I am more concerned with you this evening. Have you made a will? You should – you do not want to leave Hannah in the invidious position of not knowing when she might inherit if you fail to return.’

Chaloner took a step towards him, and Morland scuttled behind a desk, although if he thought that would protect him he was badly mistaken.

‘Threatening your colleagues, Chaloner?’ came a voice that made the spy whip around with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Gery eyed it disdainfully. ‘And flaunting weapons in your master’s domain? That will not do at all.’

‘No, it will not,’ agreed Morland sulkily. ‘So incarcerate him in White Hall’s dungeons until he can be shipped off to the frozen north.’

‘There is no need,’ said Chaloner, afraid Gery might do it, and
then the Earl would be doomed for certain. ‘I am going to Buckinghamshire at first light tomorrow.’

He turned and walked away before the marshal could stop him, running briskly down the staircase and aiming for the door. There was a room at the bottom, which Gery and his soldiers had commandeered to use as a base. It was a disagreeable muddle of dirty clothes, spare weapons and discarded food. As Chaloner passed, he spotted a hat that was broad-brimmed and vaguely clerical, and slowed down to look at it. Freer was there, eating a pie.

‘You are working late, Tom,’ the soldier said. ‘Trouble with the birds?’

‘Nothing insurmountable. How is your investigation at Post House Yard?’

Freer tossed the pie on the fire, and walked quickly to the door, looking furtively in both directions before pulling Chaloner inside and closing it behind them.

‘Not as well as it should, if you want the truth. Gery only acts on the intelligence that interests him, and I have a bad feeling that he may be ignoring important clues. I fear his negligence may prove dangerous to Clarendon.’

‘Then tell the Earl,’ said Chaloner.

Freer shot him a weary glance to express what he thought of that suggestion. ‘Gery is reputed to be an excellent investigator,’ he went on. ‘But he is … malleable.’

‘You think he may have been deliberately misled?’

Freer looked uncomfortable. ‘Perhaps. Or he is conducting a shabby investigation deliberately. It is difficult to know when he does not confide in me. Regardless, our failure to expose this plot will almost certainly see Clarendon fall from grace.’

‘Yes, probably.’

‘I cannot
say I like the Earl,’ Freer went on. ‘He is miserly, overbearing and conceited. But I heard the poor old fellow weeping for his son last night, and it broke my heart. I do not like to see a man kicked when he is down, so if you can find a way to help him, I will—’

At that moment, the door flung open to reveal Gery. The marshal’s eyes narrowed when he saw Freer and Chaloner engaged in a low-voiced conversation.

‘Clarendon has just informed me that you have been meddling where you were ordered not to,’ Gery said, anger making his voice unsteady. ‘The Post Office is my business, not yours.’

‘Does it matter now?’ asked Chaloner. ‘As I told you, I leave London tomorrow.’

Gery sneered. ‘Do not forget to inform your wife, then, although I doubt she will care. I understand the Duke of Buckingham has followed her to Epsom. He will keep her bed warm.’

It was one insult too many. Chaloner surged forward, slamming the marshal against the wall with considerable vigour. Gery started to struggle, but stopped when he felt the prick of steel at his throat. Chaloner was aware of Freer behind him, hovering unhappily and uncertain what to do.

‘Will you kill me?’ hissed Gery, his eyes dark with a hatred that could not have been normal. ‘You will hang if you do.’

Chaloner was about to remark that it might be worth it, when there was a click. He whipped around to see Morland standing in the doorway, holding a gun. Several soldiers were with him, similarly armed. Chaloner reached for his sword, but fingers tightened on triggers, and
he knew Gery would love to give the order to fire.

‘Assault on the Lord Chancellor’s marshal,’ said Gery, his face full of vengeful delight. ‘That is ample cause to arrest you. Perhaps you will be spared the ordeal of Russia after all, because the Earl will dismiss you for certain now.’

Chaloner fought as hard as he had ever done when Gery’s men came to lay hold of him. Once they had finally pinned him down, Gery ordered his hands secured behind his back. The soldiers obliged with alacrity, tying the knots wickedly tight in revenge for the cuts and bruises they had suffered in the scuffle.

When they were satisfied that he no longer posed a threat, they took him to the dismal little cellars that were used as a prison by the palace guards. One contained nothing but a table and two chairs. Morland went to the table, where he began to lay out writing implements. Freer stood with the guards by the door, his face uneasy and strained, while Gery sat on one of the chairs and adopted a relaxed attitude, although Chaloner could tell that his temper was only just under control.

‘The Earl told me what you have learned about the birds and the poison,’ Gery began softly. ‘So it is time we had a little chat.’

Chaloner leaned against the wall, feigning nonchalance. It was not easy when every instinct clamoured at him to make a dash for the door. Common sense told him it would not win him his freedom, but it was still an urge that was difficult to ignore.

‘What would you like to know?’ he asked pleasantly.

Gery scowled. ‘Your insolence tries my patience. Perhaps I should kill you now. The Earl will never find out – he will assume you abandoned
him to avoid a voyage to Russia. However, I might be prepared to spare you if you tell me about the birds.’

Chaloner saw no reason not to oblige, given that the Earl had already revealed the essence of it anyway. He described his battle in the park, and outlined what he had reasoned regarding its connection with the Post Office. He did not divulge the role that Storey and Eliot had played in the confrontation, though, wanting them kept out of the matter.

‘So you killed Smartfoot,’ concluded Gery.

‘The poison did. Examine his body if you do not believe me.’

‘I tried, but the Westminster charnel-house keeper has released it to Smartfoot’s sister. Smartfoot had no sister, of course, and the body has now disappeared. As has Leak’s.’

‘Eradicating incriminating evidence,’ mused Chaloner, impressed by the efficiency of Oxenbridge and his cronies. ‘Like stealing the dead ducks from Storey’s house. What are you going to do about it?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Gery. ‘Because I do not believe your tale. You invented it, as an excuse to meddle in Post Office business. It is a typical Parliamentarian trick.’

‘I have samples of the poison. Surgeon Wiseman put them in—’

‘Unfortunately for you, Wiseman’s house was burgled last night.’

Chaloner suppressed a groan: loose ends
were
being tied. He glanced at Freer, who was regarding Gery with a troubled expression. Meanwhile, Morland was writing steadily, and suddenly Chaloner knew exactly what he was doing.

‘I suppose that
is a confession? One you expect me to sign?’

‘You will sign it,’ stated Gery. ‘It will say that you have lied about the poison, and admit to your Roundhead sympathies. Then no one will care what happens to you, not even Hannah.’