Death in St James's Park (49 page)

Chaloner gaped at him. ‘Is there no predicament he cannot escape? Christ God! He has more lives than a cat and the luck of Lucifer.’

Chaloner did not want to visit Williamson in New Palace Yard, but the Spymaster had demanded a report, and the Earl had ordered him to provide one. He went there the following day, entering the elegant office with considerable reluctance. Williamson was gazing out of his window, looking at the line of traitors’ heads that were displayed in a grisly row outside Westminster Hall opposite.

‘I have a question for you, Chaloner,’ he said, turning and folding his arms. ‘Morland’s house was burgled last night, and a vast fortune was stolen. I do not suppose you know anything about it?’

Chaloner raised his eyebrows. ‘Morland had a vast fortune? How? He cannot earn much working for Clarendon, not even when a fifty-pound reward is taken into account.’

‘He declined to say how he came by it. However, every penny has gone, so he will have to rely on the generosity of Widow Smith to keep him in fine clothes now. And she is notoriously mean.’

‘Poor Morland.’

‘Poor Morland indeed. What do you think happened to the money?’

Chaloner shrugged. ‘There is fever and hardship in the Fleet Rookery.’

Williamson regarded him
with a complete lack of understanding. ‘You could have used it to buy your way out of going to Russia. Or even to purchase employment with me. I am not averse to having my good graces invoked with gold.’

‘I shall bear it in mind for the future.’

‘Be sure you do. Incidentally, I had a message an hour ago. O’Neill is dead.’

Chaloner stared at him in shock. ‘How?’

‘Something eroded his guts. Perhaps it was the strain of knowing that, although he lied and plotted to be made Postmaster, he was unequal to running an efficient operation. His wife has been appointed in his stead.’

‘Well, she did keep saying she could do a better job.’

‘Unfortunately, her husband’s death has undermined her confidence, so she has asked me to oblige in her stead. It is a burden, of course, but I have acceded to her request.’

Chaloner’s mind raced. Was he to understand that Williamson had dispatched O’Neill to gain control of the Post Office?

‘No,’ said Williamson indignantly, seeing what he was thinking. ‘Of course not.’

‘Yet I seriously doubt he died of natural causes. It is too convenient. Would you like me to investigate? It will delay my journey to Russia, but—’

‘There is no need. If you must know, Bishop sent him a gift of dried fruits as a peace offering. O’Neill was a fool to have eaten them, but there is nothing we can do about it now, and it is politically disadvantageous to make it known that one Postmaster has murdered another.’

‘Bishop is not the
culprit,’ said Chaloner, thinking Williamson a fool for thinking so. ‘How could he send poisoned fruits from gaol? I imagine you have him well guarded.’

Williamson frowned. ‘Well, yes, I do. So who is the culprit, then? The Major?’

‘Well, he was in the Tower for two days before being sent to the Scilly Isles, which would have given him ample time to organise deadly gifts. He has been a prisoner there long enough to know how to bribe his turnkeys.’

Williamson shook his head slowly. ‘God save me from fanatics!’

As it was a fine day, and the snow lay thick and pretty on the ground, the Court repaired to St James’s Park for the afternoon. Chaloner rode with the Earl in his private carriage. Foundations were being dug for a new house near the grounds’ entrance, and as they passed, the Earl explained that it was for Storey. The curator’s experience with the poisoners had taught him that he needed to be nearer his charges, so he intended to leave his cottage in Post House Yard. The area around the new building was already being called Storey’s Gate by Londoners.

They arrived at the Canal to find Lady Castlemaine entertaining everyone by designing a line of snowmen in lewd positions. The King stood with his hands on his hips, guffawing heartily, and his courtiers clustered around him to titter. With a prudish glower, the Earl hammered on the ceiling of the carriage to tell his coachman to drive on. Mocking laughter followed.

‘She becomes more
disgusting every day,’ the Earl declared. ‘It is a pity the Major did not arrange to assassinate her. I cannot imagine how he convinced Stokes and Cliffe to aim for Palmer, who is more decent and honourable than the rest of Court put together.’

‘She is too well guarded,’ explained Chaloner. ‘But Palmer was an easy target, because he lives outside White Hall. Besides, there was the excuse of his book.’

‘I have read it. A gentle, erudite piece of work, with nothing to inflame. It will do no good, of course. Catholics are unpopular in England, and there is nothing he or anyone else can do about it.’

As they passed the Canal, Chaloner saw the ducks, swans and geese in their usual haunt at the water’s edge. The crane with the wooden leg strutted among them, and a flamingo preened nearby. He was glad they were safe from the Major’s machinations.

‘Le Notre has gone home,’ said the Earl conversationally. ‘He left magnificent plans for Greenwich, but told the King that nothing can be done for this park. I do not suppose you discovered whether he was a French spy, did you?’

‘No, he was just what he appeared: an eccentric landscape architect. Morland tried to confuse me by saying he was Oxenbridge’s friend, but it was a lie.’

‘Morland,’ mused the Earl. ‘You may be pleased to know that he is no longer in my service. He had the temerity to inform me that I should reward him for the dangers he had suffered, so I told him he was no longer needed. He will leave for France tomorrow, to join his wife.’

Chaloner frowned. ‘He has married Widow Smith already?’

The Earl chortled. ‘He cannot do that as long as he is wed to his French lass. I cannot imagine Widow Smith will be pleased when she learns she has been tricked out of her fortune, because I think she fancies herself in love.’

‘Christ!’ muttered Chaloner, stunned
yet again by the secretary’s nerve.

‘Are you ready to leave for Archangel?’ asked the Earl, changing the subject abruptly. ‘I received word earlier that the ship I chartered will be ready to sail on tonight’s tide. But do not look so glum. I have heard the Russians are very cultured.’

One of the ducks released a raucous laugh, and Chaloner felt no more needed to be said. He had finished reading Olearius’s
Voyages
, and was dreading the ordeal that lay ahead of him.

‘They have music,’ said the Earl encouragingly. ‘And I am sure they eat a more varied diet than salted fish and black bread. Besides, my despatches are important. I could not trust them to anyone else.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Chaloner flatly.

‘It is true.’ The Earl lowered his voice. ‘They ask for the Tsar’s assistance in the event that we lose the war with the Dutch, and may mean the difference between survival and oblivion. Needless to say, no one at Court knows what I am doing. To entertain the possibility of defeat is treason, and these letters will see me executed if they fall into the wrong hands.’

Chaloner was slightly mollified. The Earl was not obliged to appraise him of what the documents contained, and he appreciated being taken into his confidence.

‘I am sending a case of
valuable jewels, too,’ the Earl went on. ‘As a bribe. And to be frank, you are the only man I know who will not make off with it. It represents a fortune, and will be a great temptation to anyone who is less than scrupulous.’

Chaloner supposed he would have to develop a dishonest streak in the future, if integrity was to be rewarded with treks to the frozen north.

*   *   *

The ship bound for Archangel slipped her moorings, and slid soundlessly down the river on the evening tide, her masts and spars stark against the darkening sky. Two men stood side by side and watched her disappear. It was a cloudless evening, so the temperature was already beginning to plummet, and their breath plumed in front of them as they spoke.

‘Chaloner will not have a comfortable time of it,’ said Morland, his small face pinched with cold and spite. ‘The Earl could not have picked a worse month to send him.’

‘Was an alliance with Russia Clarendon’s idea?’ asked Dorislaus. ‘Or yours?’

Morland smirked. ‘I may have suggested that the Tsar might help in the event of a catastrophe, and that it would be wise to secure his good graces in advance. But it is actually sound advice.’

‘I suppose it is,’ acknowledged Dorislaus. ‘However, I cannot imagine what “good authority” told him that Archangel will be ice-free this winter. Any fool will know it is not.’

‘Really?’ asked Morland innocently. ‘Perhaps I should not have introduced him to a certain sea-captain with a novel theory about tides, sea temperatures and the moon, then. At least, not one who has resided in Bedlam for the last twenty years.’

Dorislaus laughed. ‘But your vitriol against Chaloner is misplaced. He did not burgle your house or put you in that invidious position with Widow Smith. He would not have dared.’

‘Yes, he would, and he
does not like me. However, the Archangel jaunt has nothing to do with them – it is in revenge for him being suspicious of me at the end of the Commonwealth.’

‘But he was right: you
had
changed sides.’

‘Yes, but I did not appreciate him telling Thurloe so. It might have seen me killed.’

‘True, and I am glad he did not voice the similar doubts he held about me. I did “lose” his reports, of course, but I would not have wanted Thurloe to know.’

‘You were a Dutch agent?’ asked Morland in surprise.

‘I still am. My father was murdered by Englishmen, and I have never liked this country.’

‘Lord!’ breathed Morland. ‘I am all admiration for your skills. Thurloe has never guessed, and it is not easy to deceive him, as I can attest from personal experience. He thinks of you as a friend.’

Dorislaus nodded. ‘But it was harder to convince Chaloner – he even doubted my loyalty when I helped him escape from Harper, spending a horribly uncomfortable day crushed inside a priest’s hole with him in order to do so.’

‘Why did you not let Harper catch him?’

‘At the time, I thought he would be more useful alive.’

‘You should not have sacrificed Oxenbridge to save him from being speared, either,’ admonished Morland. ‘It eliminated the last of his doubts about you, but it was a high price to pay.’

‘Oxenbridge was dying anyway, and Thurloe was watching. It would not have been necessary if Gardner, Freer and Rea had been halfway competent – I sent Chaloner to the Letter Hall so they could kill him. Perhaps I should not have encouraged him to investigate the Post Office in the first place.’

‘No,’ agreed Morland. ‘I know you
thought his meddling would distract Gery, and they would keep each other in check, but his enquiries almost led to my arrest with Harper and the other corrupt clerks. It was only my clever tongue that saved me – along with a hefty purse and the fact that he was too hoarse to speak.’

Dorislaus gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Chaloner, Gery, Clarendon, Williamson, even Thurloe. None are a match for you, and I was never concerned for your safety.’

Morland inclined his head. ‘I shall take that as a compliment.’

‘Do you know who killed O’Neill, by the way? It was not the Major – his yeomen were too angry about the murder of their two fellows to give him any concessions.’

Morland’s face went dark with malice. ‘He should not have told Williamson that I tried to sell
him
my letter-opening machine before I hawked it to Bishop. Well, perhaps I did make an offer, but it was ungentlemanly of him to mention it to a Spymaster.’

‘How did you do it?’

‘Oxenbridge had some of the toxin left over, and I managed to lay hold of it before Thurloe raided his home. I put it in a gift of dried fruits with a message saying it was from the brothel in Hercules’ Pillars Alley. Unfortunately, he must have destroyed the note – probably out of fear of his wife – because there have been no reprisals against the place.’

‘What has the club done to earn your bile?’

‘Temperance would not let me in,’ said Morland sulkily. ‘She called me slippery.’

‘It is a pity the
Major failed,’ said Dorislaus, changing the subject before he was asked to disagree. ‘I had hoped that the letter I wrote him – in cipher, but right under Chaloner’s nose – would save the day, but he was arrogant and did not bother to read it. Thus it was the right time to change my allegiance.’

‘I suspect you changed it rather sooner than that,’ remarked Morland wryly. ‘Or you would not have made such a fuss about Mary Wood.’

Dorislaus’s expression was grim. ‘The Woods were my friends, and there was no need to have killed her. Oxenbridge should not have given Gardner that order. In fact, Gardner should not have been hired at all. He was a fool. Did you know he offered me a substantial bribe to join the Major? Me, the man who gave the Major most of his ideas in the first place!’

‘Your indignant refusal made him think you were incorruptible,’ said Morland, laughing.

‘So the idiot left clues to make Chaloner think that I was part of the plot,’ said Dorislaus crossly. ‘He thought he was protecting the Major by leaving a “false” trail, but the reality was that I was one of the rebellion’s most vital components. It is as well he died in the fire, or I would have to shoot him, too.’

‘I should have liked being Secretary of State in the Major’s new government,’ said Morland with a wistful smile. ‘And you would have made a splendid Spymaster – as I am sure the Dutch would agree.’

‘We shall try again,’ vowed Dorislaus. ‘The comet is a sign that we must.’

‘Well, we will not need to worry about Chaloner,’ said Morland, turning to look at the ship as it disappeared into the dusk. ‘He will not survive his journey.’

‘Yes – because Archangel will be ice-bound, and the boat will founder and sink.’

‘And because he is
not carrying the letters that Clarendon wrote to the Tsar. They are powerful evidence of treason, so I stole them. That will teach him to dismiss me.’

Dorislaus stared at him. ‘If you have the originals, then what is Chaloner carrying?’