Murder on High Holborn (17 page)

‘Then you have ten days to stop it,’ said the Earl, calculating on his fingers. ‘But I am expecting visitors in a few moments, and their business concerns you, so you might as well wait here and meet them.’

Before Chaloner could point out that his cover would certainly be compromised if he attended conferences in the Earl’s chambers, there was a rap on the door, and he had only just ducked behind the curtain when Kipps entered.

‘A Mr Lee and a Mr Smith, sir,’ the Seal Bearer announced. ‘I will tell them to return later if you are busy.’

‘You will do no such thing.’ It was Rupert, who did not understand that it took more than a cloak and a false name to conceal his identity. He was with Williamson, whose disguise was not much better, although he had at least covered his face with a scarf.

Chaloner was bemused. Rupert and the Earl hated each other, while neither had much time for Williamson, so what was happening that necessitated a secret meeting between the three of them?

‘Thank you, Kipps,’ said the Earl crisply. ‘Ensure we are not disturbed, if you please.’

‘Must you keep the fire so high?’ grumbled Rupert, flinging off his cloak and going to douse it. A selfish individual, it did not occur to him that someone else might be cold.

‘Chaloner is here,’ said the Earl, pursing his lips at the Prince’s presumption, but making no effort to check him. ‘You can hear his report for yourselves.’

‘Good,’ said Rupert, as Chaloner stepped out of the shadows. ‘The Fifth Monarchists are causing the government considerable concern, so I hope you have something useful to tell us.’

Chaloner’s confusion intensified. He understood why Williamson would want to be kept informed, but why should the matter concern Rupert? He decided to be economical with the facts until they told him what was going on. ‘Not really.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Williamson waspishly. ‘You have had three days now.’

‘He has discovered that there will be trouble on Easter Day,’ said the Earl, shooting Chaloner an irritable glance for his caginess. ‘And they have a Sanhedrin that includes Jones and Strange.’

‘We knew that already,’ snapped Rupert. Williamson nodded, but Chaloner could tell from the Earl’s raised eyebrows that they had not shared the information with him. ‘What have you learned that is
new
?’

Chaloner regarded him levelly. ‘If you tell me what you have discovered to date, I will not waste your time by regaling you with details that you already have.’

‘Don’t you take that tone with me,’ snarled Rupert. ‘How dare you!’

‘He cannot help himself,’ explained the Earl tiredly. ‘He is even insolent to me on occasion – the man who pays his wages.’

Or not, thought Chaloner acidly. He addressed Williamson, hoping the Spymaster would listen to reason. ‘You need to allocate more men to monitor these rebels. You are right to be concerned: Jones and Strange in particular are unpredictable zealots.’

Williamson sighed. ‘I wish I could, but all my people are busy with the war.’

‘Besides, this is a sensitive business, and we cannot have half of London knowing about it,’ interposed Rupert. ‘They might decide to join these villains, and then where would we be?’

‘But half of London probably
does
know,’ argued Chaloner. ‘I counted two hundred people at a meeting yesterday, while there are reports of ten thousand more waiting for orders. You cannot have that many folk enrolled and expect to keep it quiet.’

‘But it
is
being kept quiet,’ said Williamson worriedly. ‘There has not been so much as a whisper of it in the coffee houses. And believe me, I listen for such tales.’

Chaloner turned to the Earl, although his remarks were intended for all three. ‘There is clearly more to this case than you have revealed, sir. If you were to give me the whole story, I am far more likely to find the answers you—’

‘No,’ interrupted Rupert firmly. ‘What you do not know, you cannot reveal, should you fall into the wrong hands. You must work within the limits we set.’

That instruction told Chaloner for certain that they were hiding something. Moreover, it had to be something unusually troublesome, or the three men would not have formed an alliance – especially one that necessitated donning disguises when they met. However, Chaloner could tell from the Earl’s baffled expression that he did not know the full particulars either. He was being used, and Chaloner suspected it would not be Rupert or Williamson who would pay the price should anything go wrong.

‘I am likely to discover it anyway,’ he persisted. ‘Telling me now will save time, which we cannot afford to waste if we are to prevent—’

‘I said no,’ repeated Rupert harshly. ‘All we want from you is a list of every filthy rebel who meets in these sordid taverns, and a rough idea of what they plan to do. Personally, I do not see why Leving could not have managed on his own, but Williamson said we should recruit you.’

‘I have never trusted turncoats,’ explained the Spymaster. ‘And Leving is low on wits. This affair is too important to entrust to him alone.’

‘Important?’ pounced Chaloner. ‘Surely, it is just another rebellion? The same as the dozens of others that have rumbled since the Restoration.’

‘This one is more pressing,’ said Rupert tightly. ‘But that is all we are prepared to tell you. Now get out there and learn what we need to know.’

He turned on his heel and stalked out, leaving Williamson to run after him with the cloak that would provide his disguise. Wordlessly, the Earl went to stoke up the fire that Rupert had savaged, but his inept prodding threatened to extinguish it altogether, so Chaloner went to help him.

‘I am not sure I can manage this investigation on my own, sir,’ he said quietly, once the blaze had been restored. ‘Not without understanding what is really going on.’

‘You will cope,’ replied the Earl, not looking at him. ‘And I cannot afford to cross Rupert or Williamson. I stand a better chance of staying in power if they are on my side.’

‘They will not support you if I fail,’ warned Chaloner. ‘And I have a bad feeling about the whole affair. Rupert’s interest makes no sense.’

‘Not to me, either,’ admitted the Earl. ‘But we had better do as he says. I will almost certainly lose my position on the Privy Council without his backing, while you will be unemployed if I am ousted. It is a wretched situation, but it cannot be helped.’

Chaloner left the Earl’s offices as stealthily as he had arrived, but had not gone far before he saw two cloaked figures huddled behind a buttress. It was not a good place for a private discussion, because it was absurdly easy for anyone to approach unseen and eavesdrop. Williamson kept his voice to a discreet murmur, but Rupert was more used to bawling orders on battlefields, so although Chaloner had to strain to catch everything the Spymaster said, he had no trouble at all with the Prince’s side of the conversation.

‘…would be a catastrophe if that happened,’ Rupert was hissing. ‘A disaster.’

‘More financial than tactical, though,’ said Williamson. ‘And I cannot help but wonder whether you place too much value on it.’

‘Nonsense! It will turn the tide of this war and all wars in the future.’ The Prince lowered his voice, and Chaloner heard the greed in it. ‘Although the money is no small concern, of course.’

‘In that case, your people should have been more careful. Especially John Browne. This is a distraction I could do without – I should be concentrating on the Dutch.’

‘It is a distraction
I
could do without, too,’ snapped Rupert. ‘I wish to God you trusted more of your people, because Clarendon’s spy is right – we
should
allocate more men to this matter.’

‘Then use your influence on the Privy Council to win me more funding,’ Williamson flashed. ‘You cannot expect men to stay loyal for the pittance I am able to pay.’

‘Then are you sure Chaloner can be trusted? I doubt Clarendon is a generous paymaster.’

‘He is a bizarre exception to the rule.’

‘He will have his price,’ said Rupert bitterly. ‘Just like the men who put me in this situation in the first place. But can he stop these villains before it is too late? He did not seem to understand the urgency of the matter.’

‘Because you refused to tell him.’

‘I could not bring myself to do it – I hate spies. Still, if he fails, it will not be us who bear the blame. That will be Clarendon’s prerogative, and I shall delight in watching his fall from grace.’

‘You promised to protect him,’ said Williamson, startled. ‘That was the agreement.’

‘What agreement?’ asked Rupert slyly. ‘I signed nothing. And Privy Council meetings will be a lot more fun without him whining for peace at every turn. I cannot abide pacifists.’

‘You do surprise me,’ said Williamson drily.

When they had gone, Chaloner mulled over what he had heard. Who was John Browne, and how was he associated with whatever was unfolding? Should the Earl be warned that Rupert had no intention of honouring whatever arrangement had been made, or was he politician enough to know it? Chaloner certainly hoped so, because it would not be easy to say that the King’s cousin was a duplicitous scoundrel with no honour.

Because so many people wanted to see
The Parson’s Dream
, the Privy Gallery was crowded, and virtually everyone was gossiping. Much of the talk was about HMS
London
– Catholics were to blame, of course, as they always were when something exploded. There was chat about Ferine, too, and amused whispers about Lambe’s new name for Clarendon House. There was, however, nothing about thirty fanatics forming a Sanhedrin and planning something nasty for Easter Day.

Kipps was there, so Chaloner asked him to point out Odowde and Hubbert. The Seal Bearer directed him to two unexceptional men in brown wigs and dowdy clothes. The only thing that made them distinct was that Hubbert had a black eye. They were with several people who had gathered near the window, and Chaloner saw they were listening in rapt attention to Dr Lambe. The sorcerer was wearing his star-spangled coat, and was speaking in a low hiss that had his audience straining forward to hear.

‘…of Venus. And that is always a bad sign.’

‘Oh,’ breathed silly Lady Muskerry, her eyes huge in her bovine face. ‘That is worrisome. The last time you mentioned Venus, the ship
London
sank.’

‘Yes, I predicted it,’ said Lambe smugly. ‘And I predict that the engineers will fail when they try to pull her from the seabed next week. Lawson is wrong to say the venture will succeed.’

His voice assumed an eerie timbre as he pronounced these words, and a frisson of fear rippled through his audience. He seemed to grow in size as he spoke, and although Chaloner knew it was a trick, he had to admit that Lambe did it very well.

‘I intend to watch,’ said Buckingham, who was standing next to his protégé in a slightly possessive manner. ‘No matter what happens, it promises to be a spectacle.’

‘Because of the bodies?’ asked Lady Muskerry ghoulishly. ‘They will have been in the water for nigh on a fortnight by then, and will not be a pretty sight.’

A wave of excitement ran through the listeners, and Chaloner was hard-pressed to stay in the shadows and not surge forward to tell them what he thought of their unseemly fascination with the disaster. He was glad when the discussion moved to other matters.

‘What does the new comet mean, Lambe?’ asked Will Chiffinch, a man whose main function at Court was to furnish the King with whores when his mistress was unavailable. ‘What disasters loom for us in the future?’

‘Perhaps the war,’ said Lambe, making a sudden peculiar motion with his hand that had Lady Muskerry scooting back with a shriek of alarm. Giggling at herself, she edged closer again.

‘What about the war?’ pressed Chiffinch. ‘Will we win?’

‘Possibly.’ Lambe folded his hands inside his sleeves and bent his head in a curious and disconcerting imitation of a medieval monk. ‘Or we will lose.’

Chaloner smothered a smirk as the listeners exchanged awed glances, thinking even the dimmest halfwit should know that it would be one or the other. But Lambe possessed charisma in abundance, and it was this that made people accept his pronouncements without stopping to analyse them first. At that moment Odowde stepped forward.

‘I do not believe in fortune telling,’ he declared. ‘Why should we accept what you say?’

Lambe looked up slowly, an expression on his face that unnerved even Chaloner. Those standing near Odowde eased away. Then the sorcerer raised a finger and pointed.

‘An ill will soon befall
you
,’ he intoned. The finger dropped to touch Odowde’s arm. ‘A tumble perhaps, or an assault. Regardless, it will be broken.’

Hubbert lifted a tentative hand to his bruised eye. ‘Take heed, Odowde. I ignored Dr Lambe’s prophecy and look what happened to me – punched by my own footman in a dispute over pay.’

Lambe inclined his head in acknowledgement, then spun on his heel and stalked away, his coat billowing behind him. It was a dramatic exit, and Chaloner was impressed by his skilful use of the theatrical.

‘He is quite a man,’ said Buckingham, gazing after him proudly. ‘The son of the fellow my father hired, who was viciously murdered by a mob some forty years ago. I am lucky to have him helping me.’

‘Helping you do what?’ asked Lady Muskerry in a hoarse whisper.

‘Discover the Philosopher’s Stone,’ replied Buckingham grandly. Chaloner looked for some indication that he was joking, but there was none.

‘What is the Philosopher’s Stone?’ breathed Lady Muskerry, agog.

‘The thing that turns base metal into gold,’ explained Buckingham. He spoke a little impatiently, as it was not something most people needed explaining. ‘I hired him to assist me with my experiments, but his ability to foresee the future is an added bonus. There are those who say that Ferine was better, but they are wrong. Lambe is by far the superior of the two.’

Lady Muskerry gulped. ‘Dr Lambe predicted that I would be with child by the end of the month, but I thought he was joking. Perhaps I should take heed, because my husband is away at the moment, and awkward questions would be asked…’