The Body in the Thames (10 page)

Bulteel sniffed. ‘It would not surprise me to learn that Hanse is innocent of stealing the Earl’s documents, and that the
real culprits are
them
. They are thieves, after all.’

Chaloner left White Hall, but had not taken many steps towards Drury Lane when he saw two familiar figures. He glanced around,
but there was nowhere to hide, and he was reluctant to go back the way he had come, lest it was seen as a retreat – and he
did not want the men who were striding towards him to think he was frightened of them. Or worse, that he had something to
hide.

Spymaster Williamson, tall, aloof and haughty, was clad in well-tailored clothes that boasted an inordinate amount of ribbon.
He blamed Chaloner for the death of a friend, and had proved himself to be a dangerous enemy. He was with Sir George Downing,
a large, florid man in a coat that was too tight for his paunch. Downing was a decade older than Chaloner, and his eyebrows
had turned grey. Perhaps his hair had, too, but it was concealed under a sumptuous black wig. Uncharitably, Chaloner wondered
whether the two men were together because no one else wanted their company.

‘I thought
you
would be dead by now,’ said Downing, regarding Chaloner in distaste as their paths converged.
‘You led a very precarious life when you worked for me.’

Downing was a deeply repellent individual. He had changed sides with greasy aplomb when the Common wealth fell, and in order
to prove himself to his new masters, had kidnapped three of his own friends – regicides, who had signed the old king’s death
warrant – and smuggled them back to England to face the horrors of a traitors’ death. His self-serving actions had shocked
even Royalists, although Downing had genuinely failed to understand why.

Williamson gave one of his ambiguous smiles. ‘He leads a precarious life here, too. Why, only two days ago, he solved the
White Hall thefts. My people have been investigating those since April, but with no success. Yet Chaloner comes to London
and has the culprits exposed within a fortnight.’

Chaloner could tell, from the malignant gleam in Williamson’s eye, that he was seething. It was not the first time he had
exposed the ineptitude of the intelligence services, and Williamson would certainly resent it. But, he thought, if Williamson
did not want his people revealed as deficient, then he either needed to invest more money in their training, or hire more
capable ones.

‘I had nothing to do with that,’ said Downing, very quickly. ‘It was not my fault they forged the testimonials that convinced
me to hire them as stewards. Indeed, I am as much a victim as anyone.’

‘Of course,’ Williamson went on, ignoring him, ‘it is a pity Chaloner trapped them in a way that earned them instant popularity.
My intelligencers would not have made that mistake.’

‘No,’ acknowledged Chaloner, suspecting that Kicke
and Nisbett would have been quietly dispatched, to save the country the expense of a trial.

Williamson looked down his long nose at him. ‘So what task has your Earl assigned to you now the thieves are caught? This
business of blackmail?’

‘Blackmail?’ asked Chaloner, not understanding.

‘You do not know?’ Williamson’s expression was smug. ‘I thought you were a decent spy – that nothing happened in White Hall
without your knowledge.’

‘Much as it pains me to admit it, he was the best intelligencer I ever had,’ said Downing before Chaloner could reply. ‘He
is cunning, resourceful, brave and daring, and nothing was beyond him.’

‘Why did you dismiss him, then?’ asked Williamson. ‘And do not say it was because he was committed to serving the Commonwealth,
because my researches suggest he was nothing of the sort. Like many men, he owns a loyalty to his country, not to any particular
faction.’

Chaloner did not know he had been the subject of ‘researches’, and was astonished that the Spymaster should deem him sufficiently
important for what was probably a costly exercise.

‘If you say so,’ said Downing. He chuckled suddenly. ‘Did I tell you about the time he burgled Grand Pensionary de Witt’s
bedchamber? The place was heavily guarded, because de Witt was asleep in it at the time. Well, he is the Dutch head of state,
so of course they are protective of him.’

Chaloner could scarcely believe his ears. Downing knew it was bad form to chat about the past exploits of intelligencers –
treaties between countries had been torn up for less. Then there was the danger to the spy himself, although Downing would
not care about that.

‘This is not a story for—’ he began, trying to mask his horror.

‘He evaded all the guards, and crept past the slumbering de Witt,’ Downing went on, smirking. ‘Then he stole the key to the
strongbox where de Witt kept his most secret papers. He opened that box, emptied its contents into a sack, and brought them
to me. I had an hour to read them, after which he put all back as he had found it. The Dutch never knew he had been.’

Williamson raised his eyebrows. ‘You had better hope this tale does not find its way to the Savoy, Chaloner, because I doubt
the Dutch delegation will find it very amusing.’

‘No,’ agreed Downing slyly. ‘They might have him assassinated. And good riddance! It will teach him to embarrass me by arresting
two of my stewards. Why could he not have dealt with the matter discreetly? He did not have to do it in front of the whole
Court.’

Chaloner had not really considered the implications for Downing when he had tackled Nisbett and Kicke, not that he would have
acted any differently if he had. As far as he was concerned, it was Downing’s own fault for hiring villains.

‘I do not care if he is executed by the Dutch,’ said Williamson. ‘But I
do
care about the peace talks. Please do not share this tale of de Witt’s bedchamber with anyone else.’

‘Peace!’ sneered Downing. ‘There is no hope of that.’

Williamson regarded him in surprise. ‘I thought you were summoned back from The Hague to assist with the negotiations – to
help avert needless hostilities.’

Downing winked at him. ‘I was summoned back. Let us leave it at that.’

Williamson’s expression was dark. ‘War with the States-General is not a good idea. It will cost a lot of money, for a start
– money we do not have. I am hoping for an amicable solution.’

‘Well, I am not,’ declared Downing baldly. ‘As Envoy Extraordinary, I will be able to claim a much higher income if I am stationed
in hostile territory.’

Williamson’s jaw dropped. ‘You would put personal gain above duty to country?’

Downing raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, come, Williamson! You are as unscrupulous a rogue as I have ever met, so do not pretend
you are full of lofty principles.’

‘You mentioned blackmail,’ said Chaloner, when Williamson did not seem to have an answer. And while Chaloner was amused by
his discomfiture, it seemed prudent to steer the discussion to other matters.

‘Several high-ranking courtiers have received letters,’ explained Williamson, although he continued to stare at Downing. ‘They
demand large sums of money in exchange for silence about delicate secrets. Obviously, I cannot disclose names, but the victims
are extremely distressed.’

Downing sniggered. ‘I imagine so! I have heard that one is being threatened with the exposure of an unmarried sister’s pregnancy,
while another had a duel in which he killed an opponent. These are not tales “high-ranking courtiers” will want bandied about.’

‘How do
you
know?’ demanded Williamson, rounding on him. ‘These gentlemen came to me in confidence, and no one else is supposed to be
party to the details of their transgressions.’

‘I have my spies, just as you have yours,’ replied Downing, tapping the side of his nose in a way that was
calculated to irritate. ‘But do not worry: these courtiers’ misdeeds are safe with me.
I
shall not reveal your department as the source of scurrilous gossip.’

Chaloner could tell by the fury in Williamson’s eyes that Downing had just earned himself an enemy. Downing was a fool, he
thought – the Spymaster had all manner of ruthless villains at his disposal, and was not above making nuisances disappear.

Downing doffed his hat, grinning malevolently. ‘I must bid you good day, gentlemen. I am expected at the Savoy, so I had better
make an appearance. We cannot offend the Dutch, eh?’

He swaggered away. Chaloner was tempted to broach the subject of the Sinon Plot – Williamson was, after all, one of those
who knew about it – but the Spymaster’s dark, angry expression suggested it would not be a good time.

‘I am beginning to understand why so many people hate him,’ Williamson said between gritted teeth. ‘No wonder he was posted
to the States-General. It was to keep him out of London!’

Relieved to be away from two of the most odious men in the city, Chaloner strode towards Drury Lane. The afternoon was so
hot that even the pigeons were wilting, and the air was thick with dust. By the time he arrived, he felt sweaty and soiled,
and sooty smudges covered his clothes. He wiped his face on his sleeve, brushed himself down as well as he could, and knocked
on Compton’s door.

A maid conducted him to a large, pleasant parlour overlooking the street. All the windows had been flung open in an attempt
to catch a breeze, but the room was stifling even so.

Sir William Compton, Master of Ordnance and Member of Parliament for Cambridge, was a devoted Royalist, but was honourable
enough to be popular with Parliamentarians, too. That afternoon, he was slumped in a cushion-filled chair, a damp cloth on
his forehead and his eyes closed. Chaloner glanced uncomfortably at the maid, sure she should not have admitted him while
her master was so clearly indisposed.

‘It is all right,’ said Compton, looking up tiredly. ‘I am not dying.’

Chaloner was not so sure, because Compton looked terrible. He was an unhealthy greenish colour, and his eyes were sunken.
Sweat dampened his hair, and a bowl had been placed near his head.

‘If you are unwell, I can come back another time.’ Chaloner was eager for information, but was not so ruthless as to pester
a sick man for it. Spy he might be, but he had his scruples.

‘It is just the heat,’ said Compton. ‘And you are doubtless here on the Lord Chancellor’s behalf. As I said the last time
you visited, I applaud his efforts to broker peace with the Dutch, and if I can do anything to assist him, I am at your service.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I confronted Kicke,’ Compton went on. ‘About his forging a testimonial from me in order to acquire himself a post with Downing.
I had dismissed him for theft, if you recall.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He denied writing the report himself. I pressed him, and eventually he claimed that if there
was
a character reference from me, then it was penned by someone who wished him ill.’

‘Someone who wished him ill would not have produced such a fulsome recommendation.’

‘I know he was lying,’ said Compton wryly. ‘Just as he was lying when he professed to have the good of White Hall at heart
when he stole. Lady Castlemaine is a fool to hire him, because he will cheat her. But he is no longer our concern, thank God.
How may I help you this time?’

‘Clarendon sent me to ask questions about the Sinon Plot.’

Compton regarded him in horror. ‘I cannot talk about that! I swore a sacred vow never to break my silence, and I take such
matters seriously.’

Chaloner hesitated, but then forged on, wanting Compton to know why it was important. ‘A Dutch diplomat was murdered on Friday.’

Compton struggled upright in his chair. ‘What Dutch diplomat?’

‘Willem Hanse. He left a message mentioning Sinon, along with an instruction telling the recipient to visit Newgate.’

‘Did he?’ Compton was aghast. ‘But the only people who are supposed to know about Sinon are the perpetrators, the Privy Council,
Spymaster Williamson, and me.’

‘And the gaolers at Newgate,’ added Chaloner, thinking it a substantial list. The Privy Council comprised a dozen men, few
of whom were noted for their discretion.

Compton gave a humourless bark of laughter. ‘Hardly! Williamson has an arrangement with Newgate’s Keeper. One wing, deep underground,
is for his exclusive use, and his wardens never go anywhere near it. That is where the would-be perpetrators of the Sinon
Plot are being held.’

‘Did they have a trial?’ said Chaloner uneasily. ‘In a court of law?’

‘The Privy Council did not want the affair made public. The culprits were quietly incarcerated, and there they will remain
until they die.’

Chaloner could not help but shudder. The notion that such a place existed was bad enough, but the admission that its inhabitants
comprised people who had been denied an opportunity to prove their innocence was appalling.

‘I really cannot talk about this,’ warned Compton. ‘I took a vow.’

‘I appreciate that, but Hanse is dead, and it seems he thought the Sinon Plot was important – he left several messages about
it. He was a good man, and I would like to bring his killer to justice. But I cannot, unless I know more about this business.’

Compton looked troubled. ‘Then ask your questions. Perhaps I shall be able to answer without breaking my oath.’

‘Why does the Privy Council want the matter kept quiet? It is only the theft of a few jewels.’

‘A few jewels?’ echoed Compton, shocked. ‘These are the
crown
jewels, man! They cost more than twelve thousand pounds. Cromwell sold off the old ones, if you recall, so we had to commission
a new set. Have you ever seen them?’

‘No. I was out of the country when the King was invested.’

Compton smiled. ‘Actually, I was asking whether you had visited them in the Tower. You can buy a viewing for a few pennies,
and it is well worth the expense.
I
think they are magnificent.’

‘How far had the plot gone before you discovered it?’ asked Chaloner, hoping he could avoid the experience. The Tower was
a prison, as well as a repository for the King’s baubles.

‘The culprits had befriended the Assistant Keeper of the Jewels, drawn up plans of the Tower, and hired a carriage in which
to escape. Unfortunately for them, I overheard their discussion in the Feathers tavern on Cheapside. I reported it to your
Earl, and we went together to the Spymaster. Williamson spent several days investigating, then gave the order for the culprits’
arrest.’