The Westminster Poisoner (54 page)

‘Very clever,’ grumbled Williamson. ‘But did you have to keep him here quite so long? It was hot in there, and I kept thinking
I would sneeze. What would I have said if he had caught me? I would have had to send Swaddell after him, and I do not want
him dead just yet – not after he encouraged the Earl to let me return the statue to the King. I am surprised. I did not think
he would do it.’

‘He will have his reasons,’ said Bulteel flatly. ‘And you can be sure they will have nothing to do with pleasing you. When
do you plan to deliver it to His Majesty?’

‘Tomorrow night, at a reception in which all the Court favourites will be present – Buckingham, Brodrick, Chiffinch, Lady
Castlemaine. I shall be feted.’

‘I am glad to hear it. But what did you think of my performance just now? Was it acceptable?’

Williamson smiled. ‘Actually, it was perfect. There is
nothing like arousing a man’s sympathy to keep him on your side. Chaloner already stands up for you when people make accusations,
and tonight you have sealed your blossoming friendship. His growing trust can only work in our favour.’

‘Good,’ said Bulteel. ‘Because I do not want him suspicious of me. He is protective of the Earl, and if he ever finds out
that
I
am one of those clerks who moves money from place to place – invariably to the Earl’s detriment – he will show me no mercy.’

‘Do not worry. He has no idea you are the biggest rogue in White Hall.’

‘Second biggest,’ retorted Bulteel, eyeing the Spymaster pointedly. ‘And speaking of rogues, I delivered Jones’s gold to the
Queen this afternoon.’

‘All of it?’ asked Williamson innocently.

Bulteel handed him a heavy purse and revealed his brown teeth in a conspiratorial grin. ‘Minus a commission, naturally.’

‘Naturally,’ said Williamson, returning the smirk as he slipped the coins into his pocket.

In July 1637, a carefully packed crate arrived in England, destined for Charles I’s burgeoning private art collection. It
was delivered by a man named Thomas Chambers, following a nerve-wracking journey that involved not only repelling pirates
and thieves, but over-zealous customs officials, too. The crate contained the newly completed bust of the king by Gianlorenzo
Bernini, a splendid masterpiece based on Van Dyck’s
Charles I, King of England, from Three Angles
. It was paid for by Queen Henrietta Maria, who sent a diamond ring worth £1000 to the sculptor. The bust, along with many
other masterpieces, was sold to raise quick cash during the Commonwealth, but was retrieved after the Restoration and put
on display in the royal Palace of Whitehall. Unfortunately, a devastating fire swept through the complex in 1685, and the
bust was one of its casualties.

Most of the deaths in
The Westminster Poisoner
really did occur between 1660 and early 1664. The first to go was Henry Scobel. He held several important and lucrative posts
during the Commonwealth, including Clerk of the Parliament (1649–58) and Clerk to the House of Lords
(1659–60). His nephew Will Symons (who married Margaret in 1656) was one of his heirs; Symons lost his post as underclerk
to the Secretary of State at the Restoration, and his kinship to a high-ranking Common-wealth official seems to have worked
against him finding other employment. Both Margaret and Scobel were said to have predicted the exact time of their own deaths,
and Margaret claimed to have seen Scobel standing at the foot of her bed not long before she died in December 1663.

Christopher Vine, of New Palace Yard, was a Chamberlain of the Receipt; he died in 1663. His son George went on to do the
same job, and owned the famous Westminster tavern called Hell. Francis Langston was appointed Sergeant at Arms to the Royal
Household in 1660, but was dead by March 1664. Edward Jones was a Yeoman of the Household Kitchen, and also died in 1664.
Thomas Greene worked in the Treasury department, and died in 1663. Alexander Haddon resigned his Court post in 1663, although
records do not tell us why.

Sir Nicholas Gold was a merchant and politician, who died in late-December 1663. He was married to Elizabeth, to whom he left
a huge estate. Within five months of Gold’s death, she had married the courtier Thomas Neale, who earned himself the nickname
of ‘Golden Neale’ for his success in wooing her. Neale became an MP, and speculated in all manner of overseas trade, making
and losing at least two fortunes. Elizabeth’s family objected to the match, and even resorted to swords to keep Neale away
from her. Neale was wounded in the ensuing fracas, but Elizabeth whisked him upstairs to bed, sent for a priest to recite
the marriage service, and presented her furious kin with a fait-accompli.

It is not surprising that the victorious Royalists should
want to wrest the best jobs from their Parliamentarian incumbents, and a number of competent, well-qualified officials were
dismissed to make way for the new order. One was John Thurloe, Spymaster General and advisor to Cromwell; he was living quietly
between Lincoln’s Inn and his Oxfordshire estate in 1663. Another was Thomas Doling, who had been Messenger to the Council
of State. However, two men managed to weather the changes and retain their positions: according to the diarist Samuel Pepys,
Matthias and Thomas Lea were the only under-clerks to the Council of State to be reappointed after the Restoration. Thomas
Lea was related by marriage to a Chancery clerk named James Chetwynd, who lodged with Richard Hargrave in St Martin’s Lane
and died in 1663. Thomas Lea, Will Symons and Hargrave were executors of Chetwynd’s will.

Notable courtiers and officials of the time include the Earl of Clarendon’s secretary, John Bulteel, and Joseph Williamson,
who inherited the intelligence services from Thurloe and had a clerk called John Swaddell. The brilliant and innovative Richard
Wiseman was appointed Surgeon to the Person in June 1660. Will Chiffinch was one of the more infamous of the Court debauchees,
and his wife was named Barbara. Lady Muskerry, said to be large and not especially lovely, was the butt of several unkind
jokes by wickedly spiteful courtiers, especially during the Twelve Days of Christmas – the Season of Misrule.

Poor Queen Katherine was in a sorry state in December 1663. She was still recovering from an illness that had almost killed
her, and was desperate to provide the King with an heir. She applied for funds to take the healing waters at Bath or Tunbridge
Wells, but was told she had already spent all her annual household allowance
of £40,000. Katherine was astounded: she had lived frugally, and her own accounts showed she was still owed £36,000. She petitioned
the Lord Treasurer, demanding to know what had happened to her money, but his main response seems to have been an apologetic
shrug. The £36,000 was gone, and there was no more to be had. It was July 1664 before funds were available for Katherine to
go to Tunbridge Wells, but the spa did not help her conceive. Lady Castlemaine, by contrast, had provided the King with two
sons by the end of 1663.

On the morning of 21 January 1664, Colonel James Turner was taken to the end of Lymestrete (Lime Street), where a scaffold
had been erected. A few days before, he had burgled the house of Francis Tryan, a wealthy merchant and money-lender, and made
off with £1050 in coins and £4000 in jewels. Turner may have been a solicitor, and had been employed by Tryan on several occasions.

Turner was the kind of man who gave cavaliers a bad name – there is no evidence that he was a real colonel, but he swaggered
around boasting of his military prowess, and his behaviour was outrageous. He claimed to have sired twenty-eight children
(counting only the ones born in wedlock), and on the scaffold, he announced to the crowd that his worst sin was swearing.
He gave an inordinately long speech as the executioner waited to do his duty, confident that the King would pardon him.
He had been warned that no such pardon would be forthcoming, but arrogant to the last, he refused to believe the King would
not rush to his rescue. His Majesty wisely remained aloof from the affair, and Turner was hanged in the afternoon before an
enormous crowd.