Blood on the Strand (29 page)

The table was set for nine people: Eaffrey and Behn sat at either end, and between were their guests. In the seat of honour
was Brodrick. Next to him was a pair of giggling adolescent girls. Chaloner had been listening to Scot furtively whispering
his latest discovery – that Fanning was suspected of smuggling guns to the Irish rebels – and had missed Eaffrey’s introduction,
but it did not matter, since neither child said a word to him all evening, and each time he tried to talk to them, their response
was to dissolve into paroxysms of helpless laughter.

‘Is there something wrong with them?’ he asked Scot in an undertone.

‘They were invited so Eaffrey would not be surrounded by too many men. Personally, I think she is being overly prudish. She
should dispense with the wool-heads and invite a couple of fellows from the Royal Society instead.
They
know how to entertain a man after dinner.’

‘Who are the last two guests?’ Just then, the door opened and they were ushered in. ‘Oh, no!’

It was Alice, clinging proprietarily to the arm of Richard Temple. She wore the yellow skirts she had donned for the ball,
and he was resplendent in a suit of blue satin, complemented by a highly laced pink shirt. Alice’s expression darkened when
she spotted Chaloner.

‘Lord!’ groaned Scot. ‘Eaffrey should have warned me. Now you two will squabble all night, and when I am not trying to keep
the peace, I shall be forced to smile and nod at the snake who wants my sister for her money. Eaffrey will be cross if I spoil
her party by being rude to the fellow.’

‘I would not have accepted this invitation had I known
you
were going to be here,’ said Alice, coming to speak to Chaloner when Temple and Brodrick began a barbed conversation in which
there was no room for anyone else – the spy and Scot’s prickly sister were not the only ones at the party who disliked each
other.

‘Please, Alice,’ said Scot quietly. ‘He is my friend.’

‘William!’ cried Alice in delight when she recognised her brother. She coloured furiously at the careless slip and lowered
her voice. ‘Your disguise certainly fooled me! Who are you meant to be?’

‘A Parisian perfume-maker. It is a ruse to insinuate myself into Brodrick’s company – he has the ears of powerful men, and
I want to talk to him about Thomas’s release. That is mostly why Eaffrey arranged this little gathering,
along with the fact that she wants to give Chaloner another chance to befriend Behn. I suppose Behn must have insisted on
asking Temple – to prove
he
has friends, too.’

‘Richard plans to nominate him as the next Master of the Guinea Company,’ explained Alice. ‘They are becoming firm allies,
and will probably discuss business all night. Lord! I hope that does not leave
me
talking to Chaloner.’

‘Please do not argue this evening,’ begged Scot of them both. ‘I cannot work on Brodrick if he is more interested in listening
to you two snipe at each other. And I would be grateful if you did not betray Chaloner, either, Alice. No one here knows his
real name, and I want it to stay that way.’

‘Why?’ demanded Alice. ‘Is he ashamed of his Parliamentarian connections, then?’

‘Because he is going to ask Lord Clarendon to help Thomas,’ replied Scot, knowing her weak spot. ‘If you expose him, you deprive
our brother of a possible means of escape.’

‘I suppose it is only for a few hours,’ said Alice begrudgingly. ‘And he
did
tell you about the Trulocke guns.’

Scot nodded. ‘Williamson now knows Thomas is innocent of buying illegal firearms, and if
he
is convinced, he will persuade others, too. Thomas’s situation is looking decidedly more promising.’

‘What are you three muttering about?’ asked Temple. Eaffrey had provided sweetmeats to hone the appetite before the meal,
and they contained nuts, which Temple’s gums could not accommodate. He spat them politely into his handkerchief, then shook
the linen out so they pattered to the floor.

‘
Mon Dieu
!’ exclaimed Scot, fluttering his fan. He flicked Temple’s collar with it. ‘I see you have trouble with the laundry, too.
They
will
wash the red with the white, and we shall all wear pink if they cannot be taught otherwise.’

Temple’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is supposed to be this colour. It is the fashion.’

Scot winked at him. ‘Of course, monsieur. That is what I shall say, too. We shall not allow these laundresses to defeat us,
n’est-ce pas
? I hear you are kin to Sir John Temple of the privy council. You are honoured to have such a man in your family. I have long
admired his horses.’

Temple nodded keenly, insults forgotten. ‘I like horses myself. If you come to Hyde Park tomorrow, I shall introduce you to
John, and you shall see the best of his collection.’

‘Good,’ murmured Alice in Scot’s ear. ‘John Temple is a powerful voice on the privy council, and may be able to help secure
our brother’s release. I should have thought of it myself.’

‘Yes, you should,’ Scot muttered back, a little unpleasantly.

Temple was ready to embark on a detailed discussion about horses, but Brodrick had picked up a candelabra, and was casually
admiring it. Instinctively, Temple’s hand went to the pate that had been dented when Clarendon’s cousin had last laid hold
of such an implement.

‘I understand you were obliged to call on the services of a surgeon at the Guinea Company dinner, Temple,’ said Chaloner,
immediately seeing a way to further his investigation.

Brodrick laughed derisively. ‘He remembers nothing about it – although the wine was responsible for that,
not the candlestick. A surgeon
was
summoned, although none of us recall which one.’

Temple glared. ‘And if the fellow was as drunk as
you
were that night, then I am lucky he did not saw off my head.’

The company was about to sit down to eat when the door opened yet again, and everyone was startled when Silence Webb glided
in. She was clad in a black gown to which had been attached a chaos of white ostrich feathers; Chaloner’s immediate thought
was that they made her look like an oversized magpie. Her plump fingers were encrusted with rings, and there were so many
necklaces under her chins that she glittered as she breathed.

‘Mrs Webb,’ stammered Behn. ‘We were not expecting you.’

‘I heard you were planning a soirée,’ said Silence with a leer. ‘And when you came to console me for the death of my Matthew,
you were kind enough to say that I could visit you at
any
time. I am sure you have room for a little one at your dinner table.’

‘Of course you must join us,’ said Eaffrey graciously, moving forward to take Silence’s arm. It took a lot more than an uninvited
guest to disconcert her. ‘Please come and sit down. We shall make space for you between this handsome French perfumer and—’

‘No, thank you!’ said Silence, regarding Scot with deep suspicion. ‘I do not like the look of him at all. I shall sit between
Mr Behn and Lord Clarendon’s aide. Mr Heyden and I are old friends. I knew his kinsman, old Thomas Chaloner, you see.’

‘Chaloner?’ pounced Behn. ‘You mean the regicide? Heyden is kin to him?’

‘He is not,’ said Eaffrey firmly. ‘Although Silence is not the first to notice the uncanny resemblance. Mr Heyden is a mercantile
clerk from Manchester, in London to make his fortune by working in White Hall.’

Silence sighed, disappointed. ‘Pity. Old Chaloner was such an amusing man. He was always playing jokes and could put away
more wine than my Matthew, which is saying something! But I shall still sit next to Mr Heyden, anyway. He will welcome the
opportunity to get to know me better.’

‘Will he?’ asked Eaffrey, while Chaloner tried, by covert signals and desperate glances, to tell her he would not. ‘Then I
shall arrange for your place to be set at his side.’

‘Well, come on, then,’ said Silence, plumping herself down and producing a large spoon from the front of her robe. ‘Grab a
seat and let us be at the food before it gets cold. I could eat a horse.’

‘I am sure she could,’ murmured Scot to Chaloner, as they took their designated seats. ‘So make sure she does not eat you,
too.’

Silence’s rearrangements meant Chaloner was sandwiched between her and Alice, and he resigned himself to a long evening. In
proper London fashion, the meal was served in two courses. The first consisted of roasted beef, boiled carp, venison and a
dish of sweet potatoes that no one ate. The second comprised pork, tench served with lemons, steamed chicken and two fruit
pies. Following the French way, knives and two-pronged forks were provided, although a finger-bowl was required for Silence,
who had not been taught how to manipulate a fork, and so was obliged to use her hands.

She rested a hot, heavy palm on Chaloner’s knee, which
attracted a scowl from Behn, who sat on her other side. ‘Has Lord Clarendon said anything else about my husband’s murder?’
she asked.

‘I am afraid not, ma’am,’ said Chaloner, moving his chair away from her. He bumped into Alice, who pushed him back more forcefully
than was necessary or polite. He glanced at Scot, expecting him to say something, but the older man was talking to Brodrick,
clearly intent on making his brother’s case before the courtier became too inebriated for sensible conversation.

‘Mr Behn tells me Dillon is certainly the man who struck the fatal blow,’ Silence continued in a whisper. ‘Him
and
the other two – except that one has escaped justice by dying of fever. I still believe they were under orders from someone
else, although I shall enjoy seeing them die anyway. Will you attend the hangings, Mr Heyden?’

‘No,’ said Chaloner shortly, trying to make himself as small as possible, so he could maintain his distance from Silence without
invading the space claimed by Alice.

‘I enjoy hangings, as long as the weather is fine,’ Silence went on. ‘Will you accompany me on Saturday? I would appreciate
an escort, and you cannot refuse a recent widow.’

‘
I
will accompany you,’ said Behn, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. Chaloner glanced at Eaffrey, but her attention
was occupied by the chortling teenagers. ‘I am always ready to be of service.’

Silence shot the merchant a smouldering look. ‘You are a true gentleman, sir.’

‘I am not surprised
you
want to make sure the villains are hanged, Behn,’ said Temple conversationally. ‘You did a lot of business with their victim,
I understand.’

‘Yes, Webb was a dear friend,’ agreed Behn.

‘Oh, silly!’ said Silence, thumping him playfully. ‘You know he was not! In fact, he would not approve of me sitting here
with you at all, but he is dead, and so not in a position to do much about it.’

Behn looked decidedly shifty. ‘We were close companions, Sil— Mrs Webb. You know we were. We occasionally pretended to be
enemies, but that was just to flush out common foes.’

‘You challenged him to a duel,’ countered Silence. Her expression became disconcertingly simpering. ‘I believe it was over
me, because he thought you entertained a fancy for his little Silence. Of course, he made sure he was out of London on the
relevant morning, and sent you a letter—’

Behn laughed uneasily. ‘A joke, Mrs Webb. Just two merchants amusing themselves.’

Chaloner regarded him thoughtfully, recalling the discussion Temperance had overheard: Behn and Webb had quarrelled, and Behn
had left the Guinea Company dinner early. Was Behn the killer? He watched with interest as, desperate to deflect attention
from himself, Behn turned on the startled Temple.

‘
You
were not Webb’s friend, though – you signed a deed at the Guinea Company dinner that would have ruined you. I heard him tell
you so after you had put pen to paper – when it was too late to withdraw from the agreement.’

‘I am not a novice in business,’ objected Temple indignantly. ‘I knew what I was doing, and he was mistaken about the outcome
of that particular arrangement. It
would
have made me wealthy, and I was deeply sorry that his death rendered our contract null and void.’

‘Well, there you are, Chaloner,’ murmured Scot a little later, when people were taking the opportunity to stretch their legs
by walking around the table. ‘Two more suspects for Webb’s murder: Behn, whose “friendship” may not have been all he declared,
and Temple, who had been beguiled into signing something that might have seen him destitute.’

‘You were at that Guinea Company dinner, William,’ said Eaffrey, pausing for a moment with a sniggering girl on either side
of her. ‘Did
you
see Temple almost sign away his fortune? I thought he had more sense than to put his name to deeds without considering their
repercussions, and you must ask yourself whether you want him managing Alice’s money.’

‘I did see Webb and Temple together, but I slipped away too early to see how their discussion concluded. Webb must have produced
these writs later, when Temple was befuddled with wine.’

‘You left early?’ asked Chaloner, when Eaffrey had gone. ‘I thought you said you spent the evening holding forth about plants.’

‘I did not say I left early – I said I slipped away
too early
to know what happened,’ corrected Scot pedantically.‘I
was
enjoying my botanical debate, but even trees could not distract me from the lice in Terrell’s hair-piece, and after a while,
I simply had to go. I should have returned it to the wig-maker, but Williamson wanted me in place quickly and there was no
time. I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to throwing this whole business to the wind and never adopting a disguise
again.’

‘Not even when Peter Terrell presents his botanical researches to the Royal Society?’

Scot smiled. ‘I will be in Surinam. Someone will
read
my dissertations to the learned gathering.’

‘I visited your husband’s tomb in St Paul’s,’ said Chaloner to Silence, when everyone had reclaimed his seat, and the footmen
were concluding the meal by serving a syllabub – a dish popular at Court, because the King claimed it refreshed the mouth
after riding and love-making. ‘Clarendon sent me.’