A Murder on London Bridge by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online

sitting next door, enjoying his ill-gotten powers. Incidentally, did you hear he has invited every bishop in the country to dine with him on Shrove Tuesday? He wants to stuff them full of fine food before all the fasting and self-denial of Lent.’
    ‘Of course,’ replied the Dowager. She spoke French, a language Chaloner knew from time spent spying there. ‘That is why I have decided to throw a soiree of my own the same day – one that will outshine his in every respect.’
    Lady Castlemaine clapped her hands in spiteful delight. ‘Will there be fireworks? We could cause a good deal of irritation with those! And there is nothing he will be able to do about it!’
    The Dowager nodded, eyes glittering with malice. ‘That has already occurred to me, I assure you. However, Shrove Tuesday is almost two weeks away. It is a long time to wait.’
    ‘You must be patient, ma’am,’ said Buckingham soothingly. ‘We must not—’
    ‘I have been patient,’ the Dowager snapped, rounding on him. ‘However, I have decided that Shrove Tuesday is my limit. And if we do not have results by then, there will be trouble.’
    ‘But that may not be practical,’ objected Progers uneasily. ‘And we do not want to risk—’
    ‘Do not talk to me of risk,’ snarled the Dowager. ‘You know nothing of risk. And do not fob me off with talk of time and patience, either, because I am tired of it. I shall have what I want.’
    ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Buckingham soothingly. ‘And Lord Bristol will help. But he cannot show his face yet, because the King will have him arrested and thrown into prison.’
    ‘Is he at Wimbledon?’ asked the priest. His voice trembled when he spoke, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides, apparently to prevent them from shaking. ‘Only I heard rumours—’
    ‘Of course he is not at Wimbledon,’ said Buckingham irritably, causing the priest to step back in alarm. ‘He is reckless, but not a complete fool.’
    Lady Castlemaine rested her hand on the priest’s arm. It was intended to be a comforting gesture, but he shrank away from it as though it held poison. The Lady’s eyes narrowed at the rebuff, and she immediately set about draping one elegant, smooth-skinned arm around his shoulders in a spitefully transparent attempt to fluster. She grinned her triumph when the hapless cleric flushed such a deep red that Chaloner wondered whether he might have a seizure.
    ‘Father Stephen only repeats what is being said at Court,’ she crooned, pulling her horrified victim closer towards her. Her bodice threatened to release its contents into his unwilling hands.
    ‘I have heard those tales, too,’ said the man with the moustache, reaching out to pull the priest away from her. She scowled, but let her victim go. ‘Apparently, Thomas Luckin, Wimbledon’s vicar, has been arrested for giving Bristol holy communion.’
    ‘But Bristol is Catholic,’ said Progers, sounding puzzled. ‘And Luckin is Anglican. Why would Bristol deign to receive holy communion from such a man?’
    ‘To ingratiate himself with the King,’ explained Buckingham impatiently. ‘By renouncing the Pope and asking Luckin to accept him back into the Anglican Church, he hopes His Majesty’s heart will soften, and the arrest warrant will be revoked. However, while Luckin may well have obliged with a communion ceremony, the business certainly did not take place in Wimbledon.’
    Chaloner tensed suddenly when he heard a sound behind him. Someone was coming! He was going to be caught, trapped between whoever was approaching and the Dowager’s gathering. He ducked farther behind the curtain, desperately hoping the servant would be so engrossed in his duties that he would not look in the shadows to his right.
    ‘Here come Doucett and Martin at last,’ said Buckingham, cocking his head when he also heard the briskly tapping footsteps. ‘Perhaps they have news to report.’
    The first of two rough, soldierly men strode past