Blood on the Strand by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page A

Williamson was in charge of the intelligence services, because the
     Earl would be a disaster. His skill in diplomacy and politics was legendary, yet Chaloner had seen him make some astoundingly
     idiotic decisions where spying was concerned. When he saw no further objections were forthcoming, the Earl continued, somewhat
     defensively.
    ‘
I
had not heard of Vanders’s demise, so the chances are that no one else will, either. It is a perfect disguise for you, with
     your knowledge of Dutch affairs. Find out all you can about Bristol, because if I lose my war against him, I will not be his
     only victim – who will employ you if I am in the Tower?’

Chapter 2
    At first, Chaloner was unhappy about the task he had been allotted, because he was painfully aware of his lack of knowledge
     about the Court and its political alliances, and such places could be dangerous for the uninformed. Then he realised that
     disguising himself as a foreigner would explain his ignorance to anyone who might be suspicious of him. His concerns began
     to evaporate, and he saw the assignment might even be turned to his advantage – it would give him an opportunity to rectify
     his appalling unfamiliarity with English affairs. He took his leave of the Lord Chancellor in a thoughtful frame of mind,
     busily analysing ideas for the deception.
    He could not walk directly to the main gate, because a street-sweeper so near the royal apartments would be sure to attract
     unwanted attention – the palace guards had been trained to shoot first and ask questions second where the King’s safety was
     concerned – so he followed a tortuous route through storerooms and servants’ quarters instead. He was crossing a yard occupied
     by the Queen’s laundresses and their steaming boiler houses when he saw a familiar face. He smiled, feeling his spiritslift even further. Eaffrey Johnson had been a Royalist spy in Holland, and although she and Chaloner had worked for rival
     factions, they had often shared information when they felt an alliance would better serve their country’s interests. For a
     while, they had been lovers, too, although the affair had floundered when she had followed the King to France and Chaloner’s
     duties had kept him in the Netherlands. More recently, she had been in Ireland, with a remit to seduce high-ranking rebels,
     but Chaloner had not known she was back in London.
    She was talking to the Countess of Castlemaine, whose stomach bulged with the King’s next illegitimate child. ‘The Lady’ was
     generally acknowledged to be the most beautiful woman at Court, although Chaloner thought her face was too spiteful to be
     truly attractive, and her infamous temper was already scoring scowl marks around her eyes and mouth. She might well be lovely
     when she smiled, but he had only ever seen her angry.
    ‘And he still has that diamond ring from the French ambassador,’ she was saying when Chaloner edged closer, plying his broom
     and keeping his face hidden under his broad-brimmed hat. ‘I told him I wanted it, but he always makes excuses when I order
     him to hand it over.’
    ‘You order him?’ asked Eaffrey, in an awed voice. ‘You
order
the King?’
    ‘Of course I do. He had better not pass it to the Queen, not when he promised it to
me
.’
    ‘I doubt he would be so rash,’ said Eaffrey ambiguously. ‘I hear you are to move to new quarters.’
    Lady Castlemaine laughed, although it was not a pleasant sound. ‘I am weary of dashing across the Privy Garden in my nightshift
     each time I feel like Charles’s company, and the new arrangement will be much moreconvenient for our nightly frolics. The rooms are better, too – nicer than the Queen’s.’
    When she had gone, Chaloner shadowed Eaffrey until she reached a narrow lane sandwiched between the river and the series of
     ramshackle sheds known as the Small Beer Buttery, then darted forward to grab her arm. A knife immediately appeared in her
     hand, but her face