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

broke into a grin of delight when she recognised her assailant. She flung her arms around his neck and
     kissed him.
    Although not classically pretty – her face was too round and her eyes far too mischievous – there was something captivating
     about Eaffrey. She was in her twenties, but possessed a cool self-assurance that made people assume she was older. Chaloner
     gestured to her clothes, which boasted a neckline that plunged indecently low and skirts that clung to her hips in a way that
     ensured everyone would know exactly what lay beneath.
    ‘Has Williamson set you to bewitch some hapless courtier and make him reveal all his secrets?’
    Her eyebrows shot up in amusement. ‘Are you implying my costume makes me a whore?’
    He shrugged. ‘They set you in Lady Castlemaine’s camp of loose women. My Lord Clarendon railed about them at length yesterday.’
    She pulled a disapproving face. ‘All is sobriety and prudery with your earl – he is worse than the Puritans. Personally, I
     hope Bristol
does
manage to rid us of the tedious old bore! I like Lady Castlemaine’s light-hearted gaiety, though, and I am delighted that
     she has taken me under her wing. She has taught me a lot about the Court and its customs.’
    Chaloner was not sure Lady Castlemaine’s advice would be the sort of knowledge most decent womenwould want to own, but he was deeply fond of Eaffrey, and was loath to offend her by revealing his conservatism where the
     Court was concerned. He looked to where the Lady was screeching abuse at a servant who had splashed her with milk from a pail
     as their paths had crossed. ‘She seems to have developed a powerful yearning for the King’s jewellery,’ he said instead.
    ‘His Christmas presents, to be precise. Surely you must have heard how she cajoled him into parting with them? Well, it is
     true, and the only thing he has managed to keep for himself is a diamond ring – but I do not fancy his chances of hanging
     on to it for much longer. Why are you dressed like a vagrant? Is it something to do with the coronation celebrations?’
    ‘Someone told Williamson that the King might be shot at today, and every available agent in London was detailed to protect
     him. I was working with our old friend Adrian May.’
    She grimaced her disgust. ‘That toad! He is a dangerous fool, as we both saw in Ireland – the rebels
would
have succeeded in kidnapping the governor had you not stepped in and put an end to his stupid antics. And now he hates you
     for exposing his ignorance, so you should be wary of him.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Of course, the
real
reason for his dislike is that he knows you are a better spy than he – and that if you ever do work for Williamson, it will
     only be a matter of time before you displace him. He will do anything to avoid that, including wielding a sly dagger in a
     dark lane. Just yesterday, William heard him telling a courtier called Willys how he would dearly love to be rid of you.’
    ‘William?’ asked Chaloner, unconcerned with threatsissued by the likes of Adrian May. ‘You mean Scot? I thought he had gone to Surinam.’
    She grinned, showing small white teeth. ‘That is what everyone thinks, but he is here, in White Hall, busy with his latest
     assignment for Williamson. If you meet a bumbling Irish scholar called Peter Terrell, you will know he is a friend.’
    ‘Terrell?’ Chaloner had heard the name, but it was a moment before it snapped into place: the beggar had mentioned it – ‘Terrell
     is not what he says.’ He had obviously seen through the disguise.
    Before he could ask her about it, Eaffrey laughed, the tinkling, sunny sound he remembered so well. ‘Speak of the Devil and
     he will appear. May I introduce you to this raker, Mr Terrell?’
    Chaloner shook his head in mute admiration when a tall figure approached, knowing he would never have recognised his old friend
     had Eaffrey not given him away. He tried to remember when he had last seen Scot