The Cheapside Corpse by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page B

weren’t. ‘But I hope she did not offer them as collateral, because they have not belonged to my family for decades. And I have never been anywhere near them.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Shaw, frowning. ‘Are you sure? Only she told us that they earned you a fortune.’
    ‘Did she?’ Chaloner was unimpressed that she should have fabricated such a tale. ‘Well, I am afraid it is untrue. They belong to the Crown.’
    ‘No matter,’ said Shaw with a benign smile, giving Chaloner the distinct impression that they did not believe him. ‘I am sure she will bring us our money soon.’
    ‘My mother used alum to reduce her freckles,’ confided Lettice. ‘It is a very useful mineral. But do come and see our shop, Mr Chaloner. You will not be disappointed.’
    Chaloner wanted to resume his monitoring of the bankers, but felt it would be churlish to refuse the invitation under the circumstances. And it took no more than a glance to realise that the shop’s shabby exterior concealed a veritable Aladdin’s Cave of riches. Not only did it have seven or eight very fine viols, a large display of lutes and three virginals, but it sold sheet music by all his favourite composers, including some he had never seen before. He scarcely knew where to look first, and his investigations flew from his mind.
    ‘You will have to excuse the smell,’ said Shaw, although Chaloner had been so enraptured that he had barely noticed the aroma of sewage that pervaded the place.
    ‘Our neighbour’s cesspit has overflowed into our cellar,’ explained Lettice.
    Chaloner would not have cared if they had been standing knee-deep in ordure, because he had found a fantasia by Dowland, and was playing it in his mind.
    Scenting a possible sale, Shaw took a lute and strummed the first few phrases, indicating with a nod that Chaloner was to pick an instrument and join in. Chaloner selected a bass viol, and joy surged through him as he bowed the first notes he had played in weeks. Lettice leaned over his shoulder and began to sing, although he would have enjoyed her performance more if she had not filled the rests with sniggers. Even so, time passed quickly, and Chaloner was shocked when he heard the Bow Bells chiming for the four o’clock service.
    ‘Please stay,’ begged Lettice, as he stood to leave. ‘We have much more to show you. For example, have you heard of Dietrich Buxtehude? He is young, but will be famous one day.’
    Chaloner was sorely tempted, but duty called. ‘I have to visit Dr Coo.’
    ‘He lives five doors along,’ supplied Shaw, his harsh features softening. ‘When I had a fever last winter, he tended me like a son. He is a true saint.’
    It was the second time Chaloner had heard the physician so described.
    There was a large sign depicting a bull swinging above the entrance to Coo’s home, but Chaloner would have recognised it as belonging to a
medicus
anyway. The door was carved with an image of Aesculapius, the Roman god of healing, complete with serpent-entwined staff, and the place oozed the sharp, clean scent of herbs. The door was open, so he stepped inside.
    ‘I will not be a moment,’ called a voice from within. ‘Please take a seat.’
    A low murmur of voices suggested that Coo was with a patient, so Chaloner perched on a bench and thought about the music he had just played. Notes and melodies drifted through his mind, and he was so lost in them that the client leaving Coo’s surgery stumbled over his outstretched legs. Chaloner shot upright to catch him. The fellow promptly closed his eyes, gulped in a breath and held it for so long that Chaloner wondered if he should summon help. Then he sneezed, right into Chaloner’s face.
    ‘Sorry,’ he muttered with a wet sniff. Another sneeze followed, along with an unpleasant snorting sound, after which he shuffled out. Chaloner wiped his own face dry with his sleeve.
    ‘I apologise for the wait,’ said a tall, thin man with a large bald head. ‘Will you come