Blood on the Strand Read Online Free PDF Page A

shillings for
     ale, so they could drink to his health that evening. There was a cheer, which faltered somewhat when it transpired that the
     King’s idea of ‘a few’ was two, which would not go far among so many men.
    Chaloner knew his earl would want an eyewitness account of the beggar’s death, so he decided to stop at White Hall on his
     way home. The streets were strangely quiet, and the churches, which had been compelled to hold special services of thanksgiving
     for the three-year anniversary, were mostly empty. The stalls that lined busy King Street were dutifully shuttered, although
     their owners had been furious at the royal decree prohibiting trade that day – Fridays were always good for commerce because
     of the many markets taking place. Dogs scavenged among the rubbish that carpeted the cobbles, and a preacher stood on a box
     and informed passers-by that the world would shortly be consumed by fire and brimstone, so folk had better repent while they
     could.
    The sprawling Palace of White Hall, London’s chief royal residence, had been built piecemeal as and when past monarchs had
     had the money and the need, and the result was a chaotic settlement with dozens of separate buildings, few of which seemed
     to bear any relation to their neighbours. Thus ancient, windowless halls rubbed shoulders with flamboyant Tudor monstrosities,
     and dark, grubby alleys sometimes opened out into elegant courtyards fringed with glorious gems of architecture.
    Chaloner was still dressed in his street-cleaner’s disguise, which was simultaneously an advantage and a drawback. On the
     one hand, no one would recognise him, which was always a good thing, but on the other,he was more likely to be challenged as an intruder. Relishing an opportunity to practise his skills, he made his way undetected
     through the maze of yards, halls, sheds and houses, coming ever closer to the sumptuous apartments that overlooked the area
     of manicured grounds known as the Privy Garden, where the Earl of Clarendon had his offices.
    Like most good spies, Chaloner worked hard at being nondescript. He was of medium height and stocky build, with brown hair
     and grey eyes. He had no obvious scars or marks, although his left leg had been badly mangled at the Battle of Naseby, and
     he tended to limp if he was tired or had engaged in overly strenuous exercise. That Friday had been an easy day for him, however,
     and he walked with a perfectly even gait along the corridor that led to the Earl’s offices. He opened the door quickly, using
     a thin piece of metal to assist him when he found it locked, and stepped inside to wait.
    It was not long before Lord Clarendon arrived. He stood in the hall outside, congratulating May for shooting the wicked traitor
     who had come so close to murdering the King. Williamson was with him, and his softer voice added its own praise. Chaloner
     grimaced. People were assuming that May had acted correctly, which meant any attempt to tell them what had really happened
     would look like sour grapes on his part – they would think he was making excuses for not killing the man himself. Eventually,
     Clarendon finished the conversation and bustled into his rooms. In his wake was a short, smiling man with bushy brown hair
     and dimples in his cheeks.
    The Earl of Clarendon, who currently held office as Lord Chancellor of England, had gained weight since the Restoration. The
     Court’s rich food was unsuitable fora man who tended to fat and whose working day revolved around sedentary activities. Chaloner had even noticed a difference
     in the Earl’s girth between the time he himself had been dispatched to Ireland to help quell a rebellion back in February
     and his return five days ago. The Earl knew he was expanding at an alarming rate, but blamed it on a nasty brush with gout,
     which had confined him to his bed for much of the past three months.
    He had dispensed with the enormous blond wig he had worn in the