Murder on High Holborn Read Online Free PDF Page B

not agree, and nothing delighted him more than showing it off to visitors, especially if they happened to be people he wanted to lord it over.
    However, while the house was ready, its grounds were not, and comprised a sea of wet dirt and discarded building supplies. Trees had been planted, but it would be years before they grew to maturity, and their slender, leafless limbs lent the house a rather temporary air. The scrawny shrubs by the gate did not help either, dwarfed as they were by a pair of soaring pillars that were topped by sculptures that looked like flying pigs.
    Chaloner was halfway up the drive when a coach arrived, spraying muck in all directions as it clattered towards him. He tried to jump out of the way, but the ground was far too treacherous for such a manoeuvre, so not only did he end up drenched in mud, but he also stepped in a pothole that slopped water over the top of his left boot. The carriage rolled to a standstill not far ahead, and he was about to give its driver a piece of his mind when the curtain was pulled aside and a familiar face looked out.
    It was Joseph Williamson. Gushing apologies, the Spymaster insisted on giving Chaloner a ride to the house. The distance was hardly worth the bother, but Williamson refused to take no for an answer, and Chaloner was too tired to argue.
    Williamson was a haughty, aloof man who had been an Oxford academic before deciding to try his hand at politics. He and Chaloner had fallen foul of each other almost immediately, which was unfortunate, because Chaloner would have liked to continue his work spying in foreign countries; Williamson had refused to hire him, and Chaloner’s situation had been desperate until the Earl had stepped in with an offer. The antagonism between them had eased slightly since, although wariness and distrust persisted on both sides.
    ‘I have an appointment with your master,’ said Williamson, to explain his presence at Clarendon House. He took care to sit well away, so his own finery would not be soiled by Chaloner’s splattered coat. ‘It is unconscionably early, but he works very hard.’
    Chaloner agreed. ‘Does your meeting concern the Dutch situation? I know he still hopes to broker a peaceful solution before blood is spilled.’
    ‘Unfortunately, there are too many warmongers on the Privy Council, so he will not succeed. Incidentally, I hear you were summoned to Hercules’ Pillars Alley this morning.’
    So the offer of a lift had been to elicit information, thought Chaloner, not to make amends for the coachman’s inconsiderate driving. Moreover, it had not escaped his notice that the Spymaster had failed to reveal why he was meeting Clarendon. The two did not usually do business together.
    ‘Only because Temperance was unsure of the protocol,’ he explained. ‘She sent for you as soon as Wiseman deemed Ferine’s death suspicious.’
    The Spymaster smiled. ‘Wiseman told me as much when our paths crossed just now. But as it happens, I am glad you were there, because it will give you an edge when you investigate.’
    Chaloner blinked. ‘The Earl would never allow me to explore a death in a brothel. Besides, such matters come under
your
remit, and—’
    ‘I should like to pursue the matter myself, believe me, but my budget has been cut to raise money for this foolish Dutch war,’ interrupted Williamson. He grimaced. ‘Although the Privy Council still expects me to provide the intelligence that will help us win, of course. However, the upshot is that I have no one available to explore Ferine’s death. Except Doines, and he is hardly the thing.’
    ‘No, but—’
    ‘It is your patriotic duty,’ Williamson went on. ‘Have you not heard the news? The Dutch have taken three of our ships and killed one of our captains in a sea battle. The war has started, and I cannot afford to be distracted by courtiers getting themselves dispatched. Help me, and you help your country.’
    It was not Chaloner’s idea of patriotic