The Cheapside Corpse Read Online Free PDF

pointed out caustically. ‘Have you heard of him, Chaloner? He was the chief henchman of a very corrupt banker called Wheler, but when Wheler was stabbed two months ago, Baron took over the criminal side of his operation. He is now known as the King of Cheapside.’
    Chaloner raised his eyebrows. ‘I am sure the Earl’s enemies will be delighted to learn that he buys goods from felons.’
    ‘Baron is not a felon,’ snapped Neve irritably. ‘He has never been convicted of a crime.’
    ‘Not yet, perhaps,’ harrumphed Kipps. He turned back to Chaloner. ‘And if the Earl does order you to treat with the fellow, I recommend you take your sword.’
    Chaloner was grateful for the warning. The Earl had a nasty habit of sending him into dangerous situations armed with only half a story, so he appreciated Kipps’s concern.
    ‘This is a peculiar headpiece,’ said Neve, picking up Chaloner’s hat and beginning to slap the dust from it. ‘It looks as though it is made of cloth, yet the crown is as hard as steel.’
    ‘It is steel,’ replied Chaloner. It was a gift from a Spanish lady he had once loved, and had saved his life on more than one occasion, protecting him from sly blows, and even an attack from a persistently violent gull. ‘I always wear it when I travel.’
    ‘Very wise,’ said Kipps. ‘Incidentally, Secretary Edgeman has just arrived with this month’s payroll. Claim yours now – he ran out of money last time, and some of us were obliged to wait two weeks before we were given what we were owed. There is a shortage of coins at the moment, because of the rumour about the bankers mismanaging their clients’ funds.’
    ‘It is probably untrue, but people are withdrawing their cash at a tremendous rate.’ Neve snickered spitefully. ‘The faint-hearted fools think it is safer under their beds.’
    ‘Then I imagine burglars will be pleased,’ said Chaloner. ‘Large sums of money under beds is always a boon for them. It is the first place they look.’
    Kipps regarded him in alarm. ‘Really? I had better move mine somewhere else, then.’
    For all his faults, the Earl of Clarendon worked hard, and was always either at his offices in White Hall, or the grandly named My Lord’s Lobby in Clarendon House, surrounded by papers that represented affairs of state. My Lord’s Lobby was a frigid, marble monstrosity with windows that looked out across what would eventually become a park, but that was currently an expanse of weed-infested mud.
    The Earl had always been plump, even when he had shared the King’s exile on the continent and regular meals had not been guaranteed, but high office and a sedentary lifestyle had combined to make him fatter still. He was balding under his luxurious blond wig, and the profusion of lace at his throat accentuated rather than concealed his flabby jowls. He favoured a T-beard – a thin moustache on the upper lip with a tiny sprout of hair on the chin below – and even at leisure, he liked to wear the elegant robes that marked him as Lord Chancellor. It was a vanity that his many enemies loved to mock.
    ‘There you are at last,’ he said coolly, when Chaloner knocked on the door and walked in. ‘I was beginning to think you had abandoned me these last few weeks. What took you so long?’
    ‘The Hull rebels were not dangerous, sir,’ Chaloner explained, supposing the letters he had written outlining the situation had not been read, ‘but it still took a while to root them all out. Here is the sheriff’s report.’
    The Earl tossed it, unopened, on to the table, where Chaloner suspected it would suffer the same fate as his missives. ‘Did you visit your uncle’s kin when you were in the north?’
    Chaloner hailed from a very large family. His father had had twelve siblings, and his mother nine. Most had married, some more than once, so he had enough relations to populate a small village. However, none lived near Hull.
    ‘My uncle, sir?’ he asked cautiously, not