discussing. You cannot arrest them with what you have.’
‘Then I will have to find more,’ said Chaloner, loath to abandon his only suspects. ‘Besides, even if they are innocent of murder, it was clear they are involved in something untoward, and they are making a tide-ring for the Earl. It is my duty to investigate them, to make sure that whatever it is does not rebound on him. Is there anything else I should know about them?’
Thurloe thought about it. ‘Well, both are ardent Royalists, and they are sometimes invited to Somerset House, but so are dozens of other folk. However, I did hear one snippet of gossip, although I doubt it is significant: Phillippes sometimes visits Sir John Winter.’
‘The Catholic gunpowder expert, who wants to be the next Green Man?’
Thurloe raised his eyebrows at the description. ‘Yes, although he is better known for being rich. He owns a fortune in timber and lead, and is so wealthy that he can afford to rent Nonesuch House – that great Tudor mansion on the Bridge.’
‘I know Nonesuch House.’ Chaloner’s thoughts tumbled. How many more times was the Bridge going to feature in the various mysteries that confronted him?
‘Do not read too much into it, though,’ warned Thurloe. ‘The connection between Winter and Phillippes could be innocent – they are near-neighbours, after all. Moreover, they share political and religious views, in that both are devoted Royalists who are also Catholic.’
But Chaloner was inclined to be suspicious. ‘Perhaps their association arises from this brewing discontent you have mentioned – they meet to chat about the laws that are strangling their religious freedoms. You are insane to become embroiled in whatever is hatching. It has a bad feel to it.’
‘I must do as my conscience dictates,’ said Thurloe stiffly. ‘But I refuse to discuss it with you, Tom. You are safer not knowing.’
‘I disagree,’ argued Chaloner. ‘Being in the dark has never been better than being informed. How can I work efficiently when I do not understand the dangers and—’
‘Enough!’ barked Thurloe. His voice was uncharacteristically sharp, but he lowered it when he saw Chaloner’s shock, and forced a smile. ‘We must not quarrel. It is difficult to know one’s friends in these uncertain times, but I have never doubted you. And you should never doubt me. But come to my chambers, let me prepare you a tonic. You look tired.’
‘I am tired,’ admitted Chaloner, rubbing his eyes. ‘I did not sleep last night, and my wits are like mud. And I have been bombarded with so much peculiar and contradictory information today that I am not sure what to believe about anything.’
‘I have not been contradictory,’ objected Thurloe, stung. ‘I may have refused you information about my business, but I would never lie to you.’
‘Not you – Clarendon. For example, he says he befriended a priest named Stephen Goff during his exile. But Stephen Goff is the Dowager’s chaplain, and the Dowager is Clarendon’s sworn enemy. Moreover, Stephen is the brother of Will Goff the regicide, a committed Puritan. I do not understand how a Puritan regicide comes to have a brother who is a Catholic priest, or how Stephen can maintain his friendship with Clarendon while still working for the Dowager.’
‘Clarendon is telling the truth: he and Stephen did become close when the King was in exile. I heard about their friendship from several of my spies. And Stephen converted to Catholicism, probably because he spent so much time in France. Indeed, I am surprised you did not do the same. I imagine Hannah would prefer you papist.’
‘I am sure she would. But I do not feel strongly enough about any denomination to warrant making a public statement about it.’
Thurloe grimaced. As a religious man himself, he did not understand Chaloner’s indifference towards matters of faith. He glanced up at the sky.
‘These clear winter days may be lovely, but they are
‘Then I will have to find more,’ said Chaloner, loath to abandon his only suspects. ‘Besides, even if they are innocent of murder, it was clear they are involved in something untoward, and they are making a tide-ring for the Earl. It is my duty to investigate them, to make sure that whatever it is does not rebound on him. Is there anything else I should know about them?’
Thurloe thought about it. ‘Well, both are ardent Royalists, and they are sometimes invited to Somerset House, but so are dozens of other folk. However, I did hear one snippet of gossip, although I doubt it is significant: Phillippes sometimes visits Sir John Winter.’
‘The Catholic gunpowder expert, who wants to be the next Green Man?’
Thurloe raised his eyebrows at the description. ‘Yes, although he is better known for being rich. He owns a fortune in timber and lead, and is so wealthy that he can afford to rent Nonesuch House – that great Tudor mansion on the Bridge.’
‘I know Nonesuch House.’ Chaloner’s thoughts tumbled. How many more times was the Bridge going to feature in the various mysteries that confronted him?
‘Do not read too much into it, though,’ warned Thurloe. ‘The connection between Winter and Phillippes could be innocent – they are near-neighbours, after all. Moreover, they share political and religious views, in that both are devoted Royalists who are also Catholic.’
But Chaloner was inclined to be suspicious. ‘Perhaps their association arises from this brewing discontent you have mentioned – they meet to chat about the laws that are strangling their religious freedoms. You are insane to become embroiled in whatever is hatching. It has a bad feel to it.’
‘I must do as my conscience dictates,’ said Thurloe stiffly. ‘But I refuse to discuss it with you, Tom. You are safer not knowing.’
‘I disagree,’ argued Chaloner. ‘Being in the dark has never been better than being informed. How can I work efficiently when I do not understand the dangers and—’
‘Enough!’ barked Thurloe. His voice was uncharacteristically sharp, but he lowered it when he saw Chaloner’s shock, and forced a smile. ‘We must not quarrel. It is difficult to know one’s friends in these uncertain times, but I have never doubted you. And you should never doubt me. But come to my chambers, let me prepare you a tonic. You look tired.’
‘I am tired,’ admitted Chaloner, rubbing his eyes. ‘I did not sleep last night, and my wits are like mud. And I have been bombarded with so much peculiar and contradictory information today that I am not sure what to believe about anything.’
‘I have not been contradictory,’ objected Thurloe, stung. ‘I may have refused you information about my business, but I would never lie to you.’
‘Not you – Clarendon. For example, he says he befriended a priest named Stephen Goff during his exile. But Stephen Goff is the Dowager’s chaplain, and the Dowager is Clarendon’s sworn enemy. Moreover, Stephen is the brother of Will Goff the regicide, a committed Puritan. I do not understand how a Puritan regicide comes to have a brother who is a Catholic priest, or how Stephen can maintain his friendship with Clarendon while still working for the Dowager.’
‘Clarendon is telling the truth: he and Stephen did become close when the King was in exile. I heard about their friendship from several of my spies. And Stephen converted to Catholicism, probably because he spent so much time in France. Indeed, I am surprised you did not do the same. I imagine Hannah would prefer you papist.’
‘I am sure she would. But I do not feel strongly enough about any denomination to warrant making a public statement about it.’
Thurloe grimaced. As a religious man himself, he did not understand Chaloner’s indifference towards matters of faith. He glanced up at the sky.
‘These clear winter days may be lovely, but they are
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