Murder on High Holborn by Susanna Gregory Page A

Thurloe. ‘He fought for Parliament during the wars, but was dismissed from the army for siding with trouble-makers. He is a very silly man.’
    ‘What else do you know about him?’
    ‘He was part of the Northern Plot a few months ago, and was imprisoned in York. I doubt his escape was genuine, so I can only assume that he offered to spy on his erstwhile colleagues in exchange for his life.’
    Chaloner groaned: if the Fifth Monarchists thought likewise, then he and Leving were living on borrowed time. ‘Have you heard rumours of another rebellion in the offing?’
    ‘No. London is unusually peaceful at the moment.’
    ‘Then what about any inexplicable movements of horses and guns? You cannot have an uprising without those, and someone must have seen or heard something.’
    ‘No, nothing, Tom. All has been very quiet. Who is behind this mischief?’
    ‘Fifth Monarchists. Roger Jones, to be precise.’
    Thurloe frowned. ‘Jones has joined the Fifth Monarchists? I suppose I should not be surprised – he is a vociferous dissident, and their wild ideas will certainly appeal to him.’
    ‘His cronies include a stockinger named Atkinson, a watchmaker named Quelch, a Baptist pastor named Strange, a fat, grave man named Manning and a lady who bakes – Ursula Adman.’
    ‘She is sister to the infamous Mrs Trapnel, hailed as a visionary, but in reality just another lunatic. Mrs Trapnel is currently in Bristol gaol, and I am sorry if Ursula feels obliged to carry the family torch while her sibling is indisposed, as she seems a decent, God-fearing woman.’
    ‘And the others?’
    ‘Atkinson is a naive dreamer; Strange is a rash, heady person who thinks our King is the Antichrist; Manning is nobody much; and Quelch is an incurable thief with a string of convictions as long as your arm.’
    ‘Really?’ Chaloner was amused. ‘Then he will be in for a shock if the Kingdom of Christ does come to pass. Even if his dishonesty is overlooked, his hypocrisy will not be.’
    Thurloe eyed him beadily. ‘I hope you are not being irreligious, Thomas. But to return to your malcontents, Jones and Strange are uncompromising militants who should be under lock and key, while Quelch is a malcontent who likes to spread trouble. They have chosen a good time to make a nuisance of themselves – Williamson is distracted by the war.’
    ‘There was some suggestion that the Dutch might finance their Cause…’
    ‘The Dutch will not waste money on Fifth Monarchists. I once described them as worms who think they can thresh mountains, and I have learned nothing to make me change my mind.’
    ‘Clarendon has also ordered me to investigate Paul Ferine’s murder. I do not suppose you have heard anything about that, have you?’
    ‘I am afraid not, but I shall listen for rumours. Would you like a sip of Sydenham’s Laudanum or a Goddard’s Drop? You are very pale. Clearly you are not yet recovered from Russia.’
    ‘Actually, it is the prospect of eating Hannah’s pickled ling pie,’ said Chaloner gloomily.
    Feeling like the worst kind of coward, Chaloner delayed going home yet again when he walked through Charing Cross and saw St Martin’s Lane stretching away into darkness on his right. He walked up it, aiming for a shabby shop with a battered sign outside saying it belonged to the Trulocke Brothers, gunsmiths. It was guarded by a fierce dog, which leapt to its feet snarling as he approached. Then it wagged its tail, remembering past bribes of bones. Chaloner had no bones that day, but one of Ursula’s biscuits worked just as well.
    Inside, he approached the largest of the hulking, shaven-headed trio who stood behind the counter, and laid down several coins. Edmund Trulocke stared at them, licking his lips.
    ‘I want some information,’ said Chaloner in a low voice, although the shop was so often used for illegal transactions that none of the browsing clientele made any effort to listen. ‘Have you heard rumours of a large shipment