The Body in the Thames by Susanna Gregory Page A

tapping the side of his nose in a way that wascalculated to irritate. ‘But do not worry: these courtiers’ misdeeds are safe with me.
I
shall not reveal your department as the source of scurrilous gossip.’
    Chaloner could tell by the fury in Williamson’s eyes that Downing had just earned himself an enemy. Downing was a fool, he
     thought – the Spymaster had all manner of ruthless villains at his disposal, and was not above making nuisances disappear.
    Downing doffed his hat, grinning malevolently. ‘I must bid you good day, gentlemen. I am expected at the Savoy, so I had better
     make an appearance. We cannot offend the Dutch, eh?’
    He swaggered away. Chaloner was tempted to broach the subject of the Sinon Plot – Williamson was, after all, one of those
     who knew about it – but the Spymaster’s dark, angry expression suggested it would not be a good time.
    ‘I am beginning to understand why so many people hate him,’ Williamson said between gritted teeth. ‘No wonder he was posted
     to the States-General. It was to keep him out of London!’
    Relieved to be away from two of the most odious men in the city, Chaloner strode towards Drury Lane. The afternoon was so
     hot that even the pigeons were wilting, and the air was thick with dust. By the time he arrived, he felt sweaty and soiled,
     and sooty smudges covered his clothes. He wiped his face on his sleeve, brushed himself down as well as he could, and knocked
     on Compton’s door.
    A maid conducted him to a large, pleasant parlour overlooking the street. All the windows had been flung open in an attempt
     to catch a breeze, but the room was stifling even so.
    Sir William Compton, Master of Ordnance and Member of Parliament for Cambridge, was a devoted Royalist, but was honourable
     enough to be popular with Parliamentarians, too. That afternoon, he was slumped in a cushion-filled chair, a damp cloth on
     his forehead and his eyes closed. Chaloner glanced uncomfortably at the maid, sure she should not have admitted him while
     her master was so clearly indisposed.
    ‘It is all right,’ said Compton, looking up tiredly. ‘I am not dying.’
    Chaloner was not so sure, because Compton looked terrible. He was an unhealthy greenish colour, and his eyes were sunken.
     Sweat dampened his hair, and a bowl had been placed near his head.
    ‘If you are unwell, I can come back another time.’ Chaloner was eager for information, but was not so ruthless as to pester
     a sick man for it. Spy he might be, but he had his scruples.
    ‘It is just the heat,’ said Compton. ‘And you are doubtless here on the Lord Chancellor’s behalf. As I said the last time
     you visited, I applaud his efforts to broker peace with the Dutch, and if I can do anything to assist him, I am at your service.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘I confronted Kicke,’ Compton went on. ‘About his forging a testimonial from me in order to acquire himself a post with Downing.
     I had dismissed him for theft, if you recall.’
    ‘What did he say?’
    ‘He denied writing the report himself. I pressed him, and eventually he claimed that if there
was
a character reference from me, then it was penned by someone who wished him ill.’
    ‘Someone who wished him ill would not have produced such a fulsome recommendation.’
    ‘I know he was lying,’ said Compton wryly. ‘Just as he was lying when he professed to have the good of White Hall at heart
     when he stole. Lady Castlemaine is a fool to hire him, because he will cheat her. But he is no longer our concern, thank God.
     How may I help you this time?’
    ‘Clarendon sent me to ask questions about the Sinon Plot.’
    Compton regarded him in horror. ‘I cannot talk about that! I swore a sacred vow never to break my silence, and I take such
     matters seriously.’
    Chaloner hesitated, but then forged on, wanting Compton to know why it was important. ‘A Dutch diplomat was murdered on Friday.’
    Compton struggled upright in his chair. ‘What Dutch