The Cheapside Corpse Read Free Page A

his vision, he saw a cudgel begin to descend. He twisted to one side, ramming his blade into the fellow’s calf and kicking the feet from under another, just as Hannah sprang into action and dealt the last man a wild clout that made him stagger. The cosh-wielder released a howl of pain and hobbled towards the door, while his cronies, loath to tackle anyone who fought back, were quick to follow. Chaloner scrambled upright, but he was still giddy, and by the time he had recovered enough to give chase, the three men were long gone.
    ‘Oh, Tom!’ wailed Hannah. ‘Thank God you are home. You have been gone so long and—’
    ‘Who were they?’ demanded Chaloner.
    ‘No one to worry about,’ she replied unconvincingly, and flung herself into his arms so vigorously that she almost sent both of them flying. She snuffled into his shoulder, while he held her rather stiffly, supposing he should say something to comfort her, but not sure what. Eventually, she pushed away from him and went to stand in the window.
    ‘I had my portrait done by Peter Lely while you were away,’ she said in a muffled, distracted voice that made him suppose she was hurt by his failure to dispense the necessary solace. She pointed to the wall above the fireplace. ‘Do you like it?’
    Chaloner stared at the picture. It captured perfectly her laughing eyes, snub nose and inconvenient hair. The quality of the work was no surprise, though, because Lely was Principal Painter in Ordinary to the King, and thus the most sought-after artist in the country. His popularity meant he could charge whatever he liked for a commission, and it was common knowledge that his prices were far beyond the reach of all but the richest of patrons.
    ‘Oh, God!’ gulped Chaloner. ‘So that is why we are in debt again!’
    It was not the homecoming he had hoped for. Chaloner sat in his extravagant parlour, sullenly sipping expensive wine, while Hannah perched at his side and chatted about all that had happened since he had left – she was rarely cool with him for long. There had been another comet that presaged a major disaster – even astronomers from the Royal Society thought so, and they were no fools. Then there had been an ugly purple mist with leprous spots, followed not long after by a coffin-shaped cloud.
    ‘Some folk say these things foretell an outbreak of the plague,’ Hannah explained. ‘Because there have been a dozen cases in the slums near St Giles-in-the-Fields since February. But I think they are wrong. It has not spread to other areas, so the danger is probably over.’
    Chaloner had lost his first wife and child to plague in Holland, and although it had been more than a decade ago, the memory was still painful.
    ‘Those men,’ he began, keen to think of something else, even if it was a matter that was likely to annoy him, ‘what did they—’
    ‘Your Earl has been the focus of a lot of scurrilous talk,’ Hannah interrupted, equally keen to postpone the spat that both knew was likely to follow once the subject of debt was broached. ‘As you know, people were starting to call his new mansion Dunkirk House, because he sold that port back to the French at a ridiculously low price, but now
everyone
is doing it. They are angrier than ever with him, as Dutch pirates are using it as a base from which to harry British shipping.’
    ‘It was not his idea to sell it,’ Chaloner pointed out.
    ‘Perhaps not, but he oversaw the arrangements, and people think he let the French bribe him, because we
should
have got more for it. The
douceur
he took to let them have it cheap probably did pay for his fine new house.’
    Chaloner was more interested in their own affairs. ‘What did those louts want with—’
    She cut across him a second time. ‘Our housekeeper has been ill. Surgeon Wiseman has been treating her, but she has needed several visits to Epsom for the waters, which are costly…’
    Chaloner regarded her in alarm. ‘How much do we owe?’
    ‘A few