Free The Cheapside Corpse by Susanna Gregory Page A

rampant was doing to the hart.
    ‘It is a joke, Tom,’ said Temperance North, pulling aside the carriage’s curtain to laugh at his shock. ‘Do you not think it amusing?’
    Chaloner supposed it did have a certain style, although he suspected there would be some who would take offence at such ribaldry. Cromwell’s Puritans might no longer be in power, but that did not mean they had gone away.
    He had met Temperance three years earlier, when she had been a shy teenager. Her parents had died not long after, and she had startled everyone by using her inheritance to establish an exclusive brothel – although she preferred the term gentlemen’s club – which had made her very wealthy. Dining on expensive delicacies with her patrons had taken its toll on her figure, and she was now a very large young woman, something her costly clothes failed to conceal. She was losing her teeth, too, presumably from all the sweetmeats that were readily available.
    ‘Do you like my coach?’ she asked, waving a plump hand at it with undisguised pride.
    ‘Very nice,’ replied Chaloner, dutifully admiring the smart black paint with the gold trim. The driver wore a scarlet uniform, as did the footmen who stood on the back. One jumped off to open the door, revealing one of the most luxuriously appointed interiors Chaloner had ever seen, all plush satin and lacy curtains. Its opulence told him that the club was continuing to make Temperance richer and richer.
    ‘Now that you are home, I need you to talk to Richard,’ she said as he climbed in, referring to Richard Wiseman, her lover, who held the post of Surgeon to the King.
    ‘Yes?’ he asked coolly, hurt that she had only waylaid him to beg a favour.
    ‘You must talk to him about the plague.’
    Chaloner raised his eyebrows. ‘I am sure he knows a lot more about it than I do.’
    She glared at him. ‘I do not want you to teach him about it. I want you to convince him not to risk himself by entering infected houses should it come. And you must also make him promise not to invent a cure.’
    ‘I suspect that might be beyond even his lofty abilities,’ said Chaloner soberly. ‘There is no cure for the plague.’
    Temperance’s expression was wry. ‘But there is money to be made in selling palliatives. However, as a man of integrity, Richard will want his to be effective, and I am afraid he will take it to a victim to see whether it works.’
    ‘I should hope so! How else will he know if it is worth the money?’
    ‘That is not the point, Thomas,’ said Temperance irritably. ‘I do not want him to die.’
    She pulled out her pipe and began to puff furiously, filling the coach with fumes. They were still stationary, and with no breeze to dissipate the fug, the air soon turned poisonous. Chaloner started to open a window, but she stopped him.
    ‘Tobacco is the best way to prevent infection. In fact, it is the only way to stay healthy.’
    ‘Did Wiseman tell you that?’
    ‘No, it is common knowledge. Richard has some lunatic notion that the plague is caused by worms, creatures so small that they cannot be seen by the naked eye.’
    ‘I was just speaking to a physician who thought the same. Abner Coo.’
    ‘Yes – he, Richard and a colleague called Dr Misick have devised this wild theory between them, although every other sensible person knows that a miasma is to blame.’
    ‘Did you ever meet Coo?’ asked Chaloner.
    ‘Several times. A nicer man is difficult to imagine.’
    ‘So everyone says, but he has just been shot.’
    Temperance listened in horror as Chaloner recounted what had happened. ‘Richard will be upset when he hears. He likes Coo. I must send him a message at once.’
    She snapped her fingers, and one of the footmen instantly appeared to do her bidding. She gave him a brief report, then dispatched him to Chyrurgeons’ Hall, after which she felt the dent in Chaloner’s hat. ‘And it was definitely Coo who was the target? Not you?’
    Chaloner regarded her