Free The Body in the Thames by Susanna Gregory Page A

for him.
    Hanse had often praised his brother-in-law’s sharp mind, and Chaloner could only assume that Hanse had left him the riddle
     because he believed him to be capable of solving it. Uncomfortably, he suspected Hanse had overrated his abilities, because
     he had no idea how even to start unravelling what it meant. He stared at the stockings for a long time before standing reluctantly
     and going to tell the Earl of Clarendon that the missing diplomat was dead.
    * * *
    The Palace of White Hall was a sprawling, chaotic affair, said to contain more than two thousand rooms. It boasted elegant
     halls that rubbed shoulders with laundries and coal sheds, and was a maze of twisting lanes, cobbled yards and covered walkways.
     Because it was the King’s main London residence, it was always busy, and that Monday morning it thronged with servants, courtiers,
     nobles and clerks. Many had ridden there, or travelled in carriages, so there was a lot of traffic, too.
    White Hall was not just home to the King, his Queen, his mistress and the immediate members of his family. It was also a seat
     of administrative power, and some of His Majesty’s most important ministers had offices there. These included the Lord Chancellor,
     who had been provided with a suite of rooms overlooking the manicured elegance of the Privy Garden.
    Bulteel occupied a small, windowless room at the top of the great marble staircase. Its stone walls meant it was frigid in
     winter, and cool in summer. Chaloner stepped inside gratefully, relishing the sudden drop in temperature after the blistering
     heat of outside.
    ‘Have you found the Earl’s papers yet?’ the secretary asked. He wore a coat, and blew on his fingers to warm them as he sat
     back to smile a greeting at Chaloner.
    ‘Not yet. It would help – a lot, I imagine – if I knew what was in them. For example, there is a rumour that Hanse stole them,
     but if they pertain to agricultural policy in Wales, then I doubt he would have been very interested.’
    ‘Apparently, the rumour that Hanse is to blame was started by Sir George Downing. And I wish I
could
tellyou what is in them, but I cannot, because Clarendon says they are sensitive.’
    ‘Does that mean you think they are not?’
    ‘Stop!’ ordered Bulteel nervously. ‘There is nothing I would like more than to answer your questions, but he has forbidden
     me, so my hands are tied. I cannot disobey him.’
    ‘No,’ said Chaloner, disappointed. Bulteel was nothing if not obedient.
    ‘I was going to make knot biscuits this morning,’ said Bulteel unhappily, in the silence that followed. ‘My cousin tends to
     rise late, so I thought I could bake a batch before he was awake. But he must have heard the pantry door open, because he
     came down while I was measuring out the flour, and I had to concoct a tale about lending it to a neighbour.’
    Chaloner was sorry. Bulteel’s cakes were often the only pleasant thing about visiting White Hall. ‘How much longer will Griffith
     be staying with you?’ he asked, mostly out of self-interest.
    Bulteel looked pained. ‘My lessons are taking rather longer than we expected, and he says it will be at least another month
     before I am converted into a proper courtier. I want my kitchen back, but I want to be respected and admired more. It will
     be worth the inconvenience in the end.’
    ‘He cannot think badly of you for cooking,’ said Chaloner, resisting the urge to flinch at the desperate hope in Bulteel’s
     eyes. If he had known how to say it without causing hurt, he would have advised his friend to stop wasting his time.
    ‘He says I should expend all my spare energy in learning to dance, and he is right, of course. I dislikedancing, but it is an art I
shall
master.’ Bulteel’s small face was full of grim determination.
    ‘Are you sure this is a path you want to follow?’ asked Chaloner gently. ‘It is not—’
    ‘I have no choice,’ said Bulteel shortly. ‘I do not want to