Free The Body in the Thames by Susanna Gregory Page B

be a secretary for the rest of my life, because I am capable of
     much greater things. But never mind me. Griffith is with the Earl at the moment. He spied for him during the Commonwealth,
     you see, and they often reminisce together. You should be glad, because Clarendon is usually in a good mood when they have
     finished.’
    ‘Is it true?’ asked Chaloner. He could not imagine Griffith being subtle enough for espionage. ‘He really was an intelligencer?’
    ‘Oh, yes. He and Clarendon have dozens of stories to tell about their exploits. I think I have heard them all now, thank God,
     but for a while, they insisted that I sat and listened. My cousin is a lovely man, but he can be very long-winded. I pity
     his valet, having to wait hours while he gabbles.’
    Bulteel lowered his voice as he pointed to the antechamber at the far end of the hall, where the soberly clad manservant sat.
     The man was so still that Chaloner wondered if he was asleep, but he saw them looking, and raised a hand in greeting. He did
     not smile, though, and Chaloner did not think he had ever seen a more impassive visage.
    ‘Roger Lane,’ said Bulteel in a whisper. ‘I cannot say I like him. In fact, he makes me uneasy.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I cannot explain – it is just a feeling. Perhaps it is because he so rarely speaks.’
    ‘Your cousin makes up for his taciturnity.’
    Bulteel grinned, revealing his sadly decayed teeth. ‘Yes, he does.’
    Both turned when a door opened, and Griffith stepped out. He was followed by a roar of laughter and some jovial farewells,
     and was beaming as he minced towards them, lace kerchief flapping back and forth. Immediately, Lane came to his feet and followed,
     treading as silently as a cat.
    Griffith turned to him. ‘Summon a carriage, if you please. It is too dusty for walking, and I have been invited to watch His
     Majesty and the Duke of Buckingham play tennis at noon.’
    ‘Surely, it is too hot for that sort of thing?’ remarked Bulteel, watching as Lane slunk away to do as he was told. ‘Tennis,
     I mean.’
    Griffith fanned himself theatrically. ‘Gentleman do not allow a mere inconvenience like the climate to prevent them from doing
     what they like. Besides, the King has invited the Dutch ambassador to watch, and he will not want
him
disappointed.’
    Chaloner doubted van Goch would mind a cancellation, and he would certainly have more profitable things to do than sit in
     a stuffy room and watch two sweaty Englishmen run about.
    ‘But first, I shall visit the Spares Gallery,’ Griffith declared. The Spares Gallery, so named because it was a repository
     for duplicate or unwanted pieces of art, was a long hall used by courtiers and minor nobles as a common room. Chaloner often
     eavesdropped in it, because it was a great place for gossip. ‘Where I shall enjoy a refreshing glass of ale.’
    ‘I will join you,’ said Bulteel, removing his coat in anticipation of a walk outside. ‘And while we drink, Ishall recite the romantic poem you suggested I write. It is called “Reflections on a Stale Biscuit”. Keep looking for those papers, Tom. Do your best to find them.’
    Chaloner was astonished when he opened the Earl’s door to find fires lit within. His master suffered from gout and hated the
     cold, but he should not have been chilly when all London wilted, and plants had turned brown and crunchy under an unrelenting
     sun. He felt himself break into a sweat as he went from the hall to the oven-like atmosphere of the main office.
    The Earl had endured great privation during the Commonwealth, when he had gone into exile with the King, and was busily making
     up for lost time. His offices were crammed to the gills with fine works of art and exquisite pieces of furniture, while the
     rugs on the floor were the best money could buy. Personally, Chaloner found the chambers vulgar, and thought they would have
     been more pleasant with less ostentatious wealth.
    ‘There you are,’ said