Read Online A Conspiracy of Violence by Susanna Gregory - Free Book Online

noon, and that he had been gone more than four hours – too long. He donned the hated wig,
     and to ensure he was not being followed, took a tortuous route through the Clare Market to Lincoln’s Inn. The market, recently
     established by the Earl of Clare, was a chaotic jumble of stalls, alleys, sheds and runnels. Chaloner held his sleeve over
     his nose when he passed the shambles, wincing at the rank, choking stench that emanated from the butchers’ and fishmongers’
     shops. He emerged near the new theatre built for the Duke’s Company in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, although all the ornate plasterwork
     in the world could not disguise the fact that it had enjoyed a previous life as a tennis court. Checking for the last time
     that he was alone, he cut across the Fields to Chancery Lane.
    The gate to Lincoln’s Inn was answered by the same porter who had admitted him that morning. The man raised his eyebrows questioningly,
     and Chaloner brandished the satchel, feigning a buoyancy he did not feel. The porter grinned and waved him inside, letting
     him make his own way to Thurloe’s apartments. Chalonercrossed a neat square that was bound by accommodation wings to the north, west and east, and the chapel to the south. It
     was dominated by one of the ugliest sundials he had ever seen. He weaved through knots of black-gowned students, then climbed
     a set of creaking stairs in the building that abutted on to the western end of the chapel, before knocking on the door to
     Chamber XIII.
    Thurloe’s suite comprised rooms on two levels, all boasting oak panelling and a comforting, homely odour of wax and wood smoke.
     On the lower floor were a bedchamber and sitting room, both with dark furniture that rendered them gloomy and sombre. Shelves
     lined the walls, bowing under the weight of books. Most were legal texts, purchased when Thurloe had decided to eschew politics
     and turn to the law again. Chaloner glanced at the spines, and wondered whether any had been bought from William Leybourn
     of Monkwell Street, Cripplegate. The upper floor comprised a garret for his manservant – an elusive, unobtrusive fellow whom
     Chaloner suspected was dumb – and a pantry where his meals were prepared.
    When Chaloner entered the sitting room, he saw a fire blazing in the hearth and Thurloe sitting so close to it that there
     was a smell of singed cloth. That morning he had visitors, which was unusual: he was almost always alone, and there were rumours
     that his fall from grace had left him with no friends. One of the three guests Chaloner knew well, although it was not someone
     he would have chosen to meet. Ten years older than Chaloner, Sir George Downing was a florid man, whose expensive green coat
     failed to disguise the fact that he was growing fat. He was confident, aggressive, and caredfor no one’s opinion – unless he thought the acquaintance might be useful, in which case he was greasily obsequious. Given
     that he had betrayed Thurloe by changing sides before the Protectorate had fully disintegrated, Chaloner was surprised to
     see the fellow in the ex-Spymaster’s home.
    The second man Chaloner did not know. He was in his fifties, and wore an eccentric arrangement of waistcoats and doublets.
     All were well made, suggesting he was wealthy. When he raised his handkerchief to dab his lips, the scent of oranges wafted
     across the room. The hand holding the napkin was unsteady, and Chaloner was under the impression that the knock at the door
     had startled him. He was accompanied by a lady who wore a dress that fell in sumptuous pleats, and with short, straight sleeves
     that ended in a series of elaborate ruffs. It was a style made popular by those wanting to emulate the sensuous Lady Castlemaine,
     and Chaloner knew the neckline would be indecently low. In this case, however, the suggestive plunge was concealed by a gorget
     – a decorous cape-like collar – fastened with a jewelled clasp. She was considerably younger