Read Online The Cheapside Corpse by Susanna Gregory - Free Book Online
Authors: Susanna Gregory
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company of militia organised to rally in the event of trouble, but a gang – a rabble of thieves, robbers, cut-throats and felons.’
A wave of resentment rippled through the onlookers, making Chaloner suspect that some might be trainband members themselves. He glanced at them. There were one or two merchants among the throng, but most were either obviously impecunious or were like Farrow – people who struggled to make an honest living, and who were compelled to borrow to make ends meet.
‘Regardless, Coo tended them when they were hurt or ill,’ Backwell was telling Taylor. ‘So Baron has no reason to harm him.’
‘Then I suppose the murder will remain a mystery,’ said Joan with callous indifference. ‘Now, let us all be about our own business. Shaw will not mind seeing to Coo. He is no longer a goldsmith, so he can have nothing better to do.’
She turned on her heel and flounced back to the tavern. Taylor followed, although not before he had taken the opportunity to run his eyes over the spectators, giving the impression that he was looking for debtors; Farrow was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Chaloner watched Taylor go, wondering whether to run after him to discuss the murdered Wheler – not to mention Hannah’s debt – but decided it was hardly the best time.
‘I cannot abide that Joan,’ muttered the laundress. ‘She was a greedy vixen when she was wed to Wheler, and marrying into the Taylor clan has made her worse than ever.’
There was a murmur of agreement, followed by a lot of vicious remarks about goldsmith–bankers in general. Chaloner turned back to the Shaws, but they had been cornered by Backwell, much to their obvious consternation.
‘My outing,’ Backwell was saying, blithely oblivious to the unfriendly mood of the onlookers. Personally, Chaloner thought he was reckless to stay there alone. ‘I have planned a meal of anchovies, followed by shopping. What time will you and Lettice arrive?’
‘Seven,’ replied Lettice, although her husband had opened his mouth to decline. Chaloner did not blame him: the excursion sounded dreadful.
‘Good,’ beamed Backwell. ‘It will be a celebration, as the King has just appointed me to oversee the finances for the Dutch war. I am delighted! There is nothing nicer than counting money and my new duties will involve a lot of it. I shall not only buy arms, ammunition and naval supplies, but see to the sailors’ pay. All those little packets of coins! What could be more fun?’
‘Music,’ said Lettice firmly. ‘Or listening to birdsong.’
‘And cockroach racing,’ added Shaw. Chaloner had no idea if he was serious.
But Backwell was warming to his theme and did not hear. ‘Coins deserve to be handled by someone who
loves
them, which is why I became a banker, of course. Nothing gives me more pleasure than money – the feel of it in my hands, its delicious scent, the way it glitters.’
He continued in this vein for several minutes, then turned and strode away without giving the Shaws a chance to respond, humming happily to himself.
‘Lord!’ muttered Chaloner, watching him go. ‘Is he in his right wits?’
‘He loves money more than life,’ said Shaw, then glared at his wife. ‘I was looking forward to singing tomorrow. Why did you let him bully you into accepting his invitation?’
Lettice sighed. ‘We cannot offend a powerful man – especially one who is friends with Joan. We do rent our shop from her, after all.’
When the bankers had gone, Shaw took control of the situation, albeit reluctantly. A messenger was sent to notify the authorities, Coo was carried inside his house, the laundress was paid to scour his blood from the step, and the remaining gawpers were dismissed with a few pithy words.
‘Could Taylor be right?’ asked Chaloner, feeling
he
had a right to linger, given that he had almost shared the physician’s fate. ‘Coo was shot on Baron’s orders?’
Shaw shook his head slowly. ‘Baron might be a
A wave of resentment rippled through the onlookers, making Chaloner suspect that some might be trainband members themselves. He glanced at them. There were one or two merchants among the throng, but most were either obviously impecunious or were like Farrow – people who struggled to make an honest living, and who were compelled to borrow to make ends meet.
‘Regardless, Coo tended them when they were hurt or ill,’ Backwell was telling Taylor. ‘So Baron has no reason to harm him.’
‘Then I suppose the murder will remain a mystery,’ said Joan with callous indifference. ‘Now, let us all be about our own business. Shaw will not mind seeing to Coo. He is no longer a goldsmith, so he can have nothing better to do.’
She turned on her heel and flounced back to the tavern. Taylor followed, although not before he had taken the opportunity to run his eyes over the spectators, giving the impression that he was looking for debtors; Farrow was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Chaloner watched Taylor go, wondering whether to run after him to discuss the murdered Wheler – not to mention Hannah’s debt – but decided it was hardly the best time.
‘I cannot abide that Joan,’ muttered the laundress. ‘She was a greedy vixen when she was wed to Wheler, and marrying into the Taylor clan has made her worse than ever.’
There was a murmur of agreement, followed by a lot of vicious remarks about goldsmith–bankers in general. Chaloner turned back to the Shaws, but they had been cornered by Backwell, much to their obvious consternation.
‘My outing,’ Backwell was saying, blithely oblivious to the unfriendly mood of the onlookers. Personally, Chaloner thought he was reckless to stay there alone. ‘I have planned a meal of anchovies, followed by shopping. What time will you and Lettice arrive?’
‘Seven,’ replied Lettice, although her husband had opened his mouth to decline. Chaloner did not blame him: the excursion sounded dreadful.
‘Good,’ beamed Backwell. ‘It will be a celebration, as the King has just appointed me to oversee the finances for the Dutch war. I am delighted! There is nothing nicer than counting money and my new duties will involve a lot of it. I shall not only buy arms, ammunition and naval supplies, but see to the sailors’ pay. All those little packets of coins! What could be more fun?’
‘Music,’ said Lettice firmly. ‘Or listening to birdsong.’
‘And cockroach racing,’ added Shaw. Chaloner had no idea if he was serious.
But Backwell was warming to his theme and did not hear. ‘Coins deserve to be handled by someone who
loves
them, which is why I became a banker, of course. Nothing gives me more pleasure than money – the feel of it in my hands, its delicious scent, the way it glitters.’
He continued in this vein for several minutes, then turned and strode away without giving the Shaws a chance to respond, humming happily to himself.
‘Lord!’ muttered Chaloner, watching him go. ‘Is he in his right wits?’
‘He loves money more than life,’ said Shaw, then glared at his wife. ‘I was looking forward to singing tomorrow. Why did you let him bully you into accepting his invitation?’
Lettice sighed. ‘We cannot offend a powerful man – especially one who is friends with Joan. We do rent our shop from her, after all.’
When the bankers had gone, Shaw took control of the situation, albeit reluctantly. A messenger was sent to notify the authorities, Coo was carried inside his house, the laundress was paid to scour his blood from the step, and the remaining gawpers were dismissed with a few pithy words.
‘Could Taylor be right?’ asked Chaloner, feeling
he
had a right to linger, given that he had almost shared the physician’s fate. ‘Coo was shot on Baron’s orders?’
Shaw shook his head slowly. ‘Baron might be a
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