The Westminster Poisoner

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Authors: Susanna Gregory
Tags: Fiction, General, Historical, Mystery & Detective
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dish back on the table with a moue of distaste. ‘I am not sure Chetwynd knew what he was talking about, and
     my delicate constitution may take harm from following the advice of the ignorant. What do you think?’
    ‘About what? The possibility of you being harmed by coffee grounds, Chetwynd’s competence in medical matters, or the manner
     of his death?’
    Thurloe opened a small box, the label of which proudly claimed the contents to be
Stinking Pills, guaranteed to purge phlegm, clear the veins, and cure gout and leprosy
. Chaloner hoped his friend knew what he was doing when he took a handful and began to chew them.
    ‘The answer to any question would be acceptable, Thomas. You have volunteered virtually nothing since you arrived, avoiding
     even my innocuous enquiries about your health. If this is what happens to a man when I train him to spy, then I am sorry for
     it.’
    ‘So am I,’ said Chaloner, supposing that working at Court, moving among people who were subjects for investigation rather
     than friendship, was beginning to take an unpleasant toll on his manners. If he could not hold a normal conversation with
     his closest friend, then it was not surprising that he often felt lonely in London.He tried to explain. ‘I am forced to be constantly on my guard at White Hall – against being told lies, against physical attack,
     and against harm to my master.’
    Thurloe regarded him thoughtfully. ‘But that has always been the case. When you were working for me in Holland, France and
     Portugal, the strain must have been even greater, given that a careless slip would have cost you your life. White Hall cannot
     be as bad as that.’
    Chaloner was not so sure. ‘Williamson is proving to be an unforgiving enemy.’
    Thurloe’s expression was one of disgust. ‘Williamson is a fool! If he had hired you as his spy in The Hague, as I recommended,
     we would not be nearing the brink of war with Holland now. You would have provided him with information that would have averted
     the crisis.’
    Chaloner was astonished by the claim. ‘I sincerely doubt it! The government thinks we can win an encounter with the Dutch,
     and no spy will convince them otherwise. I cannot imagine where their bravado comes from, given that they have dismissed the
     standing army, and the navy is full of unpaid criminals who will desert at the first cannonball.’
    ‘The Royalists are like children, playing games of war. But they will learn, although not before English blood is needlessly
     spilled. I only hope none of it is yours. The situation is now so dangerous that I would urge you to refuse, should the Earl
     order you to gather intelligence in Holland. Look what happened when you went to Spain and Portugal earlier this year. You
     barely escaped with your life.’
    ‘He is more concerned with the missing statue than with the Dutch,’ said Chaloner, changing the subject, because he did not
     want to think about his harrowing experiences in Iberia.
    Thurloe raised his eyebrows. ‘So, you are
not
investigating what happened to Chetwynd?’
    ‘I am expected to do both.’ Chaloner hesitated uncertainly. ‘I would not mind telling you all I have learned about the murders,
     to see if you can think of any way forward. The Earl is determined to see Greene hanged for killing Chetwynd and Vine, but
     I am sure he is innocent.’
    Thurloe listened without interruption as the spy outlined all he had discovered. ‘I met Greene once,’ he said when Chaloner
     had finished. ‘He is a nonentity – an unassuming fellow without the vigour to kill two men. Why does the Earl dislike him
     so intensely?’
    ‘I do not know – and I suspect I never will. He has never really trusted me, and I think he intends to replace me soon, with
     a man called Colonel Turner. Have you heard of him?’
    ‘Yes. He was a minor nuisance during the Common-wealth – he liked breaking into the Post Office and stealing letters. He
     never laid hold of

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