Murder on High Holborn by Susanna Gregory

Author:Susanna Gregory [Gregory, Susanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Historical, Mystery & Detective
Publisher: Sphere
Published: 2014-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The Tothill Street house was empty when Chaloner arrived home, and there was a scribbled message from Hannah saying she would be home late and that the servants had been given the evening off. Chaloner was not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that their discussion about the missing hoard would have to wait – relieved because it seemed a waste of his energy to embark on a confontation about so distateful a matter as money, and disappointed because he was angry with her and wanted answers.

He went to the pantry for food, but rejected the exotic treats that were displayed there – stewed peacock, churned cream, orange-peel comfits – stubbornly declining to have anything to do with Hannah’s extravagance. He settled for barley-bread and dripping. He carried them to the drawing room, not lighting a fire to save the cost of the fuel, and when he had eaten, took his second-best viol from the cupboard under the stairs and began to play. He only stopped when a door slamming at the back of the house told him that Joan was home.

Hannah returned much later, making sure he woke by putting cold feet on him. He mumbled an objection and eased away, and was just falling back to sleep when a pair of icy hands began to rove across his chest.

‘You are very warm,’ she murmured.

He retorted that he would not stay that way for long if she insisted on mauling him, and was just dozing off again when she heaved herself close. The chilly fingers came to rest on his stomach, and he could smell wine on her breath.

‘I have been to a party,’ she whispered. ‘To celebrate the twenty-second anniversary of Prince Rupert arriving in England to offer his services to the old king. It was a glittering occasion, and everyone was there. Are you asleep, Tom? We can talk in the morning if so.’

‘Yes, please,’ he mumbled, trying to escape her frigid touch.

‘Dr Lambe was there,’ she chattered on. With a sigh, he rolled over to face her, suspecting it was nearing dawn anyway. ‘He is an eerie fellow, although the Duke admires his skills. He predicted that the devil would appear at Tyburn, you know.’

‘Is that so?’ Chaloner was thoughtful. He was fairly sure Eliza Hatton had issued the screech that had frightened the spectators into a stampede. Were she and Lambe working together – he making the prediction, and she planting the notion in susceptible minds? And if nature had not contrived to help with rainclouds, would she have found another way to ‘prove’ him right? Chaloner decided he would have a word with Lambe as soon as he could corner the man alone. And with Eliza, too, if he could catch her.

‘He announced it at Court on Thursday morning,’ Hannah went on. ‘And it came to pass that very afternoon. The Queen says that such people are anathema and should be banished, but it is only a bit of harmless fun.’

‘Ferine predicted the future, too,’ said Chaloner.

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