4 A Plague of Angels: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery by P. F. Chisholm Page A

could and he won’t,’ said Carey. ‘He’s rich, certainly, but most of it’s in land and buildings. Very hard to get liquid cash off property like that; if you sell them you lose badly on the deal and mortgaging’s even worse. Plus my esteemed eldest brother George would have a fit if Father sold any of his patrimony to pay more of my debts.’
    ‘More?’
    ‘He’s already settled about four thousand pounds for me and lent me another thousand.’
    Dodd’s jaw dropped. He could not get used to the way Carey casually bandied about sums that he had never even thought about before, much less owned or spent.
    ‘And then there’s brother Edmund who’s not cheap to maintain either, and John’s expenses in Berwick are crippling. Father says if he kept paying off his sons’ debts he’d be begging at Temple Gate in a year and stark raving mad into the bargain.’
    ‘But sir! What on earth d’ye spend all this money on? Not just clothes, surely?’
    ‘Oh clothes, armour, horses, masquing, occasional little bets, women, plays, cockfighting…God, I don’t know. It just flows away from me somehow.’
    ‘Ay. So how much d’ye owe?’
    Carey shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. Somewhere about another two or three thousand, I should think. Thereabouts.’
    Very carefully Dodd shut his mouth and swallowed hard.
    ‘Two or three thousand pounds?’ he asked, just to get it straight. Carey looked mildly irritated.
    ‘Well, it’s not pennies, unfortunately.’
    ‘And the creditors are feeling a mite impatient?’
    ‘They’re terrified because I got away from them last time and they think I’ll do it again—go north and stay there until the lot of them are dead or in debtors’ gaol themselves.’ Dodd blinked at this admission. Even Carey had the grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘Well, what else could I do?’
    ‘Ay, sir. What?’ echoed Dodd, thinking of a whole variety of sensible and economical things.
    ‘Anyway, you have to spend money to get money. Which reminds me—did Heneage give you a bribe?’
    ‘Nay, sir, he didnae,’ said Dodd, feeling aggrieved. ‘Nae such thing. He said he might invite me tae his residence in Chelsea, but nae more than that…’
    Carey frowned. ‘That was bloody cheeky of him.’
    Dodd felt confused. ‘It was?’
    ‘Who does he think he is, threatening you in front of me and my father?’
    ‘Ah…Was that what he wis doing, sir?’
    Carey’s frown lightened. ‘Well, you’ll have confused him at least. What did you say?’
    ‘I said he wis kind, sir. Nae more.’
    Carey shouted with laughter. ‘I wish I’d been closer to see his reaction. You must be the first person he’s said that to who didn’t instantly quiver with fright.’
    ‘Ay, he seemed puzzled. He said I should ask you, sir.’
    ‘How would you react if Richie Graham invited you to Brackenhill to discuss your blackrent payments?’
    ‘Och.’ Dodd sucked his teeth. ‘I see. What is Mr Heneage, exactly, sir?’
    ‘One of the most powerful men in the kingdom and getting stronger every day. I’d say he’s even keeping the Cecils up at nights.’
    ‘Why? He disnae seem much of a fighting man.’
    ‘Did you ever hear of Sir Francis Walsingham?’
    ‘Ay, sir, ye’ve told me about him. The Queen’s Secretary.’
    ‘And chief intelligencer, until his death. Well, Heneage has taken over Walsingham’s activities in collecting information here and abroad, and in hunting down Papist priests. Unlike Walsingham, he isn’t an honest man. Interrogations of suspected traitors used to take place in the Tower of London, under warrant from the Queen. Now they happen at Chelsea.’
    ‘But he couldnae arrest me, could he, Sir Robert? I’m no’ a traitor.’
    Carey said nothing to that, just looked at him until Dodd felt embarrassed by his naivety.
    ‘It is certainly true,’ said Carey eventually, in a distant tone of voice, ‘that all suspected traitors who are taken to Heneage’s house in Chelsea