askedChaloner tiredly. ‘It is closer.’
‘Really, Thomas,’ said Temperance disdainfully. ‘The Antwerp is well known for being the haunt of Parliamentarians. We could not possibly go there. Besides, it is a coffee house now, so women are refused admittance. The Crown, on the other hand, has always been a Cavalier stronghold and it welcomes ladies.’
Wondering when the turbulent politics wrought by the civil wars would ever relinquish their hold, Chaloner followed his friends out of Post House Yard.
Although he knew he should visit Storey, Chaloner was glad to sit next to a roaring fire and feel the warmth seep back into his frozen limbs. Wiseman ordered a jug of sack-posset – mulled wine mixed with milk, which was more palatable than it sounded – and it was not long before Chaloner began to feel better.
He had never been in the Crown before, and looked curiously around the place where Royalists still gathered to ruminate. It was large, comfortable and clean. A number of people sat at a table by the window, where they spoke in loud, bragging voices about what they would do if they ever laid hold of a Parliamentarian. Chaloner sincerely hoped his plain brown long-coat and lack of lace would not lead them to assume that
he
was one.
The ambitious navy clerk SamuelPepys was there, too, with a group of men from the newly formed Royal Society. He glanced in Chaloner’s direction, but did not acknowledge him. Chaloner understood why Pepys was reluctant to admit an association in front of his influential friends: Chaloner’s clothes had not been smart before the blast, but now they made him look positively disreputable.
‘We shall have something to eat, too,’ determined Wiseman. ‘Roasted duck.’
‘No,’ said Chaloner hastily, his encounter with the feathered residents of St James’s Park too fresh in his mind. ‘Not a bird. Not today.’
Wiseman regarded him in concern. ‘How hard did you hit your head when you landed on the ground? Is there any ringing in your ears?’
‘Perhaps there is quacking,’ quipped Temperance. Then she shuddered and took a substantial gulp of posset. ‘I do not think I will ever forget what happened in Post House Yard today.’
‘Five dead,’ sighed the surgeon. ‘Including two boys. Apparently, they had come to collect feathers from Edward Storey. He was out, but their youthful curiosity must have been snagged by the sight of an unattended cart. I suspect they were in the process of filching logs when it blew up.’
‘I saw them,’ said Temperance. ‘They looked like beggars. But why did they want feathers?’
‘For hats,’ explained Wiseman. ‘Storey supplies the Court milliners, and these lads delivered them for him, apparently. The other victims were Wood’s servant Joyce, and the Alibond brothers.’
‘Not Job and Sam!’ cried Temperance in dismay. ‘But I know them, Richard!’
Wiseman reached out to hold her hand. ‘I am sorry, dearest. They heard Chaloner raise the alarm, but were too fat to heed it – they could not waddle away fast enough.’
‘They were portly,’ acknowledgedTemperance. ‘When they came to the club, they ate far more than anyone else. But I liked them, and I shall miss their visits. They were postal clerks.’
‘It could have been much worse,’ said Wiseman soberly. ‘The yard was packed with folk, partly because it was nearing the noon deadline for letters, and partly because someone was playing the flageolet and people had stopped to listen to him.’
‘Was the musician among the injured?’ Chaloner had only the vaguest recollection of the man – a tall, thin fellow of mediocre talent, whose hat had shielded his face.
‘No,’ replied the surgeon. ‘He must have run away when he heard you yell.’
Chaloner regarded him uneasily. ‘Do you think he was there to encourage people to linger, so that the carnage would be greater?’
‘I would not think so,’ said Wiseman, startled. ‘What reason could he
‘Really, Thomas,’ said Temperance disdainfully. ‘The Antwerp is well known for being the haunt of Parliamentarians. We could not possibly go there. Besides, it is a coffee house now, so women are refused admittance. The Crown, on the other hand, has always been a Cavalier stronghold and it welcomes ladies.’
Wondering when the turbulent politics wrought by the civil wars would ever relinquish their hold, Chaloner followed his friends out of Post House Yard.
Although he knew he should visit Storey, Chaloner was glad to sit next to a roaring fire and feel the warmth seep back into his frozen limbs. Wiseman ordered a jug of sack-posset – mulled wine mixed with milk, which was more palatable than it sounded – and it was not long before Chaloner began to feel better.
He had never been in the Crown before, and looked curiously around the place where Royalists still gathered to ruminate. It was large, comfortable and clean. A number of people sat at a table by the window, where they spoke in loud, bragging voices about what they would do if they ever laid hold of a Parliamentarian. Chaloner sincerely hoped his plain brown long-coat and lack of lace would not lead them to assume that
he
was one.
The ambitious navy clerk SamuelPepys was there, too, with a group of men from the newly formed Royal Society. He glanced in Chaloner’s direction, but did not acknowledge him. Chaloner understood why Pepys was reluctant to admit an association in front of his influential friends: Chaloner’s clothes had not been smart before the blast, but now they made him look positively disreputable.
‘We shall have something to eat, too,’ determined Wiseman. ‘Roasted duck.’
‘No,’ said Chaloner hastily, his encounter with the feathered residents of St James’s Park too fresh in his mind. ‘Not a bird. Not today.’
Wiseman regarded him in concern. ‘How hard did you hit your head when you landed on the ground? Is there any ringing in your ears?’
‘Perhaps there is quacking,’ quipped Temperance. Then she shuddered and took a substantial gulp of posset. ‘I do not think I will ever forget what happened in Post House Yard today.’
‘Five dead,’ sighed the surgeon. ‘Including two boys. Apparently, they had come to collect feathers from Edward Storey. He was out, but their youthful curiosity must have been snagged by the sight of an unattended cart. I suspect they were in the process of filching logs when it blew up.’
‘I saw them,’ said Temperance. ‘They looked like beggars. But why did they want feathers?’
‘For hats,’ explained Wiseman. ‘Storey supplies the Court milliners, and these lads delivered them for him, apparently. The other victims were Wood’s servant Joyce, and the Alibond brothers.’
‘Not Job and Sam!’ cried Temperance in dismay. ‘But I know them, Richard!’
Wiseman reached out to hold her hand. ‘I am sorry, dearest. They heard Chaloner raise the alarm, but were too fat to heed it – they could not waddle away fast enough.’
‘They were portly,’ acknowledgedTemperance. ‘When they came to the club, they ate far more than anyone else. But I liked them, and I shall miss their visits. They were postal clerks.’
‘It could have been much worse,’ said Wiseman soberly. ‘The yard was packed with folk, partly because it was nearing the noon deadline for letters, and partly because someone was playing the flageolet and people had stopped to listen to him.’
‘Was the musician among the injured?’ Chaloner had only the vaguest recollection of the man – a tall, thin fellow of mediocre talent, whose hat had shielded his face.
‘No,’ replied the surgeon. ‘He must have run away when he heard you yell.’
Chaloner regarded him uneasily. ‘Do you think he was there to encourage people to linger, so that the carnage would be greater?’
‘I would not think so,’ said Wiseman, startled. ‘What reason could he
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