The Westminster Poisoner by Susanna Gregory Page A

further – he did not want to take sides when he had to work with both secretary and steward. ‘I do not suppose you have
     heardany rumours about these murders, have you? About potential culprits?’
    ‘I am afraid not,’ replied Bulteel. ‘All I know is that neither victim will be mourned by his kin, although London will be
     a poorer place without them. They were good men.’
    ‘You knew them well?’
    ‘No, but I wish I had – they were gentle and kind. And Vine funded a hospice for stray dogs. Perhaps
that
is why they were killed – the Court is so full of vice that decency is considered a fault.’
    ‘Is Greene the kind of man to despise goodness?’
    ‘I do not know him well, either, but I would not have thought so. He is very devout, by all accounts – attends church most
     mornings, and does charitable work in Southwark.’
    ‘Then what about the missing statue? There must be
some
gossip regarding its whereabouts?’
    ‘Not that I have heard. Colonel Turner has been told to make enquiries, too, but I would rather you were the one to find it.’
    Chaloner shrugged. ‘It does not matter which of us succeeds, only that the King has it back. He is said to be very distressed
     about its disappearance.’
    Bulteel was silent for a moment, then began to speak. ‘Turner is a danger to your future. And Haddon is a danger to mine.
     You and I have worked together before to our mutual advantage, so what do you say to renewing our alliance? You tell me if
     Haddon confides any plot that might prove detrimental to me; I tell you anything I hear about the statue or the murders. Agreed?’
    ‘Very well,’ said Chaloner, confident that the steward would confide nothing of the kind, so betraying onecolleague to another would not be a quandary he would ever be obliged to face.
    Bulteel smiled. ‘Good. And to seal our agreement, I shall go with you to the Shield Gallery. Turner should be gone by now,
     because we both know there is nothing to find – you have already looked.’
    ‘So why should I go there with you now?’ asked Chaloner warily.
    ‘Because I have been thinking about the theft, and I have a theory. It involves keys.’
    The ease with which the thief had entered the Shield Gallery on the night the statue had gone missing was something that had
     troubled Chaloner from the start, and he was more than willing to listen to Bulteel’s ideas on the subject. The secretary
     had a sharp mind, and might well have an insight into how the crime had been committed – and Chaloner needed all the help
     he could get now he was in competition with another investigator. He nodded assent, and they began to walk in that direction.
    The Shield Gallery was a long hall, so named because trophies won during tournaments in the nearby Tilt Yard had once hung
     there. No such chivalrous pursuits took place now, though – Chaloner thought there was more likely to be a tally of sexual
     conquests pinned to the walls.
    The gallery was on the upper floor of an Elizabethan section of the palace, and at one end was a large, mullioned window that
     overlooked the river. On the ground floor, directly beneath the window, were the so-called Privy Stairs, which were basically
     a private wharf for the King and Queen. It was convenient for them to jump into a boat there, because the Queen’s quarters
     were through a door in the gallery’s northern end, whilethe King’s lay to the south. The gallery was handsomely appointed – its floor was tiled in black and white granite, and paintings
     by great masters hung along its length, interspersed with sculptures on plinths.
    As it was so close to the royal apartments, the chamber was usually kept locked. Bulteel opened it with a key, and Chaloner
     saw Turner had not been exaggerating when he had mentioned a leaking roof: there were puddles on the floor and water-stains
     on the walls. There was no sign of the colonel, although there was a lot of noise coming from Her Majesty’s