The Westminster Poisoner by Susanna Gregory Page B

rooms – squeals,
     giggles and bantering conversation. The spy was impressed: it was not easy for a man to inveigle his way into that Holy of
     Holies. But there was work to be done, and Chaloner had more important concerns than Turner’s silver tongue. He turned his
     attention to the matter in hand.
    ‘The statue was there,’ he said, pointing to the one plinth that was bereft of its masterpiece.
    Bulteel ran wistful fingers across the empty marble. ‘Bernini captured the old king’s likeness to perfection when he carved
     that bust. Did you know it was one of the pieces Cromwell hawked, because he needed money to pay off his army? You, in other
     words.’
    Chaloner was taken aback by what sounded like an accusation. ‘Hardly! I fought in the wars, but was never in the peacetime
     militia – I was overseas by the time the old king’s goods were sold.’ He frowned. ‘I did not know you were a connoisseur of
     art.’
    Bulteel shrugged. ‘You have never asked. But I do like sculpture. When the King decided to reassemble his late father’s collection,
     I was one of those employed to make a list of what had gone, so the commissioners would know what to hunt for. I hope you
     find the Bernini,because it would be a crying shame if that disappeared into some private vault.’
    ‘Yes, it would, so we had better get to work. The Shield Gallery has four doors: one leads to the Queen’s apartments; one
     leads to the King’s; the tiny one in the corner leads to a spiral staircase that exits into a lane – we just used it to come
     here; and the last one leads to the Privy Stairs and the river. All are locked at night. What is your theory about keys?’
    ‘There was no sign of forced entry, which means the culprit had one. The King rarely uses his door – you can see from here
     that it is currently blocked by a chest. By contrast, the Queen uses hers a lot, because she likes to walk in here if the
     weather is damp.’
    ‘You think the thief is one of her ladies-in-waiting?’ Chaloner was amused. ‘She must be a very hefty one, then, because those
     busts are heavy.’
    ‘You are mocking me,’ said Bulteel reproachfully. ‘I was going to say that the ladies can be eliminated as suspects, because
     they would have stolen something more easily portable.’
    Chaloner inclined his head to accept his point. ‘I know the thief did not use the Privy Stairs door, because that was barred
     from the inside. So, we are left with the one that gives access to the lane. Who has a key to that? You do, for a start.’
    Bulteel held it up. ‘It is the Earl’s, and one of my responsibilities is to keep it for him. It was a duty he wanted me to
     pass to Haddon, but I prevaricated for so long that he has forgotten about it.’
    ‘Who else?’ asked Chaloner, not very interested in Bulteel’s machinations to foil his rival.
    ‘And
there
is your problem. I made enquiries, and wastold they were issued to at least forty nobles – women and men – at the Restoration. Brodrick has one, for example. Perhaps
he
stole the statue, and intends to make it look as though his cousin is the thief, as one of his pranks as Lord of Misrule.’
    Chaloner was troubled, because it was exactly the kind of jape Brodrick might dream up. Unfortunately, what sounded like harmless
     fun might have devastating consequences, because the Earl’s detractors would use it to question his probity – and England
     would not want a Lord Chancellor with accusations of dishonesty hanging over his head.
    ‘Is that why you brought me here?’ he asked. ‘To tell me Brodrick is the guilty party?’
    ‘Actually, no. I brought you here because I wanted you to understand that the thief is either a courtier or a high-ranking,
     well-trusted servant. It will not be a common burglar or some lowly scullion. It means you need to be careful, because the
     culprit may be powerful enough to do you real harm as you close in on him.’
    Chaloner was thoughtful as he