The Butcher of Smithfield (19 page)

He squinted against the light of the lamp and wondered how long he had been asleep. Leybourn was dozing in the chair opposite,
while Mary was sitting at the kitchen table with a sour expression on her face. Chaloner supposed her displeasure derived
from the fact that he had woken up before he had been incinerated. His movements disturbed the surveyor, who opened his eyes
and took a deep, noisy breath. When Chaloner looked back at Mary, the sulky glare was gone and she was smiling sweetly.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked Chaloner politely. He was not deceived by her concern, but was determined he would not be
the one to start an argument.

‘Better, thank you. What is the time?’

‘I heard the watchmen call four o’clock not long ago,’ she replied, in the same pleasant tone. ‘Will you be leaving soon,
while it is still dark? I imagine you will not want anyone to see you.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Leybourn, looking from one to the other uncertainly.

‘The murder,’ said Mary, all quiet reason. ‘There is blood on him, and none of it is his own.’

Chaloner rubbed his head and tried to remember what had happened, but found his memory was hazy. ‘Smegergill is dead. He drowned
when he was held face-down in a puddle.’

‘Who is Smegergill?’ asked Leybourn uneasily. ‘Who did this to you?’

‘Do not ask,’ advised Mary. ‘It is better we do not know, because knowledge of his crimes puts us at risk, and I have no wish
to be hanged as his accomplice. Make him leave, William. You are not a carefree bachelor now. You have a responsibility to
your dependents: me.’

Leybourn regarded her in anguish, and Chaloner saw the surveyor was hard-pressed to make the choice. Eventually, he swallowed
hard. ‘You had better go to my brother, Mary. Rob will make sure none of this reflects on you.’

‘You choose him over me?’ she asked, aghast.

‘No,’ said Chaloner, standing up. ‘I should not have come. I was not thinking properly.’

‘You were not thinking at all,’ said Leybourn kindly. ‘You were dazed. But you are safe now, and we will ask no awkward questions
– what we do not know, we cannot tell. Best say nothing, Tom.’

Chaloner regarded him in surprise. ‘I have done nothing wrong,’ he objected, astonished to think Leybourn might imagine he
had.

‘You killed someone,’ reiterated Mary. Her voice was harsh now she had won Leybourn to her way of thinking,
and she was making no attempt to mask her dislike. ‘There is blood on your hands.’

Chaloner had a sudden, vivid recollection of almost severing a man’s finger, and gradually, the events of the night began
to trickle back to him. ‘Smegergill and I were going to take a carriage to the Rhenish Wine House, but we were attacked outside
St Bartholomew’s Church. I should have been able to repel them, but I failed. And Smegergill paid the price for my ineptitude.’

‘Smegergill was killed by robbers?’ asked Leybourn. He sounded relieved, and glanced at Mary, to make sure she had heard.
‘They must have been Hectors, since St Bartholomew’s is their domain.’

‘He knew my father,’ said Chaloner, realising he was not relating the tale in a logical order but unable to do much about
it; his wits were still not functioning properly. ‘He was afraid the thieves were actually wardens, come to take him to Bedlam.’

‘Perhaps it was you they were after,’ muttered Mary.

Leybourn frowned a gentle admonishment at her, but the scowl dissolved when she treated him to a loving smile. The moment
he turned back to Chaloner, she shot the spy a look of such blazing dislike that he recoiled. He was aware of similar feelings
towards her, which surprised him, because it usually took longer for people to generate such strong emotions in him. He was
sorry, because their antipathy towards each other was likely to end up causing Leybourn pain.

‘Why should Smegergill think he was bound for Bedlam?’ asked Leybourn. Mary made the kind of noise that said she was not going
to listen to more lies, and went to the pantry. A few moments later came the sound of wine being decanted into a goblet. She
did not come
back, and Chaloner was relieved to speak to Leybourn alone.

‘He did not seem insane, but I am no judge of such matters.’ He rubbed his head again and sighed. ‘What am I saying? Of course
he was not insane: he was one of His Majesty’s musicians, and the Court does not appoint lunatics to such posts. He was just
forgetful, as the elderly are sometimes. He was telling me about some documents Maylord had found. Maylord was being cheated
by someone.’

Leybourn frowned. ‘I think I follow you, although this is a garbled explanation, to put it mildly. Shall I send for a surgeon?
Their hall is just across the road.’

‘No, thank you.’ Chaloner did not like surgeons. ‘But I cannot think properly, Will. It is all a blur, and I am not sure what
really happened. There was a cut on Smegergill’s lip and he certainly drowned, but his purse was not stolen, and neither was
his ring.’

‘Perhaps the robbers were disturbed before they could finish.’

‘That is what I thought, but no one came until later. And his empty purse is odd. We were going to hire a carriage, but he
had no money.’

‘Maybe he thought you were going to pay,’ suggested Leybourn. ‘Or he forgot to fill it before he left home. Or the thieves
took the coins and left the pouch. Or this was their first robbery, and they did not know what they were doing, although that
is difficult to believe – the Hectors are usually very good at thievery. Did you see any of them? Could you identify them,
if you saw them again?’

Chaloner touched the bruise on his jaw. ‘No. They threw a stone first, which slowed me down. That is not
something inexperienced felons do. It meant I could not fight properly.’

‘Some of the Hectors carry slingshots, so I imagine that is what hit you. You are lucky to be alive, because it is not unknown
for men to die after being struck by Smithfield-hurled missiles.’

Chaloner wondered whether that was what had happened to Smegergill. ‘I suppose someone took exception to my questions about
Newburne, and decided they should end. Poor Smegergill made a fatal mistake when he agreed to catch a carriage with me. Mary
is right: I
did
kill him.’

‘Easy,’ said Leybourn gently. ‘Do not jump to wild conclusions.’

But Chaloner was feeling wretched, sure the old man would still be alive if he had not been careless. It would not be an easy
burden to bear for the rest of his life.

‘Williamson’s agent told me the government hires Hectors on occasion,’ he said, trying to pull himself together. The least
he could do was ensure that Smegergill’s killers faced justice; brooding about his ineptitude could come later. ‘Perhaps Williamson
wanted to stop me from investigating.’

‘Him and half of London. I am not keen on you unveiling the culprit myself – not for a snake like Newburne. You think it was
you they wanted, then? You do not think it was a random attack?’

Chaloner thought about the interviews he had conducted that day. He had been warned away from the investigation by every person
he had spoken to: L’Estrange, Brome and Joanna at the newsbook offices; Hodgkinson the printer; Hen Finch; Muddiman and
Dury; and even Williamson’s man. Meanwhile, Crisp’s name had cropped up rather a lot, too.

‘I am sure Smegergill was about to tell me something important,’ he said bitterly. ‘I
know
he was. If only I had protected him properly.’

‘You are a good spy,’ said Leybourn soothingly. ‘You will discover whatever it was another way.’

It was not much of a consolation, especially for Smegergill. ‘I should be going,’ he said, when Mary returned with a cup of
wine clasped in her plump fingers.

‘No,’ said Leybourn firmly. ‘You are still not right, and—’

‘Leave through the back door, please,’ said Mary. ‘It will be safer for us if you are not seen.’

‘Mary!’ cried Leybourn, distressed. ‘He must stay until daybreak. Supposing the Hectors are still looking for him? Supposing
they try again?’

‘It would be a tragedy,’ said Mary flatly.

Leybourn shot her an agonised look, then turned to Chaloner, who was inspecting his dented hat. ‘She is jesting with you,’
he said with an unconvincing smile. ‘She is a great one for jokes, and we are always laughing together.’

Chaloner wondered how much Leybourn would laugh when he discovered her true character, because it was only a matter of time
before the bedazzlement faded and the surveyor was exposed to what really lay beneath. He opened the door and stepped into
the garden. The rain had stopped, and the early hour meant the air smelled of wet earth and damp leaves, coal fires and the
reek of industry being doused for the night. He heard Leybourn and Mary exchanging low, angry words behind him, and was sorry
he had brought discord to his friend’s
house. When he turned, the surveyor had gone, and Mary was waiting, hands on hips, to make sure he really left. He moved towards
her, making her flinch back in alarm.

‘Most people would summon a constable if they thought a killer was on their doorstep, but you only clamour for me to be gone.
Now, why would you do that? Are you hiding from the law?’

She gaped at him. ‘How dare you! I am just trying to protect my husband.’

‘You are a liar,
Mrs
Leybourn. The truth is that you do not want a brush with the forces of law and order, not even to help the victim of an assault.’

She regarded him with a glittering hatred, and when she spoke her voice was a low, menacing hiss. ‘If you meddle in my affairs,
I will see you dead. Now go, and do not come back. Not ever.’

Chaloner had never appreciated being threatened. ‘And what will you do if I refuse?’

She leaned towards him. ‘Ellis Crisp owes me a favour, and his Hectors will be more than willing to teach you a lesson. All
I have to do is ask.’

The remark was more revealing than alarming, and Chaloner regarded her thoughtfully. ‘An underworld king is an odd acquaintance
for a respectable woman, I would have thought. Perhaps I will ask questions in Smithfield, and see what I can learn about
you.’

Mary’s face became ugly with rage. ‘If you try to interfere with my business, I will ensure you destroy your friend in the
process. He is happy with me and I am content with him. But if you harm me, I will ruin him – financially and emotionally.
And then Crisp will see you pay in ways you cannot possibly imagine.’

‘You would hurt the man you profess to love?’ Chaloner was disgusted.

‘If the alternative is losing a nice house, plenty of money and a life of leisure? What do you think?’

‘Tom!’ called Leybourn, appearing behind her, slightly breathless. He carried his second-best cloak. ‘This will keep you dry
until you reach home. And here is a crown for a carriage, since your own money was stolen.’

Chaloner accepted the cloak but not the coin. Leybourn had one person who only wanted him for his wealth, and he did not need
another like it. Without a word, he started to make his way home.

When he arrived in Fetter Lane, Chaloner lay on his bed and thought about Leybourn. Although the surveyor was clearly delighted
to have secured himself a lady at last, it was not a happy union. There had been the uncharacteristic spat of temper when
Leybourn had stormed out of Lincoln’s Inn, and he had also mentioned an inability to sleep. Chaloner wondered if he sensed
that Mary was not as enamoured of him as he was of her – or even that her attachment was really to his money – but stubborn
desperation prevented him from seeing the truth.

Should Chaloner do as he had threatened, and ask questions about Mary until he discovered her secrets? Thurloe would certainly
encourage him to do so. Or should he stand back and wait for Leybourn to learn the truth himself ? Leybourn was a grown man,
so well able to make his own decisions. Or was he? Perhaps she had bewitched him, and he was no longer responsible for himself.
Besides, interfering in matters that were none of his concern was how Chaloner made his living, and it
was difficult to stand by and watch a friend make a terrible mistake. He decided he
would
add Mary Cade to his list of enquiries, and discover as much about her as he could. That made three investigations. He considered
them in turn, aware that all had connections to the mysterious Crisp.

First, Mary claimed to know Ellis Crisp, bragging that she was in a position to order a repeat attack of the one that had
almost killed Chaloner that night. Or was she just trying to unnerve him? He was not sure how to proceed with her, although
a visit to Newgate was as good a place as any to start. He would make a sketch of her and show it to the guards, to see if
they recognised her as a criminal. He had recently discovered a talent for drawing, and knew he could produce a reasonable
likeness. He would need money to bribe them for information, though, so he would have to visit White Hall first, to collect
his back-pay.

Secondly, there was his enquiry into Newburne’s death. Why had so many people advised him to abandon the investigation? They
could not
all
have sinister reasons for doing so. He sensed the warnings of Brome, Joanna and Hodgkinson had been kindly meant, and so
was Leybourn’s, but what about those issued by Muddiman, Dury, the booksellers and L’Estrange? Even Finch, Newburne’s friend,
declared himself unwilling to look into the matter. Could Crisp, who was only a felon when all was said and done, really terrify
so many people? Chaloner decided to ask Thurloe the following day. The ex-Spymaster was sure to have heard of such an infamous
villain.

And finally, there was the smothering of Maylord. Maylord was linked to Crisp – albeit tangentially – because
Chaloner had been attacked by Hectors while walking in Smithfield with Maylord’s friend. The villains had been quietly proficient,
and had hauled him and Smegergill off the road and into the privacy of the churchyard with a minimum of commotion. He imagined
it was exactly the kind of activity at which the legendary Hectors would excel. Was Crisp responsible, because he did not
want Newburne’s death investigated? Or was it coincidence that the attack had occurred in Crisp’s domain? As soon as it was
light, Chaloner decided to visit the Rhenish Wine House and find the documents Smegergill had mentioned – assuming they existed,
and were not the product of a confused mind.