The Butcher of Smithfield (50 page)

Chaloner was amused that she thought she had posed a danger to him. ‘It takes a ruthless, resilient kind of person to succeed
in the news business. Perhaps you should revert to plain bookselling. But do not worry about
L’Estrange. He will not learn what you have been doing from me.’

‘You are kind,’ sniffed Joanna. ‘And I shall tell you a secret in return. When L’Estrange refused to tell us where he was
going, I set my maid to follow him. He went to Monkwell Street. I suspect Mary Cade is already priming her next victim, so
it will not be long before she relinquishes her hold over William. It is good news.’

Chaloner did not think so; he was appalled. ‘She needs Will dead first, to inherit his property.’

Joanna’s jaw dropped. ‘Then we must make sure she does not succeed. I shall visit him at once—’

‘No,’ said Chaloner sharply, suspecting she would get herself hurt if she tried to interfere with Mary. ‘Leave them to me.’

‘We are not cowards,’ said Brome with quiet dignity. ‘We are not afraid to go to his rescue.’

‘I know,’ said Chaloner tiredly. ‘But trying to reason with him will do no good, and might even make the situation worse.
We must devise another way to foil her.’

‘How?’ demanded Brome. ‘Will you let us help?’

Chaloner nodded, but had no intention of doing so. They would be a liability, and he could not look after them and Leybourn
at the same time. He wished they would just leave London while they were still relatively unscathed. Joanna accepted his acquiescence
without demur, and he saw it had not occurred to her that he might lie. She really was too innocent for her own good.

‘Very well,’ she said, ‘but I insist you borrow my gun.’

‘Your gun?’ Chaloner was not sure he had heard her properly.

‘It belonged to my father.’ She went to a chest and removed a small dag. The firing pin was broken, so it
would not work, but Chaloner took it anyway, loath to hurt her feelings by refusing. ‘It is loaded. Well, I think it is loaded,
but I am not really sure how it works, so …’

She trailed off helplessly, and Chaloner checked it was not before he tucked it in his belt. ‘I had better see if I can find
L’Estrange.’

‘Then be careful,’ said Joanna, following him to the door. ‘And do not forget to tell us when you require help with Mary.’

‘Please do as she says,’ said Brome softly. ‘You need someone you can trust in this wicked city.’

Chaloner left the bookshop despising Williamson for dragging the Bromes into the murky world of espionage, especially on such
a flimsy pretext. He found himself wanting to avenge them somehow, and hoped with all his heart that he would uncover evidence
to prove the Spymaster did indeed hire Hectors for his dirty work. If so, then Chaloner would do all he could to see it included
in Muddiman’s newsletters, with a view to creating a scandal that would see Williamson disgraced and dismissed. He set off
towards Monkwell Street, but had taken no more than two or three steps before he heard his name being called. It was Nott
the bookseller, whose premises were opposite.

‘Thurloe asked me to identify the owner of that Galen,’ he said when Chaloner went reluctantly to see what he wanted. ‘He
said when I had my answer, I was to tell either him or you. I just happened to spot you coming from Brome’s house, and I thought—’

‘You know who bought it?’ interrupted Chaloner impatiently.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Nott. ‘Its binding makes it unique, you see, because it is—’

‘Who?’

Nott told him, and Chaloner felt the situation become more urgent than ever.

‘And there is something else,’ the bookseller burbled on. ‘Jonas Kirby was here earlier. He knows you and I are acquainted,
because he asked me to give you a message.’

He handed Chaloner a folded piece of paper. When the spy opened it, all it contained was a crude drawing of a cat with a gibbet
beneath it.

Daylight was fading by the time Chaloner reached Leybourn’s house. Door and windows were closed, and Leybourn’s colleague
Allestry was loitering outside. Allestry was peeved because the surveyor had shut shop early after making an appointment with
him. He had struggled all the way from St Paul’s in the teeming rain, and now would have to walk all the way home again for
nothing. Concerned, Chaloner went to see Leybourn’s brother.

‘I have not seen him all day,’ said Rob. ‘Did you know he changed his will? I could not believe it! Mary says she will look
after my family, but I do not trust her. I wish I could expose her as the lying cheat she is, but Kirby came to see me this
morning, and said that if I did anything to malign her, he will hurt my children. She has won this war, Tom. We cannot fight
her sort of battle.’

Chaloner thought about his missing cat. ‘They think they can intimidate us by striking at the things we hold dear. But they
are in for a shock – I do not like bullies.’

Rob was alarmed. ‘There are too many of them to take on, and while I appreciate your loyalty to Will, there
is no point in squandering your life. Do you know who is due to dine with him today? Ellis Crisp! Go home, Tom, and try not
to think about it.’

‘The Butcher of Smithfield,’ mused Chaloner. ‘I have been wanting to meet him for some time.’

The wind drowned any sound Chaloner might have made as he climbed up the back of Leybourn’s house and let himself in through
an upstairs window. The door to the main bedchamber was closed, and when Chaloner opened it, something furry emerged to rub
around his legs. He smiled, and spent a moment petting his cat, allowing it to purr and knead his shoulder with its claws.
He wondered how Mary had explained its presence to Leybourn. It objected when he shut it in the bedroom again, but he could
not risk it tripping him when he was trying to move stealthily, and it was safer where it was.

He crept downstairs, hearing voices raised in laughter. He smiled grimly: he had known someone was in, despite the air of
abandonment outside. The reek of tobacco wafted towards him, along with the scent of new bread and roasting meat. He reached
the bottom of the steps and peered through a gap in one of the door panels.

Leybourn was sitting at the head of his table, and Mary was at the foot. Between them were a number of familiar faces, including
Kirby and Treen, both in their finest clothes. The Hectors were clearly on their best behaviour, but even so, their lack of
manners showed in the clumsy way they used their silver table forks. Long-nosed Ireton was watching them with amused disdain.
Next to Leybourn was a man Chaloner did not know. He was huge, with a heavy, brooding face and eyes so deeply set they were
almost invisible. On Leybourn’s other
side was a tiny fellow with a red face and pale eyes, like a pheasant. Prominent on the table was a dish of cucumbers and
a huge pie. Chaloner supposed the latter had been furnished by the Butcher of Smithfield, and wondered whether it contained
anyone he knew. Mary picked up the cucumbers.

‘Try one of these, William,’ she said. ‘They are delicious.’

‘No, thank you.’ Leybourn’s voice was strained, and Chaloner was under the impression he was not enjoying the party. ‘Galen
says cucumbers are bad for the digestion.’

‘Piffle,’ said Mary. Even Chaloner was surprised by the curt tone of her voice, and Leybourn looked positively distraught.
‘Eat one.’

‘I would rather not,’ said Leybourn plaintively. ‘It might make me ill.’

‘Then I shall cut it up for you,’ said Mary, going to stand behind him. She held a knife, and Chaloner was not entirely sure
what she intended to do with it. He was not prepared to stand by while she slit his friend’s throat, though. He stepped into
the room with his sword in one hand and Joanna’s useless gun in the other.

‘He said he does not want it.’

‘You!’ snarled Ireton, surging to his feet. Mary made a hissing sound, and he sat again, albeit reluctantly. As he did so,
he picked up the knife he had been using to cut his meat.

‘Tom!’ said Leybourn uncertainly. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘From upstairs,’ said Mary. She did not seem disconcerted by the spy’s sudden appearance. In fact, she seemed inexplicably
pleased about it, and Chaloner had the
sudden sense that something was about to go very wrong. He glanced around quickly, trying to assess what it might be. ‘He
regularly burgles your house, as I told you before.’

‘He took your money sack off me,’ added Kirby, eager to support her claim. ‘I recognise his voice now. He came at me with
a dag …’ He trailed off when he realised the implications of what he had said. Ireton was not the only Hector who rolled his
eyes.

‘Yes, I took it from you,’ agreed Chaloner pleasantly. ‘After I saw you steal it from Will. I cannot imagine how you knew
where to look for it – unless someone told you its whereabouts, of course.’

‘Where is my money, Tom?’ asked Leybourn, hurt and bewildered.

‘That is a good question,’ said Kirby, standing slowly. There was a dagger in his hand, and several Hectors grinned at each
other, anticipating some entertaining violence. ‘And you will answer it.’

‘Before or after I paint the wall with your brains?’ asked Chaloner, aiming the gun at him.

Kirby sat quickly, but Ireton was less easily intimidated. ‘And then what? You shoot Kirby, but how will you tackle the rest
of us? You cannot win against us all.’

‘No one is going to kill anyone,’ said Leybourn. His face was white with anguish. ‘What is wrong with you all? Mary told me
you were civilised.’

‘It is all right, Jonas,’ said Mary, as Kirby’s fingers tightened around his dagger. Her eyes flicked towards the fire, passing
him a message. Chaloner glanced at the hearth, where there was a merry blaze. Over it was a cauldron-style pot containing
something that bubbled, along with a side of pork on a spit. Chaloner had eaten nothing all day, but there was something about
the
situation that robbed him of his appetite. Something was definitely not right.

‘Do not worry about his gun,’ said the pheasant-faced man to Mary. He grinned merrily at her. ‘The firing pin is broken, so
it is quite harmless.’

‘So it is,’ said Ireton, suddenly gleeful. ‘That puts a different complexion on matters!’

Treen laughed jubilantly, and several of the Hectors produced daggers.

‘No!’ breathed Leybourn in a strangled voice. ‘Stop!’

Chaloner saw his situation was fast becoming hopeless, and knew he should have taken more time to assess the situation before
acting. What could he do against a dozen armed men? He could eliminate some with his sword, but it would only be a matter
of time before he was overwhelmed. And then what would happen to Leybourn?

Mary smiled coldly at him. ‘I have been saying for some time that you should meet Mr Crisp, and he has honoured us with his
presence at dinner this evening. So, I am delighted you came.’

Chaloner expected the large, menacing man to reply, and was startled when Pheasant Face looked up and beamed at him.

‘Are you a bookseller, too?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘I like booksellers! They are an erudite lot, and there is so much to learn
these days. I read an English translation of Galileo’s
Dialogo
just yesterday, although I prefer the original Latin. Leybourn tells me you were at Cambridge.’

Chaloner was bemused. A cheery gnome who read Latin was not what he was expecting from the Butcher of Smithfield. He recalled
glimpsing a round, smiling face at Newburne’s funeral, and supposed it was the same
man. Then he remembered the catlike grace with which Crisp had moved when he was with his Hectors at Smithfield and in Old
Jewry, and was not so sure.

‘Who is your father?’ Chaloner asked, somewhat abruptly. Ireton sniggered – he knew the line Chaloner’s thoughts had taken.

‘This
is
Crisp,’ said Leybourn in a small voice. ‘I have known him for years.’

But something was awry. And why were the Hectors not attacking him when they could overpower him with ease?

‘My father is Sir Nicholas,’ replied Crisp genially. ‘Have you read my piece on inshore winds and climate, by the way? Leybourn
was good enough to say it was a significant contribution to navigation.’

‘But I did not know
you
had written it, not until tonight. It was published anonymously.’ Leybourn sounded as confused as Chaloner felt.

‘I am a modest man,’ said Crisp. ‘Where are you going, Ireton? I hope it is not to fetch your lute. I dislike music. This
pork is excellent, incidentally. May I have some more?’

‘In a moment,’ said Mary, dismissing him carelessly. ‘We are celebrating.’

‘Celebrating what?’ Chaloner was watching Ireton, who had gone to lean against the far wall with his hands tucked into his
belt. The spy was growing more bewildered by the minute. Ireton did not seem to be moving towards a weapon, so what was he
doing?

‘William and I made wills today, leaving all our property to each other,’ said Mary. Her voice was smug, and Leybourn settled
back into his dazed state. ‘Thurloe threatened to apply some devious legal ruling that would see me disinherited, but Ireton
is a lawyer, too, and he worked out a way to prevent that from happening.’

Ireton removed a pipe from his pocket, the picture of insouciance. ‘Thurloe’s ploy will not work now she has signed
her
property over to
Leybourn
. And she owns a small house near Uxbridge, before you say she has the better end of the bargain. She is not poor.’

‘You are very wet, Heyden,’ said Mary, shooting Kirby another unreadable glance. ‘Stand by the fire, to dry off. But drop
your sword first.’

Chaloner frowned. The table had been placed in such a way that Leybourn was nearest the hearth, and Crisp, as his right-hand
guest, was not much further away. What was she going to do?

‘Yes, drop it,’ said Kirby, fingering his dagger. He drew back his arm when the spy continued to hesitate, and prepared to
throw it.

With no choice but to comply, Chaloner let the weapon clatter to the floor.

‘I want more pork,’ declared Crisp. He banged on the table with his spoon, more in the manner of a petulant child than a man
who held a city to ransom with his evil deeds. ‘Now.’