The Butcher of Smithfield (51 page)

‘Wait!’ snapped Mary. ‘Stand by the fire, Heyden.’

But Chaloner was beginning to understand. ‘Will, come to me,’ he ordered.

‘Stay!’ barked Mary, when Leybourn started to stand. Conditioned to obey, the surveyor sank down again. ‘And go to the hearth,
Heyden, before Kirby knifes you.’

‘I shall have a cucumber, then,’ said Crisp sulkily. He gnawed off a chunk and tossed the rest towards Kirby, who flinched
away violently. It touched his hand before falling to the floor, and he began to scrub it on the side of his coat.

‘Will,’ said Chaloner urgently. ‘Come here.’

‘He stays where he is,’ said Mary harshly. She backed away, and suddenly she, Kirby and Treen dived to the floor and put their
hands over their heads. Leybourn gaped at them.

‘Are you going to fetch the pork?’ asked Crisp. ‘These cucumbers are—’ He stopped speaking, and both hands went to his throat.

‘He is choking,’ said the big man next to him, alarmed. ‘He took too big a bite.’

‘Good bye, William,’ shouted Mary exultantly. ‘Thank you for everything.’

Chaloner leapt towards Leybourn, hauling him from his chair just as there was a tremendous explosion that turned the room
into a chaos of sound and light. And then there was only darkness.

There was a dull roaring in Chaloner’s ears, which gradually resolved into a single voice. He opened his eyes to see Leybourn’s
frightened face looming over him, speaking indistinctly as though he was underwater. He sat up slowly, taking in the carnage
around him.

Ellis Crisp was dead, lying on the far side of the room like a broken doll, and there were three other bodies, too. One was
Treen, while Mary lay gasping at his side. Chaloner scrambled upright, and grabbed Kirby, who was in the process of crawling
towards the door. But before the spy could stop him, Leybourn had dealt the felon a vicious blow with a skillet, which laid
him out cold.

‘Mary set an explosion,’ said Chaloner hoarsely, thinking for one horrible moment that Leybourn might assume
he
was responsible. ‘She and her friends threw themselves to the floor to avoid the blast, leaving us sitting like ducks on
a pond.’

‘I know,’ said Leybourn brokenly. ‘It took the near-demolition of my home and a close brush with death, but my eyes are open
now. I struggled to keep them closed too long, and look what it brought.’

Chaloner was not sure what to say, so resorted to a practical analysis of what had happened. ‘Unfortunately, she miscalculated
the amount of gunpowder needed, and she used too much.’

‘She added nails to her mixture,’ said Leybourn, shuddering when he saw what they had done to Crisp. ‘She must really have
hated me.’

‘She did not hate you. She just wanted your money.’

Leybourn was not listening to him. ‘She would have killed you, too, if you had followed her orders and stood by the hearth.’

‘I should have known,’ said Chaloner, angry with himself. ‘There were slops under the stairs – not left for slovenliness,
as I assumed, but because they are a component of gunpowder. She made her own, so no purchase of the stuff could be traced
back to her. That is why she miscalculated. Powder is always unpredictable, but it is even more so when an amateur manufactures
it.’

‘What was she thinking of ? Crisp is dead, and so are some of his Hectors. Surely, that cannot have been what she intended?’

‘I suspect it was exactly what she intended. The explosives were in the pot over the fire, and Crisp was positioned to bear
the brunt of it when it went up. So were you. I imagine she planned to have you blamed for Crisp’s death – you invited him
to dinner for the express purpose of assassination. And to be doubly sure of success, she included poisonous cucumbers in
her feast, too.’

Leybourn gazed blankly at him. ‘Why would she want Crisp assassinated?’

‘Because that is not Crisp.’ Chaloner put his fingers in his ears and shook his head in an attempt to stop them ringing. He
saw Leybourn’s bemusement, and tried to
explain. ‘That is to say he
is
Crisp, but he is not the underworld king. I have seen the Butcher of Smithfield walking about twice now, and this Crisp is
too short to be him – and nor would he have the agile, soft-footed gait of the man I saw.’

‘I confess I was surprised when Mary introduced us. I knew he
was
Crisp, because I met him years ago, but the more we spoke, the more I thought that little fellow could never have ruled Smithfield.’

‘Someone took his identity and turned him into something he is not. Also, Crisp claimed he did not like music, but the horse
stealing is based entirely on music. He would not have made that comment, had he been the real Butcher.’

Leybourn still looked as though he had no idea what Chaloner was talking about, and it was a testament to his shock that he
looked as though he did not care, either. ‘So, who is the Butcher? One of the Hectors, who rose through the ranks and decided
to succeed to the whole operation?’

‘I imagine we will find out when this Crisp is declared dead, and his successor steps forward to take his place.’

‘But who?’ pressed Leybourn. ‘Ireton is a cunning fellow; Kirby is stupid but strong.’

Ireton’s position against the far wall had allowed him to flee the carnage, and Chaloner wondered whether he had gone to rally
his forces – perhaps to march on Leybourn’s house and accuse him or murder. If so, then he would be doing it without help
from Mary. She had left herself too close to the blast, and Chaloner had seen enough battlefield wounds to know she was unlikely
to survive. He knelt next to her, but could tell from her eyes that she had been blinded by the flash, and could not see him.

‘Crisp said only people near the fire would die,’ she whispered. She sounded indignant. ‘He lied.’

Chaloner regarded her askance. ‘Crisp told you how to kill him?’

Her expression hardened. ‘Go away, Heyden. Why did you have to survive? You should be dead, along with your pathetic friend.’

Chaloner glanced at Leybourn, but the surveyor was wandering around the remains of his kitchen, and was not listening. He
showed no inclination to be at his lover’s side during her last moments.

‘Crisp told you how to kill him?’ Chaloner asked again.

She smiled, and there was blood on her teeth. ‘You want to talk? Very well. He did not tell us how to kill
him
– he told us how to make powder and set an explosion that would only kill selected victims. He was fond of theories, but
he was not a practical man.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ Chaloner knew why she was deigning to speak to him: she was hoping to keep him
occupied until one of her cronies rallied, at which point he would be killed. Because she could not see, she did not know
her accomplices were either dead or had fled.

‘We picked that pathetic, grinning little man – Ellis Crisp – and we built a legend around him. It worked for a while, but
it is becoming difficult to maintain the illusion, and the real Butcher wants to claim the kingdom he has forged. So, we decided
to kill Crisp in a spectacular way – one in keeping with the flamboyant character we have created for him. And as there are
a few Hectors I dislike, I decided to get rid of them, too, as well as our surveyor friend.’

‘How did you keep the real Crisp from the public eye? Lock him in a dungeon with plenty of books?’

‘In a country house, visited only by his father.’

‘Who is Crisp’s successor?’

‘Someone who will make us rich. We communicate by music, but we have never met. We shall call
him
Crisp when he takes his throne. The creature I killed tonight does not deserve the name.’ She shifted slightly and blinked,
trying to see how much longer she needed to talk.

‘Will you tell me about the horses?’

She swallowed. ‘Some we returned for the reward; some we sold. It was all carefully planned, so no one would be suspicious.
And no one is. Everything is working perfectly. Newburne tried to take more than his due, but he learned what happens to disloyal
people. He was quietly poisoned.’

‘Like your husband – Valentine Pettis? And Colonel Beauclair? And James Hickes?’

‘Hickes was getting too inquisitive, and he acquired some of our music from Finch. Meanwhile, Val tried to do business at
Crisp’s expense, and I never cared for him anyway. I wanted to marry Jonas – and I did. Why do you think I could not wed William?’

Chaloner was bemused. ‘Murder, theft and extortion are all right, but bigamy is not?’

‘It would have meant lying in church, and I have my scruples.’ She blinked again, still trying to clear her vision. ‘The Butcher
is a genius, so do not think you can defeat him.’

‘And the horses?’

‘Beauclair returned home unexpectedly when we went to steal his stallion, so Ireton made him eat lozenges. We took his body
to White Hall in a sedan-chair. The carriers promised to keep quiet, but who takes unnecessary risks? They were given lozenges,
too. The Butcher ordered us to leave cucumbers with them all, so their
deaths would be deemed natural. He has a talent for deception.’

‘He certainly does,’ agreed Chaloner. ‘Where is he now? I would like to meet him.’

Her hissing laugh was distinctly malevolent. ‘Oh, you will, Heyden. You will.’

People had been awoken by the explosion, and were massing outside. The parish constable arrived, but promptly disappeared
when he saw several of the victims were Hectors, and so did some of the onlookers. Then soldiers came, and placed everyone
under arrest until they were satisfied with the stories they were being told. The government did not like gunpowder in the
hands of private citizens, being of the belief that its only use was for armed rebellion. Chaloner chafed at the ponderous
questions put by a thickset sergeant. Every moment spent repeating himself was another moment for Crisp to assume his mantle
of power, and Chaloner had the sense that unless he struck before the man was fully enthroned, he might never have another
chance.

‘I have to get away,’ he said urgently to Leybourn, when the sergeant had gone to see whether there really was a cat in an
upstairs bedroom. ‘We are wasting time here.’

‘You knew from the start,’ said Leybourn softly. His face was grey with shock, and he looked away when Mary’s body was carried
past. ‘As soon as you set eyes on her, you saw something I did not.’

Chaloner glanced at the door, and wondered if he could disappear into the darkness before the guards outside opened fire.
‘You are not the only one she deceived. Bridges had a similar experience.’

‘Do you think she really does own a house near Uxbridge?’ asked Leybourn. ‘If so, and it is proven to be mine, I shall give
it to you.’

‘I do not want it,’ said Chaloner in distaste. ‘Besides, I suspect Kirby might have something to say about that. He is her
real husband.’

‘He is dead. I hit him on the head with a pan.’

‘Unfortunately, he recovered and is now at large. The only way we shall catch him is by going after the Butcher. Of course,
we have no idea who the Butcher is, or where to find him, but find him I must. He killed Newburne. Mary told me.’

‘I will help,’ offered Leybourn. ‘And when we locate him, I shall put a ball in his black heart.’

‘Crisp did not order Mary to prey on you,’ warned Chaloner, knowing exactly why the surveyor wanted to meet the Butcher of
Smithfield. He smiled when the sergeant handed him his cat; it did not seem any the worse for its experiences. ‘That was her
own idea – her way of earning a living.’

‘No, they were in it together,’ said Leybourn bitterly. ‘Ireton, Kirby and Treen were always visiting, and I believed her
when she said they were her cousins.’

‘Did you?’ asked Chaloner, wondering how he could have been so gullible. ‘How did they explain bringing my cat to your house?’

‘I did not know you had a cat,’ said Leybourn acidly. ‘You are far too secretive to reveal such a personal detail, remember?
And I am going with you when you challenge the Butcher, no matter what you say. I am sure it was he who put her up to hurting
me.’

‘You cannot come if you intend to murder him,’ said Chaloner firmly. ‘That would not be helpful. And such
recklessness is likely to see us both killed, anyway. If you will not go to stay with your brother tonight, then I will take
you to Lincoln’s Inn.’

Leybourn glared at him. ‘Thurloe will help me bring down the Butcher’s evil empire.
You
can go to the Devil!’

He stamped to the far side of the room, and Chaloner put his head in his hands in despair when the sergeant sat at the kitchen
table and took a pen in one of his heavy hands. He was going to write a statement, and judging from the way his tongue poked
out when he concentrated, it was going to take a very long time. Casually, the spy walked to the hearth, and removed from
his pocket the bottle of oil Hickes had given him. Surreptitiously, he dropped it into the still-glowing embers of the fire.

It was not a huge blast, although it would certainly have maimed anyone using it in a lamp, but it had the desired effect.
Yelling that there were probably more explosions in the offing, to cause enough panic to cover his escape, Chaloner grabbed
his cat and ran. He reached the end of Monkwell Street and headed south. He was not pleased when he glanced behind him and
saw Leybourn hard on his heels. He did not have time for him – not until the Butcher was eliminated.

Trusting Thurloe to ply the surveyor with enough wine to render him insensible for the night – the ex-Spymaster would not
want him racing around London like an avenging angel, either – Chaloner hired a carriage to take them to Chancery Lane. They
did not get far. The back wheels caught in a rut, and then the whole thing became bogged down in mud. They walked to the Holborn
Bridge, which groaned and shuddered as the Fleet River roared underneath it. Warily, they started to
cross, but a large tree was being borne downstream, and it crashed into the structure before they were halfway over. Part
of the balustrade was carried away, so Chaloner grabbed Leybourn’s arm and hauled him back the way they had come. The guard
promptly declared it closed until the flood had abated.