The Butcher of Smithfield (55 page)

‘And you pretend to be his reluctant spy,’ said Chaloner, disgusted. ‘You let him think he has a hold over you with that pamphlet
you wrote, but the reality is that the information you send him is carefully designed to benefit your own cause.’

Smugly, Brome inclined his head.

‘Enough talking,’ snapped Ireton, lunging again. ‘The Butcher will be here soon.’

His comment startled Chaloner anew. ‘What do you mean? Brome is the Butcher.’

Ireton laughed as the spy’s lapse in concentration allowed him to perform a fancy manoeuvre that saw the sword wrenched from
his hand. ‘Do not be ridiculous!’

The door opened. ‘Joanna!’ exclaimed Brome. ‘You should not be here.’

‘I heard there was trouble,’ said Joanna. She looked furious. ‘And since I cannot trust you to do anything properly, I am
here to sort out the mess. I cannot take Crisp’s mantle as long as there is a mob outside, baying for blood.’

Chaloner gaped at Joanna, scarcely believing his ears, and was sufficiently astounded that Ireton came close to running him
through. It was only an instinctive twist that saved him. As he turned, he saw Kirby had crawled to a cupboard and had pulled
out a gun. He was priming it, and Chaloner knew he would be shot as soon as it was ready. He was running out of time, and
facing insurmountable odds.

Joanna smiled prettily at Chaloner, but he did not think he had ever seen eyes so cold. There was no trace of the
rabbit now – the prey had turned predator. ‘I understand I owe you my thanks,’ she said pleasantly. ‘You relieved me of a
certain problem.’

‘Crisp?’

‘Hodgkinson – Henry tells me you unmasked him as a traitor to the newsbooks. Mary must take the credit for Crisp, although
I was furious when I learned she had involved poor William in our plan to be rid of the fellow. I was angry when she set her
sights on him at all – he is popular, and their relationship attracted the wrong kind of attention.’

‘You were keen to separate them.’ Chaloner performed an agile leap across a table to avoid Ireton, and managed to retrieve
his sword at the same time. He found himself facing two more Hectors. They did not possess his skill with a blade, but beating
them off took too much of his failing strength.

‘I
did
want to separate them,’ she agreed, with the same icy smile. ‘I ordered her to leave him alone, but she could not resist
stupid men. Still, she is gone now, which is just as well. The gunpowder was a foolish idea, and the whole affair was hopelessly
bungled.’

Chaloner’s muscles burned with fatigue when Ireton resumed his attack, and he was not sure how much longer he could fight.
Then Joanna gestured for her henchman to hold off. Chaloner was amusing her, and she did not want him killed just yet. Meanwhile,
Kirby sat on the floor, feverishly loading his gun.

‘You have been pretending to be Crisp for some time now,’ said Chaloner, wondering why he had not associated the Butcher’s
slender grace with Joanna before. ‘The real one has been in the country with his books and experiments, seen only by his father.
When you are out, you are surrounded by Hectors – not to protect Crisp as
I assumed, but to keep anyone from coming close and seeing you. And you decline invitations—’

‘Like the Butchers’ Company dinner,’ said Ireton. Chaloner remembered Maylord’s neighbour mentioning Crisp’s abrupt cancellation.
‘I told you to let me go. I could have carried it off.’

‘I am sure you could,’ said Joanna coolly, and Chaloner saw Ireton was too ambitious for his own safety. He would not last
long under the new regime. She turned to Chaloner, laughing at him. He wondered how he ever could have thought of her as sweet
and meek. ‘How can
I
be the Butcher? You saw him the morning you went to Haye’s Coffee House with Henry, but I was with Mrs Chiffinch, consoling
her over her husband’s infidelity.’

‘I doubt your company could have compared to that of L’Estrange,’ countered Chaloner. ‘He would have occupied Mrs Chiffinch,
giving you ample time to don a disguise and make an appearance. Besides, how do you know I saw the Butcher that day? It was
an insignificant event, and not the sort of thing most husbands would have mentioned to their wives. But of course it
was
significant, wasn’t it? Brone deliberately dallied as he gave alms to that beggar, which gave you time to change and leave
the house. You wanted me to see “Crisp” at a point when I would think he could not be either of you.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Brome, rather boastfully. ‘It was a precaution, lest you later—’

‘We are wasting time, and this is no longer fun,’ snapped Joanna, turning to anger fast enough to be disturbing. ‘I should
have killed you yesterday, but I thought you might be a useful source of information. You have now outlived that usefulness.’

‘I will shoot him.’ Kirby had finally finished preparing
the gun, and he stood with triumph in his face. ‘I have been wanting to do this ever since he attacked me outside the Bear.’

‘You have not loaded it properly,’ said Ireton, rolling his eyes when Kirby squeezed the trigger and nothing happened. ‘And
a sword is better for this kind of work anyway.’

‘News!’ came a yell from outside. ‘We want news.’

Joanna grimaced. ‘Make a speech, Henry. Tell them the government has no intention of raising another tax. Diffuse the situation.
It will please Williamson, and make him more willing to look the other way while we grow rich.’

Ireton came after Chaloner with a series of concerted sweeps. Two more Hectors weaved behind the spy, and he stumbled when
one stabbed his leg. His boot saved him from injury, but he felt himself losing ground.

There was a roar of massed voices, and a heavy missile crashed through a window, sending glass spraying across the room. The
mob cheered, and through the broken pane, Chaloner could see Leybourn, urging them on. The surveyor prised a rock from the
sodden ground, but it was the windows of the house next door that paid the price. The crowd laughed, and suddenly more stones
were being hurled. The room was awash with them, and one struck Chaloner’s shoulder. Then Kirby took aim again.

The gun’s blast was deafening in the confined space, and Chaloner saw the felon drop to the floor with blood on his hand.
In his haste, he had used too much powder. More stones pelted the windows, and Chaloner noticed Brome and Joanna had gone.
His momentary lack of concentration saw Ireton on him, and he was hard-pressed to defend himself. Someone hit him from behind,
and he fell heavily. Ireton’s sword plunged downwards,
and he only just managed to twist away. Then the room was full of shouting. The crowd had stormed inside. Leybourn was at
the front, blade in his hand.

‘Hectors!’ he yelled furiously. ‘Run them through! Proud Londoners are not afraid of Hectors!’

Not everyone rallied to his battle cry, but enough did. The Hectors turned and ran. It was the worst thing they could have
done, because the mob became braver once it smelled a rout. Chaloner saw several criminals disappear under a flailing mêlée
of fists and knives.

‘Bastard!’ yelled Ireton at Leybourn, seeing the surveyor as the cause of the disaster. He gripped his weapon and prepared
to make an end of him. Leybourn was whirling his blade around his head like a madman, but he neglected to maintain a proper
grip. It flew from his fingers, and its hilt caught Ireton in the centre of the forehead. He went down as if poleaxed.

‘I did not mean to—’ began Leybourn, startled.

Chaloner staggered to his feet as two burly apprentices advanced on the senseless Ireton. He put out a hand to stop them,
but they knocked him away.

‘Joanna and Brome have escaped,’ he said to Leybourn, looking away from the carnage.

‘Does it matter?’ asked Leybourn, grabbing his arm and making for the door. The people who had not chased Hectors were busily
looting the shop, stripping it of anything that could be carried. ‘They are toothless now their henchmen are on the run.’

‘We do not want them loose in the city. They will avenge themselves somehow.’

‘I saw them heading for the river, but they cannot escape because the bridge is closed. Brome was carrying a box – Newburne’s
treasure, presumably.’

The rain had stopped, but everywhere was running with water. It was so deep in Paternoster Row that it was above Chaloner’s
knees, and flowed fast as it headed for lower ground. His progress was agonisingly slow. Joanna looked behind, and he could
hear her urging her husband on. Brome was slower, and she would have made better time alone, but she would not leave him.
When he dropped the box, she screamed at him to leave it.

‘Gather it up,’ ordered Chaloner, pushing Leybourn towards the abandoned hoard. ‘Or it will wash into the Thames, and the
Earl will dismiss me for certain.’

Leybourn did as he was told, grabbing mud as well as gems, while Chaloner struggled on, trying to ignore the burning exhaustion
that threatened to overwhelm him. Joanna reached Ludgate Hill, skidding and sliding down towards the Fleet. There was a barrier
across the road to stop people from approaching, but she dodged around it, dragging her husband after her. She gained the
bridge, ignoring the yells of people who shouted that it was ripe for collapse.

Hands reached out to prevent Chaloner from following, and he lost his footing. Joanna and Brome were a quarter of the way
across when the structure began to sway. They tried to move faster. Chaloner punched his way free of the people who were holding
him, and staggered towards the balustrade. It shuddered, and there was a tearing groan. The pair were more than halfway across,
and he saw they were going to escape. Joanna turned and gave him a jaunty wave.

Chaloner took another step, but someone came from nowhere, and he felt himself hauled backwards just as the bridge tore away
from its moorings. He managed to lift his head in time to see Joanna and Brome carried
with it. Brome’s mouth was open in a scream, and Joanna’s face was white with horror as they were swept downstream. Then the
whole structure rolled, and began to crack apart. Chaloner closed his eyes and fell back, exhausted.

‘Well,’ drawled L’Estrange. ‘There is an end to
them
! You are lucky I followed you, or that pair would not be the only ones heading for a watery grave. I always knew Brome was
a phanatique. Joanna, too, or she would have let me bed her when I made my advances. But you are in my debt now, Heyden. I
saved your life, and in return, you will say nothing to Williamson about my inadvertent role in this affair.’

‘I shall say nothing to Williamson at all,’ said Chaloner fervently, not liking to imagine what would happen to him if the
Spymaster ever discovered that he knew about the blind eye that had been turned to the Hectors’ thievery.

‘Very wise,’ said L’Estrange. ‘Shall we seal our arrangement with some music?’

‘I do not know about that,’ said Chaloner. There were limits.

‘Tomorrow, at three o’clock,’ said L’Estrange comfortably. ‘And do not be late.’

The Lord Chancellor rubbed his plump hands and chortled in delight as he inspected the box Chaloner had given him. He made
no attempt to soil his fingers with its contents, of course, stained as they were with the filth of the street. Chaloner could
have rinsed the jewels before presenting them to his master, but he had not done so, and he had refused to let Bulteel do
it, either. Money was a dirty business, and he did not see why the Earl should be spared that knowledge.

‘And this is all of it?’ asked the Earl.

‘Yes,’ said Chaloner shortly. ‘It is.’

The Earl sighed. ‘I am not accusing you of dishonesty, Heyden. I was just wondering whether the Bromes had spent any before
you managed to retrieve it.’

‘They did not have time. Is there enough to pay Dorcus Newburne’s pension?’

‘I have been relieved of that particular obligation,’ said the Earl smugly. ‘Newburne
was
working for me, and that why I was determined to have the truth about his death. However, he was killed because he was a
thief, and I cannot be held financially responsible for
that sort of thing. Dorcus has agreed to forget about the pension.’

‘How did you persuade her to do that?’ Chaloner was startled.

‘Bulteel suggested I offer her an official government post instead – Assistant Editor. She is an educated lady, and said she
would relish the opportunity to use her intellect to benefit her country. So, we are both happy.’

Chaloner glanced to where Bulteel was labouring over his ledgers in an antechamber. ‘It means she will be spending a lot of
time with L’Estrange.’

‘That is what I said. It was only fair to point out the downside of Bulteel’s recommendation, but she said she did not mind
at all. In fact, she said it would be a pleasure.’

‘Bulteel is a clever man,’ said Chaloner, impressed by the coup the clerk had staged for his master’s benefit. ‘You would
not have had this treasure without him.’

‘So you have said, at least a dozen times. I have rewarded him with a pleasant house in Westminster – his wife presented him
with a son last night, and I do not want him wasting hours travelling between here and his old home in Southwark, when he
could be working for me.’

Chaloner smiled, pleased the clerk’s loyalty was being acknowledged at last.

‘I have reinstated you,’ the Earl went on. ‘I have also arranged for you to be paid for the time you were in Portugal, and
I have informed Williamson that you are a vital member of my household. I do not think he will risk my wrath by harming you
now.’

‘Harming me for what reason?’ Chaloner had not told the Earl about Williamson’s role in the Hectors’ dark business, so the
Spymaster should have no need to resort to sly daggers.

‘For tossing a bottle of exploding oil on a fire, and throwing his soldiers into a panic. He is furious that you exposed them
as incompetent to the general populace.’

‘I needed to leave, and they were dithering. You would not have been pleased if I had allowed Joanna to assume control of
the Hectors – or if she had used Newburne’s hoard to do it.’