The Butcher of Smithfield (8 page)

‘Why did he fine you, then?’

‘No book can be printed or sold without a licence from L’Estrange. And I made the mistake of selling one of my copies a day
– a single, measly
day
– before the license was in force.’

‘How did he find that out?’

‘Because of Newburne. L’Estrange paid him to spy on the bookshops. I did not even see him lurking behind my shelves when I
offered Captain Hammond an advance copy of
Gunter’s Works
– not until he emerged with that gloating smile of his. So,
now
do you understand why there are so many men who will be pleased to see Newburne dead? I am just one of hundreds who have
been unfairly persecuted.’

‘Why did you not tell me sooner?’ asked Chaloner, trying not to sound accusing.

‘For two reasons. First, because the subject pains me, as I have said. And secondly, because
I
do not want to
head your list of suspects. It would not be the first time you have had me in your sights as the perpetrator of a serious
crime.’

‘That was before I knew you properly.’

The statement coaxed a reluctant smile from the surveyor. ‘Well, your confidence is justified, because I did not kill Newburne.
However, I might stick a dagger in L’Estrange if the occasion arises, so do not be too ready to see me as a feeble fellow
who cowers away from bullies.’

‘Let us hope your paths never cross, then,’ said Thurloe mildly.

Leybourn glared. ‘Let us hope they
do
! Mary says my good nature allows unscrupulous men to take advantage of me, so I have decided to be a bit more ruthless in
future. The soft-hearted, gullible Leybourn will be no more, and I shall be a new man.’

‘But I like the soft-hearted, gullible Leybourn,’ objected Chaloner. ‘And I am not so sure about the new man – the one who
wants me to burgle instrument-makers and set fire to St Paul’s Cathedral.’

‘Mary likes me a tad disreputable,’ said Leybourn with a lopsided grin. ‘And I aim to please her.’

‘I am sure she does,’ muttered Thurloe disparagingly. He turned to Chaloner before Leybourn could respond. ‘I wish the Earl
had not given you this particular assignment, Tom. It is too dangerous for a man working alone, and it is Williamson’s business,
anyway. He will not appreciate you meddling.’

‘Especially you,’ added Leybourn. ‘You have earned his dislike on several occasions.’

‘When I first sent you to the Earl, he promised to use you wisely,’ Thurloe went on. ‘He knows we are friends, and that I
will be vexed if anything happens to you. And
he did not want me vexed, not when – as Cromwell’s spymaster – I know so many secrets about prominent Royalists. Unfortunately,
times have changed. It is the gardens, you see. They showed me to be weak.’

‘I do not understand,’ said Chaloner. ‘What do the gardens have to do with anything?’

‘I did not want them remodelled, but was unable to stop it – in essence, I lost a very public battle, which allowed everyone
to see how my power has waned. People are no longer wary of me.’

Chaloner was alarmed. ‘You mean you are not safe? Then you should retire to your estates in Oxfordshire, and—’

Thurloe raised his hand. ‘There are plenty of men who want me dead for my faithful service to Cromwell, and nothing has changed
there. The current danger is to
you
, Tom. The Earl is no longer afraid of me, which means he may be careless in his use of you.’

‘Leave him,’ advised Leybourn, ‘while you can.’

‘And do what?’ asked Chaloner. ‘I cannot foist myself on my family, because they cannot afford to keep me, and I am not qualified
for any other work.’

‘I am sure they would prefer a living scavenger to a dead workhorse,’ said Leybourn. ‘Go home to Buckinghamshire before the
Earl’s commission lands you in danger. Newburne’s killer will not give himself up easily, and you have no idea what you are
facing.’

When a bell began to chime, Thurloe said he was due to attend a benchers’ meeting in the chapel. Chaloner and Leybourn escorted
him across the courtyard, but he was early, so they lingered together in the undercroft – an open crypt that had been designed
to allow students
to congregate and discuss complex cases, and where lawyers could confer with their clients. It was empty that day, because
a rainswept cloister was not a place most men wanted to linger, and the lawyers were keeping to their rooms until the last
possible moment.

‘Do you know a man called William Smegergill?’ Chaloner asked the ex-Spymaster.

Thurloe’s expression became thoughtful. ‘Smegergill was Maylord’s friend. Maylord died of cucumbers, and so did Newburne,
so I suspect you are looking for a connection. Am I right?’

‘Newburne might have died from ingesting cucumbers, but Maylord certainly did not. He was smothered, and the cucumber left
to disguise the fact. It seems to have worked, because no one else seems to be suspicious about his death.’

Leybourn gazed angrily at the spy. ‘You told
me
none of this – and you might have done, given that I went to some trouble to cause a diversion for you in St Margaret’s Church.
What is it with you and secrets? I am getting a bit tired of them, if you want the truth.’

‘You did not ask,’ said Chaloner, startled by his vehemence.

‘Would you have confided, if I had?’ demanded Leybourn. ‘You will not even tell me where you have been for the past few months,
and we are supposed to be friends. In fact, I know very little about you, although you know an inordinate amount about me
because
I
am not secretive.’

‘I do not know your wife,’ hedged Chaloner, amazed that Leybourn should expect him, a professional spy, to be open about his
life and his work.

‘Mary is
not
his wife – they are living in sin,’ said
Thurloe disapprovingly. Chaloner tended to forget the ex-Spymaster was a devout Puritan, and was often taken off-guard when
prudish principles bobbed to the surface. ‘He should either marry her properly or end the relationship.’

Leybourn glowered at him. ‘I am going home. At least there I am respected. Trusted, too.’

He stalked away, leaving Chaloner staring after him in astonishment. He had never seen him so angry, and the provocation had
been very slight. He turned to Thurloe. ‘What is wrong with him?’

Thurloe’s expression was deeply unhappy. ‘He has not been himself since that dreadful woman appeared and began to corrupt
his mind. I wish they had never met.’

‘Mary? But he said she makes him happy.’

‘So he claims, but he does not seem happy to me. She is turning him against his friends – she has fabricated all manner of
lies about me, and it will only be a matter of time before she begins a campaign of slander against you, too. Further, she
encourages him to forget his principles and become something he is not. For example, he is constantly asking me to break the
law.’

‘In what way?’

‘By forging him a marriage certificate or writing letters purporting to be from the Earl of Sandwich, which will see him awarded
a lucrative surveying contract. I suspect Mary urges him to resort to dishonest methods, and he does it to please her. I am
very worried about him.’

‘Who is she? Do you know her family?’

‘Her name is Mary Cade, and she claims to hail from Norfolk. I have made enquiries, but have learned nothing so far, although
there is certainly something suspect about
her. Go to meet her, Tom, and then come back and tell me what you think.’

Chaloner nodded. ‘Very well. And while I am there, I shall tell Will what I have been doing in Portugal and Spain. He has
a fair point: there is no need to keep secrets from him.’

‘From him, no, but I would not confide anything you do not want Mary to know, too. He tells her more than he should about
his business, and I do not like the company she keeps.’

‘What company?’

‘Men with a felonious look about them. I was Spymaster General, so I know a scoundrel when I see one. William has no idea
what manner of folk he entertains in his house of an evening. Did he tell you how he and Mary met? She went to buy a book,
and he fell in love the moment he saw her. I suspect she spotted a lonely man, and homed in like a snake to its prey. I was
delighted at first – he is not successful with ladies and deserves a companion – but then he introduced us and all my instincts
told me she is not what he believes her to be. You and I
must
find a way to loosen the claws she has fastened around his heart.’

‘Not if he loves her. He will not thank us for that.’

‘Wait until you meet her before taking that sort of stance,’ advised Thurloe. There was a steely look in his eye that warned
Chaloner not to argue. He had not been appointed to one of the most powerful posts in the Commonwealth for nothing, and there
was an iron core in him to which wise men deferred. ‘And
then
we shall discuss it.’

They were silent for a moment, each wrapped in his own concerns. Absently, Thurloe nodded a greeting
to one of his fellow benchers, then turned back to Chaloner.

‘You were asking about Smegergill before we became sidetracked with Mary. He is an excellent virginals player – or was, before
age stiffened his fingers. He is still very good, but nothing compared to what he was in Cromwell’s time. He and Maylord were
friends, because both performed for the Commonwealth’s court, and then joined the King’s after the Restoration. Maylord may
well have confided any worries he had to Smegergill. However, before you interview him, I should warn you that he has a reputation
for being difficult.’

‘Difficult?’

‘Eccentric and unpredictable. At times he is charm itself, while on other occasions he is moody and sullen. The artistic temperament,
I suppose. You can be rather like that yourself.’

Chaloner had only ever been ‘moody and sullen’ with Thurloe when he had had good cause, and felt it was an unfair observation.
It was not the time to discuss past misunderstandings, though. ‘I do not suppose you have heard any rumours about what might
have been bothering Maylord?’

‘Unfortunately not. However, I met him at White Hall about a week ago, and he asked if I knew where you might be, intimating
that there was a matter with which you might be able to help him. I offered him my services, but he declined. So, I have no
idea why he was distressed, although I think we can safely assume that it relates to his murder. Of course, he died two days
after Newburne, so it is possible that Maylord’s killer latched on to cucumbers
because
of Newburne.’

Chaloner nodded slowly. ‘You mean no one thought
it odd that Newburne died of eating cucumbers, so the killer assumed – rightly – that no eyebrows would be raised when the
same thing happened to Maylord. That means the two deaths are unrelated, that Maylord’s killer just heard what happened to
Newburne and used it as an excuse.’

‘It means he took a cucumber with him when he killed Maylord, which shows a degree of premeditation. Other than that, there
is no connection between the two victims that I can see: Newburne was a corrupt and hated lawyer, and Maylord was a popular
musician with many friends.’

‘The verger at St Margaret’s mentioned three other recent cucumber deaths …’

‘Actually, there have been four.’ Thurloe’s extensive circle of ex-colleagues, former employees and acquaintances still kept
him well supplied with gossip and intelligence. ‘A royal equerry named Colonel Beauclair, Valentine Pettis the horse-dealer,
and two sedan-chairmen. There was no suggestion of foul play with any of them, although they have all died within the last
month.’

‘Did they know each other? Or were they acquainted with Newburne or Maylord?’

‘Beauclair was interested in riding, the army and virtually nothing else; he would have had nothing in common with a musician
and a solicitor. I suppose he might have met Pettis the horse-dealer, though. Meanwhile, Beauclair rode everywhere, Maylord
walked, and Newburne had his own carriage, so I doubt any of them knew the sedan-men. What do you plan to do? Look into Maylord’s
death, as well as Newburne’s?’

‘Maylord was my father’s closest friend, and whoever smothered him with enough force to break teeth deserves
to face justice. I
will
hunt down his killer. And I have no choice but to investigate Newburne. The Earl pays me, and I cannot pick and choose from
the commissions he dispenses.’

‘All I can tell you about Newburne is that a man called Heneage Finch was almost the only person in London prepared to spend
any time in his company.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘Even the most villainous of men have
some
friends, and I think Finch was just that – a fellow able to look beyond Newburne’s corrupt, sly manner to see something worthy
of companionship. Perhaps he can tell you whether Newburne had a penchant for cucumbers. So, you have two tasks now: interviewing
Finch about his friend Newburne, and Smegergill about his friend Maylord.’

‘I will start tomorrow.’

‘I do not think people will be rushing to help once they learn your aim is to investigate Newburne’s death – assuming there
is anything to explore, of course. Even rotten lawyers die of natural causes sometimes. Meanwhile, Williamson will object
to your interference, and the Earl is angry with you for leaving England for so long. Trust no one – not even Leybourn, I
am sorry to say.’

It was good advice, and Chaloner fully intended to follow it.

It was dark when Chaloner left Lincoln’s Inn and began to walk to Monkwell Street near Cripplegate, where Leybourn lived.
Although the streets were still busy, a different kind of citizen was beginning to emerge for business. Men tried to bump
into him as he went, in an
attempt to pick his pockets, and youths with dirty faces and oily hands offered to sell him goods at improbably low prices.
Chaloner had no money to pay a linksman to light his path, and closed his mind to what he might be treading in as he made
his way along the wide thoroughfare called Holborn. Shops were still open, and displays of gloves, spices, wigs, baskets,
pots and mirrors could be seen within. Stray dogs had formed a pack near the bridge that spanned the filthy Fleet River, and
were feeding on something that lay in the road; they snarled at anyone who went too close.