The Butcher of Smithfield (40 page)

‘I just mentioned Mary in passing, and my sister started to talk. There is no harm in listening, is there? Anyway, Annabel
Reade went to work for a man called Bridges, but there was a disagreement over silverware. Word is that her beau, Jonas Kirby,
went to visit Bridges, and Bridges withdrew the charges the very next day. She had actually been sentenced to hang, so it
was not just a case of Bridges saying he was mistaken, either. I heard a
lot
of his money went into buying that reprieve.’

‘Kirby is Mary’s lover?’ asked Chaloner, supposing it explained why he visited her while Leybourn was otherwise engaged, and
why he had been the one to steal the money sack.

‘So it would seem,’ said Temperance. ‘However I made a few enquiries, too, and the boy who delivers our flour told me her
real name is Annie Petwer, and she was
Newburne’s
whore.’

Chaloner gazed at her, thoughts reeling. ‘Annie Petwer and Mary Cade are one and the same?’

Temperance nodded. ‘Her description of Newburne’s performances in the bedchamber gave rise to some vulgar expression about
his manhood, apparently.’

She shot Chaloner a challenging glance, apparently to see if she had shocked him. He did not react, so she and Maude began
a debate on which of the three names was the original. Chaloner half-listened, thinking about the implications of Mary’s association
with the man whose murder he had been charged to solve. Did that mean the Hectors were responsible for the deadly lozenges?
How had Mary managed being Newburne’s mistress as well as Leybourn’s ‘wife’ and Kirby’s beau? Then it occurred to him that
Leybourn was busy with his shop and his writing, so she probably had a lot of time on her hands. No wonder she was determined
to keep him. Not only did he provide her with a comfortable home and forgive her laziness regarding household chores, but
his own unique lifestyle gave her the freedom to do whatever she liked, too.

Temperance smiled thinly as he stood to leave. ‘Are you sure you would not like a dish of coffee or a pipe before you go?
How about some pickled rhubarb? That is said to soothe sharp tempers.’

Chaloner left feeling less than manly, a sensation that was becoming stronger and more frequent as Temperance’s real personality
began to flower. He could not drink her coffee, tobacco was an expensive habit he could not afford
to acquire, and he was squeamish about her political opinions. Perhaps she knew she unsettled him, and did it on purpose,
to amuse herself. He had seen more of the world than she ever would, and had met people with far more radical views than the
ones she propounded, but she was his gentle Temperance, and the change in her was disconcerting. He wondered how long it would
be before they no longer had anything in common, and their friendship began to flounder.

Maude’s information about Annie Petwer was the first real clue he had had about Newburne for some time, so Chaloner decided
a visit to Leybourn was in order, but when he emerged from Hercules’ Pillars Alley, everyone appeared to be heading for the
river. He listened to snippets of conversation as people passed, and learned that the tide was still rising, and they were
hurrying to see if it would breach its banks. He joined the throng moving towards Temple Stairs – he did not want to be the
only person in London walking in a different direction.

When he reached the river, he thought there were far too many folk standing on the wooden platform that formed the Temple
Stairs; water was lapping across its slick surface, and there was a very real danger of someone being swept off. He stayed
well back, looking away when a cow floated past, lowing its distress. A boatman set out after it, determined to have the prize,
and the crowd watched in stunned silence when the bobbing craft capsized the moment it approached the struggling animal. The
boat was swept on, but there was no sign of its owner.

Then Chaloner saw a familiar face. Leybourn bought the paper he used for writing his books from a stationer
at Temple Stairs, and often visited the area; he had a ream of it under his arm. Chaloner went to stand next to him, looking
around for Mary. He could not see her, and supposed Leybourn must have made the journey alone. He wondered what sort of gathering
was taking place in the surveyor’s house when he was out, and was tempted to run to Monkwell Street to find out.

‘Hello, Tom. This is a grim business. Did you see that poor fellow? Drowned, just like that.’

‘White Hall is preparing for the worst, too – bakers are ferrying cakes to the Banqueting House.’

Leybourn stifled a gulp of laughter. ‘Do not make jokes at such a time; it is not seemly. Thames Street is suffering. Hodgkinson
told me he has had to suspend all his paper from the ceiling beams. He cannot take it elsewhere, because the streets are so
foul with mud that carts cannot get through.’

‘This weather cannot last much longer.’

‘It will if the prophets of doom are right, and God is producing another Flood to relieve the world of wickedness.’ Leybourn’s
voice became pained. ‘And London
is
wicked – I was burgled last night.’

‘Were you?’ asked Chaloner, experiencing a sharp pang of guilt when he saw the distress on his friend’s face. He had been
going to tell Leybourn what he knew about the missing silver goblets, but saw it would not be a good time.

‘My money sack is gone.’ Leybourn glanced behind him. ‘Mary says you took it.’

‘Why would she think that?’ Chaloner’s indignation was genuine, given the circumstances.

‘Because the thief knew exactly where to look, and she thinks you are the only one who knows where I keep
it. I dare not mention that Temperance knows, too, lest Mary takes against her as well. She says you are jealous of my new-found
happiness.’

‘I am not jealous of what you have with Mary,’ said Chaloner ambiguously.

Leybourn was too lost in his own misery to pick up subtle nuances. ‘She detests Thurloe, too, although I cannot imagine why.
He has never been anything but courteous to her, although perhaps a little cold. Her disapproval of you I understand – you
can be downright rude. She says I should no longer have anything to do with either of you.’

‘She is still with you, then?’ asked Chaloner, disappointed she had not packed her bags the moment she learned Kirby’s mission
had failed.

Leybourn gaped at him. ‘What a vile thing to say! Of course she is still with me! Do you think she only wants me for my money?
She loves
me
, not my wealth.’

‘He is right,’ said Mary. Her voice close behind Leybourn made the surveyor jump, although Chaloner had seen her coming. ‘The
theft of this sack means nothing, and I shall stay with him for as long as I choose … I mean as long as he will have me.’

‘I will have you for ever,’ vowed Leybourn passionately. ‘And I will marry you—’

‘Yes, we do not doubt each other,’ interrupted Mary, patting his cheek in a way Chaloner thought patronising. She turned to
the spy, and her expression changed from condescention to naked hostility. ‘But the same cannot be said for you. William trusts
you, but I have reservations, so I shall give you a chance to prove yourself to him. He was saving up to buy a Gunter’s Quadrant
and there is such an instrument in a shop in Moorfield. Will you get it for him?’

‘I do not have that sort of money,’ said Chaloner, surprised she should think he did. Or perhaps she thought he should use
Leybourn’s hoard for the purpose.

‘It would be a wonderful thing to own,’ said Leybourn wistfully. ‘I
almost
had enough before …’

‘If he had one, he would be able to survey St James’s Park, and earn himself a fortune,’ interrupted Mary. ‘He has already
been offered the commission, but he cannot accept without owning the necessary implements. I repeat: will you get it for him?’

‘You mean
steal
it?’ asked Chaloner, finally understanding what she was telling him to do.

‘I mean
borrow
it,’ corrected Mary slyly. ‘You will do it if you are his friend.’

‘But if he is seen using this quadrant, it will be obvious where it came from,’ Chaloner pointed out, aware of Leybourn looking
uncomfortable – although not uncomfortable enough to tell her to stop. ‘People will assume he stole it.’

Mary gave one of her nasty smiles. ‘Then you will have to step forward and take the blame. But I doubt you need worry. William
tells me you are adept at worming your way out of difficult situations, and that you have practical experience of thievery.
Incidentally, where were you last night?’

Chaloner answered with an observation of his own. ‘I understand your friend Kirby was lurking in the area at the time when
Will was burgled. Ask him the identity of the culprit. Or should we see what Annie Petwer or Annabel Reade have to say?’

‘Tom,’ said Leybourn sharply. ‘I do not like your tone.’

‘You have been asking questions about me?’ asked Mary, not sounding as alarmed or shocked as Chaloner
thought she should have done. ‘That is ungentlemanly. But do not hope to drive a wedge between me and William over my past,
because he already knows about the false charges laid at my door by that horrible Richard Bridges.’

‘Does he know you were Tom Newburne’s lover, too?’

‘Tom!’ cried Leybourn, appalled. ‘Enough! That is my wife you insult.’

‘I did know Newburne,’ said Mary coldly. ‘But I most certainly was not his lover, and if you claim otherwise, I will make
you very sorry.’

Chaloner left Temple Stairs with a sense that he had underestimated Mary, and that she was winning the battle for Leybourn.
He also did not like the challenge she had laid at his feet regarding the quadrant. Obviously, her intention was that he should
be caught committing a crime. Was she hoping Leybourn would be implicated, too, and that when they were both hanged for theft,
she would be left with house, shop and what remained of his money? But that would not happen, because Leybourn’s brother would
inherit – Chaloner had witnessed the will himself. He supposed she must have some other plan in mind, and knew he should learn
what it was before it swung into action.

And what should he think about her denial that she had been Newburne’s lover? He had accepted Temperance’s story without question,
because it made sense in the light of the other things he knew about Mary Cade, Annie Petwer and Annabel Reade. But could
Temperance have been wrong? She listened to gossip, and it would not be the first time she had repeated a tale that had no
basis in fact.

He put Mary from his mind – with difficulty – and walked to Old Jewry, intending to do two things: ask Dorcus Newburne if
her husband had kept a mistress, and locate the solicitor’s mythical hoard. As he walked, he tried to stay in the lee of the
wind that swept in from the river. It was verging on a gale, and rattled loose tiles on the housetops. Birds struggled against
the confused air currents, trees roared and swayed, and dead brown leaves swirled in fierce little eddies.

He reached Old Jewry eventually, and knocked on the door to Newburne’s house. A servant showed him into a pleasant chamber
at the front. He had not been waiting many moments before the door opened, and Dorcus swept in. She wore black, to indicate
mourning, but the cloth was of the finest quality, and she looked elegant and prosperous. She had recovered from the funeral’s
ordeal, and her face was no longer pale; she did not look happy, but neither was she prostrate with grief.

‘Have you come to bring me news about my pension?’

‘Only to say that the matter has gone to the relevant committee for discussion,’ he lied. It would explain the delay, and
he could hardly tell her the truth if he wanted her cooperation.

She sighed. ‘Good. It was promised to me, and I intend to make the government keep its word.’

‘Do you need it urgently, ma’am? Shall I ask the Earl to expedite the matter?’

She smiled faintly. ‘It is kind of you to offer, but I do not need the money at all, because my husband was very rich. In
fact, I intend to donate it all to St Olave’s Church when it comes.’

Chaloner was puzzled. ‘If you intend to give it away, why petition for it with such fervour?’

‘It is a matter of principle. My husband was your master’s eyes and ears for years, and most recently in the newsbook business.
Williamson would have killed him if he had found out, but the Earl promised to protect him. Then my husband died, allegedly
of cucumbers, but we all know it was poison.’

‘You think Williamson murdered your husband?’ It was possible; the Spymaster was ruthless.

She nodded slowly. ‘He might have done, although there were others who disliked Thomas, too. But that is not the point. The
real issue is that your Earl vowed to look after him, and he failed. I want the government to pay for its broken promise,
and this is the only way I can think of to do it. I want to hit the Earl where it most hurts – in the coffers.’

It was certainly having the desired effect, thought Chaloner: the Earl hated the notion of being out of pocket. ‘Your husband’s
funeral was well attended. I do not suppose Annie Petwer was—’

Dorcus’s eyes narrowed. ‘I suppose someone told you “Arise, Tom Newburne” was to do with a mistress, but I explained how that
expression came about – his antics with a wooden sword.’

‘You seem very sure.’

‘I am sure. Thomas had a pox ten years ago, and it left him with no interest in women. Hence it is impossible that he could
have had a lover. And his rising from the dead was another silly tale, too.’

‘Hodgkinson says otherwise, and he was there.’

‘Hodgkinson is an impressionable fool. No stone flung up by a passing carriage can carry enough force to kill a man – and
why should some trollop suddenly be possessed of an ability to resurrect? I met Annie Petwer
once; she loves money, and if she thought for an instant that she had saved Thomas, she would have demanded a massive reward.
She never did. Hodgkinson is being fanciful.’

‘Why would he fabricate such a story?’

She smiled. ‘Well, it did make him a popular raconteur in the coffee houses for a few weeks. I imagine he has told the tale
so many times that he now believes it.’