The Butcher of Smithfield (47 page)

BE WARY. TOO MANY HORSES.

Too many horses for what? He moved on to the compositions he had recovered from Maylord’s chimney, barely aware of the watchmen
calling two o’clock, and then three.

SHERARD LORINSTON. GROCER OF SMITHFIELD. LARGE SAD BAY MARE. MOTHER FIRST NEWE MOON WEATHER PERMITTING.

The next one read:

J
AMES BRADNOX. VINTNERS HALL. THURSDAY FOLLOWING. GUILD MEETING
.

And so it went on, message after message Heart pounding, he turned to L’Estrange’s piece.

RICHD SMITH. BELL SMITHFIELD. BRIGHT BAY MARE. SAINTE LUKE DAY EVE. THEATER.

Chaloner stared at it. He had met Richard Smith in Brome’s shop. The man had been placing an advertisement in
The Newes
, because his ‘bright bay mare’ had been stolen, and he wanted its safe return. Chaloner consulted Thurloe’s almanac, and
learned that the Feast of St Luke was the fifteenth day of October, which was roughly when the man said the horse had been
stolen. With a start, Chaloner also recalled him say that the thief was Edward Treen, who had been spotted in the very act
of stealing the beast. The music was telling someone
that on the eve of St Luke’s Day, Richard Smith had been planning to go to the theatre.

Chaloner chewed the end of his pen. Was that the essence of the messages? That someone was gathering information about the
movements of men with horses, and was arranging to have them stolen? Had Pettis the horse-trader and Beauclair the equerry
been part of the operation? Or had they been killed because they had worked out what was going on? And if Treen, one of the
trio that was causing Chaloner so much trouble, had stolen Smith’s horse, then were his fellow Hectors responsible for the
other thefts, too? Chaloner imagined they were.

He finished decoding the messages, grinning his satisfaction when one contained a note about Beauclair’s black stallion, then
searched Thurloe’s bookshelves until he found back issues of
The Newes
and
The Intelligencer
. It did not take him long to learn that most of the men mentioned in the music had bought notices in the newsbooks, offering
rewards for their animals’ return. So, what did that tell him? It certainly confirmed what he had heard in the coffee houses:
that if a valuable animal was taken, then the best way to ensure its recovery was to advertise in the newsbooks.

Maylord had owned a horse. Had it been stolen? Chaloner trawled all the way back to L’Estrange’s very first publication, but
Maylord had never placed an advertisement if it had. Was
this
the secret that Maylord had learned about Newburne, and Thurloe was right in that it had nothing to do with Newburne’s jewels?
Chaloner lay on the mattress, but there were still far too many questions to allow him to sleep.

* * *

Events were beginning to spiral out of Chaloner’s control. It was only a matter of time before the Hectors tracked him down
and tried to kill him, and he only had one more full day left to solve Newburne’s murder. He rose long before dawn with a
sense of foreboding, thinking about what had happened, what he had learned, and the questions he still needed to answer. He
woke Thurloe, sitting on the edge of the bed to regale the drowsy ex-Spymaster with an account of what the music meant.

‘And the fact that Smegergill started to wear the ring after Maylord’s death means
he
knew about the music, too,’ he concluded.

‘You are almost certainly right. Smegergill must have been determined to feather his nest at any cost. Perhaps he even helped
with the encoding or decoding – he made money from these horse thefts, as well as aiming to get Newburne’s jewels and Maylord’s
inheritance. I never did like the man.’

‘So, he had two reasons for smothering Maylord,’ mused Chaloner. ‘He wanted his inheritance
and
he was afraid Maylord would expose the horse-theft business.’

‘It explains why Ireton was ready to commit murder with him – he was protecting Hector business, as well as doing a favour
for his friend and music-master. So, at last you know what frightened Maylord: it started with a hare-brained scheme – probably
devised in the heat of the moment and later regretted – to defraud Newburne of his jewels, but it ended with him stumbling
into the Hectors’ latest venture.’

‘He must have found the coded music while acquiring Newburne’s keys and, being a musician, it piqued his interest. He must
have taken some, and become worried when he realised its significance.’

‘Do you think Finch was translating the music when he was murdered?’ asked Thurloe.

‘No, because he was playing it at the time. You do not need to play it to translate – in fact, it is better if you do not,
because the melody is irrelevant. But there was a second person in the room when Finch died, someone eating a pie. I suspect
he
knew what the music entailed, and killed Finch to make sure he never worked it out.’

‘That particular missive said there were “too many horses”. Do you know what that means?’

‘Yes, I think so. The music directs Hectors to prey on specific victims, but it has been too successful. The message from
Finch’s room is a warning, urging the perpetrators to cut back before their activities become obvious.’

Thurloe was uncertain. ‘Obvious?’ he echoed doubtfully. ‘Obvious to whom?’

‘To anyone reading the newsbooks, had the operation been allowed to continue at such a furious pace. It is not obvious
now
, because the warning was heeded.’

‘If advertising means the return of these valuable beasts, then it is small wonder that so many men are clamouring to buy
newsbook notices.’ Thurloe frowned. ‘Horse-thievery has always occurred around Smithfield. I see all manner of connections
emerging here, and I imagine you do, too.’

Chaloner nodded. ‘The music is directed at Smithfield-based men like Ireton, who plays the lute and so has an understanding
of notation. Of course, it was the one thing I did not bother to ask him last night. He and the Hectors – Treen was actually
seen taking Smith’s mare – steal these beasts, then Smithfield horse-dealers, such
as Valentine Pettis, help to sell them. Pettis was Mary Cade’s husband, so I doubt his role in the business was an honest
one.’

‘Rewards are offered for the safe delivery of most of these animals, so if Pettis could not effect a sale, the thieves could
still profit from their crime by returning them to their grateful owners.’

‘Perhaps that is why Pettis was killed: he preferred a sale to a reward, because it would be more lucrative. He became greedy,
and someone was obliged to stop him before he spoiled everything. Did I tell you that the night Greeting was supposed to have
been ambushed, he was carrying
music
between L’Estrange and Spymaster Williamson?’

‘Yes – but that does not mean Greeting or L’Estrange are actively involved. L’Estrange might have somehow acquired the music
from the villains, and was dutifully passing it to Williamson for investigation.’

‘Then why did Williamson toss it on the fire as soon as it was delivered? It is not impossible that L’Estrange wrote the music
himself – he
is
an accomplished violist – for Williamson to pass to the Hectors. Williamson often hires Hectors, and we should not forget
that he has allocated a singularly stupid agent to investigate this particular case.’

‘One who might have died giving you exploding oil for your lamp,’ mused Thurloe. ‘You said there was music on Wenum’s windowsill,
too, but that is to be expected, given that Wenum is Newburne. And Newburne would certainly have involved himself in this,
you can be sure of that.’

‘Hickes would not agree with you about the Newburne–Wenum connection. According to him, Wenum was one of Mary’s victims,
found floating in the Thames.’

‘Then he is mistaken. I set my servant to work when I received your note earlier. Records are kept of drownings, but Wenum
is not among them. Wenum
is
Newburne, which explains why Wenum has not been seen since the solicitor died. And, more to the point, we cannot overlook
the very obvious fact that the names are anagrams of each other. Hickes must have been listening to unsubstantiated gossip,
and he is not intelligent enough to know the difference between fact and speculation.’

Chaloner supposed he might be right, although an element of doubt remained. ‘He is an odd combination of credulous and astute.’

Thurloe was not interested in Hickes. ‘I visited “Wenum’s” attic in the Rhenish Wine House the other day, and I saw the book
– Galen’s tome on foods – that you mentioned. That edition is actually rare and very expensive, so I took it to Nott the bookseller,
and asked him to find out who bought it. He undertook similar tasks for me during the Commonwealth, so I have high hopes that
proof will not be long in coming. I fully expect the owner to be wealthy old Newburne.’

Chaloner nodded vaguely, unwilling to commit himself one way or the other. He did not know what to think about Wenum.

‘What will you do today?’ asked Thurloe, when the spy made no other reply. ‘Other than keep your distance from Smithfield,
of course.’

‘Speak to Hickes, ask who gave him the oil. Then question Muddiman about what Dury was doing in Hodgkinson’s print-house.’
Chaloner was not very enthusiastic, because he did not think either would provide him with the answers he so desperately needed.

‘You said Hickes wanted information about Hodgkinson’s whereabouts. If he refuses to cooperate, you can persuade him with
the intelligence that Hodgkinson has a sister in Chelsey.’

‘How do you know that?’

Thurloe’s smile was enigmatic. ‘Hodgkinson is a printer. Such people have the means to flood the streets with seditious literature,
so naturally, he was of interest to me during the Commonwealth.’

‘Hickes said he was dangerous. Is
that
what he meant?’

‘Hodgkinson
is
dangerous. He may seem amiable and pleasant, but he has a core of steel – and iron fists to go with it. He associates with
insalubrious men, too. Why do you think he has a print-shop at Smithfield, of all places? It is not to sell cards and advertisements,
believe me.’

Chaloner stared at him. ‘Have I underestimated him?’

‘You have if you think he is some harmless innocent. Why? Did you cross him?’

‘Not as far as I know. So that explains why he was willing to “help” Greeting search for Smegergill’s killer in Smithfield.
He is a Hector himself!’

Chaloner returned to his rooms to don different clothes before going to see Hickes, hurrying because he could not afford to
waste time. Bells were ringing to call people to church, but it was pouring with rain again, and those who did brave the weather
did so resentfully. His cat was still out, and he hoped it had not come to grief in the swollen runnels and streams that gushed
to join the bloated Thames.

He strode to The Strand, in the hope that Hickes would be at his customary spot outside Muddiman’s
house, but even the regular street-traders seemed to have given up the battle against the elements, and the city felt strangely
deserted. The only other place he could think to look was White Hall: if Hickes was Williamson’s spy, then someone there would
know where he lived. He asked Bulteel, whose bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothes indicated he had been working all night. The
clerk leaned back in his chair and massaged his back.

‘Hickes lives in Axe Yard, Westminster, but I doubt he will be accepting visitors today. There is a rumour that he has been
poisoned. Rat stew, apparently.’

‘I had rat stew last night, and I am not poisoned,’ said Chaloner, wondering if Mrs Hickes had persuaded her husband to swallow
one of Theophilus Buckworth’s Personal Lozenges after all.

Bulteel shuddered. ‘You old soldiers! I have heard them wax lyrical about the lost delights of rat stew before, but I did
not think they would eat it when more pleasant alternatives were available.’

‘I would not have to eat it at all, if the Earl paid me,’ said Chaloner, not without bitterness.

Bulteel stared at him. ‘You are that impecunious? You should have said! I administer a small fund for emergencies, and you
should have some expenses for your work. Here is ten shillings. I cannot give you more, but it should last until you bring
about a successful resolution to your enquiries.’

Chaloner accepted it warily. ‘Are you sure this is legal? I do not want the Earl accusing me of theft.’

Bulteel looked hurt. ‘Of course it is legal! Do you think I would risk my career with a new child on the way? Now you must
sign my ledger, to say you have received the said amount.’

Chaloner bent to write his name in the book Bulteel had pulled from his desk, and saw the clerk was telling the truth, because
it did contain a list of minor expenditures incurred on the Earl’s behalf.

Bulteel lowered his voice. ‘Your reasons for leaving Newburne’s hoard where it was were sound at the time, but the situation
has changed. If his cellar floods in all this rain, it will almost certainly be discovered by the workmen who come to clean
up. I think you had better bring it here – today, if possible – and I will find somewhere to hide it. I have a feeling you
are going to need it soon. The Earl is expecting his answer tomorrow, and you do not seem overwhelmed with solutions.’

Chaloner did not want to waste precious time on treasure, but Bulteel was right – a chest of coins might well appease the
Earl in lieu of a solved case. Because he now had plenty of money, he took a hackney to Old Jewry. It raced recklessly towards
its destination, spraying water so high that it splattered over the buildings on both sides simultaneously. It also drenched
other road-users, and their progress was marked by waving fists and curses. The driver swore back, and Chaloner was not surprised
when someone brought the journey to an abrupt end by hurling a clod of mud. It missed the hackneyman, but the ensuing altercation
looked set to last for some time, so Chaloner ran the rest of the way.

When he arrived, Dorcus Newburne was leaving. A carriage waited outside her house, and L’Estrange enticed her into it with
one of his leers. The maid stood sulkily in the doorway, and Dorcus gave her a jaunty wave as the coach rattled away. Sybilla
made a gesture that was far
from servile, then left herself; Chaloner had the impression she was playing truant as an act of rebellion. He waited until
she had gone, then hurried around to the back of the mansion, and fiddled with the door until it came open. Then he trotted
quickly down the cellar steps, intending to unearth the jewels and leave with them as fast as possible.