He changed the subject, thinking it none of her affair. ‘Your husband is a merchant?’
‘He is John Dalton.’ She looked at him in a way that indicated the name should be familiar, and sighed when she saw it was not. ‘After the wars, he made his fortune in wine. This means he has the favour of the King, whose Court consumes rather a lot of it. Because the King approves of him, Downing is attempting to befriend him, too, although both are finding the process a sore trial.’
‘Is your husband a difficult man to like, then?’
She glanced sharply at him, and he sensed he had hit a nerve. ‘He can be awkward, but so are most men. I wish he were a handsome young soldier, but we cannot choose what we want in this life, and so must make do with what we are given. Do you really speak Dutch like a native?’
‘Metje thinks I sound German, but that is preferable to an Englishman, given that we are on the brink of war with Holland.’
‘On the brink of war?’ she echoed in disbelief. ‘We are not!’
Chaloner shook his head slowly, wondering why so many affluent Londoners were unwilling to see the truth – unlike the poor, who seemed almost eager for the conflict. Personally, he considered the looming Dutch crisis a serious problem, and was more than happy to talk about it – and if she passed his concerns to her husband, then so much the better. ‘We will be fighting within three years unless someone takes steps to stop it. We would be fools to challenge the Dutch – they have more ships, a navy in which men are actually paid, and better resources. We cannot afford to take them on.’
But she was not particularly interested, and her expression became mischievous as she thought of another question. ‘Did you really say malicious things in Dutch when Downing was actually present?’
‘Of course not. That would have been the height of bad manners.’
She seemed disappointed. ‘Well, you should not take his malice to heart. He hates everyone, and the feeling is wholly reciprocated. I think he was despised before March, but what he did to those regicides earlier this year was despicable – discovering their hiding places in Holland, and dragging them back to be hanged and quartered. What sort of man does that to another human being?’
The descriptions that sprung into Chaloner’s mind were unrepeatable. He affected nonchalance, although she had chosen another subject about which he felt strongly. ‘Downing supported Cromwell for ten years, and needed a spectacular way to prove himself loyal to the King. What better way than presenting His Majesty with three former friends to be sentenced to a hideous death?’
She regarded him silently for a moment. ‘Were you with Downing when he caught them? He said you parted company last spring, and that was when those men were apprehended.’
‘Is there any more tonic?’
‘You refuse to answer. Why? Because you helped Downing? Or because you decline to be associated with his shameful behaviour?’
Chaloner glanced towards the door. ‘Because I do not want to engage in such talk when the man is within spitting distance of us.’
‘Spitting is the best thing to do to him. My husband went to watch those poor men die, but I could not bring myself to join him. Did you go?’
‘No,’ replied Chaloner shortly. ‘Shall I stoke up the fire? It is cold in here.’
‘It is not cold,’ she said softly. ‘So, I surmise from your reaction that you objected to what he did, and you argued about it. That is why he hates you, and why you are so open in your disdain for him. It is nothing to be ashamed of – there are men who would shake your hand for defying him.’
‘And there are others who would hang me for angering a friend of the King.’
‘Downing is no man’s friend. The King was angry about what happened to those particular regicides – I heard him myself, telling the Earl of Clarendon how wrong it was to demand the return of criminals from a foreign country. He said it made us look stupid, for allowing their escape in the first place.’
‘The Dutch refused the extradition at first,’ said Chaloner, relenting and recalling the tense negotiations that had taken place between government officials and Downing. ‘But he bullied, cajoled and bribed, and eventually they capitulated. One clerk told me it was just to make him go away. And John Okey, Miles Corbet and John Barkstead paid the price.’
‘Did you meet the regicides? I suppose you did: Englishmen abroad naturally gather together, no matter what their political affiliation.’
Chaloner frowned: first Leybourn had questioned him, and now Sarah Dalton was doing it. He was tempted to tell her to mind her own business, but if she was close enough to Thurloe to refer to him as ‘John’, then it would be unwise to alienate her.
‘They were not interested in talking to clerks,’ he replied vaguely.
She poked the embers with a stick. ‘I have always wanted to see Holland, but my husband tells me it is too far. I doubt I will ever go – at least, not as long as I am married to him.’
‘You could always go to East Anglia instead. There is not much to choose between them in terms of bogs and flat fields.’
She raised her eyebrows, amused. ‘I see I am talking to a true romantic.’
Chaloner was relieved when Thurloe came to tell Sarah that her husband was ready to leave. He waited in the bedchamber until they had gone, unwilling to endure another spat with Downing. His encounter with Sarah had been perplexing, but now he needed to muster his wits and convince Thurloe that he would be a worthy addition to the new government’s intelligence services.
‘They have gone,’ said Thurloe, beckoning him into the sitting room. ‘Dalton is a decent soul, but Downing is a sore trial. I cannot imagine how you managed to put up with him all those years. I should have paid you double, to compensate you for such unpleasant working conditions.’
‘He has his good points,’ replied Chaloner, walking carefully so as not to draw attention to his stiff leg. The chamber still reeked of Dalton’s orange water.
‘Name one,’ challenged Thurloe. Chaloner hesitated. ‘You cannot, because he does not have any – except perhaps a fondness for good music. The man is a disgrace, and what he did to Barkstead, Okey and Corbet was truly wicked. I understand he tried to do the same to your uncle – who also signed the old king’s death warrant.’
Chaloner nodded, but made no other reply.
Thurloe regarded him closely. ‘Your uncle was my friend. I would like to know Downing had nothing to do with his end.’
‘He died of natural causes months before Downing indulged his penchant for persecuting regicides.’ Chaloner glanced uneasily at Thurloe, wondering why Downing had been visiting him, and whether they had traded secrets. ‘He still thinks my name is Heyden.’
‘And I recommend you keep it that way. It would be extremely unwise to let him know you are the nephew of a king-killer. He will almost certainly use it against you, and my influence is on the wane, so I may not be able to stop him. What did he say when he learned death had cheated him of his prize?’
‘That he was going to excavate my uncle’s grave and cart the body to London. I thought he was jesting, but then I learned it had happened before – that Cromwell had been exhumed and his skeleton ceremonially hanged before a crowd of spectators.’
‘You are not the only one to be shocked by that,’ said Thurloe, reading the distaste in his face. ‘I had supposed we lived in civilised times, and was appalled to see corpses defiled. However, there are men in the new government who consider that sort of thing perfectly justified, so we should keep our opinions to ourselves. Are any of your family likely to visit London?’
‘No, sir. They know former Parliamentarians should stay low until the frenzy of purges is over. They will remain quietly in Buckinghamshire.’