Robert glowered. ‘You all tell me he was committed to our cause, so it seemed a logical conclusion to draw. Am I wrong about him, then?’
‘No,’ said Robinson shortly. ‘He was a dedicated brother. But we are not here to discuss him and his mythical hoard. I am more interested in Hewson.’
Chaloner watched uneasily. Could he be witnessing the start of yet another rebellion? There had been so many since Cromwell’s death that people had lost count of them, and there always seemed to be some group of fanatics who believed the government should be in its own hands. If the Brotherhood was plotting treachery, then its members were taking a serious risk by discussing it in a public coffee house; they had not even searched the room first, to make sure it was empty.
‘So, what about Hewson?’ asked North. ‘Did he fall in the fire by accident?’
‘I doubt it,’ replied the Lord Mayor. ‘But corpses cannot speak, and I suspect we shall never know what really happened to the poor man. Ingoldsby, do you have a question?’ He turned to the pig.
Ingoldsby! thought Chaloner. Cromwell’s cousin, and the regicide who had managed not only to persuade the King to forgive his role in his father’s execution, but knight him into the bargain. He regarded the pig with interest, having heard so much about him, and none of it good.
‘Yes,’ said Ingoldsby. ‘Who wanted Hewson dead?’
‘Dozens of people,’ replied Downing, startled by the question. ‘Do you want me to list them all? He was responsible for putting down a riot, here in London, that left twenty dead. He ousted innocent Anglican priests from their churches and denounced them as agents of the Antichrist. He fought for Cromwell during the wars and killed God knows how many Cavaliers. Shall I continue?’
‘We should say a prayer,’ said North quietly, raising his hands. ‘For his soul.’
Chaloner eased back inside his booth. He suspected it would not go well for him if they discovered the room was not as private as they thought, so he sat still, waiting for the meeting to finish.
‘Three,’ whispered Thomas, when North had uttered his final amen. No one took any notice of him. ‘Three!’ he said more loudly.
There was an awkward silence. ‘Possibly three,’ corrected Robinson. ‘We do not know for sure.’
‘First Barkstead, and now Hewson,’ elaborated Ingoldsby. ‘And we have not heard from Livesay in months, so he must be dead, too. Thomas is right: that makes three of us gone.’
‘I am not so sure about Livesay,’ said Dalton unhappily. ‘I think I … We do not know he is dead.’
‘He is,’ said North, uncharacteristically firm. ‘I have already told you what I heard about him.’
‘What?’ asked Ingoldsby unpleasantly. ‘There have been so many rumours about the fellow that I cannot recall the one that came from you.’
North bristled, but replied politely enough. ‘That Livesay boarded a ship for France, but there was an explosion. All aboard were either blown up or drowned. It must have been a dreadful way to die.’ He touched the burn on his face, as if recalling his own experiences with fire. Downing placed a comforting hand on his arm, and North shot him a wan, grateful smile.
Dalton was unconvinced. ‘It may not have been Livesay who was on the boat. Perhaps he has gone into hiding instead.’
‘Thurloe never comes here any more,’ said Thomas fearfully, after a slight pause during which the seven men considered Dalton’s suggestion. ‘What should we infer from that?’
‘Nothing,’ said Ingoldsby firmly, ‘other than that he is busy.’
‘We are all busy,’ said Downing spitefully. ‘But we found the time to come.’
‘The only ones missing today are Livesay, Thurloe and those two silly soldiers who attend meetings only when it suits them,’ said Ingoldsby, reaching across the table to claim a pastry. His next words were muffled as he rammed it whole into his mouth. ‘We should never have opened our doors to military men. They are shallow beings, interested only in polishing their swords and seducing other men’s wives.’
‘Livesay cannot come,’ said North softly, in a world of his own. ‘He is dead, poor soul.’
‘I think we are in danger,’ said Dalton unsteadily. ‘We agreed to disband the Brotherhood until times were more settled, but we still meet regularly, and–’
‘Nonsense,’ declared Robert Leybourn dismissively. ‘Livesay – and even Hewson – might have died of natural causes. People do, you know.’
‘Someone is killing them – us,’ insisted Dalton.
‘Not so,’ said Robinson reasonably. ‘Barkstead was executed, Hewson died in a fire, and Livesay was blown up or drowned. You cannot assume a single hand at work here.’
‘I know who killed Barkstead,’ said Ingoldsby, shooting Downing a look of dark dislike. There was an embarrassed silence around the table.
‘Not me,’ said Downing indignantly. ‘How was I to know what would happen when I invited him to come to England? It was his choice to come back – I did not force him.’
Chaloner felt like standing up and denouncing him as a liar. He had heard some bald untruths in his time, but few as brazen as that one. He clenched his hands into fists, and tried to remember when he had last felt such a strong desire to punch someone. He was certain it had been Downing, back in March. The diplomat was speaking again, and Chaloner forced himself to listen.
‘But to return to the matter in hand, I agree with Robinson: we cannot assume Livesay and Hewson were murdered.’
‘I shall assume what I like,’ said Ingoldsby coldly. ‘Only a fool would ignore the dangers, and even meeting you is fraught with risk.’
‘This meeting is not illegal,’ objected Downing. ‘We are respectable men with common interests. Why should we not gather in a coffee house? Our Brotherhood is nothing of which to be ashamed.’
‘Then why did we not remain downstairs?’ demanded Dalton. ‘Instead, you dragged us up here, bawling to Master Urwin that we crave privacy. We seem unable to act normally, and we do things that arouse suspicion even when there is no need. And sometimes I feel as though I am being watched.’
‘Me, too,’ said North quietly. ‘I helped a man who slipped on ice the other morning, and I had the distinct sense of eyes in the darkness of his stairs. I am sure someone was spying on me.’
‘Kelyng!’ breathed Ingoldsby. ‘God help us, if he is on our trail.’
‘Pull yourselves together,’ said Downing sharply. ‘I repeat: we are doing nothing wrong.’
‘Are you sure we are alone in here?’ asked North, glancing around him. ‘Only I have the uncomfortable feeling that I am being watched again – right now.’
‘I checked,’ lied Downing. ‘You can see the place is deserted.’
‘The curtains on all the booths are drawn,’ said North. ‘Did you peer behind them?’
Damn, thought Chaloner.
‘No one is going to be in here with the curtains pulled,’ objected Downing with exaggerated weariness. ‘Get a hold of yourself, man, or you will have us all a pack of nervous wrecks.’
‘I will look,’ offered Robert Leybourn, making purposefully for the first of the alcoves.
‘And what will you do if you find someone?’ asked Downing scathingly. ‘Batter out his brains with a book? Sit down, man, and stop making a fuss.’
‘There is no need for book bashing,’ said Ingoldsby, drawing his sword. ‘I will take care of any unwanted ears.’
Chaloner heard Robert tear back the first in the row of curtains. His booth would be next.
Chapter 5