‘Why not? You are.’
‘But only to you, and you are too fond of Thurloe to tell anyone else about our little fraternity. I did not keep you under my roof for five years without learning something about you. I am safer confiding in you than in treating you as an enemy.’
Chaloner wondered why so many people assumed his relationship to Thurloe was one of devotion. Also, Thurloe had not mentioned membership of any kind of organisation, secret or otherwise, and Downing was wrong to think Chaloner was his confidant. He recalled the flicker of emotion in the ex-Spymaster’s eyes when he had learned about Hewson’s death. It had been the perfect opportunity to admit to knowing the man, but he had chosen not to take it.
‘Tell me about the Brotherhood’s cause,’ he said, wondering whether it was wise to ask for more information when common sense told him it would be safer to walk away. But he was an intelligence officer, and asking questions about matters that were none of his concern was a difficult habit to break.
Downing spread his hands. ‘We want a government that stands for political and religious tolerance, where men are free to voice opinions without fear of reprisal. Is that such a wicked thing?’
‘It depends what you do to make it happen.’
‘We reason with influential people. For example, Ingoldsby and I soothe angry voices at Court; North and Dalton encourage moderation among merchants and aldermen; Robinson, Livesay and Hewson speak to the army; Robert Leybourn prints pamphlets urging patience. I have one here, if you would like to read it.’
Chaloner shoved it inside his jerkin. ‘And Thurloe? He is in no position to preach to anyone.’
‘He has influence over men still loyal to Cromwell. And I know he is doing his part, because there is not a radical among the people he has recommended for employment in the new government.’
‘Does the Brotherhood have a motto – some phrase you use to identify each other?’
‘Why would we need that?’ asked Downing. ‘We know each other – well, mostly. The membership has changed over the years, and the newer brothers may not have met the older ones.’
‘How many of you are there?’
‘Thirteen now. There were others, but some died or moved on before I was invited to join, and I do not know their names. I can tell you the current members, if you like. We have nothing to hide.’
Chaloner thought of the unease evident at the meeting. ‘Your colleagues would not agree.’
‘They are afraid of being accused of conspiracy, which is exactly why the Brotherhood was founded – so that one day, no one need fear because he meets like-minded men for innocent purposes.’
‘There were seven people at the meeting today,’ said Chaloner. ‘You, Ingoldsby, North, Dalton, Robert Leybourn and Robinson I know. Who was the large man?’
‘You mean Thomas Wade? He is the Tower’s victualling commissioner.’ Chaloner’s thoughts immediately became a scrambled mess again: it was Wade who had gone with Evett to recover Barkstead’s treasure. ‘Robinson recruited him to help soothe the loud-voiced army types that gather in the castle.’
Chaloner was careful to conceal his confusion. ‘In addition to those seven, there are Thurloe, Hewson, Livesay and Barkstead. Thurloe stayed away, and the others are dead or missing. That makes eleven. Who are the remaining two?’
‘A pair of military nonentities named Clarke and Evett. Philip Evett is the Lord Chancellor’s aide, although he invariably forgets to attend our meetings. His task is to influence the Earl, and he is doing quite well, despite his innate stupidity: Clarendon spoke out against vengeance when the King first returned to the throne, and he continues to do so now. But I have answered enough questions, and you must excuse me – I have a funeral to arrange.’
‘Just one more,’ said Chaloner. ‘Who is Clarke, precisely?’
‘Colonel John Clarke. He fought bravely in the wars, and was kin to Thurloe.’
‘Was?’
‘He was recently stabbed by robbers. However, the others do not know – I decided not to tell them when I saw their reaction to the news about Hewson. There is no point in frightening them further.’
‘How do you know he was killed by robbers?’
‘Because his body was stripped naked and left by the river. I ordered my servants to listen in taverns for thieves bragging about the crime, and when I catch them, I shall have them hanged.’
Chaloner studied him carefully, trying to decide whether Downing actually believed the story he was telling. The diplomat was apt to draw conclusions before he had all the facts, and it would not be the first time he had made an error of judgement. But Downing was also clever and sly, and who knew what was really in his mind?
‘I do not understand why you have told me all this,’ he said eventually. ‘It puts you at risk.’
Downing pulled a disagreeable face. ‘Not as much as keeping quiet would have done. Kelyng has eyes everywhere, although he is less adept at analysing intelligence than at gathering it, thank God. It is safer that you know the truth.’
‘Did you tell Thurloe you intended to confide in me?’
‘I only made up my mind when I was waiting for the others and saw you walk up the stairs here. You can tell him what I have done. Who knows, perhaps he will ask you to join us. If he does, then come to the Dolphin tavern by Tower Lane at midday the day after tomorrow. The annual conclave of the Royal Foundation of St Katherine is to be held then, and most of the brothers are benefactors – the Queen is the hospital’s patron, you see, so it allows us to flaunt our generosity in the right quarters. There is no point in supporting worthy causes if there is no benefit to the giver, I always say.’
‘This meeting of selfless donors takes place in an inn?’ asked Chaloner dubiously. It did not sound very likely, even though the Dolphin was one of the more respectable establishments in the city.
Downing pursed his lips. ‘Of course not. The conclave takes place in St Katherine’s chapel, but the Queen always provides a dinner afterwards, as an expression of her gratitude. Obviously, none of us want to eat hospital food, so we suggested the Dolphin as an alternative. But if Thurloe does want you to become a brother, come on Wednesday, and I will tell the others he has nominated you as his representative. That will kill two birds with one stone: palliate his annoying refusal to come to our gatherings and eliminate the danger of you interfering from outside. It is an ideal solution.’
‘Ideal for you, perhaps,’ muttered Chaloner.
It was five in the morning, and Chaloner lay in bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. Metje had arrived unusually late – well after two o’clock – and had shocked him from sleep with her bustling arrival and insistence that he light a fire. The flames were devouring the last of the logs, snapping occasionally and making her shift in her dreams. Sleep had eluded Chaloner after her invasion, especially since she could not be deterred from warming her cold feet on his bare skin, so he turned his thoughts to the people he had met since chasing Snow and Storey to Kelyng’s house, bemused that so many of them belonged to the Brotherhood – or were dedicated to destroying it. Was someone playing an elaborate game with him, where everything led back to the same men? He sorted them into three categories in his mind, headed by those who seemed to be the main players.
Thurloe, whose sister Sarah was being pressed on Chaloner as a woman he could trust, and whose brother-in-law Dalton was apparently in the process of betraying him. The stolen satchel had led Chaloner to meet the inquisitive Leybourn brothers, and to witness the death of the regicide Hewson. Thurloe had asked Chaloner to investigate the murder of his kinsman Clarke, whose coded messages had contained the same phrases Hewson had muttered about praising God and the number seven. The use of cipher suggested Clarke had intended the messages for Thurloe, which led Chaloner to wonder whether Hewson’s desperate last words had also been meant for Thurloe’s ears.