‘It is possible, but there is a sizeable garrison billeted here and a lot of people mill around. Folk have been watching us ever since we arrived, and I imagine it would be difficult for Robinson – or anyone else – to retrieve a large number of butter firkins with no one noticing. If someone was at the hoard before you, then it is more likely to have been someone from the old regime.’
‘But that means we will never have it,’ said Evett, disappointed.
‘Yes,’ agreed Chaloner. ‘It does.’
It was nearing two o’clock, and Chaloner was ready to leave the Tower, hopefully never to return, but Evett had other ideas, and led him towards the long, timber-framed house in the south-west corner, where the Lieutenant had his offices.
‘The Earl said he did not want–’ began Chaloner, seeing what the captain intended to do.
‘He said not to talk to Pepys or Wade, who would be clamouring for their share. But Robinson has no vested interest, so I do not see why we should not discuss the matter with him. And you need all the help you can get. Besides, I like Robinson. He is a good man.’
‘Can he be trusted?’
‘Yes, probably. Incidentally, he is a member of the Brotherhood, but is sensitive about secrecy. If you want his help, you should not mention that you know about it.’
Chaloner frowned. ‘This is an odd organisation – some members open, and others furtive.’
‘That is why it will not survive long term. It cannot even agree about a basic thing like secrecy.’
Chaloner grabbed his arm before he could tap on the door. ‘This is not a good idea.’
Evett shrugged him off. ‘Do not be such a lily! You will be all right, as long as you watch what you say. And anyway, if you glance to your right, you will see Kelyng and Bennet standing between us and the gate. Robinson gave them a dungeon here, and they use it to frighten people into giving them information, although Kelyng spends most of his time fussing over the beasts in the menagerie. We cannot leave without passing them, and I do not want that pair quizzing us about mushrooms. We have enough to worry about, without adding them to the list.’
‘Why should they care what we are doing?’
‘Clarendon’s aide and Thurloe’s man together? They will be interested, I assure you.’
The term ‘Lieutenant’s Lodgings’ was a misnomer as far as Robinson was concerned. He owned a mansion on Mincing Lane, and declined to reside in the draughty, rambling edifice that had represented home for his predecessors. He agreed to use the building for Tower business, but only after it had been renovated to his exacting standards of comfort.
That day he was working in a large upper-floor room with wood-panelled walls, a fire in the hearth and a Turkish rug on the floor. He was reading, lips moving silently as he deciphered the words. Standing near the window was the plump girl who had been in the boat with him the previous Friday, her eyes fixed on the yard below. Robinson seemed pleased of the distraction when Evett and Chaloner were announced, and rose to greet them.
‘Do you know how much salted beef my soldiers eat each week?’ he asked, when introductions had been made. Fanny gave a brief smile that showed her to be pretty in a rotund sort of way, and turned her attention to the bailey again.
‘No, sir,’ said Chaloner, when Robinson waited for a response and Evett did not supply one.
‘Lots,’ declared Robinson angrily. ‘Herd upon herd disappears down their gullets, and Wade and I can barely keep up with the demand. Come away from the window, Fanny. He will come if he can.’ He elaborated in a whisper to his guests. ‘It is her birthday, and she longs for a visit from her beau.’
‘He promised,’ said Fanny. ‘Perhaps I should write …’
‘He will come when he can,’ repeated Robinson testily. ‘Do not send to him, or he will see you as desperate, and might demand a higher dowry.’
‘He would not!’ she cried, distressed. ‘He would take me for nothing.’
‘Yes, dear,’ said Robinson. ‘But come over here or Bennet will think you are pining for him, and we do not want his amorous expectations aroused again.’
Fanny shot away from the window as though it were on fire, and came to stand at her father’s side. ‘I hear you have been looking for fungus,’ she said politely to Chaloner.
‘There is a lot of it about,’ said Robinson. ‘Great orange things growing out of the Bell Tower, rot in the timbers of the Wakefield.’ He turned to Evett. ‘I do not suppose you had another look for Barkstead’s treasure while you were there, did you?’
‘No,’ said Evett, too quickly, and Chaloner thought that if Pepys and Wade did not surmise that another search had been launched, then it would be a miracle.
Robinson seemed to believe him, though. ‘Pity. But we considered Pinchon’s description very carefully before we dug, and we all agreed that particular arch was the only likely location. When you did not find it in the first hour, I knew you were harking after a lost cause.’
‘What would you have done, if you had been in Barkstead’s position, sir?’ asked Chaloner. ‘As his successor, you are in a position to know better than anyone else how he might have acted.’
Robinson went to the window, and was silent for so long that Chaloner began to suspect he had forgotten the question.
‘Bennet will think you are hankering after him if you stay there much longer,’ said Fanny eventually. ‘And he will offer me forty silver spoons.’
‘I am thinking,’ said Robinson tartly. ‘I have been asked for my expert opinion.’
‘Oh,’ said Fanny, chastened.
‘I would not have buried it here,’ Robinson said, after another lengthy pause. ‘I would have picked a hiding place where my money could have been retrieved as and when I needed it. It is not easy to gain access to the Tower, and Barkstead could never have returned here with a spade, even if he had been pardoned and granted his freedom.’
Chaloner nodded, thinking it was a sound assessment, mostly because it concurred with his own. ‘So why do you think he lied to Mother Pinchon?’
Robinson raised his hands. ‘Perhaps Pepys was right: that Barkstead wanted her to keep working for him, even after he had packed up his gold and could no longer pay her. It is a distasteful conclusion, but times were desperate and there was treachery everywhere.’
‘He was afraid of being betrayed?’ asked Evett. ‘By his own servant?’
Robinson arched an eyebrow. ‘People are always betraying their friends, their kin, their colleagues. You only have to look at what Downing did to Barkstead …’ He trailed off, and looked as though he wished he had not spoken, shooting Evett a glance to warn him to silence. He continued, slightly flustered. ‘Anyway, suffice to say that Barkstead would not have trusted anyone, not even favourite retainers. If you want another example of distrust and treachery, just remember that odd case …’ He hesitated again. ‘I should not resurrect ancient gossip.’
‘It might help,’ said Evett hopefully. ‘And My Lord Chancellor will be very grateful for anything that leads him to the gold – so he can present it to His Majesty, for bestowing on his subjects.’
Robinson did not look convinced – by the notion of the King’s largesse or the usefulness of Clarendon’s gratitude – but he shared his story anyway. ‘It started shortly after Cromwell died, and the Commonwealth was crumbling under Tumbledown Dick, his son. There was a group of seven men so determined to prevent Charles’s return, that they were ready to do anything to prevent it.’