‘There were more than seven men trying to do that,’ said Chaloner, thinking about the many plots that had erupted around the time of the Restoration.
‘But these seven were well-placed, influential and ruthless. It was rumoured that they were the ones who kept the Commonwealth going for so long.’
‘The Commonwealth owed its success to dedicated ministers like Thurloe,’ said Fanny, displaying surprising insight. ‘The same is true of any government: a few strong men lead the rest. I do not see any special role for these seven mysterious people.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Robinson irritably. ‘But that is beside the point. I am telling a story here – repeating a rumour – not providing facts. These seven men, who called themselves the Seven–’
‘Imaginative,’ said Evett with a derisive snigger.
Chaloner’s thoughts whirled. Could this be what Hewson and Clarke meant when they mentioned the number ‘seven’? Was he wrong in assuming it was a codename for Clarke? He thought about Hewson’s words and Clarke’s cryptic notes: that Seven were in danger. Were they trying to warn these ‘well-placed, influential and ruthless’ individuals, or was the connection too farfetched?
Robinson ignored Evett. ‘–dedicated themselves to blocking the return of Charles.’
‘Then they were not as powerful as they thought,’ said Evett. ‘The King is king now.’
‘They failed because of one man, according to the tale that was rumbling around the exiled Court,’ said Robinson, lost in memories. ‘This fellow found out about the Seven and told the King, who was suitably grateful – he offered a bar of gold for every name revealed.’
‘Do you know the identity of this traitor?’ asked Chaloner.
‘Traitor?’ asked Robinson sharply. ‘Most men would say he was a hero to confound such a plot. Which side are you on? But I heard this tale more than three years ago now, and my memory of it is hazy. Rumour had it that his name was Swanning or Swanson or some such thing. I saw him once – a young fellow who sang like an angel. Like my Fanny.’ He smiled affectionately at his daughter, who had edged towards the window again.
‘Did Swanning get his gold?’ asked Chaloner.
‘Not when I saw him, because he did not know the Seven’s names – only that they existed. I heard he had high hopes of learning them, though, because the Seven had scheduled a meeting, and he was going to eavesdrop.’
‘How do you know all this?’ asked Chaloner. It sounded like the kind of story told in Royalist homes at Christmas – a brave young Cavalier, valiantly taking on sinister Parliamentarian politicians.
‘It was not a secret,’ said Robinson. ‘It probably should have been, given the delicate nature of Swanning’s mission, but you cannot keep much quiet in courts.’
‘What happened to Swanning?’ asked Chaloner.
Robinson shoved his red wig to the back of his head and scratched his shaven pate. ‘Swanning: that does not sound right – his name was not Swanning. But as to what happened, I am not sure. He just disappeared and I never saw him again. I wonder if he did reveal the names of the Seven. I suppose he must have done, because Charles is on the throne.’
‘Or they discovered they were not as influential as they thought, and their machinations came to nothing,’ suggested Chaloner.
‘But this tale goes to prove the point I was trying to make earlier,’ said Robinson. ‘Men are always betraying each other – they cannot help themselves. Do not perch too comfortably on Clarendon’s shoulders, Evett. Great men have farther to fall.’
After a short silence, Evett and Robinson began to discuss the disgraceful state of the navy – not paid for two years, and still expected to defend England against her enemies. Chaloner joined Fanny at the window, wishing Evett would put an end to the discussion, so they could leave.
‘An ugly man,’ said Fanny, looking disparagingly at the loitering Bennet. ‘And a stupid one. I told him I was not interested in his advances – that my heart is tied to another – but he refused to believe me.’
‘It could have been worse,’ said Chaloner. ‘Kelyng might have made the offer. At least Bennet is not old enough to be your grandfather.’
She regarded him earnestly. ‘Bennet is the nastiest, most vicious man in the city. I only hope he has not done anything to frighten my Robert away from me. I would not put it past him.’
‘Is your Robert intelligent?’
Her eyes gleamed with misty adoration. ‘The cleverest fellow in London. My father believes so strongly in his prospects at the Treasury, that he is willing to let us wed now, while he is still poor.’
‘Then he has nothing to worry about from Bennet.’
She smiled, and was about to add something else, when a soldier arrived, bearing the news that a lion from the menagerie had eluded its keeper and was on the loose. Robinson grabbed his sword, and the interview came to an abrupt end.
‘Go that way,’ he ordered, pushing Evett towards a narrow passage between two buildings. ‘I do not want you savaged. The Earl will be vexed if he loses his aide. Mind the steps – they are slippery.’
Before Chaloner could say he wanted to collect his weapons first, he had been shunted down the passage to emerge in a yard dominated by towering walls. Evett headed for the nearest gate at a run.
‘What is the hurry?’ asked Chaloner, trying to keep up with him.
Evett regarded him as though he were insane. ‘Lions, man! Do you not know how dangerous they can be? And the one in the Tower is particularly fierce, because close confinement has sent it insane.’
‘Robinson should give it the run of Barkstead’s cellar then. There are enough rats down there to keep it happy for years.’
‘It wants human prey,’ said Evett, glancing around him in a way that suggested growing panic. ‘I am uneasy, Heyden. We have no swords, and it is too quiet here.’
‘We should go back to the main gate,’ said Chaloner, skidding to a standstill. He did not like the notion of moving deeper inside the Tower, although he was not unduly worried about the lion. The ones he had seen in captivity had been pathetic, mangy beasts, with rotten teeth and broken claws.
Evett grabbed his arm. ‘No, come this way.’
Reluctantly, Chaloner followed him through a series of doors, then down some unlit steps. Water slopped on stone, swishing softly in the darkness, and he supposed they were near the Thames.
‘Traitors’ Gate,’ said Evett, indicating a low, river-filled vault dominated by a pair of iron-barred doors. They stood open. ‘We can take a boat from here.’
Chaloner shuddered. He had passed Traitors’ Gate often enough, although he had never had cause to go through it. He knew only a handful of prisoners had ever made the one-way journey through its dismal portals, and its reputation was wildly exaggerated, but he felt uncomfortable nonetheless. He glanced around, taking in the dripping roof, slick steps and slime-coated walls. A boat was tied to a pier, oars ready. And then he saw something else: a pair of gleaming eyes.
‘I think the lion is in here,’ he said.
‘Stop it,’ ordered Evett sharply. ‘I am uneasy enough, without you trying to unnerve me.’
‘I am serious. It is looking right at us.’
Evett’s jaw dropped in horror as the animal began to move. ‘Oh, God! What shall we do?’
‘We keep calm for a start,’ said Chaloner curtly. He watched the beast settle on its haunches and peer at them. It was now close enough to pounce. ‘Do you have a dagger?’
‘Of course not. I left it at the gate, as we were told.’
Chaloner leaned down and removed the knife from his boot. He handed it to Evett, while he kept the one from his sleeve.