Since the Lord Chancellor had forbidden Chaloner to leave the country, it was not an option he could choose. ‘I was planning to speak to Barkstead’s friends – his fellow regicides.’
‘It is a pity we do not know what happened to Livesay, because he would have been your best bet. He was commissioner for the armed forces, and worked closely with Barkstead. They fled to Holland together, although Livesay eventually grew homesick and came back. Did you ever see him there? He spent a few days with your uncle.’
‘What does he look like?’
Thurloe shrugged. ‘Like a Puritan – sober clothes, grim face, plain features. And he has a thin moustache like the one favoured by the King, which he darkens daily with charcoal.’
The description fitted many men. ‘Does he have no unique characteristic or habit?’
Thurloe thought for a long time. ‘He clasps his hands when he is nervous or distressed – he interlocks his fingers, and makes a curious rubbing motion with his palms.’
‘I do not recall anyone wringing his hands with my uncle. Do you think Livesay is in England?’
‘Yes, but not in London. Ingoldsby might have managed to convince the King of his innocence, but the other regicides paid for their crime with their lives or imprisonment. Livesay will be in some remote retreat, using a false name and staying low. As I said, the best way to find this treasure is to go to Holland. I can give you money, if that is what keeps you here.’
‘Thank you, sir, but I will talk to Ingoldsby first. Then perhaps Robinson will let me interview–’
‘No, Tom! Associating yourself with imprisoned regicides is a dangerous–’ Thurloe stopped speaking when there was a soft sound in the corridor outside.
Chaloner was already on his feet, dagger in his hand. ‘Are you expecting visitors?’
‘No. It is more would-be assassins, I suppose. Will this never end?’
Thurloe, his movements stealthy, retrieved a sword from behind his chair, and took up station on the left side of the door, while Chaloner stood to the right. They waited in silence for several moments, listening hard, and eventually there was a gentle tap – one beat, followed by three in rapid succession, ending with two slow ones. Thurloe sighed in relief, and indicated that Chaloner was to answer it.
‘My sister. She always uses that sequence when she visits me.’
Chaloner opened the door cautiously, dagger at the ready, and checked the corridor after Sarah had marched in. There was no one else, but smears of mud on the polished floor indicated that someone had spent some time standing outside in one position. When more dirt dropped from Sarah’s shoes as she flounced towards Thurloe, he assumed she had been crouching with her ear pressed against the panels. He wondered whether they had spoken loudly enough for her to have heard them.
Sarah give no indication that she had been eavesdropping, and made for the hearth, tossing her gloves carelessly towards the table. She wore a riding outfit, following the current fashion for masculine coat, doublet, wig and hat, and if it were not for her trailing petticoats, she might have been a man. It was a style favoured by the Queen, although the older members of Court grumbled that such attire made it difficult to discern a person’s sex.
‘Are you alone?’ asked Thurloe, frowning. ‘You know I do not like you coming here in the dark.’
‘My maid rode most of the way with me – her nephew lives in Shoe Lane. And there are several plays tonight, so the streets are busier than usual. Do you have any wine? I am parched. I have been in the Cockpit watching Claracilla. A tragicomedy by Killigrew,’ she added, rather condescendingly.
‘I trust you enjoyed it,’ said Thurloe, while Chaloner went to the wine jug. ‘Personally, I dislike the theatre – too many people in too small a space.’
‘Quite. That makes them excellent venues for listening to idle chatter. Ask any of your spies.’
‘Indeed,’ said Thurloe, watching her sip the drink. ‘Tom, bring a chair and join us.’
‘He and I met near the Strand the day before yesterday,’ said Sarah, indicating Chaloner with a flick of her thumb. ‘I rescued him from a beggarly pair, who were going to blow out his brains.’
‘Snow and Storey,’ explained Chaloner. ‘Kelyng is now minus a henchman.’
‘You killed one?’ asked Thurloe worriedly. ‘Are you sure that was wise, Tom? Kelyng will only recruit more, and there is a wealth of louts to choose from. And, since they usually work in pairs, the survivor tends to yearn for revenge when his partner dies violently.’
‘I should be going,’ said Chaloner, unwilling to be preached at when he could be working on the cipher he had recovered from Lee. ‘I have a lot to do.’
He caught the spark of interest in Sarah’s eye, and wondered yet again what she had overheard. Was she expecting him to visit Ingoldsby that night, and would she try to follow him again? If she did, he sincerely hoped she would not batter the fat knight to death and leave Chaloner himself to take the blame.
‘Will you see my sister home first?’ asked Thurloe. He raised his hands when both parties began to object. ‘I do not care how many people are abroad for the theatre, Sarah. You are precious to me, and I do not want to lose you to a robber who thinks your life is worth his night in an alehouse.’
‘I can look after myself,’ said Sarah, although there was uncertainty in her voice.
‘You can protect Tom again, then,’ said Thurloe, unmoved. ‘But it is late and I want my bed. I dislike these cold, dark evenings. The only place to be is tucked under the blankets with a book.’
‘But I have not said why I came to see you,’ said Sarah. She glanced significantly at Chaloner.
‘You can trust him,’ said Thurloe. ‘I have already told you that.’
‘You have also taught me to trust no one,’ she shot back, not unreasonably.
‘True, but we all need friends sometimes,’ said Thurloe. ‘If anything happens to me, I would like to think you two would turn to each other, and–’
‘Stop!’ cried Sarah, troubled. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you, and I do not like you talking like this. It is unlike you to be maudlin. If I want a friend, you are the one I shall visit.’
Thurloe raised his hands to quell the outburst. ‘Forgive me, my dear. I am tired, and the news about my poor agents has been most distressing. What did you want to tell me?’
She glanced uneasily at Chaloner, but spoke anyway. ‘My husband is becoming increasingly agitated, and has it in his head that Livesay has been passing secrets to his rivals.’
‘What secrets?’ asked Thurloe, bemused. ‘Secrets about his business?’
She shrugged, to indicate she did not know. ‘I keep telling him Livesay is either dead or in some remote country retreat, but he will not believe me. Will you speak to him?’
‘I will visit tomorrow, if you think it will help. I shall recommend rest – a few days in bed can do wonders for a man. So can a night.’ He looked pointedly towards the adjoining chamber, where his manservant had arrived to remove the warming pans.
She ignored the hint. ‘It is not easy to live with a man who seems to be losing his mind.’
Thurloe was alarmed. ‘Are you in danger? If so, then I shall arrange for you to move to Oxfordshire with my Ann and the children immediately.’
She waved her hand. ‘He is not dangerous – at least, I do not think so. We have never been close, as you know, but he barely exchanges a greeting with me these days, and spends hours gazing out of the window. He witnessed two robberies and a brawl last night, and sees them as a sign that London is on the brink of revolution. I tell him it has always been that way, but he will not listen.’
‘Perhaps you should both go to Oxfordshire,’ suggested Thurloe. ‘He clearly needs the peace of the country. And I need the peace of my bed.’