‘Sit down,’ said North. He sounded firm, but his eyes were uneasy. ‘Next to Preacher Hill.’
‘I will kill you if you make trouble,’ said Faith, determined where her husband was uneasy. ‘I used this weapon to protect my family during the wars, and I will not hesitate to do it again.’
‘You would shoot me?’ asked Chaloner, hoping his unfeigned shock would bring them to their senses. ‘I thought we were friends.’
‘He is right: he is our friend,’ said North quietly to his wife. ‘He has always been–’
‘He corrupted our daughter,’ said Faith, her voice dangerously low. ‘And he is dishonest, a liar.’
‘I do not believe he defiled Temperance,’ said North. ‘She says it was someone else.’
Faith raised an authoritative hand as Temperance started to speak. ‘I do not want to discuss it again. It is too horrible.’
Chaloner wondered what they were talking about. He glanced at Metje, who refused to look at him, so he addressed his remarks to North. ‘Whatever you are doing, it is madness. The Earl of Clarendon knows there is a plot afoot, and–’
‘Of course he knows,’ snapped Faith. ‘I sent Downing the letter telling him a group of renegades intends to kill the King, and urged him to inform the appropriate authorities. I want them to know. It is part of our plan.’
Chaloner gaped at her. ‘You are Livesay?’
She glowered, offended. ‘Do I look like a man? Now, sit next to Hill before I shoot you.’
‘No!’ cried Temperance, stepping between them. ‘You said if I went willingly to Ely, you would leave him alone. I will go, but you have to keep your side of the bargain.’
Hill’s face was sweaty with fear. ‘You can let me go, too – I only came to see if there was any turkey to eat. You can trust me not so say anything – far more than Thomas Chaloner here. I know that family. Regicides and Parliamentarians. No wonder he has been lying to you.’
‘Shut up!’ shouted Temperance, snatching Hill’s Bible and bringing it down sharply on his head. The blow did no damage, but it startled him into silence.
Chaloner was bewildered. He sat next to the subdued preacher in a daze, most of his attention on Metje. ‘You could have run away when they started this …’ He gestured vaguely, not sure how to describe what was happening.
Faith raised her eyebrows. ‘Why should she do that? It is you who has been deceiving her with your false identity and underhand activities. We have always been honest with her.’
‘It was you who told them my name?’ asked Chaloner, regarding Metje in horror, scarcely believing she could do such a thing, regardless of what else had passed between them.
North cleared his throat uncomfortably when Metje declined to answer. ‘A few days ago, Downing told me he had entrusted the Brotherhood’s secrets to you. Naturally, I asked why you should be the recipient of such confidences, and he said you had been Thurloe’s man for the past ten years. Thurloe! A traitor to the King!’
‘But it does not mean Thomas is also a traitor,’ objected Temperance. ‘Lots of men worked for the old government – it does not make them rebels.’
‘Hush, child,’ said North gently. ‘You do not know what you are talking about.’
‘I have known for some time that you seduce Metje on a nightly basis,’ said Faith coldly to Chaloner. ‘But I overlooked the matter, because we are fond of her. In return, though, I suggested she look more closely at the man on whom she bestows her favours. I advised her to question the odd hours you keep, the mysterious people you meet and the tales you tell her about your kin.’
‘When I did as she said, I learned our life together was a tissue of lies,’ said Metje, finally looking at Chaloner. ‘It was a shocking blow to learn the man I slept with was a spy.’
It had been a shocking blow for Chaloner to learn he was not her only lover, but he did not think this would be a good time to mention it. He spoke Dutch, in the hope of appealing to some ember of affection for him. ‘You cannot stay with these people, Meg. Leave now, while you still can.’
‘Speak English,’ said North sharply. ‘It is rude to gibber in a foreign language.’
Metje was pale, and Chaloner suspected she continued to speak her native tongue without realising she was doing so. ‘You deceived me for years, Tom, so do not look at me as though this is my fault.’
‘But the child–’ Chaloner saw the way Faith’s finger tightened on the trigger, and kept to English.
‘There is no child. I wanted to know the truth about you, and Faith said a pregnancy would make you relent – which it did. But you must understand why I lied to you. I was frightened and confused, and needed to know which of you to marry – who would be safer. I seldom make good choices where men are concerned. My father always said one would bring me to a bad end, and he was almost right. You were a spy, and Philip was married already.’
‘Philip?’ asked Chaloner, wondering whether he would wake up and find the whole thing was a dreadful nightmare. ‘Surely, you cannot mean Captain Evett? I thought his new love was Sarah Dalton.’
‘Sarah?’ asked Temperance, struggling to follow the bilingual discussion. ‘She would never entertain a man like Philip Evett. She likes soldiers, but not silly, weak ones like him.’
‘Mr North belongs to a Brotherhood,’ Metje went on, still in Dutch. ‘He introduced me to Philip, and we became … I thought he was the answer to my prayers – wealthy, strong, able to protect me.’
Chaloner’s thoughts were in chaos. Hill had edged towards him and was sitting too close; he tried to elbow the man away as he attempted to distil sense into what Metje was telling him. ‘Then you were the woman with Evett when he visited Lee. I suppose you are the reason he speaks Dutch – after a fashion – too. He said he learned in exile, but he was lying. Christ, Metje! What have you done?’
‘Do not listen to him,’ ordered Faith. ‘He is a seducer, and you should believe nothing he says. Look what he did to Temperance.’
Chaloner glanced at Temperance, but could see nothing amiss. ‘Is it the coin tricks I showed her?’ he asked, confused. ‘I assure you they were nothing–’
Faith’s face was a mask of barely controlled fury. ‘We learned today that she is with child, and I have seen the way you look at her. You are lucky she pleaded for your life, or I would have blown your head from your shoulders the moment you knocked at our door.’
Hill immediately began to pray in an unsteady voice, while Temperance stared at her feet, cheeks burning with shame. Chaloner, looked from one to the other in disbelief. ‘You are … with Hill?’
‘It was him!’ shouted Hill, jabbing both forefingers in Chaloner’s direction, abruptly abandoning his devotions. ‘Not me. I would never lie with lonely members of my flock in chapel after prayers.’
Temperance began to sob, and Chaloner wondered whether the man had been obliged to drug her or make her insensible with strong wine first.
‘Since she could not have you …’ said Metje softly, leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken.