I emerged rather dazed, not having seen so much blood since we anatomized Dr. Grove. Fortunately, Lower suggested an inn immediately afterward. As I needed a stiff drink to recover, I did not even demur when Locke and Wood decided to join us—not my idea of ideal company, but after such a performance I would have taken a drink with Calvin himself, had it been necessary.
By the time we’d walked across town and settled down in the Fleur-de-Lys, Lower had told Locke of my comments about the man’s demeanor, which produced nothing more than a sneering smile.
“If I’m wrong, you should tell me how,” I said a little heatedly, not liking at all to be used for sport in this fashion. “Who was this man?”
“Go on, Wood. You are the repository of all human gossip. You tell him.”
Clearly pleased to be included in our company and relishing his moment of attention, Wood took a sip of his drink, and called over to the serving hatch for a pipe to be brought. Lower added his call for one as well, but I declined. Not that I object to a little tobacco in the evening, especially when my bowels are tight, but sometimes pipes which have been overused by the general clientele of taverns do have a taste of sour spittle. Most do not mind, I know, but I find it unpleasant and only smoke from my own.
“Well,” Wood began in his pedantic fashion when he was refilled with ale and safely alight, “this little man who is so much one of life’s failures, so much a natural servant, so much a supplicant, is in fact John Thurloe.”
He stopped here for dramatic effect, rather as though I should be impressed. I asked him a bit more sharply than was strictly necessary who, exactly, was John Thurloe?
“Never heard of him?’’ he said with an air of amazement. “Many in Venice have. And almost everywhere else in Europe. For near ten years that man murdered, stole, bribed and tortured his way across this land and others. He once—and not so very long ago—held the fate of kingdoms in his hand, and played with monarchs and statesmen as though they were mere puppets.”
He paused again, and finally realized that he wasn’t being clear. “He was Cromwell’s Secretary of State,” he explained, as though talking to a child. Truly, the man irritated me. “His spy master. Responsible for keeping the Commonwealth secure and Cromwell alive, a task he accomplished with great success, for Cromwell died in his bed. While John Thurloe was there, no assassin ever got close. He had spies everywhere—if ever there was a conspiracy by the king’s men, John Thurloe knew about it before they did themselves. He even planned some of their plots himself, I am told, just for the pleasure of destroying them. As long as he had Cromwell’s confidence, there were no controls on what he could do at all. None at all. It was Thurloe, they say, who lured Jack Prestcott’s father into betraying the king.”
“That little man?” I said in astonishment. “But if that’s true, what is he doing walking around and going to plays? Surely any sensible government would have hanged him as quickly as possible.”
Wood shrugged, unwilling to admit to not knowing something. “A mystery of state. But he lives quietly, a few miles from here. By all accounts he sees no one, and has made his peace with the government. Naturally, all those who swarmed around him when he had power no longer even remember his name.”
“Including John Wallis, evidently.”
“Ah, yes,” Wood said, his eyes twinkling, “including him. Dr. Wallis is a man with an instinct for power. He can smell it. I am sure the first inkling a man of state has of his downfall is when John Wallis stops paying court.”
Everybody likes tales of dark and obscure happenings, and I was no different. Wood’s tale of Thurloe gave an insight into the kingdom. Either the returned king was so secure that he could allow such people their freedom without fear, or he was so weak he could not bring them to justice. It would have been different in Venice—Thurloe would long ago have been devoured by the Adriatic fishes.
“And this man Wallis? He intrigues me…”
But I found out no more, as a young man I recognized as the magistrate’s servant came to our table and stood there stiffly until Lower put him out of his misery by asking him his business.
“I am looking for Mr. Cola and Dr. Lower, sir.”
We acknowledged ourselves. “And what do you want?”
“Sir John requires your immediate presence at his house in Holy well.”
“Now?” asked Lower. “Both of us? It is past nine, and we have not even eaten.”
“I believe it cannot wait. It is a matter of the utmost urgency,” the lad replied.
“Never keep a man waiting if he has the power to hang you,” Locke said encouragingly. “You’d better go.”
The house on Holywell seemed warm and inviting as we arrived and waited in the hallway before being ushered in to the interview room once more. The fire blazed in the open hearth, and I warmed myself before it, conscious again of how cold the country was in winter, and how underheated were my own lodgings. I was also, I realized, formidably hungry.
The magistrate was decidedly stiffer than he had been only that morning. Once the formalities were over, he led us into the little room, and sat us both down.
“You work very late, Sir John,” Lower said amiably.
“Not through choice, doctor,” he replied. “But this is a matter which cannot wait.”
“It must be serious, then.”
“It is indeed. It concerns Mr. Crosse. He came to see me this afternoon and I wish to check his credentials as he is not a gentleman, although, no doubt, eminently trustworthy in all respects.”
“Examine away, then. What about old Crosse? He is as good a man as I know, and gives false weight only rarely, and then only to customers he does not know.”
“He brought his ledger of sales from his shop,” the magistrate said, “which shows quite clearly that a substantial quantity of arsenic was bought four months ago by Sarah Blundy, a serving girl of this town.”
“I see.”
“Blundy was discharged by Grove for ill-behavior on that same day,” the magistrate continued. “She comes from a violent family.”
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Lower said, “but have you asked the girl? Perhaps she has a perfectly straightforward explanation?”
“I have. After I talked to Mr. Crosse, I went straight there. She said she bought the powder on Dr. Grove’s instructions.”
“Which may be true. It would be difficult to contradict.”
“It may be so. I intend to see if Dr. Grove kept a ledger. The cost of the powder was near a shilling, and an item that expensive might well have been noted. You can vouch for Crosse? He is of good character, and unlikely to bear false witness out of malice?”
“Oh, no. In that respect he is utterly trustworthy. If he says the girl bought arsenic, then the girl bought arsenic,” Lower said.
“Did you accuse the girl directly?”
“No,” Sir John replied. “It is too early for that.”
“You think it a possibility?”
“Maybe so. Might I ask why neither of you mentioned to me the report that she had been seen entering Dr. Grove’s room that night?”
“It is not my job to report tittle-tattle,” Lower said sternly. “Nor yours to repeat it, sir.”
“It is not that,” Sir John replied. “Warden Woodward told me, and brought Mr. Ken to repeat his accusation.”
“Ken?’’ I asked. “Are you sure he was telling the truth?”
“I have no reason to doubt him. I am aware he and Dr. Grove were at odds, but I cannot believe he would lie on such an important matter.”