‘Not for me to say.’ Because Spymaster Williamson was notorious for hiring spies to goad men into making seditious remarks — it was the sort of activity that gave intelligence officers a bad name — Chaloner never indulged in contentious discussions with people who accosted him on the street.
The man spat. ‘Was it for this that we cheered ourselves hoarse at the Restoration three years ago? Perhaps Cromwell was right when he cut off the last monarch’s head. Have you heard the talk in the coffee houses? They say there has been a great rebellion in the north.’
He moved away, leaving Chaloner wondering how the Court had managed to squander so much goodwill in such a short space of time. He was thoughtful as he resumed his journey, considering what he would do if the country was plunged into another civil war. His family still regarded the Parliamentarian cause to be a just one, but he had recently come to the realisation that one government was pretty much as bad as another. They all comprised men, after all, with men’s weaknesses and faults.
Leybourn owned a pleasant three-storeyed building, with shop, reception rooms and kitchen on the ground floor, and bedrooms and an office above. Chaloner had spent many peaceful hours in the large, steamy kitchen, listening to the surveyor wax lyrical on some incomprehensible aspect of mathematics or geometry. The Leybourn brothers did well at bookselling, although Will was beginning to leave more of the business to Rob, in order to devote time to his own writing.
Chaloner knocked on the door. Had Leybourn lived alone, he would have picked the lock and let himself in, but now the house was shared with a lady, breaking and entering was no longer a polite thing to do. There was no reply, so he tapped again. He could see shadows moving under the window shutters, so someone was in, and he wondered whether Leybourn was so angry with him that he was declining to answer. He rapped a third time, and was about to give up when the door was hauled open.
A woman stood there. He supposed she was pretty, although there was something dissipated about her plump body and the sluttish way she leaned against the wall. She wore a low-cut smock that revealed an ample frontage, and her cheeks were flushed in a manner that suggested she had been drinking. When she leaned towards him, squinting in the dim light, he was sure of it.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded.
He smiled, eager to make a good impression on the person who now shared his friend’s life. ‘I have come to see Will. You must be Mary.’
‘I am Mrs Leybourn,’ she replied tartly. Her expression was cold and angry. ‘I suppose you are Heyden? William said he expected you home any day now.’
‘Is he in?’ Chaloner asked pleasantly. ‘I would like-’
‘No,’ she snapped in a way that made him question whether she was telling the truth. ‘Why? Have you come to borrow money? He told me you never have any of your own.’
‘I have just come to spend an hour in his company,’ he objected, wondering what else Leybourn had said about him. He struggled to maintain an affable mien, fighting the urge to tell her that the purpose of his visit was none of her damned business. ‘It has been a while since we-’
‘He is out,’ she interrupted coldly. ‘You will have to come back another day.’
Chaloner could hear voices in the kitchen, and one definitely belonged to a man. If it was not Leybourn, then who was the surveyor’s ‘wife’ entertaining when he was out? ‘I see.’
She moved quickly, blocking his view down the corridor. ‘I am busy at the moment, so I cannot invite you inside to wait. The vicar of St Giles is here, asking my opinion about the altar decorations for Christmas. I am sure you understand. Goodbye.’
She closed the door before he could say whether he understood or not. He considered knocking again, and telling her that he had considerable experience with altar decorations and was more than happy to grant her and the vicar the benefit of his expertise. His second notion was to creep around the back of the house and look through the kitchen window. The vicar of St Giles was unlikely to be talking to himself while Mary had gone to answer the door, and he wanted to know whether it was Leybourn with whom he was conversing. But he was cold, wet and not in the mood for what might evolve into a nasty confrontation, so he started to trudge back to his lodgings. He had not taken many steps when he saw a familiar figure — tall, stoop-shouldered and wearing an old-fashioned hat.
‘I have been waiting for you at your house,’ said Leybourn in a rush. ‘I wanted to apologise for snapping at you earlier. I have not been sleeping well, and Thurloe has become like an old woman of late, chastising me for this and that. But I should not have taken my irritation out on you.’
Chaloner was relieved the spat was over. He took a deep breath. ‘I have been in Portugal since June. Spain, too, although I went to spy, so the fewer people who know it, the better. I did not intend to be secretive, but it is a difficult habit to break.’
‘I understand,’ said Leybourn, turning him around and beginning to walk towards his home. ‘I should not have tried to pry, although I am a scholar, and curiosity comes naturally to me. Did you meet any mathematicians in Portugal? They are famous for their theories pertaining to navigation.’
Chaloner heard the bleakness in his own voice as he spoke. ‘No, it was dreadful, Will — one of the worst assignments I have ever been given.’ Leybourn looked sympathetic, so he added, ‘With the possible exception of a woman called Isabella.’
Leybourn gave him a manly nudge and grinned. ‘I knew it! I always envied your luck with ladies. But I have Mary now, and such concerns are a thing of the past. I have told her a lot about you, and she will be delighted to make your acquaintance at last.’
Chaloner held back. ‘It is late, and she may be busy.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Leybourn. ‘At least come and share a cup of metheglin with us. Have you ever tried metheglin? It is spiced, fermented honey, and Mary knows where to buy it at its best.’ He flung open his door before Chaloner could decline. ‘Mary! I am home, and Tom is with me.’
He strode along the corridor, heading for the kitchen. Chaloner heard chair legs rasp on flagstones as someone stood quickly, and then there was a metallic click as the latch on the back door was raised. Leybourn stumbled over a stool that had been left in the unlit hall, long legs becoming hopelessly entangled as he struggled to extricate himself. Chaloner saw it had been placed there deliberately, to give the occupants of the kitchen time to finish whatever it was they were doing before the surveyor walked in on them. Leybourn freed himself eventually, and pushed open the door.
Mary hurled herself forward and clutched his head to her neck, giving him the kind of welcome that he might have expected had he been away months, rather than hours. Wryly, Chaloner noticed that the hug also served to blind him, so he did not spot the door to the garden closing surreptitiously. He wondered why Mary’s companions — at least two of them, as there were three empty goblets in the hearth — should be so eager to escape without being seen. When she released Leybourne, leaving him somewhat breathless, the surveyor turned to Chaloner.
‘This is Mary,’ he said, pride and adoration in every word.
‘Mrs Leybourn,’ said Chaloner, with a bow.
She regarded him coolly, then sat in the surveyor’s favourite chair. ‘I have been working hard today, and I am exhausted. Fetch me a drink, dear William. Metheglin will do nicely.’
‘What happened to the vicar?’ asked Chaloner caustically. ‘Is he in the garden, exploring its contents with a view to claiming his Christmas decorations early?’
Leybourn gazed at him in confusion. ‘Mary has been alone all day, sewing me new shirts. And why would the vicar be in the garden? It is dark.’
Chaloner could see no evidence that shirts or anything else were being sewn, but Mary had risen, and had gone to drape herself around her man. Leybourn smiled fondly as she told him how lonely she had been, with no one for company, and Chaloner saw Thurloe was right: Leybourn was so besotted, he would believe the moon was blue if Mary told him so.