Chaloner held his hands in the air. ‘I surrender! I am sorry if I offended you. Can we call a truce before one of us says something he will later regret?’
‘I enquired about Mary Cade for you,’ said Maude, when Temperance inclined her head stiffly but said nothing. ‘Her real name is Annabel Reade, and she is well known around Smithfield.’
‘I thought you decided against asking questions when you learned she might be associated with Crisp,’ said Chaloner.
‘I just mentioned Mary in passing, and my sister started to talk. There is no harm in listening, is there? Anyway, Annabel Reade went to work for a man called Bridges, but there was a disagreement over silverware. Word is that her beau, Jonas Kirby, went to visit Bridges, and Bridges withdrew the charges the very next day. She had actually been sentenced to hang, so it was not just a case of Bridges saying he was mistaken, either. I heard a lot of his money went into buying that reprieve.’
‘Kirby is Mary’s lover?’ asked Chaloner, supposing it explained why he visited her while Leybourn was otherwise engaged, and why he had been the one to steal the money sack.
‘So it would seem,’ said Temperance. ‘However I made a few enquiries, too, and the boy who delivers our flour told me her real name is Annie Petwer, and she was Newburne’s whore.’
Chaloner gazed at her, thoughts reeling. ‘Annie Petwer and Mary Cade are one and the same?’
Temperance nodded. ‘Her description of Newburne’s performances in the bedchamber gave rise to some vulgar expression about his manhood, apparently.’
She shot Chaloner a challenging glance, apparently to see if she had shocked him. He did not react, so she and Maude began a debate on which of the three names was the original. Chaloner half-listened, thinking about the implications of Mary’s association with the man whose murder he had been charged to solve. Did that mean the Hectors were responsible for the deadly lozenges? How had Mary managed being Newburne’s mistress as well as Leybourn’s ‘wife’ and Kirby’s beau? Then it occurred to him that Leybourn was busy with his shop and his writing, so she probably had a lot of time on her hands. No wonder she was determined to keep him. Not only did he provide her with a comfortable home and forgive her laziness regarding household chores, but his own unique lifestyle gave her the freedom to do whatever she liked, too.
Temperance smiled thinly as he stood to leave. ‘Are you sure you would not like a dish of coffee or a pipe before you go? How about some pickled rhubarb? That is said to soothe sharp tempers.’
Chaloner left feeling less than manly, a sensation that was becoming stronger and more frequent as Temperance’s real personality began to flower. He could not drink her coffee, tobacco was an expensive habit he could not afford to acquire, and he was squeamish about her political opinions. Perhaps she knew she unsettled him, and did it on purpose, to amuse herself. He had seen more of the world than she ever would, and had met people with far more radical views than the ones she propounded, but she was his gentle Temperance, and the change in her was disconcerting. He wondered how long it would be before they no longer had anything in common, and their friendship began to flounder.
Maude’s information about Annie Petwer was the first real clue he had had about Newburne for some time, so Chaloner decided a visit to Leybourn was in order, but when he emerged from Hercules’ Pillars Alley, everyone appeared to be heading for the river. He listened to snippets of conversation as people passed, and learned that the tide was still rising, and they were hurrying to see if it would breach its banks. He joined the throng moving towards Temple Stairs — he did not want to be the only person in London walking in a different direction.
When he reached the river, he thought there were far too many folk standing on the wooden platform that formed the Temple Stairs; water was lapping across its slick surface, and there was a very real danger of someone being swept off. He stayed well back, looking away when a cow floated past, lowing its distress. A boatman set out after it, determined to have the prize, and the crowd watched in stunned silence when the bobbing craft capsized the moment it approached the struggling animal. The boat was swept on, but there was no sign of its owner.
Then Chaloner saw a familiar face. Leybourn bought the paper he used for writing his books from a stationer at Temple Stairs, and often visited the area; he had a ream of it under his arm. Chaloner went to stand next to him, looking around for Mary. He could not see her, and supposed Leybourn must have made the journey alone. He wondered what sort of gathering was taking place in the surveyor’s house when he was out, and was tempted to run to Monkwell Street to find out.
‘Hello, Tom. This is a grim business. Did you see that poor fellow? Drowned, just like that.’
‘White Hall is preparing for the worst, too — bakers are ferrying cakes to the Banqueting House.’
Leybourn stifled a gulp of laughter. ‘Do not make jokes at such a time; it is not seemly. Thames Street is suffering. Hodgkinson told me he has had to suspend all his paper from the ceiling beams. He cannot take it elsewhere, because the streets are so foul with mud that carts cannot get through.’
‘This weather cannot last much longer.’
‘It will if the prophets of doom are right, and God is producing another Flood to relieve the world of wickedness.’ Leybourn’s voice became pained. ‘And London is wicked — I was burgled last night.’
‘Were you?’ asked Chaloner, experiencing a sharp pang of guilt when he saw the distress on his friend’s face. He had been going to tell Leybourn what he knew about the missing silver goblets, but saw it would not be a good time.
‘My money sack is gone.’ Leybourn glanced behind him. ‘Mary says you took it.’
‘Why would she think that?’ Chaloner’s indignation was genuine, given the circumstances.
‘Because the thief knew exactly where to look, and she thinks you are the only one who knows where I keep it. I dare not mention that Temperance knows, too, lest Mary takes against her as well. She says you are jealous of my new-found happiness.’
‘I am not jealous of what you have with Mary,’ said Chaloner ambiguously.
Leybourn was too lost in his own misery to pick up subtle nuances. ‘She detests Thurloe, too, although I cannot imagine why. He has never been anything but courteous to her, although perhaps a little cold. Her disapproval of you I understand — you can be downright rude. She says I should no longer have anything to do with either of you.’
‘She is still with you, then?’ asked Chaloner, disappointed she had not packed her bags the moment she learned Kirby’s mission had failed.
Leybourn gaped at him. ‘What a vile thing to say! Of course she is still with me! Do you think she only wants me for my money? She loves me, not my wealth.’
‘He is right,’ said Mary. Her voice close behind Leybourn made the surveyor jump, although Chaloner had seen her coming. ‘The theft of this sack means nothing, and I shall stay with him for as long as I choose … I mean as long as he will have me.’
‘I will have you for ever,’ vowed Leybourn passionately. ‘And I will marry you-’
‘Yes, we do not doubt each other,’ interrupted Mary, patting his cheek in a way Chaloner thought patronising. She turned to the spy, and her expression changed from condescention to naked hostility. ‘But the same cannot be said for you. William trusts you, but I have reservations, so I shall give you a chance to prove yourself to him. He was saving up to buy a Gunter’s Quadrant and there is such an instrument in a shop in Moorfield. Will you get it for him?’
‘I do not have that sort of money,’ said Chaloner, surprised she should think he did. Or perhaps she thought he should use Leybourn’s hoard for the purpose.