‘It would be a wonderful thing to own,’ said Leybourn wistfully. ‘I almost had enough before …’
‘If he had one, he would be able to survey St James’s Park, and earn himself a fortune,’ interrupted Mary. ‘He has already been offered the commission, but he cannot accept without owning the necessary implements. I repeat: will you get it for him?’
‘You mean steal it?’ asked Chaloner, finally understanding what she was telling him to do.
‘I mean borrow it,’ corrected Mary slyly. ‘You will do it if you are his friend.’
‘But if he is seen using this quadrant, it will be obvious where it came from,’ Chaloner pointed out, aware of Leybourn looking uncomfortable — although not uncomfortable enough to tell her to stop. ‘People will assume he stole it.’
Mary gave one of her nasty smiles. ‘Then you will have to step forward and take the blame. But I doubt you need worry. William tells me you are adept at worming your way out of difficult situations, and that you have practical experience of thievery. Incidentally, where were you last night?’
Chaloner answered with an observation of his own. ‘I understand your friend Kirby was lurking in the area at the time when Will was burgled. Ask him the identity of the culprit. Or should we see what Annie Petwer or Annabel Reade have to say?’
‘Tom,’ said Leybourn sharply. ‘I do not like your tone.’
‘You have been asking questions about me?’ asked Mary, not sounding as alarmed or shocked as Chaloner thought she should have done. ‘That is ungentlemanly. But do not hope to drive a wedge between me and William over my past, because he already knows about the false charges laid at my door by that horrible Richard Bridges.’
‘Does he know you were Tom Newburne’s lover, too?’
‘Tom!’ cried Leybourn, appalled. ‘Enough! That is my wife you insult.’
‘I did know Newburne,’ said Mary coldly. ‘But I most certainly was not his lover, and if you claim otherwise, I will make you very sorry.’
Chaloner left Temple Stairs with a sense that he had underestimated Mary, and that she was winning the battle for Leybourn. He also did not like the challenge she had laid at his feet regarding the quadrant. Obviously, her intention was that he should be caught committing a crime. Was she hoping Leybourn would be implicated, too, and that when they were both hanged for theft, she would be left with house, shop and what remained of his money? But that would not happen, because Leybourn’s brother would inherit — Chaloner had witnessed the will himself. He supposed she must have some other plan in mind, and knew he should learn what it was before it swung into action.
And what should he think about her denial that she had been Newburne’s lover? He had accepted Temperance’s story without question, because it made sense in the light of the other things he knew about Mary Cade, Annie Petwer and Annabel Reade. But could Temperance have been wrong? She listened to gossip, and it would not be the first time she had repeated a tale that had no basis in fact.
He put Mary from his mind — with difficulty — and walked to Old Jewry, intending to do two things: ask Dorcus Newburne if her husband had kept a mistress, and locate the solicitor’s mythical hoard. As he walked, he tried to stay in the lee of the wind that swept in from the river. It was verging on a gale, and rattled loose tiles on the housetops. Birds struggled against the confused air currents, trees roared and swayed, and dead brown leaves swirled in fierce little eddies.
He reached Old Jewry eventually, and knocked on the door to Newburne’s house. A servant showed him into a pleasant chamber at the front. He had not been waiting many moments before the door opened, and Dorcus swept in. She wore black, to indicate mourning, but the cloth was of the finest quality, and she looked elegant and prosperous. She had recovered from the funeral’s ordeal, and her face was no longer pale; she did not look happy, but neither was she prostrate with grief.
‘Have you come to bring me news about my pension?’
‘Only to say that the matter has gone to the relevant committee for discussion,’ he lied. It would explain the delay, and he could hardly tell her the truth if he wanted her cooperation.
She sighed. ‘Good. It was promised to me, and I intend to make the government keep its word.’
‘Do you need it urgently, ma’am? Shall I ask the Earl to expedite the matter?’
She smiled faintly. ‘It is kind of you to offer, but I do not need the money at all, because my husband was very rich. In fact, I intend to donate it all to St Olave’s Church when it comes.’
Chaloner was puzzled. ‘If you intend to give it away, why petition for it with such fervour?’
‘It is a matter of principle. My husband was your master’s eyes and ears for years, and most recently in the newsbook business. Williamson would have killed him if he had found out, but the Earl promised to protect him. Then my husband died, allegedly of cucumbers, but we all know it was poison.’
‘You think Williamson murdered your husband?’ It was possible; the Spymaster was ruthless.
She nodded slowly. ‘He might have done, although there were others who disliked Thomas, too. But that is not the point. The real issue is that your Earl vowed to look after him, and he failed. I want the government to pay for its broken promise, and this is the only way I can think of to do it. I want to hit the Earl where it most hurts — in the coffers.’
It was certainly having the desired effect, thought Chaloner: the Earl hated the notion of being out of pocket. ‘Your husband’s funeral was well attended. I do not suppose Annie Petwer was-’
Dorcus’s eyes narrowed. ‘I suppose someone told you “Arise, Tom Newburne” was to do with a mistress, but I explained how that expression came about — his antics with a wooden sword.’
‘You seem very sure.’
‘I am sure. Thomas had a pox ten years ago, and it left him with no interest in women. Hence it is impossible that he could have had a lover. And his rising from the dead was another silly tale, too.’
‘Hodgkinson says otherwise, and he was there.’
‘Hodgkinson is an impressionable fool. No stone flung up by a passing carriage can carry enough force to kill a man — and why should some trollop suddenly be possessed of an ability to resurrect? I met Annie Petwer once; she loves money, and if she thought for an instant that she had saved Thomas, she would have demanded a massive reward. She never did. Hodgkinson is being fanciful.’
‘Why would he fabricate such a story?’
She smiled. ‘Well, it did make him a popular raconteur in the coffee houses for a few weeks. I imagine he has told the tale so many times that he now believes it.’
Chaloner supposed Mary had been telling the truth when she denied being Newburne’s mistress. The alleged association was pure fabrication, although Chaloner suspected Mary Cade had had her reasons for calling herself Annie Petwer when the incident was supposed to have taken place. And he was sure they would not be innocent ones. ‘When we last met, I asked whether you knew a Court musician called Thomas Maylord. You said you did not, but-’
‘But you were actually talking about Tom Mallard,’ she interrupted. ‘I realised afterwards that I had misled you, although it was not intentional. It was just the way you said his name, and I was upset anyway, so not thinking clearly. Yes, my husband knew Mallard.’
Chaloner was annoyed with himself. He knew perfectly well that the musician had used a variety of spellings and pronunciations for his name, depending on the occasion. Many entertainers did, as a device to appeal to different kinds of audiences. ‘In what capacity?’
‘I suppose it does not matter if I tell you now, but he was secretly learning the flageolet. He wanted to surprise me with a tune on my birthday. Mallard was teaching him.’
‘How did he come to choose Maylord as a tutor?’ Chaloner was uncertain about her claim, because everyone else had said the decent Maylord would have had nothing to do with Newburne.