‘Your spy gives you the rest,’ said Chaloner. ‘Wenum.’
‘Wenum,’ echoed Dury with a sigh. ‘I believed the rumour that said he fell in the Thames, but now Muddiman tells me he was probably Newburne in disguise. I never met Wenum, so had no reason to know — it was Muddiman who went to buy news from him, not me. Muddiman said the man was always careful to stick to the shadows, and now we know why: he did not want to be recognised.’
‘By buying secrets from Newburne, and by reading the confidential summaries issued to L’Estrange, you have been undermining the government’s newsbooks. I suspect that is treason.’
Dury started to draw his sword, but stopped when he saw Chaloner held a dagger and was ready to throw it. He sneered. ‘What are you going to do? Take me to the Tower? I will scream if you try.’
Chaloner was thoughtful. Technically, he should escort Dury to the nearest prison, but he had no desire to deliver anyone into Spymaster Williamson’s vengeful hands, and he was still uncertain about the shifting allegiances of the newsmen and their masters. He decided that arresting Dury was not the best course of action. At least, not yet.
‘If I say nothing to Williamson about this, will you answer some questions?’
Dury was immediately wary. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’
‘You don’t, but you are hardly in a position to negotiate. You can take my offer or you can go to the Tower. It is your choice, but you will reveal the information either way.’
Dury shrugged, feigning nonchalance but failing miserably. He was beginning to be frightened. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Why have you been following me? I saw you in the Golden Lion.’
‘That is easy.’ Dury sounded relieved. ‘Muddiman wanted me to make you an offer: five pounds plus a year’s free newsletters if you feed bad intelligence to L’Estrange. We want him discredited and Muddiman reinstated. Will you do it?’
Chaloner laughed at the notion. ‘No! Williamson would kill me for certain.’
‘Do not be so sure. He is married, and L’Estrange has taken to visiting his home when he is out at work. I do not understand what women see in L’Estrange, personally. It must be the earrings.’
Chaloner wondered if he should buy Leybourn a pair. ‘Have you seen him with Joanna Brome?’ he asked, more from idle curiosity than a genuine need to know.
‘I do not envy her position! If she yields, she betrays her husband, whom she loves. If she resists, L’Estrange might destroy her shop. As far as I know, she has managed to evade the choice so far by giving L’Estrange just enough encouragement to keep him keen, but not capitulating completely.’
‘I saw you meet Ireton at the Rainbow Coffee House yesterday. Why?’
Dury shrugged again. ‘Why do you think? To acquire information. A newsman is not particular about his sources, and Ireton offered to sell me a tale about the murder of a Court musician called Smegergill. I thought he might have some original intelligence, but I was wrong. All he wanted was to declare the Hectors innocent. Unfortunately for him, our readers will be outraged if I write nice things about criminals, so I can use nothing of what he told me.’
It made sense, so Chaloner moved to another question. ‘Why did you and Muddiman search Finch’s room? I saw you there, so do not tell me you did not.’
Dury sighed resentfully. ‘You certainly want your pound of flesh! You had better not betray me after all this. Williamson is not the only one who knows how to hire Hectors. I shall pay a few to visit you if you breathe one word of our discussion to anyone.’
‘Just answer the question.’
Dury regarded him with dislike. ‘We followed Hickes there — we saw him receive a note as he stood outside our house, and we thought it would be fun to see where he went. We watched him chase a thief, and laughed ourselves silly when he fell off the roof.’
‘What did you find in Finch’s room?’ Perhaps Dury had removed the deadly lozenges.
‘We had a quick look around in an attempt to understand why Hickes had been sent there so urgently, but there was nothing obvious. The first thief must have grabbed any pertinent evidence. So, although we had high hopes of a decent scandal — preferably one involving the government — we were disappointed. We already knew Finch was dead, so it was not as if we discovered the body.’
‘How did you know Finch was dead?’
‘Muddiman heard it in Robin’s Coffee House, which is not far from Finch’s home. He often frequents Robin’s, because it is also close to Brome’s shop, and so allows him to spy on L’Estrange. Do not look disapproving, Heyden — L’Estrange does it to us. Now, is there anything else, or am I free to go about my business?’
‘You mean the business of reading L’Estrange’s reports while he frolics with Dorcus?’
‘And the maid. If you look the other way, I will make it worth your while. We need this intelligence, and it is too late to tap into other sources this week. Your interference will cost us dear.’
‘Pity,’ said Chaloner unsympathetically.
It was a gloomy crowd that braved the storm and circled the gaping pit in the graveyard for Maylord’s funeral. Greeting came to stand next to Chaloner, both blinking rain from their eyes.
‘I am soaked through,’ grumbled Greeting when the dismal ceremony was over. ‘Come to the Rhenish Wine House with me. I shall buy some cheap wine and we can drink to Maylord. You owe me for saving you last night, and I would not mind picking your brains about Smegergill in return. Williamson summoned me this morning, and was livid when I told him I had no luck in tracking down the killer. He ordered me to try again, so I need all the help I can get.’
It was not the most enticing of offers, but Chaloner accepted, thinking it would be a good opportunity to pass Smegergill’s ring to its rightful owner, and thus be rid of the responsibility. They entered the fuggy warmth of the hostelry, clothes dripping. Landlord Genew was drying his bald pate with a cloth, and informed them that he would not have left his tavern for anyone other than dear old Maylord on such a foul day. He ushered them to a table near the fire, and brought a jug of spiced wine. Chaloner would have preferred something to eat, but Greeting was more interested in liquid refreshment, and he was paying. The musician drank one cup in a single swallow, then poured himself another, listening intently while Chaloner related some of what he knew about Smegergill’s death. He did not tell Greeting everything. No spy was ever that honest with a man who might later transpire to be an enemy — especially one who was working for Williamson.
‘Were you aware that Maylord knew Newburne?’ Chaloner asked, watching Greeting down his second cup and reach for the third. ‘And both died of cucumbers?’
Greeting nodded. ‘I recently heard from my colleague Hingston that Maylord was secretly teaching Newburne the flageolet, although it was like tutoring a goat, apparently. And then of course there is the Smithfield connection — something I uncovered just this morning, because Smegergill was Maylord’s sole beneficiary, but I am Smegergill’s, much to my astonishment.’
‘What Smithfield connection?’ Greeting did not look astonished, and Chaloner was not about to forget that the devious musician had been in desperate need of money, and now he had inherited a fortune. Was it really a coincidence? And there was another thing: surely, it was odd for Williamson to order Smegergill’s heir to explore the circumstances of Smegergill’s death? Or was the Spymaster unaware of the connection between the two men?
‘Maylord owned a shop there. I vaguely recall him telling me that he had bought one from a distant cousin a few years ago, but he could not be bothered with it, so Newburne managed it for him. Apparently, it earned a respectable income, but Maylord recently became aware that Newburne had been less than honest with him.’
Chaloner’s thoughts whirled while Greeting drank more wine. Smegergill had said Maylord thought he was being cheated, and learning that Newburne was the culprit came as no surprise. The spy considered the likely outcome of Maylord’s suspicions. He would have tackled the solicitor about the discrepancies, but Newburne would naturally have denied the accusations, so Maylord would have needed proof. He had begun to pry. His Thames Street house was near one of Newburne’s properties, and perhaps it was there that the secret music lessons had taken place. But then what? Had Maylord uncovered more than he had bargained for, and had that knowledge driven him to write the agitated note to Chaloner? Or had he laid hold of the keys to Newburne’s jewel box as an act of petty revenge, and then realised he had bitten off more than he could chew?