‘Then I should speak to Hodgkinson. It is urgent.’
‘He is not here, either,’ said Brome. ‘I have not seen him today, but that is not unusual for a Sunday. Can we help?’
‘You are soaking,’ said Joanna kindly. ‘Come and sit in the pantry and take some hot wine.’
Chaloner was loath to lose yet more time, but he did not know where else to go for answers. He accepted the wine, burning his mouth when he tried to drink it too soon. He felt like dashing the cup against the wall in frustration, because everything seemed to be taking too long, even wine to cool.
‘Do you know who writes that discordant racket for L’Estrange?’ he asked, trying to calm himself. ‘The stuff we tried to play on Friday?’
‘I do not think he commissions it,’ said Joanna, seeming to sense his brewing agitation, and speaking softly to soothe him. ‘And it is not delivered, as far as we know; he just acquires it. Henry believes it is some kind of code, and that he is communicating with someone.’
Chaloner regarded Brome sharply. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because the tunes are not real music,’ explained Brome. ‘The harmonies are wrong, and there are too many flats and sharps. He obtains information for his newsbooks from so many sources, that I have wondered whether these airs contain snippets of foreign intelligence, sent to him by spies.’
‘I disagree, though,’ said Joanna. ‘I believe it is just bad music. What do you think, Mr Heyden?’
‘That I prefer more traditional melodies,’ replied Chaloner noncommittally.
‘Well, I do not really want to know how L’Estrange gathers his news,’ said Brome with a shudder. ‘It is bound to be distasteful, and all I want is a quiet life with Joanna.’
Chaloner was afraid he was not going to have it. He disliked upsetting a man who had been friendly and hospitable towards him, but he needed to know for certain that Hickes had told the truth about Brome being in the Spymaster’s pay. He took a deep breath and launched into an attack.
‘I understand you spy on L’Estrange for Williamson,’ he began baldly.
Joanna’s sweet face crumpled into a mask of dismay, and the cup she had been holding clattered to the floor. ‘How dare you say such a thing! We have never-’
Brome silenced her by laying a hand on her shoulder. ‘Do not try to mislead him, dearest. It will only make matters worse, and if someone at White Hall has been indiscreet, then the safest course of action now is for us to tell the truth. Do not forget that Heyden is the Lord Chancellor’s man — and we cannot afford to be on the wrong side of another powerful member of government.’
‘No,’ said Joanna, regarding Chaloner with a stricken expression that cut him to the core. ‘I will not forget that. Not again.’ She turned and buried her face in her husband’s shoulder.
Brome’s voice shook slightly. ‘I had no choice but to do what Williamson asked, because he discovered something about me that I would rather was kept quiet.’
‘You wrote seditious pamphlets,’ said Chaloner.
Joanna’s head jerked up, eyes brimming with tears. ‘He wrote a pamphlet, when he was fifteen. It praised the Commonwealth when Cromwell was Protector, so was regarded as patriotic at the time. But now it is treason. It is unfair! Who did not do things then that he would never consider now?’
‘Who told you about the pamphlet?’ asked Brome hoarsely. ‘Surely not Williamson? He gave me his word that he would say nothing if I did as he asked.’
Joanna stood suddenly, and grabbed a poker from the fire. Her hands shook so badly that she was in danger of dropping it. ‘It does not matter who told him, but we cannot let him tell anyone else. The government will say we are phanatiques. They will seize our shop and we will be disgraced, ruined.’
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Brome uneasily. ‘Dash out his brains? In our sitting room?’
Tears slid so fast down Joanna’s cheeks that Chaloner imagined she was all but blinded. ‘I will not let him destroy you. I will not! They can hang me for murder, but I will protect you with all I have.’
‘Joanna, please,’ said Brome, making an unsteady lunge towards her. Joanna raised the weapon and he flinched backwards, stumbling into Chaloner. ‘This is not helping.’
Joanna aimed a blow at Chaloner, but he evaded it with ease, and grabbed the iron when she was off balance. She tried to resist, but it was not many moments before the poker was back in the hearth.
‘I doubt anyone will care about a pamphlet published so long ago,’ said Chaloner gently, helping Joanna into a chair. She was shaking violently and sobbing as if her heart would break. ‘Williamson has played on your fears — terrorised you into thinking he has uncovered a darker secret than is the case.’
Brome gazed miserably at him, and when he spoke, his voice was low with shame. ‘I penned a sentence that mocked the old king’s beard, and Williamson said I would hang if he ever had cause to show it to anyone at Court.’
It was Chaloner’s turn to stare. ‘He said that was seditious?’
Brome nodded, red with mortification. ‘I did not mean it. The King’s father had a very nice beard, and I imagine I was jealous of it at the time, because I did not have one.’
Chaloner rubbed his head, wondering how the Spymaster could sleep at night when he took advantage of such easy prey. ‘How did Williamson find out about it in the first place?’
Joanna was still crying, great shuddering sobs that wracked her body. Brome knelt next to her and held her tightly. ‘I believe someone sent it to him for malice, but I do not know who.’
Chaloner had his suspicions. ‘Muddiman. Or Dury. They produced the Commonwealth’s newsbooks, and probably have a fine collection of Parliamentarian literature between them.’
‘Muddiman has an excellent memory,’ conceded Brome slowly. ‘He must have recalled me writing something and looked it up. But why would he do such a spiteful thing?’
‘To sow the seeds of discord between L’Estrange and his assistant,’ explained Chaloner. ‘A weakened L’Estrange is a good thing for him.’
‘Oh, God!’ said Brome shakily. ‘Of course! I should have seen it weeks ago. I do not think I am cut out for this sort of subterfuge.’
Chaloner was sure of it. ‘So what have you told Williamson about L’Estrange?’
‘Nothing!’ cried Brome. ‘Because there is nothing to tell. Believe me, I would have uncovered something if it was there to find, given the pressure Williamson puts me under. L’Estrange is cantankerous, greedy, irritable and not always scrupulously honest with money, but these are minor faults, and he does nothing brazenly illegal.’
‘He is a rake,’ said Joanna. Her eyes had swollen from tears, and she gripped Brome’s coat so hard that her knuckles were white. ‘Mean and selfish. And likes to seduce other men’s wives.’
‘He has been after Joanna for ages,’ added Brome.
She gave him a wan smile, then turned back to Chaloner. ‘What will you do now? Inform L’Estrange what we have been doing? Or tell the Earl how I almost killed his spy with a poker?’
Chaloner was amused that she thought she had posed a danger to him. ‘It takes a ruthless, resilient kind of person to succeed in the news business. Perhaps you should revert to plain bookselling. But do not worry about L’Estrange. He will not learn what you have been doing from me.’
‘You are kind,’ sniffed Joanna. ‘And I shall tell you a secret in return. When L’Estrange refused to tell us where he was going, I set my maid to follow him. He went to Monkwell Street. I suspect Mary Cade is already priming her next victim, so it will not be long before she relinquishes her hold over William. It is good news.’
Chaloner did not think so; he was appalled. ‘She needs Will dead first, to inherit his property.’
Joanna’s jaw dropped. ‘Then we must make sure she does not succeed. I shall visit him at once-’