‘No,’ said Chaloner sharply, suspecting she would get herself hurt if she tried to interfere with Mary. ‘Leave them to me.’
‘We are not cowards,’ said Brome with quiet dignity. ‘We are not afraid to go to his rescue.’
‘I know,’ said Chaloner tiredly. ‘But trying to reason with him will do no good, and might even make the situation worse. We must devise another way to foil her.’
‘How?’ demanded Brome. ‘Will you let us help?’
Chaloner nodded, but had no intention of doing so. They would be a liability, and he could not look after them and Leybourn at the same time. He wished they would just leave London while they were still relatively unscathed. Joanna accepted his acquiescence without demur, and he saw it had not occurred to her that he might lie. She really was too innocent for her own good.
‘Very well,’ she said, ‘but I insist you borrow my gun.’
‘Your gun?’ Chaloner was not sure he had heard her properly.
‘It belonged to my father.’ She went to a chest and removed a small dag. The firing pin was broken, so it would not work, but Chaloner took it anyway, loath to hurt her feelings by refusing. ‘It is loaded. Well, I think it is loaded, but I am not really sure how it works, so …’
She trailed off helplessly, and Chaloner checked it was not before he tucked it in his belt. ‘I had better see if I can find L’Estrange.’
‘Then be careful,’ said Joanna, following him to the door. ‘And do not forget to tell us when you require help with Mary.’
‘Please do as she says,’ said Brome softly. ‘You need someone you can trust in this wicked city.’
Chaloner left the bookshop despising Williamson for dragging the Bromes into the murky world of espionage, especially on such a flimsy pretext. He found himself wanting to avenge them somehow, and hoped with all his heart that he would uncover evidence to prove the Spymaster did indeed hire Hectors for his dirty work. If so, then Chaloner would do all he could to see it included in Muddiman’s newsletters, with a view to creating a scandal that would see Williamson disgraced and dismissed. He set off towards Monkwell Street, but had taken no more than two or three steps before he heard his name being called. It was Nott the bookseller, whose premises were opposite.
‘Thurloe asked me to identify the owner of that Galen,’ he said when Chaloner went reluctantly to see what he wanted. ‘He said when I had my answer, I was to tell either him or you. I just happened to spot you coming from Brome’s house, and I thought-’
‘You know who bought it?’ interrupted Chaloner impatiently.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Nott. ‘Its binding makes it unique, you see, because it is-’
‘Who?’
Nott told him, and Chaloner felt the situation become more urgent than ever.
‘And there is something else,’ the bookseller burbled on. ‘Jonas Kirby was here earlier. He knows you and I are acquainted, because he asked me to give you a message.’
He handed Chaloner a folded piece of paper. When the spy opened it, all it contained was a crude drawing of a cat with a gibbet beneath it.
Daylight was fading by the time Chaloner reached Leybourn’s house. Door and windows were closed, and Leybourn’s colleague Allestry was loitering outside. Allestry was peeved because the surveyor had shut shop early after making an appointment with him. He had struggled all the way from St Paul’s in the teeming rain, and now would have to walk all the way home again for nothing. Concerned, Chaloner went to see Leybourn’s brother.
‘I have not seen him all day,’ said Rob. ‘Did you know he changed his will? I could not believe it! Mary says she will look after my family, but I do not trust her. I wish I could expose her as the lying cheat she is, but Kirby came to see me this morning, and said that if I did anything to malign her, he will hurt my children. She has won this war, Tom. We cannot fight her sort of battle.’
Chaloner thought about his missing cat. ‘They think they can intimidate us by striking at the things we hold dear. But they are in for a shock — I do not like bullies.’
Rob was alarmed. ‘There are too many of them to take on, and while I appreciate your loyalty to Will, there is no point in squandering your life. Do you know who is due to dine with him today? Ellis Crisp! Go home, Tom, and try not to think about it.’
‘The Butcher of Smithfield,’ mused Chaloner. ‘I have been wanting to meet him for some time.’
The wind drowned any sound Chaloner might have made as he climbed up the back of Leybourn’s house and let himself in through an upstairs window. The door to the main bedchamber was closed, and when Chaloner opened it, something furry emerged to rub around his legs. He smiled, and spent a moment petting his cat, allowing it to purr and knead his shoulder with its claws. He wondered how Mary had explained its presence to Leybourn. It objected when he shut it in the bedroom again, but he could not risk it tripping him when he was trying to move stealthily, and it was safer where it was.
He crept downstairs, hearing voices raised in laughter. He smiled grimly: he had known someone was in, despite the air of abandonment outside. The reek of tobacco wafted towards him, along with the scent of new bread and roasting meat. He reached the bottom of the steps and peered through a gap in one of the door panels.
Leybourn was sitting at the head of his table, and Mary was at the foot. Between them were a number of familiar faces, including Kirby and Treen, both in their finest clothes. The Hectors were clearly on their best behaviour, but even so, their lack of manners showed in the clumsy way they used their silver table forks. Long-nosed Ireton was watching them with amused disdain. Next to Leybourn was a man Chaloner did not know. He was huge, with a heavy, brooding face and eyes so deeply set they were almost invisible. On Leybourn’s other side was a tiny fellow with a red face and pale eyes, like a pheasant. Prominent on the table was a dish of cucumbers and a huge pie. Chaloner supposed the latter had been furnished by the Butcher of Smithfield, and wondered whether it contained anyone he knew. Mary picked up the cucumbers.
‘Try one of these, William,’ she said. ‘They are delicious.’
‘No, thank you.’ Leybourn’s voice was strained, and Chaloner was under the impression he was not enjoying the party. ‘Galen says cucumbers are bad for the digestion.’
‘Piffle,’ said Mary. Even Chaloner was surprised by the curt tone of her voice, and Leybourn looked positively distraught. ‘Eat one.’
‘I would rather not,’ said Leybourn plaintively. ‘It might make me ill.’
‘Then I shall cut it up for you,’ said Mary, going to stand behind him. She held a knife, and Chaloner was not entirely sure what she intended to do with it. He was not prepared to stand by while she slit his friend’s throat, though. He stepped into the room with his sword in one hand and Joanna’s useless gun in the other.
‘He said he does not want it.’
‘You!’ snarled Ireton, surging to his feet. Mary made a hissing sound, and he sat again, albeit reluctantly. As he did so, he picked up the knife he had been using to cut his meat.
‘Tom!’ said Leybourn uncertainly. ‘Where did you come from?’
‘From upstairs,’ said Mary. She did not seem disconcerted by the spy’s sudden appearance. In fact, she seemed inexplicably pleased about it, and Chaloner had the sudden sense that something was about to go very wrong. He glanced around quickly, trying to assess what it might be. ‘He regularly burgles your house, as I told you before.’
‘He took your money sack off me,’ added Kirby, eager to support her claim. ‘I recognise his voice now. He came at me with a dag …’ He trailed off when he realised the implications of what he had said. Ireton was not the only Hector who rolled his eyes.
‘Yes, I took it from you,’ agreed Chaloner pleasantly. ‘After I saw you steal it from Will. I cannot imagine how you knew where to look for it — unless someone told you its whereabouts, of course.’