Chaloner was not so sure, having scant respect for the man. ‘Here we are,’ he said, as the carriage came to a standstill.
‘The Lea brothers live here?’ asked Thurloe, regarding the grand house in puzzlement. ‘They were not so well paid when they worked for me — they were just minor bookkeepers then.’
‘It is Chetwynd’s home,’ explained Chaloner. ‘He had paid the rent until August, so they abandoned their own cottage in Holborn, and moved here instead. They did it the day after he died.’
Thurloe made a moue of distaste. ‘I wonder why the Royalists kept them on when they dismissed virtually every other Parliamentarian. The Lea brothers were not particularly good at their work, and I doubt they were retained for their affable personalities — they are horrible fellows. All I can think is that they must have said or done something to persuade the new government to look favourably on them.’
Chaloner had an uncomfortable feeling he might be delving in some very murky waters if he tried to find out. But find out he must, because it might have a bearing on their kinsman’s death.
‘Give me a few moments to condole them on their loss, then come in,’ ordered Thurloe, alighting from the carriage. ‘We shall pretend to be strangers, to ease your worries about my involvement.’
While he waited for a suitable amount of time to pass, Chaloner studied the house. As befitting his lofty status as a Chancery clerk, Chetwynd had opted for a residence that was imposing. It had ornate brickwork, smart window shutters and a new front door. When Chaloner eventually knocked on it, a servant conducted him to a spacious parlour, where the Leas were entertaining the ex-Spymaster with spiced wine. A fire blazed in the hearth, and woodwork gleamed under a coating of new wax. Even so, there was an underlying scent of mould, and patches of damp on the walls — Chetwynd’s mansion was not as well-maintained as its immaculate exterior suggested.
On their first meeting, Chaloner had been unable to determine which brother was Matthias and which was Thomas, because they wore identical clothes and had a disconcerting habit of finishing each other’s sentences. They were both tall, lean and leered in a way that made them look predatory. He had not taken to them at all.
‘It is the Lord Chancellor’s creature,’ said one, as Chaloner was shown in. He turned to Thurloe. ‘He came on Saturday, demanding to know who might want to kill Chetwynd. We told him to-’
‘-question someone else,’ finished the other. ‘We loved Chetwynd dearly, but this man acted as though we had killed him. We find that deeply offensive. He can close the door on his way out.’
Chaloner sat down. ‘Why did you run away from me last night? What were you afraid I might ask?’
‘We did not run,’ objected the first indignantly. ‘We drove off in a carriage. We had been invited to the Babylonian ball, and did not want you to delay us with-’
‘-impertinent questions. It is the first such invitation we have ever received — our new wealth is already working its magic — and we did not want to offend anyone by arriving late.’
It was an oddly plausible explanation, and Chaloner was inclined to believe it.
‘Are you the sole beneficiaries of your kinsman’s will?’ asked Thurloe. Both brothers nodded gleefully. ‘How marvellous for you.’
One tried to look mournful. ‘His death was a terrible blow to us both, of course.’
‘But inheriting all his money will help to soften the loss,’ added the other. He sniggered suddenly. ‘We intend to sell the cottage Hargrave gave him. Perhaps Doling will buy it from us.’
‘How did you keep your government posts after the Restoration, when everyone else lost theirs?’ Chaloner’s dislike for the Lea brothers was intensifying, and the blunt question was intended to unsettle them, hopefully enough to provide him with some truthful answers.
The first Lea glared at him. ‘Because we are good at what we do. Not everyone can count money and never make a mistake, but we can. We are indispensable.’
‘No one is indispensable, Matthias,’ said Thurloe quietly. ‘And these are dangerous times.’
His sombre words caused a flash of unease to pass between the pair, but it was quickly suppressed. ‘You know nothing of Royalist politics,’ said Matthias contemptuously. ‘Times have changed since-’
‘-you wielded power. You are compelled to live quietly now, but our fortunes are on the rise at last. Chetwynd’s death is just one more step up the ladder of success.’
‘Did you know Vine and Langston?’ asked Chaloner. The brothers were exchanging grins of pure pleasure, and he was keen to keep them talking lest they started dancing again.
‘Yes, of course,’ replied Matthias. ‘We all work for the government, so we were colleagues. We used to meet socially, too — or rather religiously: we prayed together.’ He raised his eyes heavenwards, and his brother sniggered at his display of false piety.
‘What about Greene?’ asked Chaloner. ‘Did you pray with him, too?’
‘There is a rumour that Greene killed Chetwynd,’ said Matthias to his kinsman. ‘So this question is designed to discover whether we hired him. But the Lord Chancellor’s creature is wasting his time, because there is nothing that can connect us to our kinsman’s murder.’
His brother’s expression was cold and hard. ‘Yes, but he will almost certainly learn that Greene was one of those with whom we once fraternised, and may draw his own — erroneous — conclusions. Personally, I never liked Greene. He is too gloomy, always saying that everything is preordained, and that nothing we say or do can change the outcome. Well, he is-’
‘-wrong. We took control of our destinies — decided to make our way with the Royalists — and look at us now. We have everything we ever wanted.’
‘Chetwynd does not,’ said Thurloe softly. Chaloner saw he was repelled by their self-congratulatory gloating. ‘Can you think of a reason why anyone would want to kill him? He was a decent soul, and it is hard to imagine him acquiring enemies.’
Matthias looked smug. ‘Between you and us, Mr Thurloe, he was not as scrupulous as you might think. You must have heard the rumours that say he took bribes in exchange for favourable decisions? Well, they are all true-’
‘-although we are not in a position to give any of them back,’ added his brother hastily. ‘But a more corrupt man never walked the streets of London, although he was careful to present an honest face to the world. And if you do not believe us, then look at the verdicts he gave on the cases he was asked to resolve. It will not take you long to see that he was a villain.’
Thurloe looked stricken, and Chaloner changed the subject, to spare him more of the Lea brothers’ revelations. They were only confirming what Doling and Landlord Ellis had said, but Thurloe did not need to hear them vilify a man who had been a friend. ‘Did he own a ruby ring? Or do either of you?’
Both brothers leaned forward acquisitively. ‘He might-’
‘He did,’ corrected Matthias. ‘I remember it quite clearly. I imagine it has been found, and the authorities are keen to return it to its rightful owners. You can tell them we will be happy to accept it.’
Chaloner was sure they would. ‘What did it look like?’ he asked.
‘Silver,’ said Matthias, watching the spy for a reaction that might help with the description. He was out of luck, because Chaloner was used to concealing his thoughts, and his expression was unreadable. ‘Or maybe gold. I am not very good at identifying precious metals. And it had a large ruby.’
‘But not overly large,’ said his brother. ‘Respectable. Show it to us, and we will identify it.’
Chaloner took his leave, even more revolted by them than he had been the first time he had visited. They could not describe the ring, so did that mean they were innocent of murder? Or were they more clever than they seemed?
‘So, it is true,’ said Thurloe sadly, following him out of the house. ‘Chetwynd was not the paragon of virtue he led us all to believe. This is a bitter blow — enough to shake a man’s faith in humanity.’