Glancing around to ensure he was not being watched, he picked the lock and let himself in. Then he began a systematic search, not sure what he was looking for, but determined to be thorough. And if Greene returned and caught him, then so much the better — it might make the clerk understand that he would hang unless he put his mind to identifying the person who was so determined to see him in trouble. The spy finished exploring the ground floor without learning anything useful, and turned to the upper one. He had already searched Langston’s room, so this time he concentrated on Greene’s.
The chamber was almost Spartan in its neatness. It contained a bed, two chests, and a shelf of books. The tomes were almost entirely devotional tracts — with the curious exception of Michel Millot’s L’Ecole des Filles, widely condemned as pornographic, although it was tame by Langston’s standards. Chaloner opened it, and was surprised to see an inscription in the front, written in a flowing hand he recognised as Lady Castlemaine’s. It directed the reader to the particularly juicy sections, although there was no indication that the recommendations were aimed at Greene. Chaloner frowned. Had Greene stolen it? Or was it actually Langston’s, and Greene had borrowed it out of salacious curiosity? There was one explanation he refused to entertain, though: that the Lady had given it to Greene herself. She would simply not waste her time on a lowly official, especially one who was unlikely to please her in the bedchamber. He put it back and resumed his search.
He was about to give up, when he realised that although the curtains were drawn, they did not quite meet in the middle. He stood on a stool and ran his hand along the top of the rail. His groping fingers encountered a small box, no bigger than the length of his hand. He took it down, and opened it to find it full of papers.
The first document he inspected was an oath, and its brownish colour led him to wonder whether it had been written in blood. The language was Latin, and promised the reader that God’s commandments would be followed and a righteous life led. It was signed with Greene’s name, and was so well worn that Chaloner suspected it had been taken out and read a lot. So, he thought, the vow sworn by members of Scobel’s prayer group had included a written declaration, as well as a verbal one. The man had obviously done his utmost to prevent his flock from straying, although, as Doling and Hargrave had said, he had reckoned without the corruptive influence of White Hall.
The remaining papers were lists of various expenditures. Chaloner sat on the bed and studied them carefully, but they seemed to be exactly what they appeared: household accounts for the previous year. He read that purchases of ale, wine, coal, cloth, utensils and barley had been made, and the cost was carefully recorded each week. They were dull and uninteresting, and he could not imagine why Greene should have considered them important enough to hide. He slipped them in his pocket anyway, and was about to leave when he became aware that the bottom of the doorframe was glittering slightly. He crouched down, and saw a tiny hole made by a knot in the wood. Something had been pressed inside it, and it was not many moments before he had prised it out.
It was a ruby ring.
He gazed at it in confusion. Was the Earl right after all, and Greene was the killer? His first reaction was disgust at himself: he was a professional spy, and should not have been deceived like some inexperienced novice. But then questions flooded into his mind, and he forced himself to stop leaping to conclusions and analyse the evidence logically, as Thurloe had trained him to do.
He had inspected the ring only briefly before the train-band had reclaimed it, but he had a good memory, and was fairly sure that the bauble he held now was not the one from the Painted Chamber — it felt lighter and cheaper, and lacked the quality of the other. So, had someone left it to incriminate Greene, because that person knew Chaloner was aware of the ring’s existence and the implications of owning it? Uncomfortably, he wondered whether the Earl had contrived to plant it there, because he was tired of his spy’s unwillingness to accept his point of view.
He swore softly when it occurred to him that he had asked virtually everyone he had met about the ring — not just his suspects, but anyone he thought might recognise it. Ergo, his questions had ensured that a huge number of people knew it was central to his investigation. He had even told Hannah about it. The upshot was that anyone wanting to incriminate Greene would know that hiding a red-stoned ring among the man’s possessions would do the trick.
He continued to stare at it, wishing there was some way it could tell him its story. But gawking was not going to provide him with answers — he needed to find Greene, and fast. He stuffed it in his breast pocket, next to the documents, and headed for Wapping church, recalling its vicar saying that Greene was a regular and punctilious visitor.
‘Greene,’ he said without preamble, when the cleric gave him a wary smile, recognising him from the last time he was there. ‘Where is he?’
‘I wish I knew. He failed to return home last night, and this morning he missed dawn prayers for the first time since the Restoration. I am worried, because there have been some very nasty characters asking after him of late.’ The priest swallowed uneasily when he realised what he had said. ‘Not you, of course-’
‘Turner?’ interrupted Chaloner. ‘A handsome man with an ear-string?’
‘Yes, he was here, but he was all smiles and good manners. I refer to the group of men who look like soldiers. Their commander treated me like dirt, and I do not mind admitting that he terrified me.’
‘Describe him.’
The vicar shuddered. ‘Rough, brutish and bullying. He and his louts asked me question after question, but it was more of an interrogation than a conversation.’
‘What did they want to know?’
‘Details of Greene’s activities, where he kept his valuables, whether he had secret hiding places.’
‘And does he?’ asked Chaloner, to see whether Greene had trusted him enough to mention the little box above the curtains. Or the hole in the doorframe.
‘Not that I know of. We only ever talk about God. Poor Greene! They terrified me into telling them about his daily visits to church, and now he is missing. How could I have blathered about him, when he has been nothing but kind to me? He knows my weakness for brandywine — it is difficult to buy, but he never fails to provide me with a weekly flask. And what do I do? Repay him with betrayal!’
Chaloner was not sure what to think about the brandy-wine. ‘Was there anything about these soldiers that will allow me to identify them?’
‘They wore masks to conceal their faces, but the commander has a scar on his neck. It will not be obvious unless you stand close to him, but it is there.’ The priest regarded Chaloner thoughtfully. ‘Greene tells me you are the only one who believes his innocence, so I shall confide something I managed to keep from those ruffians: he has an understanding with Lady Castlemaine.’
Chaloner regarded him askance. ‘You mean he is one of her lovers?’ It did not sound very likely, given that Greene was an unattractive specimen, but with the Lady, anything was possible.
The vicar was horrified. ‘Lord, no! I mean that Langston and Greene worked for her. Secretly. They ran errands, although I have no idea what kind. Greene never said, and I never asked. I would rather not know anything that involves her.’
Chaloner was beginning to see the glimmer of a solution at last: Lady Castlemaine knew Langston from his ribald writing, and he must have introduced Greene to her as a dependable sort. Perhaps she had made Greene a gift of L’Ecole des Filles, or one of his ‘errands’ was to deliver it to someone else. It certainly explained why she had challenged the Earl’s belief that Greene was the killer — it was not just to oppose an enemy, as everyone assumed, but because she did not want to lose a servant. Chaloner recalled the way she had nodded to Greene when their paths had crossed at White Hall, and how he had been puzzled by it, given that she never acknowledged minions. But trustworthy staff were not easy to find, and she must have been keen to retain Greene’s goodwill. And Greene was clearly among the best, because Chaloner had detected no hint of his association with her, despite more than a week of interviewing his closest friends and associates.