‘She was following a special exercise regime devised by me. If she pursues it diligently, she will develop limbs a man will die for.’
‘She already has those,’ said Haddon, rather wistfully. ‘Of course, they are nothing compared to those of my dogs, whose legs are an example of God’s perfection.’
‘Did you hear about Matthias Lea?’ asked Wiseman, regarding the steward dubiously before changing the subject. ‘Yet another government official gone. Perhaps we should defect to another employer while we are still alive.’
‘Defection is a young man’s game, and I am past sixty,’ said Haddon, taking him seriously, although Chaloner suspected Wiseman was just being flippant. ‘However, I take sensible precautions — I try to stay in at night, I have not touched wine since Chetwynd was killed, and my sweethearts bark at any uninvited visitors to my home. Of course, if they are sick from pepper cake, they may not be as vigilant as usual.’
He went to report to the Earl, walking rather more slowly than was his wont; Chaloner was not sure whether the mistreatment of his pets or the sights in the charnel house had distressed him more.
‘Did Kersey tell you Matthias had drowned?’ asked Wiseman, when the steward had gone.
Chaloner nodded grimly, recalling the beginnings of the vivid lecture.
‘Then he has made an erroneous assumption,’ asserted Wiseman pompously. ‘Just because a corpse is found in the river, does not mean it perished there.’
Chaloner frowned. ‘What are you saying? That Matthias was thrown in the water after he died?’
‘Yes, because the cause of his death was poison, not drowning,’ announced Wiseman, relishing Chaloner’s surprise. ‘The blisters in his mouth indicate he swallowed a corrosive substance.’
‘The same corrosive substance that killed the other three?’
‘I cannot say with certainty, but my informed guess would be yes.’
‘Do you have any idea when he might have died?’
‘He was last seen alive on Saturday, at about nine o’clock in the evening, and his body was found yesterday morning — Sunday — just before dawn. Obviously, he died between those two times.’
‘Christ!’ muttered Chaloner. He saw Wiseman regarding him quizzically and hastened to explain. ‘The cellarer said Greene asked for brandywine on Saturday night. It was refused, but a flask was later found missing.’
‘And now we have Matthias dead of poison, which we know has been delivered in brandywine in the past,’ mused Wiseman. ‘As a scientific man, I find the evidence against Greene compelling.’
Chaloner was not sure what to think, but the nagging worry that he might have made a terrible mistake had returned. He had known from the start that Greene could have slipped out of the back door of his house to go and kill Vine, while Lady Castlemaine had good reason to lie about the timing of her last sighting of Langston.
So, where was Greene? Chaloner had been so certain he was dead, that he had given no consideration to where the clerk might have gone. Or was this the line of reasoning the real killer hoped people would take — to wrap the noose even more tightly around an innocent man’s neck?
‘Has anyone asked you about Jones’s death?’ Chaloner asked the surgeon, wanting to think about something else. ‘Or about the gold we found?’
‘No. I have been listening out for rumours relating to his hoard, but there has not been so much as a whisper. It is all very mysterious.’
‘His gold must have come from the thefts he committed, which explains why he chose to carry it on his person. After all, he could hardly invest it with Backwell’s Bank — they are its rightful owners!’
‘I do not believe the tale that has Jones responsible for what happened at Backwell’s,’ began Wiseman dismissively. ‘It is-’ But then he stopped speaking abruptly. His jaw dropped, and he looked staggered. ‘Jones and I discussed that particular incident. He … Oh, Lord! Now it makes sense!’
‘What makes sense?’
‘He said Backwell’s had only themselves to blame, because they had not locked up their wares properly before closing shop for the night. I asked him how he knew, and he winked at me.’
It was not far from the charnel house to the building the Leas had inherited from their murdered kinsman Chetwynd. When Chaloner arrived, he found the surviving brother being visited by Gold and Bess. Gold was doing his best to comfort the bereaved man, but Bess was standing in the window, happily waving at people who passed by outside. She wore a new hat — a red creation, with even more feathers in it than the one that had been damaged the previous day. She waved to Neale, who immediately decided that he should come in and console Lea, too.
‘I will kill him!’ Lea wept, while Gold patted his hand. ‘Whoever pushed Matthias in the river is a dead man. I will hunt him down and strangle him with my bare hands. How could he?’
‘Pushed him in the river?’ echoed Neale. He did not look so cherubic that morning, with bloodshot eyes, a pale complexion and a trail of dried vomit down the front of his coat.
‘Yes, pushed,’ howled Lea. ‘Matthias would never have gone near the Thames on his own, so some vile beast led him there and murdered him. It is someone here!’
‘You mean one of us?’ asked Neale, gazing around the room in confusion. Gold cocked his head, straining to hear. ‘Bess, Gold, the Lord Chancellor’s man or me?’
‘I mean someone at White Hall or Westminster.’ Tears gushed down Lea’s face. ‘There is slaughter everywhere these days. It is like a disease.’ The last part was de livered in a shriek that hurt the ears.
‘White Hall is full of disease,’ agreed Gold, entering the conversation with some relief. He had not liked being excluded. ‘It is being spread by Lady Muskerry, apparently. Wiseman says she has an advanced case of the pox, so I stopped sleeping with her immediately.’
Chaloner blinked, but his astonishment was not nearly as great as that of Bess. She gaped at her husband, and her eyes were suddenly full of flashing emotion. It was the first expression approaching intelligence the spy had ever seen in her, and the transformation was chilling. It was quickly masked, though, and the ovine blankness came down like a steel trap. He recalled Hawley’s theory — that Reeve the corn-chandler might be a woman. Could Bess be a contender?
‘Well,’ drawled Neale, smirking at her. ‘This puts a different complexion on matters, does it not?’
‘Do you know anyone who wanted to harm Matthias?’ asked Chaloner of Lea, interrupting before the conversation could range too far along that road.
‘Doling and Symons were always jealous that we kept our jobs while they lost theirs,’ wailed Lea. ‘Doling went around telling people that we were corrupt, although we never left any evidence of …’ He stopped when he realised what he was saying.
‘Matthias was not abrupt,’ said Gold kindly. ‘He was very patient, especially with old ladies.’
Lea began to sob at the compassion in his voice, and Chaloner saw he was going to have no sense from the man while he was distraught — or when Gold was there to lead the discussion astray. He took his leave when Bess asked her husband whether Lady Muskerry snored. Gold did not hear, but Neale’s expression was predatory, and Chaloner suspected the young man would have her between the sheets before the day was out. He wondered whether it would be before or after the soirée Gold had planned for that evening.
His mind was full of questions as he headed towards White Hall. It was not so full that he failed to notice Williamson bearing down on him, however. This time, though, there was nowhere to hide, and he was not inclined to run. He braced himself as the Spymaster came closer, not liking the dangerous expression on his face. Williamson raised his hands to show he was unarmed.