‘And then you make bets with men like me, saying you can charm these lockets away from their owners. But, of course, you do no such thing. Belle is still wearing hers, and the one you showed me this morning is a duplicate.’
‘I keep a supply in my hat,’ confided Turner, winking. ‘I almost lost them when Lady Castlemaine demanded I hand it over — I had to pretend I wanted to keep it because it was a gift from Bess.’
‘You could have returned the statue to the Earl,’ said Chaloner, aiming to disconcert him by turning the discussion to the crime that had transpired to be something of a disaster. ‘He would have been far too delighted to ask awkward questions, and you could have secured his good graces permanently.’
Turner sneered. ‘And what would he have given me for it? Nothing! However, I am beginning to see there is no alternative, so I shall make him a gift of it after I kill you. I will tell him you stole it.’
Chaloner dived forward, startling the colonel with the speed of his attack. Turner tried to fight back, but found he had insufficient room to manoeuvre. The spy met each feeble thrust with the broom, then jabbed hard, catching Turner a painful blow on the ribs. But Turner recovered quickly, and reciprocated by slashing at Chaloner’s legs. He missed, but the move caused the spy to stagger, and Turner took the opportunity to dart around a crate and tip Nero off his pedestal. Chaloner hurled himself backwards to avoid being crushed, and fell awkwardly. Turner grinned when he saw the spy sprawled on the floor sans broom, and prepared to make an end of him.
Chaloner looked around desperately for some kind of weapon — anything that would slow Turner’s relentless advance — but there was nothing. He took a deep breath and braced himself for the stroke that would end his life. But suddenly, there was a thud and Turner gave a sharp yelp of pain — someone had lobbed a wine decanter that had hit him square in the back. Temperance was on the stairs.
Turner whipped around, then started to stride towards her. Chaloner struggled to his feet, sure Turner was going to kill her, but his legs were like rubber, and he could not move nearly fast enough. The colonel reached her first.
‘Dearest,’ he said with one of his most winning smiles. ‘Chaloner stole the King’s bust, and hid it in your cellar. But he has been unable to sell the thing, so hopes to secure his future with the Earl by blaming you for the crime.’
‘He is lying,’ said Chaloner, although with scant hope of being believed. Why would she take his word over that of an adored lover?
‘We have been fighting,’ continued Turner, ignoring him. ‘But I won, and it will not take a moment to finish him off. Go upstairs, love. You do not want to see this.’
‘I heard you,’ said Temperance in a low, broken voice. ‘I was hard on your heels when you came down here. I heard everything you said.’
Unabashed, Turner winked at her. ‘You heard me confounding him with a false confession. It is a technique I have used to corner felons before, and you should not worry your pretty head with it.’
While Turner was talking, Chaloner summoned the strength for a final assault. He tore across the room, and crashed into the man, bowling him from his feet. The sword flew from Turner’s hand, and by the time he had gathered his wits, the spy was sitting astride him and his own dagger was being held to his throat. Turner regarded it in astonishment, as if he could not imagine how he had lost the encounter.
‘Stand up,’ ordered Chaloner, grabbing the sword. He was aware of Temperance’s bitter weeping behind him, and it tore at his heart. For two pins, he would have run Turner through there and then.
‘Do not let him take me,’ Turner begged, climbing to his feet and stretching a pleading hand towards Temperance. ‘I will be hanged. And anyway, I stole the bust for us, so we could-’
‘No more lies, James,’ Temperance sobbed. ‘Do not talk to me.’
Turner was shrewd enough to recognise a lost cause when he saw one. He turned to Chaloner instead. ‘If you let me go, I will tell you where to find Greene — or rather where Greene will be at dawn. The whores in the Dog and Duck have been sheltering him, but I met Meg earlier, and she could not resist confiding in me.’
Chaloner indicated that Turner was to precede him up the stairs. Temperance followed.
‘He plans to visit the Painted Chamber at first light,’ continued Turner, rather desperately. ‘According to Meg, he wants to collect a few things before fleeing to France. You can go there and arrest him. It will delight His Portliness, and save you your job.’
‘And why should I believe you?’
‘Because I do not want to hang,’ said Turner. His voice was unsteady. ‘So I am offering you valuable information in exchange for an hour to leave the city. Besides, I suspect you think I am the clerk-killer — you seem to be blaming me for everything else — and I want to prove my innocence by giving you the real villain. Greene.’
‘There is no need,’ said Chaloner. They reached the top of the stairs, and Temperance stepped around them to open the door. ‘You have an alibi for Chetwynd’s murder: Meg said you and she meet each Monday and Thursday and stay together from dusk until dawn. You were with her when he died.’
He heard Temperance catch her breath, but did not take his eyes off Turner. She tugged open the door, then stood aside for the colonel to pass. As he went, Turner reached out to touch her cheek. She ducked away violently, unwittingly placing herself between him and Chaloner’s sword. As quick as lightning, Turner shoved her hard, so she toppled towards the cellar stairs. Chaloner tried to catch her, but she was a large woman and represented a lot of weight. She fell, dragging the spy down the steps with her. Then the door slammed, and Chaloner heard the key turn in the lock.
‘Tom?’ asked Temperance softly in the silence that followed. ‘Are you all right?’
Chaloner was unable to answer until she had removed herself from his chest. Then he lurched up the stairs and hauled furiously at the door, disgusted with himself for letting Turner escape. By the time he had picked the lock, the colonel was long gone. He did not feel equal to a chase, so he limped back to the kitchen instead. Temperance was sitting at the table, sobbing so hard he was not sure how to comfort her. He said nothing, and knelt by her side, waiting until she was ready to talk. He was aware of the minutes ticking away, but nothing seemed more important than his friend at that moment.
While she wept, he thought about Turner’s claim. Was he telling the truth about Greene being in the Painted Chamber at dawn? Or was it yet another lie? And how far off was daybreak anyway? He had lost all sense of time. In the parlour, he could hear Wiseman’s voice, and the sound of women laughing. At least someone was having a good time.
‘No!’ exclaimed Temperance suddenly, brushing away her tears. She sat bolt upright. ‘Oh, no!’
‘What?’ asked Chaloner uneasily. It was not a reaction he had been anticipating.
She leapt to her feet and began to bundle him towards the door. ‘James — I have just realised what he is going to do. He will see us as the only thing standing between him and the fulfilment of his nefarious plans. He will run straight to your Earl and spin a web of lies that will see us blamed for robbing Tryan and stealing the statue.’
Chaloner disengaged his arm. Turner had just had a very narrow escape, and would be halfway to the coast by now, thanking his lucky stars for his deliverance. ‘Even he is not audacious enough to-’
She punched his shoulder, hard, to express her exasperation. ‘He is, Tom! He is the most plausible liar in London — he must be, if he can deceive me. And who do you think your Earl will believe? A Royalist colonel who solves murders, or you, who keeps to the shadows and insults him at every turn?’
‘But you heard him confess,’ said Chaloner tiredly. ‘You will bear witness that-’