‘I had a feeling he was not all he claimed,’ said Haddon, bolder now the danger was over. ‘I have a gift for sensing wickedness, and there is a lot to sense in him — he is a liar and a thief.’
But the Earl was no longer interested in Turner. ‘There is work to be done, Thomas. Greene is in the Painted Chamber, and it is time he was in custody. Go and apprehend him.’
‘I will come with you,’ offered Haddon kindly, reaching out to steady the spy when he reeled from pure exhaustion. ‘But we had better hurry, or Greene may decide to leave.’
Numbly, Chaloner followed him out, hoping he would have the strength to carry out his orders — he did not think he had ever been so tired. He was not so weary that he forgot to take Turner’s sword with him, however.
Dawn was breaking at last, a pale, distant glow in the night sky. It revealed a world that was unrecognisable, with roofs coated in a thick layer of white, and great clots of snow lodged in the branches of trees. The streets around White Hall and Westminster were used by monarchs and nobles, so labourers had been employed to shovel paths along them, which meant the journey to the Painted Chamber was much easier than the one from Hercules’ Pillars Alley. Even so, Chaloner struggled.
‘What is wrong?’ asked Haddon, eyeing him in concern. ‘Did Turner score a sly hit? I find that hard to believe. The Earl said he could never best you in a thousand years.’
‘Did he? When? Until a few moments ago, he was all for Turner.’
‘Yes and no,’ replied Haddon. ‘He is not a fool, and detected inconsistencies in the tales he was spun — in response to a few hints by me, naturally. Moreover, he was unimpressed by the fact that Turner’s sword broke when the Lord of Misrule attacked him, and asked me to investigate his military claims. I learned he was never a colonel in the Royalist army.’
‘He probably cannot cook, either,’ muttered Chaloner. He did not want Haddon with him when he arrested Greene. The steward would be in the way, and might be injured if there was a scuffle. He tried to think of an excuse to be rid of him. ‘I saw Bulteel buying more spices yesterday.’
Haddon stopped dead in his tracks and regarded him closely. ‘Did you? Do you think he might be planning a repeat performance of the pepper-cake incident? My poor darlings have still not recovered.’
‘Perhaps you should check them,’ suggested Chaloner, hoping his lies would not exacerbate the feud between secretary and steward to the point where it could never be mended.
‘Perhaps I should,’ said Haddon worriedly. ‘But what about you? You need my help.’
‘I will manage,’ said Chaloner. ‘It is only Greene — and I have a sword.’
Haddon’s face was a study in indecision, but eventually affection for his dogs won out. With a muttered apology, he slipped off in the direction of Cannon Row. Relieved to be rid of the responsibility of protecting him, Chaloner toiled on alone. He sincerely hoped Greene would not elect to fight, because he suspected that even a clerk with no experience with weapons would best him at that moment.
It felt like hours before he reached the Painted Chamber, and when he did, he was obliged to take a moment to recover — to catch his breath and wait for the burning weariness to ease from his legs. Then he pushed open the door and entered its cold, dim interior. It was empty on two counts — it was still too early for the clerks to begin their work, and Twelfth Night was a popular holiday, when men tended to stay at home with their families. His footsteps echoed hollowly as he walked. Daylight was just beginning to filter through the windows, ghostly and grey from the reflection of the snow outside. It did not take him many moments to see that no one was there, and he was not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.
Now what? He sat heavily on a desk, uncertain what to do next. Should he hire a horse and ride to the coast, which was where any sane fugitive from justice would be heading? Or should he go to the Dog and Duck, on the off-chance that Greene had decided to remain in hiding with his prostitute friends? Unfortunately, either option required more energy than he had left.
‘What are you doing here?’
Greene’s voice was so close behind him that Chaloner leapt to his feet and spun around in alarm. He started to reach for his sword, but the clerk was holding a gun, and even in the poor light, Chaloner could see it was loaded and ready to fire. Greene did not look comfortable with the weapon, and the hand that held it shook.
‘You lied to me,’ said Chaloner, beginning to back away. ‘I believed you when you said you were innocent — and I believed your reasons for why the evidence against you should be disregarded, too.’
‘Yes, you did,’ agreed Greene quietly. ‘I cannot imagine why — I certainly would not have done. And stand still, or I shall shoot you.’
‘So the Earl was right,’ said Chaloner, doing as he was told — it was always wise to obey orders issued by men wielding firearms. By the same token, he knew it was reckless to taunt Greene with a discussion of his crimes, but he could not help himself. ‘You were running away when we caught you outside this hall. You had just murdered Chetwynd. But what did you do with the cup?’
Greene smiled, although it was a pained, unhappy expression. ‘I was not alone. I was never alone.’
For a moment, Chaloner thought he was claiming some sort of divine guidance, but then realised that God was unlikely to make incriminating goblets disappear into thin air. The clerk was talking about a real accomplice, one of flesh and blood.
‘Who helped you?’ demanded Chaloner. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, and he was ready to whip it out the moment Greene lowered his guard.
The clerk made a dismissive motion: he was unwilling to say. ‘I was expecting Turner this morning, not you. He has finally grasped that I am guilty, so it was decided to entice him here and kill him. But as you are here and he is not, I suppose I shall have to poison you instead. I am sorry, but it must be what is meant to happen.’
‘He will be here soon,’ lied Chaloner. ‘What will you do then? If you kill either of us, my Earl will hunt you down.’
Greene shrugged. ‘How? He could not trap me when he had you and Turner, so how will he manage alone? Besides, I am taking a ship to the New World tomorrow, and that will be an end to the matter. My master, who has guided my hand in everything, will have to use other faithful servants to carry on his work — thanks to your Earl’s determination to unmask me, my usefulness to him is at an end.’
‘Are you saying someone told you to commit these crimes?’ asked Chaloner in disbelief. ‘How in God’s name could you let yourself be used so? I thought you were an ethical man.’
‘I have tried to be.’ Greene looked miserable, a far cry from the gloating Turner. ‘I swore an oath to be honourable, and I have followed it faithfully. You no doubt think that murder is dishonourable, but these were wicked men, and my master said God wanted them gone — that it was my destiny to dispatch them for Him. And I have always believed everything that happens is predetermined, so …’
‘I suppose your master used your association with Lady Castlemaine to persuade you to do his bidding,’ said Chaloner, more strands of the mystery coming together in his mind. ‘You ran errands for her that decent men would have declined, and he threatened to tell. She gave you a book …’
‘L’Ecole des Filles.’ Greene blushed. ‘I should not have accepted it, but I was curious and Langston said it was good. She lied about him being alive at four o’clock, by the way — I killed him at two. But she did not lie because she knows I am the killer — her sole objective was to oppose your Earl.’
‘And everything Turner and I discovered about you was true: you did beg or steal brandywine from White Hall to disguise the taste of poison.’