Susanna Gregory: The Westminster Poisoner

‘He will have told the Spymaster about you,’ said Chaloner, aiming to give them cause for anxiety.

Payne laughed derisively. ‘Who do you think provides us with quarters and weapons? Williamson often calls on our services, mostly to quell minor rebellions, which we do quietly and decisively.’

Chaloner was confused. ‘So, you are not Haddon’s men?’

‘That is none of your business,’ snapped Doling. ‘Enough talking.’

Chaloner turned to him. ‘How can you condone what Haddon is doing?’ he demanded, hoping to appeal to some deeply embedded sense of military honour. ‘You are a soldier, not an assassin.’

‘We are warriors, fighting vice,’ declared Payne, before Doling could speak. ‘It is no different from any other war. I used to pray with Chetwynd and the others in Scobel’s house, but their duplicity sickened me. The Restoration has allowed evil men to prosper at the expense of good ones. Look at Symons and Doling. They are decent, but they were dismissed to make room for scoundrels.’

‘Hargrave will be next,’ said Haddon casually, as though he was issuing invitations to dinner. ‘He rents out sub-standard buildings, and profits from supplying materials for Langston’s disgusting plays. Then Brodrick is a cruel man, who uses ferrets and bears for practical jokes, while Bulteel feeds pepper-cake to dogs, and embezzles money from his Earl.’

‘No!’ objected Chaloner, appalled. ‘Bulteel is the most honest man in White Hall — more honest than you, because he does not pretend to be virtuous while he breaks the law.’

Haddon abandoned his chemistry, and strode forward to strike the spy. ‘How dare you judge me!’

‘So much for no suspicious marks,’ muttered Payne, a little resentfully.

‘And you can hold your tongue, too,’ snapped Haddon, rounding on him. ‘You have no business gossiping when I told you we need to hurry. Do you want to be caught?’

‘We will not be caught,’ said Payne confidently. ‘Not when we have you to guide us. The best thing I ever did was swear that oath to you. You have led us down this glorious path-’

‘We all swore it,’ interrupted one of the soldiers, although he did not look entirely happy. ‘We pledged to live righteous lives, and signed a pact in our own blood. But-’

‘You swore to him ?’ Chaloner’s thoughts whirled as he stared at Haddon. ‘Thurloe said Scobel was fat and bearded, but sickness can waste a man, while beards can be shaved. You did not die … Margaret Symons saw you! She said her uncle stood by her bed, but we thought she was delirious.’

‘She and my nephew nursed me back to health three years ago,’ replied Haddon. He did not seem disconcerted that Chaloner had guessed his real identity — and why should he? The spy was in no position to tell anyone. ‘And then I watched my so-called friends slide from the promises they had made. It has taken me all this time to decide to put an end to their sinfulness, but I wanted to give them every chance to reform.’

‘It was futile thinking they would,’ put in Payne. ‘As I have told you before.’

‘Symons should have inherited a fortune from you,’ said Chaloner, speaking more quickly when he saw Haddon — he could not think of him as Scobel — inspect the contents of the cup, and give a satisfied nod. ‘But he did not, because you were alive and still needed it.’

‘It has all gone now. I enjoy working for the Earl, though. He is impatient, condescending and opinionated, but good at heart. And he likes dogs.’

‘So did Scobel,’ Chaloner recalled. ‘One howled over his grave, apparently.’

‘The coffin was stuffed with my clothes, and the poor beast was deceived. Payne killed the man who shot her.’ Haddon gave the cup one last stir, then picked it up.

‘I am not comfortable with this,’ said Doling uneasily. ‘Killing wicked men is one thing, but-’

‘We cannot let him jeopardise our work,’ said Haddon. ‘And I have a plan that will ensure no questions are asked. Greene will kill him, then swallow the rest of the poison in a fit of remorse. The case will be closed, and I shall advise the Earl that nothing will be gained by further investigation.’

‘What?’ asked Greene in horror, as two soldiers stepped forward to hold him.

‘I told you they could not be trusted,’ said Chaloner.

Greene struggled instinctively when he was grabbed, but it was not long before the gloomy, resigned expression was back in his eyes. He went limp in his captors’ arms. Chaloner tried to capitalise on the diversion by breaking free, but Payne subdued him with several vicious punches that made his head spin, ignoring Haddon’s protestations about suspicious marks. The spy had been in many difficult situations during his eventful life, but this was by far one of the most serious — he could not see any way to help himself, no matter how hard he tried to force his sluggish mind to work.

‘Drink the wine,’ ordered Payne, taking the cup from Haddon and holding it out to Greene.

‘Refuse,’ countered Chaloner. His voice sounded thick and slurred to his own ears. ‘Do not make it easy for them — they promised you passage to the New World, but they repay you with death.’

‘Perhaps it is for the best,’ said Greene flatly. ‘I never was easy with the notion of killing, even for God. And working for Lady Castlemaine made me feel … tainted.’

‘You are tainted,’ said Haddon softly. ‘But if you take your own life, God will forgive you. Drink. It will soon be over.’

Greene indicated the soldiers were to release one of his hands, then he took the cup and held it to his lips. He hesitated for a moment, then tipped it back and swallowed. Chaloner watched in disbelief — he had expected the man to put up at least a modicum of self-defence. After a moment, the clerk doubled over and started to retch. Chaloner began to struggle again when Payne walked towards him, and succeeded in knocking the cup with his chin, so some of its contents slopped to the floor.

‘Hold him still,’ Payne snarled.

Chaloner summoned the last of his strength and fought, writhing and twisting with all his might, knowing resistance was his only chance of life. More poison spilled, and in frustration, Payne pushed his dagger against the spy’s throat. There was a sharp pain, but Chaloner knew it was a victory, because it was yet another mark Wiseman would question. More men came to pin him down. He managed to bite one and butt another in the face with his forehead. Curses filled the air.

‘It will taste of brandywine,’ snapped Haddon, becoming angry when he saw the length of time it was taking. ‘Do not make such a fuss.’

‘I do not like this,’ said Doling, backing away from the fracas suddenly. ‘I swore to fight evil, not to dispatch honest men for doing their duty.’

‘We have no choice,’ said Haddon impatiently. ‘Do you want to hang for murder? No? Then help Payne restrain him. The longer you let him keep us here, the greater are our chances of discovery.’

Liquid splashed on Chaloner’s cheek as the cup was lowered towards him, and he imagined he could feel it corroding his skin. He resisted with every fibre of his being, but his strength was spent, and Payne now gripped him so hard that he could barely breathe. His vision began to darken.

‘No,’ ordered Doling. ‘That is enough. Let him go.’

Chaloner was astonished when the soldiers promptly stepped away. Unfortunately, Payne did not follow their example: he responded by tightening his hold further still, and the spy found he was too weak to break loose. Worse, he could not breathe at all, and it occurred to him that suffocation was just as effective a way to kill as poison. Payne was about to do his master’s bidding without the toxin coming anywhere near him.