Susanna Gregory - The Butcher Of Smithfield

‘Most people ignore L’Estrange’s pitiful excuse for editorials and only read the advertisements. For example, last Monday’s Intelligencer told me that one Captain Hammond was deprived of a dappled grey gelding near Clapham. Now that is interesting.’

‘It is?’ Chaloner wondered if Leybourn was being facetious.

‘Yes, for two reasons. First, it tells me Hammond is in town, which is good to know, because he owes me money. And secondly, I am now aware that I must commiserate with him when we meet. There is a great yearning for news these days, you see — it is a lucrative and booming business.’

‘Is it?’

‘Oh, yes. These last few months have witnessed a burning desire to know what is happening at home and overseas. Of course, if you want real news, you must subscribe to Muddiman’s weekly letters.’ Leybourn tapped the handwritten sheet in front of Chaloner with a bony forefinger. ‘He is a professional journalist, not a pamphleteer like L’Estrange, and so can be trusted to tell the truth.’

‘You cannot trust L’Estrange?’

‘Of course not! He is the government’s mouthpiece, and only fools believe anything they say. But suppressing the news is not his only talent. It is his job to censor — which he thinks means “macerate” — every book published, too. You should see what he did to my pamphlet on surveying.’

Chaloner wondered what Leybourn could have written that was controversial; surveying was hardly a subject that would have insurgents champing at the bit. ‘What did you do? Tell your readers how to build palaces that will collapse and crush unpopular courtiers?’

‘It was almost entirely given over to technical calculations, and needed no editing from an amateur. But edit L’Estrange did, and the result was an incomprehensible jumble that made me look like a half-wit. And I am not the only one to suffer. There were six hundred booksellers in London a couple of years ago, but he fined so many of them for breaking his silly rules, that there are only fifty of us left. His vicious tactics have put many good men in debtors’ prison.’

‘He is unpopular, then,’ said Chaloner, recalling how it was Newburne’s task to report wayward booksellers to L’Estrange. It doubtless meant the solicitor — or ‘minion’ in the Lord Chancellor’s words — was held in equal contempt.

‘Very. He has gone into business with a fellow called Brome — using Brome’s shop as a base for his vile activities. Decent man, Brome, although inclined to be spineless. I cannot imagine he is pleased with the arrangement.’

‘He cannot mind that much, or he would tell L’Estrange to leave.’

Leybourn snorted derisive laughter. ‘If he did, it would be his last act on Earth. Oh, I am sure Brome is making a pretty penny from L’Estrange, but he will not be happy about it. Money is not everything, after all. There is principle to consider.’

‘You seem to know a lot about the situation.’

‘People talk and I am a good listener. Why all these questions, Tom? I know one of L’Estrange’s toadies — a fellow called Newburne — met an untimely end last week, but I hope you have not been charged to investigate his demise.’

‘Why should you wish that?’

‘Because no one was sorry when he died, and if he was murdered, then there will be a lot of men eager to shake the killer’s hand. You do not want to be embroiled in that sort of thing.’

Leybourn’s chatter had unsettled Chaloner, and it brought home yet again the fact that the Lord Chancellor was not a good master. Clarendon must have known about L’Estrange’s unpopularity, but had not bothered to mention it. The spy wondered whether his initial suspicion had been correct: that the Earl was deliberately sending him into a dangerous situation to teach him a lesson for ‘abandoning’ him.

‘We have not had a dry day since June,’ grumbled Leybourn, glancing at the sky as they left the Rhenish Wine House. ‘Will you walk to the Westminster Stairs with me, to see the river?’

Chaloner regarded him askance. ‘What for?’

‘It is the thing Londoners do these days. We have been near catastrophic flood so often, that we have all taken to gazing at Father Thames in our spare moments, to assess his malevolence.’

It was not far, and Chaloner and Leybourn were not the only people to stand along the wharf. The tide was going out, and the water was stained muddy brown from the silt that had been washed into it upstream. They watched a skiff struggling against the current, but not even the encouraging cheers from the Westminster Stairs could give the oarsman the strength he needed to reach the pier, and it was not long before he gave up and allowed himself to be swept back towards the City. His fare would be obliged to walk or take a carriage to his final destination.

Leybourn sniffed at the air. ‘Can you smell cakes? There is a baker’s boy. Would you like some knot biscuits? I shall pay, as Bulteel tells me you are no longer on the Earl’s payroll.’

Chaloner sincerely hoped Bulteel was wrong. ‘When did he tell you that?’

‘When you first disappeared, and he was describing the Earl’s fury that you had accepted a commission from another master. Do you want to borrow a few shillings? You are welcome, but please do not mention it to Mary. She does not approve of me lending money, not even to friends.’

Chaloner waved away the proffered purse. ‘Mary?’

Leybourn grinned. ‘My wife. I am the happiest man alive.’

‘You are married? Why did you not tell me at once, instead of gibbering on about newsbooks and flooded rivers?’

‘I was waiting for the right moment.’ Leybourn’s expression was dreamy. ‘I have been wanting a wife for years, because I like the notion of permanent female companionship. Then, last July, Mary visited my shop, and it was love at first sight — for both of us.’

Chaloner was delighted for his friend, not least because Leybourn’s idea of charming a lady entailed regaling her with complex scientific formulae, thus giving her an unnerving insight into how she might be expected to spend her evenings as a married woman. Few risked a second encounter, and Chaloner had assumed that Leybourn was one of those men doomed to perpetual bachelorhood. ‘When can I meet her?’

‘I had better warn her first,’ said Leybourn mysteriously. ‘But you must promise to be nice.’

Chaloner regarded him in surprise; his manners were naturally affable, and most people liked him when they first met, even if his work meant they later revised their opinion. ‘I am always nice.’

‘On the surface perhaps, but you are often sullen and sharp. However, I do not want you to be so personable that she wishes she was with you instead of me. You can aim for something in between — pleasant, but no playing the Adonis.’

‘I shall do my best,’ said Chaloner, somewhat bemused by the instructions. He changed the subject before he felt compelled to ask why Leybourn should be worried about his wife’s fidelity at such an early stage in their relationship. ‘Can you tell me anything more about Newburne?’

Leybourn sighed. ‘So, the Earl did order you to investigate that particular death. I thought as much when you started to quiz me about L’Estrange and the world of publishing. It is not fair: you are almost certain to get into trouble, given the fact that everyone despised Newburne.’

‘Why was he so hated?’

‘Partly because of his work for L’Estrange, and partly because he was so dishonest. A dangerous gang called the Hectors controls Smithfield, and he was its legal advisor. Combined, they made him rich — so much so that he was able to buy a fine house on Old Jewry. He was also accused of being a papist, because he never attended church, but then it was discovered that he missed his Sunday devotions because he was too drunk to get out of bed. Have you never heard the injunction, “Arise, Tom Newburne”?’