Susanna Gregory - The Butcher Of Smithfield

‘Thomas!’ exclaimed Thurloe, standing from his fireside chair when they entered. He was a slightly built man, with large blue eyes and a sharp lawyer’s mind. ‘I expected you home weeks ago and was beginning to worry. What kept you?’

‘The situation transpired to be more complex than I thought,’ replied Chaloner vaguely. He did not want to talk about Iberia when he could be soliciting information about Maylord and Newburne.

‘Well, I am pleased to see you safe,’ said Thurloe, gesturing for his guests to sit near the fire. The room smelled of wood-smoke, wax polish and something pungent and sweet. It put Chaloner in mind of Isabella, and he realised the scent was that of oranges. He glanced at the table, and saw some peel, left from the ex-Spymaster’s dinner.

‘Vienna is a very dangerous city,’ said Leybourn, still fishing. ‘The war with the Turks is growing ever more serious, if you can believe the newsbooks.’

‘ Can you believe the newsbooks?’ asked Thurloe, deftly diverting the surveyor’s attention. He understood his former spy’s reluctance to talk about his travels, and would never quiz him about them.

‘Not the ones by L’Estrange,’ said Leybourn. ‘That man would not know the truth if it bit him.’

Chaloner outlined his latest commission from the Earl, while Thurloe listened without interruption. When he had finished, the ex-Spymaster steepled his fingers and looked thoughtful.

‘Did William confide details of his recent quarrel with L’Estrange?’ he asked.

Chaloner regarded Leybourn with a puzzled frown. ‘What quarrel?’

‘I would rather not discuss it,’ replied Leybourn stiffly. ‘It is still a sore subject, and will put me in a sour mood for the rest of the day.’

‘Thomas knows virtually nothing of London life.’ Thurloe silenced Chaloner’s indignant objection with a flash of his blue eyes. ‘And your experience mirrors that of many other booksellers, William, so you must tell him what the Earl’s commission might lead him into. A sour mood is a small price to pay for providing a friend with information that might keep him safe.’

‘If you put it like that …’ Leybourn turned to Chaloner. ‘I told you L’Estrange fines booksellers for hawking unlicensed tomes. Well, I was one of his victims — to the tune of six pounds.’

It was a lot of money. ‘Did you write something seditious?’

‘Of course not,’ snapped Leybourn angrily. ‘The tome in question is the fourth edition of Gunter’s Works , with diligent amendments and enlargements by me. It is an exciting publication, as you will no doubt be aware, but it is about mathematics and surveying, not politics.’

‘Why did he fine you, then?’

‘No book can be printed or sold without a licence from L’Estrange. And I made the mistake of selling one of my copies a day — a single, measly day — before the license was in force.’

‘How did he find that out?’

‘Because of Newburne. L’Estrange paid him to spy on the bookshops. I did not even see him lurking behind my shelves when I offered Captain Hammond an advance copy of Gunter’s Works — not until he emerged with that gloating smile of his. So, now do you understand why there are so many men who will be pleased to see Newburne dead? I am just one of hundreds who have been unfairly persecuted.’

‘Why did you not tell me sooner?’ asked Chaloner, trying not to sound accusing.

‘For two reasons. First, because the subject pains me, as I have said. And secondly, because I do not want to head your list of suspects. It would not be the first time you have had me in your sights as the perpetrator of a serious crime.’

‘That was before I knew you properly.’

The statement coaxed a reluctant smile from the surveyor. ‘Well, your confidence is justified, because I did not kill Newburne. However, I might stick a dagger in L’Estrange if the occasion arises, so do not be too ready to see me as a feeble fellow who cowers away from bullies.’

‘Let us hope your paths never cross, then,’ said Thurloe mildly.

Leybourn glared. ‘Let us hope they do ! Mary says my good nature allows unscrupulous men to take advantage of me, so I have decided to be a bit more ruthless in future. The soft-hearted, gullible Leybourn will be no more, and I shall be a new man.’

‘But I like the soft-hearted, gullible Leybourn,’ objected Chaloner. ‘And I am not so sure about the new man — the one who wants me to burgle instrument-makers and set fire to St Paul’s Cathedral.’

‘Mary likes me a tad disreputable,’ said Leybourn with a lopsided grin. ‘And I aim to please her.’

‘I am sure she does,’ muttered Thurloe disparagingly. He turned to Chaloner before Leybourn could respond. ‘I wish the Earl had not given you this particular assignment, Tom. It is too dangerous for a man working alone, and it is Williamson’s business, anyway. He will not appreciate you meddling.’

‘Especially you,’ added Leybourn. ‘You have earned his dislike on several occasions.’

‘When I first sent you to the Earl, he promised to use you wisely,’ Thurloe went on. ‘He knows we are friends, and that I will be vexed if anything happens to you. And he did not want me vexed, not when — as Cromwell’s spymaster — I know so many secrets about prominent Royalists. Unfortunately, times have changed. It is the gardens, you see. They showed me to be weak.’

‘I do not understand,’ said Chaloner. ‘What do the gardens have to do with anything?’

‘I did not want them remodelled, but was unable to stop it — in essence, I lost a very public battle, which allowed everyone to see how my power has waned. People are no longer wary of me.’

Chaloner was alarmed. ‘You mean you are not safe? Then you should retire to your estates in Oxfordshire, and-’

Thurloe raised his hand. ‘There are plenty of men who want me dead for my faithful service to Cromwell, and nothing has changed there. The current danger is to you , Tom. The Earl is no longer afraid of me, which means he may be careless in his use of you.’

‘Leave him,’ advised Leybourn, ‘while you can.’

‘And do what?’ asked Chaloner. ‘I cannot foist myself on my family, because they cannot afford to keep me, and I am not qualified for any other work.’

‘I am sure they would prefer a living scavenger to a dead workhorse,’ said Leybourn. ‘Go home to Buckinghamshire before the Earl’s commission lands you in danger. Newburne’s killer will not give himself up easily, and you have no idea what you are facing.’

When a bell began to chime, Thurloe said he was due to attend a benchers’ meeting in the chapel. Chaloner and Leybourn escorted him across the courtyard, but he was early, so they lingered together in the undercroft — an open crypt that had been designed to allow students to congregate and discuss complex cases, and where lawyers could confer with their clients. It was empty that day, because a rainswept cloister was not a place most men wanted to linger, and the lawyers were keeping to their rooms until the last possible moment.

‘Do you know a man called William Smegergill?’ Chaloner asked the ex-Spymaster.

Thurloe’s expression became thoughtful. ‘Smegergill was Maylord’s friend. Maylord died of cucumbers, and so did Newburne, so I suspect you are looking for a connection. Am I right?’

‘Newburne might have died from ingesting cucumbers, but Maylord certainly did not. He was smothered, and the cucumber left to disguise the fact. It seems to have worked, because no one else seems to be suspicious about his death.’

Leybourn gazed angrily at the spy. ‘You told me none of this — and you might have done, given that I went to some trouble to cause a diversion for you in St Margaret’s Church. What is it with you and secrets? I am getting a bit tired of them, if you want the truth.’