Susanna Gregory - The Butcher Of Smithfield

‘Mary set an explosion,’ said Chaloner hoarsely, thinking for one horrible moment that Leybourn might assume he was responsible. ‘She and her friends threw themselves to the floor to avoid the blast, leaving us sitting like ducks on a pond.’

‘I know,’ said Leybourn brokenly. ‘It took the near-demolition of my home and a close brush with death, but my eyes are open now. I struggled to keep them closed too long, and look what it brought.’

Chaloner was not sure what to say, so resorted to a practical analysis of what had happened. ‘Unfortunately, she miscalculated the amount of gunpowder needed, and she used too much.’

‘She added nails to her mixture,’ said Leybourn, shuddering when he saw what they had done to Crisp. ‘She must really have hated me.’

‘She did not hate you. She just wanted your money.’

Leybourn was not listening to him. ‘She would have killed you, too, if you had followed her orders and stood by the hearth.’

‘I should have known,’ said Chaloner, angry with himself. ‘There were slops under the stairs — not left for slovenliness, as I assumed, but because they are a component of gunpowder. She made her own, so no purchase of the stuff could be traced back to her. That is why she miscalculated. Powder is always unpredictable, but it is even more so when an amateur manufactures it.’

‘What was she thinking of? Crisp is dead, and so are some of his Hectors. Surely, that cannot have been what she intended?’

‘I suspect it was exactly what she intended. The explosives were in the pot over the fire, and Crisp was positioned to bear the brunt of it when it went up. So were you. I imagine she planned to have you blamed for Crisp’s death — you invited him to dinner for the express purpose of assassination. And to be doubly sure of success, she included poisonous cucumbers in her feast, too.’

Leybourn gazed blankly at him. ‘Why would she want Crisp assassinated?’

‘Because that is not Crisp.’ Chaloner put his fingers in his ears and shook his head in an attempt to stop them ringing. He saw Leybourn’s bemusement, and tried to explain. ‘That is to say he is Crisp, but he is not the underworld king. I have seen the Butcher of Smithfield walking about twice now, and this Crisp is too short to be him — and nor would he have the agile, soft-footed gait of the man I saw.’

‘I confess I was surprised when Mary introduced us. I knew he was Crisp, because I met him years ago, but the more we spoke, the more I thought that little fellow could never have ruled Smithfield.’

‘Someone took his identity and turned him into something he is not. Also, Crisp claimed he did not like music, but the horse stealing is based entirely on music. He would not have made that comment, had he been the real Butcher.’

Leybourn still looked as though he had no idea what Chaloner was talking about, and it was a testament to his shock that he looked as though he did not care, either. ‘So, who is the Butcher? One of the Hectors, who rose through the ranks and decided to succeed to the whole operation?’

‘I imagine we will find out when this Crisp is declared dead, and his successor steps forward to take his place.’

‘But who?’ pressed Leybourn. ‘Ireton is a cunning fellow; Kirby is stupid but strong.’

Ireton’s position against the far wall had allowed him to flee the carnage, and Chaloner wondered whether he had gone to rally his forces — perhaps to march on Leybourn’s house and accuse him or murder. If so, then he would be doing it without help from Mary. She had left herself too close to the blast, and Chaloner had seen enough battlefield wounds to know she was unlikely to survive. He knelt next to her, but could tell from her eyes that she had been blinded by the flash, and could not see him.

‘Crisp said only people near the fire would die,’ she whispered. She sounded indignant. ‘He lied.’

Chaloner regarded her askance. ‘Crisp told you how to kill him?’

Her expression hardened. ‘Go away, Heyden. Why did you have to survive? You should be dead, along with your pathetic friend.’

Chaloner glanced at Leybourn, but the surveyor was wandering around the remains of his kitchen, and was not listening. He showed no inclination to be at his lover’s side during her last moments.

‘Crisp told you how to kill him?’ Chaloner asked again.

She smiled, and there was blood on her teeth. ‘You want to talk? Very well. He did not tell us how to kill him — he told us how to make powder and set an explosion that would only kill selected victims. He was fond of theories, but he was not a practical man.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ Chaloner knew why she was deigning to speak to him: she was hoping to keep him occupied until one of her cronies rallied, at which point he would be killed. Because she could not see, she did not know her accomplices were either dead or had fled.

‘We picked that pathetic, grinning little man — Ellis Crisp — and we built a legend around him. It worked for a while, but it is becoming difficult to maintain the illusion, and the real Butcher wants to claim the kingdom he has forged. So, we decided to kill Crisp in a spectacular way — one in keeping with the flamboyant character we have created for him. And as there are a few Hectors I dislike, I decided to get rid of them, too, as well as our surveyor friend.’

‘How did you keep the real Crisp from the public eye? Lock him in a dungeon with plenty of books?’

‘In a country house, visited only by his father.’

‘Who is Crisp’s successor?’

‘Someone who will make us rich. We communicate by music, but we have never met. We shall call him Crisp when he takes his throne. The creature I killed tonight does not deserve the name.’ She shifted slightly and blinked, trying to see how much longer she needed to talk.

‘Will you tell me about the horses?’

She swallowed. ‘Some we returned for the reward; some we sold. It was all carefully planned, so no one would be suspicious. And no one is. Everything is working perfectly. Newburne tried to take more than his due, but he learned what happens to disloyal people. He was quietly poisoned.’

‘Like your husband — Valentine Pettis? And Colonel Beauclair? And James Hickes?’

‘Hickes was getting too inquisitive, and he acquired some of our music from Finch. Meanwhile, Val tried to do business at Crisp’s expense, and I never cared for him anyway. I wanted to marry Jonas — and I did. Why do you think I could not wed William?’

Chaloner was bemused. ‘Murder, theft and extortion are all right, but bigamy is not?’

‘It would have meant lying in church, and I have my scruples.’ She blinked again, still trying to clear her vision. ‘The Butcher is a genius, so do not think you can defeat him.’

‘And the horses?’

‘Beauclair returned home unexpectedly when we went to steal his stallion, so Ireton made him eat lozenges. We took his body to White Hall in a sedan-chair. The carriers promised to keep quiet, but who takes unnecessary risks? They were given lozenges, too. The Butcher ordered us to leave cucumbers with them all, so their deaths would be deemed natural. He has a talent for deception.’

‘He certainly does,’ agreed Chaloner. ‘Where is he now? I would like to meet him.’

Her hissing laugh was distinctly malevolent. ‘Oh, you will, Heyden. You will.’

People had been awoken by the explosion, and were massing outside. The parish constable arrived, but promptly disappeared when he saw several of the victims were Hectors, and so did some of the onlookers. Then soldiers came, and placed everyone under arrest until they were satisfied with the stories they were being told. The government did not like gunpowder in the hands of private citizens, being of the belief that its only use was for armed rebellion. Chaloner chafed at the ponderous questions put by a thickset sergeant. Every moment spent repeating himself was another moment for Crisp to assume his mantle of power, and Chaloner had the sense that unless he struck before the man was fully enthroned, he might never have another chance.