The Medieval Murderers: House of Shadows

Flattered, Margaret’s eyes twinkled as she walked to a table and poured wine into two exquisite silver cups. ‘Well, someone had to do it.’

‘I thought Hay was a dangerous dissident, but all he is doing is cheating the Treasury.’

Margaret wagged a finger at him. ‘It is still treason, and the government is partial to money.’

‘Your grandson cannot know what you are doing. He believes in Hay’s cause.’

‘And that is what has allowed me to maintain my cover all this time. Hay assumes I will never do anything to betray the “rebels”, because my grandson is a fervent member of his cabal. However, I have an arrangement with the government, and a pardon was written long ago. After all, I cannot spy without my foolish kinsman’s “assistance”, so it is only fair that he should be spared.’

‘You said you lease your house to government ministers who want to assassinate old Cromwellians too. Do you?’

She nodded with a smile. ‘Overzealous supporters can be just as dangerous as enemies, as you doubtless know. Do not pretend you do not understand what I am talking about. I recognize a fellow spy when I see one – just as you did with me. Why do you think I rescued you from Parr?’

‘He will scour the house until he finds me, and if I am discovered here he will know you helped.’

‘I do not think we should worry about that.’ She sank in a chair with a sigh of contentment and gestured that he should sit opposite. ‘You see, a week ago Spymaster Williamson decided that Hay’s next meeting should be his last – mostly because Parr is growing too dangerous. That vile fanatic has encouraged Hay to purchase muskets and gunpowder, which takes the “rebellion” to a completely new level. I sent Williamson a message to tell him the time of the gathering, and I am expecting him and his men at any moment.’

‘Unfortunately, Hay found it. Hidden in the cellar wall.’

She laughed. ‘Credit me with some cunning, boy! I sent Williamson several notes, but the letter in the wall is actually the story of Bermondsey’s ghosts, as Hay will discover when he decodes it. It will give him something to read when he is in prison, and perhaps he will blame them for his misfortune.’

‘If Williamson is coming, then I have done you a disservice, ma’am. My actions ended the meeting sooner than expected, and some of the conspirators will have escaped before he arrives.’

Margaret grinned, rather diabolically. ‘But I am quite fond of some, and do not want them imprisoned – or worse. Williamson will catch Hay and Parr, and they are the ringleaders. I am happy at the way matters have been resolved, though Williamson will be less pleased, I imagine. Perhaps we should not tell him your role in the affair – he can be a bit vengeful when his plans are foiled, and we do not want him thinking you did it on purpose.’

‘No,’ agreed Chaloner fervently. ‘We do not.’

The unveiling of a wicked plot at Bermondsey House was written up with glee in the newsbooks and gossiped about in every tavern. Chaloner was startled to read that its ringleader was the Rector of Bermondsey, who had hanged himself before the spymaster’s troops could catch him. There was no mention of Hay’s involvement, though Chaloner did hear a few weeks later that the Hay’s Wharf Company had offered to finance the building of new offices for the Treasury Department – the old ones, he said, were terribly cramped for the poor auditors. Despite public interest, most of the conspirators were never named. The following year, however, several wealthy Bermondsey merchants admitted to substantial losses on their annual profits.

Chaloner met Hannah at Jamaica House and told her all he had learned about Browne’s murder. She listened carefully to his explanation, then nodded her acceptance of it. She was distressed to learn about the dislike her husband had engendered among his crew but vehemently denied that he would have cheated Walduck over prize money. Chaloner knew she was right, and he supposed Walduck had allowed hatred to blind him when he had grabbed the stone and brought it down on his captain’s head.

‘So justice was done when Walduck was hanged,’ concluded Chaloner. ‘He thought he could convince people that your husband’s death was an accident due to falling masonry, but no one believed him. And those who did believe him – you and York – misjudged him. In desperation, he claimed he was in his cups, because he thought there was a chance that drunkenness might grant him a reprieve. He was wrong.’

‘He was wrong,’ echoed Hannah softly. She took his hand in hers. ‘Thank you, Thomas. And now I have something to tell you. Captain York has asked me to marry him, and I have accepted his offer for my children’s sake – I cannot let them starve, and we have no money of our own. He says he feels guilty about what happened to John and wants to make amends.’

‘I see,’ said Chaloner noncommittally, supposing that the offer of marriage did not also come with a confession of York’s role in losing the Browne family fortune.

Hannah was lost in her own thoughts. ‘He is not John, but he will suffice. Besides, he will be at sea most of the time.’

Chaloner hoped so, for both their sakes.

The following week he went to visit Margaret Castell. In recognition of her services to the king, she had been rewarded with a fine house near Winchester Palace. Further, her grandson’s debts had been paid in full, on condition that he joined the navy. He had recovered from his ‘accident’ and was serving under York aboard Rosebush , where the captain taught him the proper way to load guns. Unhappily, York’s attempts to educate his new lieutenant were wasted, because a few months later he drank too much dinner wine and fell off the back of the ship. His body was never recovered.

‘Everything worked out very well,’ said Margaret, walking with Chaloner in her new arbour. It was a fine summer day, not too hot, and the garden was pleasantly shady. ‘Spymaster Williamson was annoyed not to catch a few merchants red-handed, but they were my friends, and I am grateful to you for precipitating their escape. I could not have managed that alone.’

‘Right,’ said Chaloner uneasily, hoping she had kept her word and left Williamson in ignorance about the role played by the Lord Chancellor’s spy.

She read his thoughts. ‘Do not worry – your secret will go with me to the grave. Williamson is not a man you want as an enemy – and not one I want, either, which is why I elected to accept this house and retire from intelligence work. He is too devious for his own good, and I no longer wish to work for him.’

Chaloner agreed with her assessment, but was not so rash as to denigrate one of the government’s most powerful officials to a woman he barely knew. ‘I am surprised Hay did not reveal your friends’ identities when Williamson questioned him,’ he said instead. ‘He did not seem the kind of man to sacrifice himself to protect others.’

‘He did betray them,’ said Margaret. ‘Of course he did – apparently Williamson’s clerks were hard-pressed to write fast enough once he started to bleat. But there was plenty of time for me to visit my friends first and tell them the best way to extricate themselves from their predicament.’

Chaloner regarded her askance. ‘What did you suggest they do?’

‘Offer Williamson a percentage of their back taxes,’ she replied with a grin. ‘He is as corrupt as the next man where large sums of money are concerned.’

Chaloner started to say he did not believe her, but realized he was being naive. They were talking about the government, after all, an organization in which money spoke louder than justice or truth. ‘What about Parr?’ he asked instead. ‘Did he really commit suicide?’