‘A while. And do not ask why I did not tell you before – you who has kept secrets from me for years. I am surprised you did not notice, anyway.’
He inspected her critically. ‘You do not look any bigger. Are you sure …?’
‘Of course,’ she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘I am a woman.’
‘You cannot refuse to marry me now. We will name our daughter after you. Meg.’
‘Meg what? Meg Heyden? Or shall we just say Meg de Haas, because then we can be sure it is right? Please tell me your name, Tom. Your real name? I do not like this secrecy between us.’
‘I cannot. It has nothing to do with trust, and I will tell you, I promise. Just not now.’
‘Why not now?’
‘Because it is not safe – not for you or for my family. When the time is right, I shall take you to meet them, and then you will see there is nothing sinister or unpleasant about them. Please trust me.’
‘I shall try,’ she said, although there was a deep unhappiness in her eyes. ‘For Meg’s sake.’
While Metje greeted the prospect of a child with mixed emotions, Chaloner did not. He was delighted, and found it difficult to concentrate on anything else. It was Christmas Eve, and although some of the more strict Puritan families still ignored the merry preparations that were taking place around them, it was generally a time for celebration and relaxation. Green boughs appeared in the most unlikely of places, and people bedecked their churches with candles and wreaths. The scent of roasting chestnuts, spiced wine and other seasonal favourites filled the air, and Chaloner wished he had money to buy some for Metje. Feeling he should do something to mark the occasion, he took his much-read copy of Farnaby’s Rhetoric to Cripplegate, where Leybourn had his shop, as soon as it was light.
There were dozens of booksellers in London, but Chaloner knew why he was drawn to the one run by the Leybourns. When Robert had first challenged him, he had regarded the duel as more nuisance than cause for concern, confident in his superior skills. But Metje’s news had changed all that, and he found he did not want to meet Robert’s sword at dawn the following day. The chances were that he would win, but supposing he did not? What would happen to Metje without a provider? Would North take pity on an unwed mother and continue to employ her? Chaloner did not think so: it would suggest his household condoned sin, and even if North and Temperance were moved to compassion, Faith would pressure them to reconsider. Metje would be doomed to poverty.
Leybourn’s house smelled of paper, ink and the leather used to bind books after they were printed. It was an agreeable aroma, and the shop was the kind of place Chaloner loved, with closely packed shelves and treasures at every turn. It was busy, because several graves in St Giles without Cripplegate – the land had been sold for a new building – had been opened the hour before dawn, and the public had been invited to watch. The exhumation over, folk gravitated towards the nearby shops to escape a sudden downpour, and Chaloner saw a number of familiar faces, including Downing and the Daltons. He glanced out into the street, wondering whether Snow was nearby, but could not see him anywhere.
Since Robert did not seem to be at work that morning, Chaloner decided it was safe to wait inside the shop until his brother was free to talk. He had just taken down a copy of Boyle’s New Experiments with which to pass the time when Sarah sidled up to him.
‘Snow seems to have given up on me. I have not seen him since you so gallantly deceived him on my behalf. I told my brother what you did, and he is very grateful.’
Chaloner was unmoved. ‘Did you tell anyone I was going to meet Ingoldsby yesterday?’
She seemed taken aback by the question. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You were listening outside Thurloe’s door as I confided my plan to see Ingoldsby. When I arrived at his house, someone was waiting with a sword.’
She gazed at him coolly. ‘And you think it was my fault? Kelyng and his minions have tried to kill you once already, so have you considered the possibility that they are responsible?’
‘Snow could never have ridden such a spirited horse, although I suppose Bennet might. But I do not think it was an opportunistic attack: I think it was premeditated.’
‘But not by me. Besides, I could not hear what you and John were saying – I tried, but your voices were too low. Why would I harm you, anyway? You rescued me on Wednesday, and John would be upset if you came to grief. He likes you very much.’
Given that Thurloe had deceived him and devised tests to probe his integrity, Chaloner suspected Thurloe’s affection was not as deep as she seemed to think.
‘Perhaps John mentioned your plans to someone else – innocently,’ she went on when he did not reply. ‘He came to see my husband, and several other men happened to be there – Downing, Lord Mayor Robinson, Samuel Pepys of the Navy Office, Thomas Wade, Sir Thomas Clifford, Robert Leybourn. It was Leybourn who told us about the grave-opening and suggested we should come. Saturdays are dull, so it was a welcome diversion.’
Chaloner regarded her in distaste. ‘Was it?’
‘Skeletons are fascinating, although I think most people came because they hoped the coffins might contain a few Parliamentarian hoards. There was a definite surge forward as the lids came off – folk readying themselves to make a grab.’
Dalton reached them before Chaloner could turn the discussion back to Ingoldsby, waving his citrus-scented handkerchief. The rings under his eyes were black as he shot Chaloner a bleak smile. ‘Come to see me next week, Heyden. I have several documents ready for translation.’
He spoke in a whisper, and Chaloner understood why when he saw Downing not far away. The diplomat scowled as the Daltons left the shop, and came to take Chaloner’s arm in a pinch that was firm enough to make the agent reach for his dagger.
‘Do not work for him,’ grated Downing, releasing Chaloner abruptly when he saw the weapon start to emerge. ‘He does not seem entirely sane these days.’
‘I thought he was a member of the Brotherhood, and therefore beyond reproach.’
‘Do not be facetious. You think you can hide behind Thurloe’s skirts, but his star is fading fast and you may soon find yourself alone.’
‘What do you mean?’ It sounded like a threat on Thurloe’s life.
‘Just what I say: without Thurloe, you are nothing. Have you secured employment yet?’
‘With Dalton,’ replied Chaloner, hoping to annoy him.
Downing’s eyes narrowed, and he changed the subject to disguise his irritation. ‘Has Thurloe asked you to look into anything of late? I know you have spent time with him.’
Chaloner was surprised he should expect an answer to such a question. ‘We discuss pheasants.’
Downing regarded him in confusion. ‘Pheasants?’
‘He plans to build a volary in Lincoln’s Inn.’
Downing regarded him coldly. ‘There is a rumour that you spy for the Dutch – you speak their language, and I did not know half of what you got up to in The Hague. I may have to speak in your defence one day, so do not rile me. Once you have earned my dislike, you may never be rid of it.’
Chaloner was puzzled. ‘Why should I be the subject of rumours? No one here knows me.’
‘But you regularly visit Thurloe and the Earl of Clarendon,’ replied Downing. ‘And that interests all manner of folk. Remember: you do not have to have committed a crime to be taken to the Tower.’