He turned and stalked away, leaving Chaloner wondering why Downing should care what he did. Was it simple jealousy – he did not want a rival to have a Dutch translator? Or was he regretting his exposure of the Brotherhood, and had decided his unwilling confidant represented too great a risk? Eventually, Chaloner was able to corner Leybourn. The bookseller greeted him warily.
‘Shall we talk about turkeys?’ asked Chaloner pleasantly. ‘You told Kelyng I own one.’
Leybourn nodded, but there was no sign of his customary grin. ‘It saved your life. He and Bennet were stealing more of my books in the King’s name, and Bennet was making a strong case for dispatching a shorthaired, limping enemy. It was obvious he referred to you. He had virtually convinced Kelyng of his point of view when I casually informed my brother about your turkey. Kelyng likes birds, and when he overheard my idle chatter, he forbade Bennet to touch you.’
‘Why should you help me?’
Leybourn grimaced. ‘It was before you goaded Rob into a duel, or I would not have been so solicitous. But I have told you why: you and I both despise Kelyng. Is that why you came? To question my motives in doing you a favour?’
Chaloner handed him the book, feeling a pang as it went. Leybourn took it and ran expert hands across the binding. Then he opened it, and his eyes took on a distant expression as he assessed the fine quality of the work. ‘Are you sure you want to part with this? I would not.’
Chaloner nodded, and they haggled for a while until a mutually acceptable price was reached. Chaloner experienced a lurching sadness when he saw it set on Leybourn’s shelf, but the deed was done, and there was no point in fretting over it. It was only a book, and Metje was more important.
‘Where is Robert today?’ he asked.
‘Practising his swordplay. He is being coached by Sir Richard Ingoldsby – not that he needs advice. He is already very good.’
Chaloner saw the bookseller was trying to unnerve him. ‘Perhaps I shall learn something, then.’
Leybourn sighed. ‘You went after Wade like the Spanish Inquisition, and you should apologise. I do not like the thought of Bennet dancing on your grave.’
Chaloner gave a wry grin. ‘He would not dare, not while Kelyng frets about my turkey.’
‘Rob will kill you,’ warned Leybourn, brazening it out. ‘He fought in all three wars.’
‘So did I.’
‘Did you?’ asked Leybourn unhappily. ‘Christ! Look, Heyden, I will talk to him. I will say there was a misunderstanding. You must put an end to this nonsense before someone is hurt.’
He turned at the sound of footsteps. ‘We shall resolve our differences tomorrow at dawn,’ said Robert coldly, hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘It is too late for apologies.’
Chaloner spent an hour buying cloth and a selection of treats for Metje, arranging for them to be delivered to his rooms later that day. Then he went in search of Mother Greene, and delivered the promised penny, along with a plum pudding that had her cackling in delight. She spoke softly as he was about to leave.
‘Mother Pinchon is dead. They found her by the river.’
‘She drowned?’
‘That is what we were supposed to think, but there was no mistaking the rope mark on her neck. Young Joe Turner was flush with money last night, and he would sell his grandmother for a jug of ale. Someone came to find Mother Pinchon, and we all know he told them where to look.’
‘Will you take me to see him?’
‘People around here do not like folk who bring about the deaths of old women. Turner is dead.’
Chaloner swore under his breath. ‘Did you see Turner talking to strangers?’
‘He may have been greedy, but he was not stupid. He passed his information secretly to the killers, then spent his dirty money in the alehouse near Turnagain Lane. No one saw anything.’
‘Then perhaps he was not responsible.’
She regarded him as though he were insane. ‘People around here get rich for two reasons: they have stolen something, or they have been paid to break the law. Besides, Turner was ale-soaked enough that he got to bragging. He told the dung collector – Potts – that he had been invited to a very nice house, and given cakes and wine. It was obvious what had happened.’
‘Did he say where this house was?’
‘Potts asked, but Turner could not remember – he was too drunk. Then news came that Mother Pinchon was dead and he tried to slink away. He did not get far. Potts has a sly knife on occasion.’
‘Damn! This means that we have no way to trace the real villain – the man who paid Turner for the information in the first place. Did any of her neighbours see anything, hear a struggle?’
‘She went out and told no one where she was going. The next time anyone saw her was when she was on the banks of the Thames, dead.’
Chaloner sighed. ‘Will you take me to Potts? Perhaps Turner said something before he died …’
‘Potts would never tell you anything. He mentioned something to me, but it is probably nothing.’
‘What?’
‘Turner kept saying the stranger smelled of oranges.’
Chaloner had agreed to meet Evett in the Dolphin mid morning, to discuss their respective cases. He was early, but did not mind waiting, instinctively occupying one of the tables at the rear of the tavern where he could keep his back to the wall. He had done no more than order a jug of ale, when the door opened and Bennet and Snow entered. They were swathed in thick cloaks, and evidently thought themselves well disguised. It was clear from their behaviour that they had been following him, and he realised he had been so engrossed in trying to determine why Dalton had killed Pinchon, that he had let his guard down. It was the sort of carelessness that could prove fatal, and he suspected he had been limping, too, although at least his short hair was covered by his hood. He was furious with himself.
Bennet leaned nonchalantly against a wall, hat pulled low over his eyes, while Snow pretended to be with someone else. Chaloner read the anti-Dutch broadsheets that someone had thoughtfully left on each table, while he waited to see what they would do. Bennet tried to effect an air of casual disinterest, but could not prevent himself from looking at Chaloner from time to time, while Snow’s fingers often twitched around the hilt of his dagger. They made no effort to leave.
Chaloner stood, knowing the only way to be rid of their annoying presence was by losing them in the maze of alleys surrounding Thames Street. It was true they could kill him more easily outside than in a crowded tavern, but he did not want them with him for the rest of the day. He exited through the rear door, Snow following him. Predictably, Bennet ducked out of the front with the clear intention of cutting him off. Chaloner emerged into a narrow lane, with Snow behind and Bennet approaching from his left. He turned right and started to run, then stopped dead when another man stepped in front of him and levelled a pistol. He had not anticipated a third participant, and was trapped.
But although he could not turn right, left or re-enter the tavern, all was not lost. There were doors leading to yards, and walls that could be scaled. He raised his hands in surrender, then raced for the nearest gate when the man lowered his pistol. It was locked, and part of it disintegrated when the gun was fired at close range, sending splinters in all directions. The noise was deafening, and Chaloner heard Bennet ordering the fellow to desist. Chaloner jumped for the wall, and was almost over it when Snow grabbed his foot. For the second time that week, he found himself the subject of a tug of war.
Snow was not North, however, and he and his brawny helpers soon had Chaloner off the wall and wrestled to the ground, despite him using every tactic in his arsenal of tricks to evade them. Snow leapt back with a bloody nose, the third man shrieked over a broken finger and Bennet swore at a kick that caught him on the shin. Chaloner might have escaped had they been alone, but others were pouring into the alley, and he was hopelessly outnumbered. Eventually, seeing further struggles would only serve to tire him, he abandoned the fight. He was hauled to his feet and his hands secured behind him, although not before another tussle that resulted in the rope being far looser than it should have been. Bennet indicated he was to precede them down the lane.