‘Do you?’ Chaloner sincerely hoped he did not. No man liked being considered a blithering idiot.
Kelyng nodded earnestly. ‘You think the seven bars of gold and Barkstead’s cache are one and the same, but you only need to apply a little logic to see they are not. The King paid Swanson for giving him the identities of the Seven, so there is no way Barkstead could have got his hands on that gold, because he was one of the men named.’
‘Swanson told the King their identities?’ Chaloner had been under the impression – from Robinson – that the arrangement had been made, but the information had never been delivered. ‘If His Majesty knows, then perhaps you could ask him about it, and save yourself some trouble.’
‘The message went astray in transit – I expect Thurloe intercepted it, as he intercepted so much else. So, the King never received the letter, although he was sufficiently confident of Swanson’s success to have paid him in advance.’
‘Who is Swanson? A courtier?’
‘Someone close to Cromwell. But I have not been able to ascertain whether Swanson was his real name or an alias. He is a hero, of course, for exposing the Seven.’
‘So it could be Thurloe,’ said Chaloner, to confuse him. Thurloe would never have betrayed Cromwell. ‘He was close to the Lord Protector.’
It was obviously something that had never occurred to Kelyng. His jaw dropped. ‘I hardly think … I cannot … But of course, it might! Lord, that would put me in an awkward position! I have vowed to destroy Thurloe, but I can hardly do that, if he was the man who foiled the Seven.’
‘You had a servant called Jones,’ said Chaloner, after several silent moments had passed.
‘Actually, his name was John Hewson,’ said Kelyng, dragging himself away from his thoughts. ‘You chased him into my garden, and he was killed. He had infiltrated my household, which was a stupid thing to do, given my views on regicide: he placed his head in the lion’s mouth, so to speak.’
‘Did you know he was a regicide when you employed him?’
Kelyng looked annoyed. ‘Of course not, or I would have had him executed. I found out when we took his body to the church and someone recognised it. I felt like an ass, I can tell you, especially since the missing eye was something of a giveaway. He told me he lost it fighting for the King, but he actually lost it crushing rebels in Ireland. I had to order Snow to burn the body, lest it was traced to me. But Hewson was a curious fellow. He kept asking whether people knew how to praise God. I think he was addled – the terror of being hunted drew him towards me in a perverse kind of way.’
Chaloner did not think so. Hewson had not seemed addled, and he suspected the man had known exactly what he had been doing. The more he thought about the facts, the more clear it became that Hewson was one of the Seven, and he had taken a post with Kelyng to assess how serious the threat was against its surviving members. It explained his message about the danger ‘for Seven’ with his dying breath, while ‘praise God’ was obviously some sort of code known only to him and his six colleagues. But Chaloner had reasoned that Hewson’s messages were intended for Thurloe. Did that mean Thurloe was a member of the Seven after all?
He smiled at Kelyng. ‘So, Hewson applied to you for employment, and you accepted him. You sent him to collect the satchel stolen by Snow and Storey, and Bennet stabbed him …’
‘Bennet said you did it, but it was his knife embedded in Hewson’s chest, and I can usually tell when he is lying. He was aiming for you, but missed, and did not want to admit to his ineptitude. It was a wretched nuisance, because I would have liked to ask Hewson what he thought he was doing, pretending to be a servant – and whether he knew anything about any of his fellow regicides. There are still a number of those unaccounted for, you know. Did he say anything to you before he died? I thought I heard him talking.’
‘Just religious exhortations.’
‘He was deranged,’ said Kelyng sadly. He cleared his throat. ‘Now, I cannot believe that a man of your obvious intelligence will refuse to hazard a guess at the Seven’s remaining members – other than Barkstead, Livesay and Thurloe. Share your thoughts with me, and you will be home with your turkey in an hour.’
Chaloner ruffled the cat’s fur, supposing the time for pleasant conversation was drawing to a close, and Kelyng was girding himself up to use rougher methods of persuasion.
‘Thurloe is not one of the Seven. But there are two other men who might bear investigation.’
Kelyng’s face lit up. ‘I knew a man close to the ex-Spymaster would be able to help me.’
‘This has nothing to do with Thurloe,’ said Chaloner doggedly, hoping Kelyng could not read his uncertainty. ‘And you will be wasting your time if you try to connect him with it. The men you should investigate are Hewson–’
‘But he is dead!’ cried Kelyng, disappointed.
Chaloner nodded. Kelyng could not hurt a corpse, which was why he had decided to share that particular suspicion. ‘And there is another possibility, but he will kill me if he finds out, and I–’
‘He will never know,’ promised Kelyng. ‘I swear on my soul, he will never know.’
Chaloner could tell he meant it. He had dealt with sly politicians and slippery diplomats aplenty, but this was the first time he had ever been obliged to treat with a zealot, and he was finding it a challenge.
‘Sir George Downing.’ This was pure malice on Chaloner’s part, although a man as devious and corrupt as Downing would suffer few ill effects from anything Kelyng might do. Still, it might inconvenience him, and that would be satisfaction in itself.
A slow smile spread across Kelyng’s face. ‘Downing. Of course! It makes perfect sense – a man once devoted to the Commonwealth, who changed sides when he saw his evil plotting could not keep Charles from his rightful place. A deceitful, cunning fellow, who only goes to church on Sundays – and talks through most of the service anyway. Thank you, Heyden. You have been very helpful.’
‘You are welcome.’
‘Downing,’ grinned Kelyng, delighted with the information. ‘I should have worked this out for myself, although one can never go wrong in seeking the help of a fellow liked by cats. Here is a silver crown for your cleverness. And a new wig will be sent to you as soon as I can have one made.’
Chapter 10
Chaloner was bemused when Kelyng drew the interview to a close and indicated that he was free to leave. He climbed the stairs cautiously, expecting Bennet to be lurking in the darkness with a dagger, but he reached the yard without incident and gazed up at the sky he had not expected to see again. As he did so, he saw Robinson and Dalton hurrying towards him. Dalton looked him up and down, before dabbing a clammy brow with his scented handkerchief. His hand shook, and Chaloner thought he looked as though he might be sick.
‘We heard Bennet had arrested you,’ said Robinson, rather accusingly. ‘How did you escape?’
‘Kelyng let me go. Why? What is the matter?’
‘One of the guards told Thurloe you had been detained, and he rushed to my house and ordered me to secure your immediate release,’ said Dalton. ‘Robinson and I have a certain influence over Kelyng, because we all attend St Clement Danes, and he wants to be elected churchwarden.’
‘Was Thurloe afraid I might reveal his secrets, then?’ asked Chaloner.
‘Actually, he was concerned about your well-being,’ said Dalton. ‘He would have come himself, but that might have made matters worse, so we sent him home. He will be relieved to see you safe.’