‘What sort of questions?’
‘About the Brotherhood, mostly.’
Leybourn seemed relieved, and Chaloner wondered what sort of interrogation he had anticipated. ‘All right. We will talk about the Brotherhood, and then I want this spat forgotten – no resurrecting it if Rob annoys you in the future. The Brotherhood then. Ask away.’
‘How long has Robert been a participant?’
Leybourn thought carefully. ‘For about a year.’
‘How many members are there?’
‘Thirteen or fourteen. There were others, but it was founded many years ago, and some of the originals have died – natural deaths, before you jump to the wrong conclusions.’
‘What is its purpose?’ Chaloner did not point out that Barkstead’s death was hardly natural, and neither were Hewson’s, Clarke’s or Wade’s.
‘To promote moderation and tolerance – nothing sinister. But you know that already.’
‘Then why the secrecy?’
‘Because some of its most powerful members – men like Downing and Robinson – maintain it will have a greater impact if it keeps out of the public view. People are more likely to resist an openly vocal group, than a string of individuals all saying the same thing. Or so they say.’
‘Name the other members.’
‘Lord, Heyden! You certainly expect your pound of flesh! You must never tell Rob what I did today – he may forgive me for drugging him, but revealing the confidences of his friends is another matter entirely.’ He saw Chaloner’s cool expression. ‘All right, names. I have mentioned Downing and Robinson, and you know about my brother. Dear Thomas Wade is also a member, while two men named Livesay and Hewson are dead.’
‘They were regicides,’ said Chaloner, not mentioning that Wade should also be counted among the late members. ‘Dangerous characters with whom to form an alliance. Who else?’
‘A Puritan called North, who thinks the world would be a better place if everyone prayed more. A stupid soldier called Evett, who wants to rule the navy. Ingoldsby, on the other hand, owns a deadly deviousness – like Downing – and is Cromwell’s cousin, so not to be trusted. Then there is a vintner called Dalton, who has a pretty wife – Sarah.’
‘Is she a member?’
‘Do not be ridiculous – she is a woman. And those are all I know. I am not a member myself, do not forget. Just the brother of one.’
‘You do not believe in moderation and tolerance?’
‘Of course. But I do not think it will be achieved by throwing in my lot with regicides, greedy merchants, devious diplomats and brainless soldiers.’
‘What about Thurloe? You did not mention him.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Leybourn, as if he did not matter. ‘And John Thurloe.’
‘I think I will demand to see your brother. You reneged on your side of the bargain by lying.’
‘I have not,’ said Leybourn indignantly. ‘I just forgot to mention someone. You cannot kill Rob over a slip of my mind.’
‘Thurloe is a man of considerable presence, worth all these others put together. He is not easily overlooked, as I am sure you know only too well.’
‘I do not know what you mean.’
‘Come on, Leybourn. I know you are his spy, just as you know I am.’
The bookseller looked as though he would argue, but saw the harsh expression on Chaloner’s face and thought better of it. ‘How did you guess?’ he asked in a voice full of resignation.
‘You made several mistakes. First, I claimed to be distressed when I saw Lee’s murdered body, and you said I should be used to it. You should not have known anything about what I had experienced in the past, so it was obvious someone had told you: Thurloe.’
‘That is not true!’ declared Leybourn. ‘You have no evidence to–’
‘Second, London is a large city, and before last Friday, we were strangers. But, over the past few days, we have met in the street, in shops, and I even spotted you watching my room from the chamber Thurloe rents in the Golden Lion. And did you enjoy the play last night?’
‘It was dire,’ said Leybourn, capitulating with poor grace. ‘I credited you with more taste.’
Chaloner raised his eyebrows. ‘Metje said it was the best thing she had ever seen, so one of you is wrong. Perhaps we should ask Thurloe to decide. He might even give us an honest answer for once.’
‘Please do not tell him you smoked me out,’ said Leybourn sulkily. ‘You obviously care nothing for his good opinion, but I do. For some unaccountable reason, he likes you, Chaloner. Why do you think I was told to follow you? Because he was concerned for you after your encounter with Kelyng.’
‘I suppose he told you my real name, too? He has been rather free with it of late. But never mind him, tell me about the day we met. Your appearance outside Kelyng’s house was no accident.’
‘I was posted there, because Thurloe had anticipated the satchel would be stolen – he had agents in place all across the city, since he did not know which of his enemies would be responsible. I saw Snow and Storey arrive, and then I watched you follow Hewson inside Kelyng’s garden. At the time, I had no way of knowing whether you had been sent by Thurloe or were one of his foes. I manoeuvred my way towards you, and … well, we became friends.’
‘Friends?’ Chaloner did not think so.
‘Colleagues, then. Why do you think I told Kelyng you owned a turkey? I was protecting a fellow spy. And I still have the book you sold me. I will not sell it – I will keep it until you can pay me back, no matter how long it takes. A man should never part with books, and I could see you did not like doing it.’
Chaloner relented slightly. It was a generous offer. ‘You asked a lot of questions that first day.’
Leybourn’s grin was rueful. ‘And you answered none of them properly. But what happens now? Shall we work together, to find out what Kelyng plans for Thurloe?’
‘No,’ said Chaloner firmly. ‘I intend to break with him today, and concentrate on persuading the government to send me to Holland with my family. I want no more to do with Thurloe and his lies.’
‘You will upset him if you phrase your resignation like that,’ said Leybourn unhappily. ‘He has always been more fond of you than the rest of us – perhaps because of your uncle.’
‘My uncle,’ said Chaloner bitterly. ‘Will I never be free of the man?’
It was still early – there was not the slightest gleam of silver in the sky – and Chaloner did not feel inclined to hammer on Lincoln’s Inn’s gate until one of the porters woke to let him inside. The foundation was surrounded by a high wall, but this was no obstacle to a man who had made a career out of finding ways inside places that wanted to exclude him. He selected a spot where the bricks were old and crumbling, and was over it in no time at all. He was surprised to find armed men prowling the grounds, but put their presence down to an increased concern about burglars – crime rates always rose when villains knew there was a good chance their victims would be out at church, and Christmas Day was an important religious festival. But it was not difficult to evade the guards in the darkness, and he reached Dial Court unchallenged.
He was about to walk up the stairs and knock at Chamber XIII, when he saw a shadow cross Thurloe’s sitting room window – a shape too bulky to be the ex-Spymaster. Chaloner hesitated, then went to stand under it, listening intently. A rumble of voices told him Thurloe had more than one visitor. Curious, he began to climb the wall outside, using cracks in the masonry to pull himself upwards. It was not long before he had ascended high enough to look in.
The usual fire was burning in the hearth, but Thurloe was not in his favourite chair. Sarah sat in it, eyes on a book that lay open on her knees. Thurloe was at the table, a man on either side of him, and all three heads were bent in earnest conversation. Chaloner took a firm grip on the sill and eased into a position where he could see them better. On Thurloe’s right was Ingoldsby, his jowls quivering as he devoured nuts from a bowl. Opposite was Dalton, pale and nervous.