‘That is not surprising,’ said Chaloner harshly. ‘At least three of you are dead.’
Thurloe did not acknowledge the comment. ‘All I want is to live quietly – there will be no more plotting from me. I believe Ingoldsby and Dalton feel the same.’
‘You used the Brotherhood as a shield,’ said Chaloner, thinking about what he had reasoned. ‘The Seven was a sub-group within it, so you could meet without arousing suspicion. Other men joined later – Downing, Robert Leybourn, North, Evett and Wade – and their open ways concealed the fact that there was something other than moderation and tolerance in the offing. But you have not been to recent meetings because there is no longer any need to maintain the pretence: the Seven are defunct.’
Thurloe inclined his head. ‘It worked welclass="underline" one secret organisation within another.’
‘All your loose ends are tied,’ said Chaloner. ‘Mother Pinchon is dead, so she will not be telling anyone else about Barkstead’s message. Her contact, Wade, is also dead. Do you know who killed him – who pushed him to his death as he was trying to warn Bennet about the lion? I glimpsed him on the wall-walk, but Wade told me anyway, just before he died.’
‘Dalton,’ said Thurloe heavily. ‘You were not the only one who saw what happened. Robinson did, too, although he will not bring an accusation against another member of the Brotherhood.’
‘Even though it was a brother who was murdered?’
‘Dalton spun some tale about Wade selling the fraternity’s secrets, which Robinson seems to have accepted. Dalton will say anything to protect himself, even defame the name of a dead man.’
‘He is not the only one to resort to desperate measures,’ said Chaloner accusingly. ‘You sent Hewson to spy on Kelyng, to see how much he had learned about the Seven. But I cannot imagine you were overly distressed when you heard another potential risk had been eliminated.’
Thurloe gazed at him in disbelief, then anger blazed in his eyes. ‘Hewson was my friend. I was devastated when I learned he was dead. We were coming close to knowing the extent of Kelyng’s knowledge about us, and another day would have seen Hewson back to safety.’
Chaloner did not know whether to believe him. He returned the discussion to Dalton, thinking about what else he had learned. ‘Kelyng believes he has recruited Dalton to spy on you. I heard him talking about it to Bennet a couple of days ago, in the grocer’s shop on the Strand. He said he has received information about you from Dalton–’
‘Information invented by me, using Dalton as a conduit. It was a carefully controlled leak, so Kelyng’s reaction would tell us more about him, than he would learn about us. I was a spymaster, Thomas: I know how to manage these things. Dalton passed Kelyng this information on my orders.’
Chaloner was becoming confused. ‘But Dalton tried to kill me, and not just with the lion at the Tower, either. The horseman who attacked me at Ingoldsby’s house was his doing.’
‘I doubt it. And it was not Sarah, either, although she tells me you believe it was. It is a pity you two cannot be friends, because you may need each other one day.’
‘I do not need her, and I do not need you, either.’ Chaloner started to leave. ‘You have lied to me from the moment I chased your empty satchel. I cannot do this any more, Thurloe. I do not want to be in a position where I do not know who to trust.’
‘Trust no one,’ said Thurloe with a sad smile. ‘Then you will never be disappointed.’
‘That is what Hewson said before he started to mutter about praising God and the Seven.’
‘Did he?’ Thurloe sighed. ‘You refused to tell me his dying words, and I was afraid I would arouse your suspicions if I pressed you too hard. I suspected then that you might be curious enough to probe further, although I did my best to dissuade you. Please sit down, Tom. At least do me the courtesy of listening to my explanation.’
‘I do not want an explanation. You may use the opportunity to slip a knife between my ribs, since you just promised Dalton you would “do what is necessary to silence” me.’
‘That is not what I meant,’ said Thurloe, sharp and indignant. ‘On the contrary, I have done all I can to protect you. I warned you away from Barkstead’s cache, and asked you to investigate Clarke’s death instead. I blocked Downing’s attempt to enrol you in the Brotherhood. I even offered to pay your fare to Holland, to remove you from danger. You defied me at every turn – almost as if you wanted to become more deeply involved.’
‘That was because I did not understand why you issued those orders,’ objected Chaloner. ‘And Clarke’s death was connected to Barkstead’s treasure, anyway.’
‘It most certainly was not,’ stated Thurloe firmly. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘I saw the documents Clarendon found on his body, and I know about the message he asked White Hall’s measurers of cloth to give his wife. They were intended for you: they all mentioned the Seven, and reiterated the phrase ‘praise God’, which is obviously code for something I have yet to uncover. If you tell me you did not know, I will not believe you,’ he added, when Thurloe looked bemused.
‘I do not care what you believe. And how do you know what words Clarke passed to his wife via the measurers? The letter they wrote to her was closed with so much sealing wax that it would have been impossible to open – not that I tried. There are some things that remain inviolate, and loving words between spouses is one of them. I ordered Clarke to stay away from the Seven, and he promised me he would.’
‘Then it seems your agents seldom obey you.’
Thurloe rubbed his eyes. ‘Clarke was grateful when I recommended him to the Earl for employment, so I suppose I should not be surprised to learn he tried to help me in return – disregarding my warnings in the process. He told me he was investigating cutlery stolen from the White Hall kitchens.’
Chaloner was rueful. ‘I wish the Earl had asked me to investigate that, because it was easy to solve: the table knives are being pilfered by the cloth measurers, and melted down to make silver transverse flutes for their musical ensemble. They showed me one of the instruments, and it was far too valuable an item to cost what they claimed – or to have been purchased on a measurer’s salary.’
Thurloe’s expression was bleak. ‘But instead of looking into a simple theft, Clarke wasted his life in a misguided attempt to learn about the Seven. I am heartily sorry he tried to intervene. His wife will miss him, as will I.’
‘Simon Lane’s wife will miss her husband, too,’ said Chaloner coldly.
‘She died a year ago,’ replied Thurloe. ‘Simon had no living kin, although that does not mean he is unmourned; I grieve for him and the others who died in Clarendon’s service. Will you tell me what was in Clarke’s messages?’
Chaloner was inclined to refuse, because he was angry and it was a way he could annoy Thurloe, but suspected the man would have the information one way or another, and it would be easier to tell him now and have done with the whole business.
‘They were in cipher, and they said to “praise God’s one son”. Those were the exact words Hewson whispered as he died, and they were also on part of a document I found with Lee’s corpse. Will you tell me what they mean, or is this exchange of information only to be one way?’
Thurloe frowned, puzzled. ‘Praise God’s one son? Do you mean Praisegod Swanson?’
‘Swanson?’ Chaloner was confused. ‘The man who told the King about the Seven?’
‘I suppose so. You know how we Puritans occasionally baptise our children with intensely religious names, and Praisegod was an appellation that enjoyed a brief popularity – indeed, one of London’s best-known fanatics is Praisegod Barbon, in and out of prison for his extreme political views. So, that was the message Clarke and Hewson were trying to pass me – Praisegod Swanson?’