‘Paying others to do your dirty work?’ asked Chaloner, disgusted. Several facts came together in his mind. ‘I suppose you tried that tactic on me, because it had worked on poor Clarke?’
He darted behind the benches, wincing as the sword gouged chunks from them as Evett made a series of determined slashes. He grabbed a pole that was used for opening windows, and jabbed back. Evett’s attack faltered at the sight of a weapon.
‘You killed Clarke, Philip?’ asked Clarendon, shocked. ‘But I asked you to investigate his death!’
‘And he was no doubt relieved, despite his claims to the contrary,’ said Chaloner, ‘I should have known why a straightforward enquiry was progressing so slowly. For example, he “forgot” to show the murder weapon to the measurers of cloth – probably because he thought they might recognise it as his own. I assumed it was simple incompetence, but it was something far worse.’
‘I did not kill Clarke,’ said Evett, licking dry lips. ‘I liked him. I even introduced him to the Brotherhood, and backed his election as a member.’
‘To gain his trust,’ countered Chaloner, gripping the pole like a stave. ‘You probably befriended Simon Lane and the others, too, to lull them into a false sense of security. You tried it with me – you claimed Simon was your cousin, but it was a lie; Thurloe told me Simon had no kin following the death of his wife last year. And you kindly “warned” me about the deaths of my predecessors, urging me to take care. It almost worked – I was beginning to like you.’
‘None of this is true,’ said Evett uneasily. ‘Why would I kill six men?’
‘You tried to ride me down outside Ingoldsby’s house, too,’ said Chaloner. ‘As a palace captain, you have access to good horses, and I had asked you for directions, so you knew where I was going. And you certainly tried to thwart my investigation into the treasure – you deliberately aroused the suspicions of Pepys, Robinson and Downing with stupid comments and odd behaviour, and you made up that ridiculous story about mushrooms when you showed me around the Tower. You did it to hamper me – to have me dismissed.’
Evett sneered. ‘You cannot prove any of this.’
Chaloner ducked away from the sword. Evett was right, but he continued with his analysis anyway. ‘Only the murderer would know Lane and the others were “stabbed in the back in the depths of the night with no witnesses”, to quote your own words. If there were no witnesses, then how did you know they died at night? But I do not think you killed Clarke – at least, not alone – because you would not have chosen that public passageway. Your accomplice knew no better, though, because she was a stranger to the back corridors of White Hall.’
‘She?’ asked the Earl, appalled. ‘Please do not tell me it was Lady Castlemaine!’
‘I mean Evett’s new woman,’ said Chaloner. ‘The one he professes to love. You have to be impressed, My Lord, because she comes in addition to his two wives.’
‘Two wives?’ echoed the Earl, while Evett lunged at Chaloner and swore furiously when he was rewarded with a crack across the shoulders with the pole. ‘Philip!’
Chaloner found he could marshal sense into some of the mysteries, now he knew Evett’s role in them. ‘Clarke was killed because he was unofficially investigating Barkstead’s affairs and you decided he was coming too close to the truth. You were right: he had already prepared messages for Thurloe, mentioning connections between the death of Praisegod Swanson and the Seven and he probably knew about the seven gold bars.’
‘So? What does Barkstead’s nasty business have to do with me?’
‘You want the treasure yourself – presumably for this new master of yours.’ Chaloner blocked a wild and undisciplined swipe. ‘You pretended to help me, but only so you would know how the investigation was proceeding. It was also you and your lady who were with Lee when he was shot.’
‘The three of us were drinking wine together,’ admitted Evett cautiously. ‘We did not kill Lee, though. I was shocked when that crossbow bolt came through the window.’
‘That was Bennet, dispatching a rival for Fanny Robinson’s affections,’ explained Chaloner to Clarendon. He turned back to Evett. ‘But it was you who snatched the document from Lee’s corpse.’
Evett shrugged. ‘It does not matter what you think, since you will not live to tell anyone. But, yes, it was I who took the paper. Lee had learned the names of the Seven from his kinsman, Ingoldsby, and wrote them in a code only I would be able to read. I said he would hang for treason if he did not do it. He told me what happened to Praisegod, too.’
‘What did happen to him?’ asked the Earl, shocked by the magnitude of the betrayal. He looked at the gold bar in his hand, and finally understood. ‘Seven thousand pounds – seven bars of gold …’
‘Poor Praisegod,’ said Evett. ‘It was his hair you found in the cellar, Heyden – you got his scalp and I unearthed his bones. Barkstead murdered and buried him. There is often truth to rumour, and you heard Sergeant Picard saying Barkstead’s victims were down there. Praisegod was one of them. I wonder whether there will be similar rumours when I bury you two under White Hall?’
Evett took his sword in both hands and made a concerted effort to drive Chaloner away from the shelter of the benches. He lunged hard and in a direction Chaloner did not anticipate, making the agent lose his balance. When Chaloner tried to parry the next blow, he did so clumsily, and the pole broke in two. The captain moved forward with a grin, taking advantage of the fact that Chaloner had lost his longer reach. When Chaloner met the next slashing swipe, the remnants of the stick fragmented in his hand. He stumbled awkwardly, and pain jolted through his weak leg. The Earl drew his little town sword and swished it ineffectually, to draw his attention away from the fallen spy, but Chaloner could tell by the way he held it that he would be cut down in moments, even by a poor fighter like Evett.
‘You disgust me,’ said the Earl, backing away when the captain turned on him. ‘Lord High Admiral, indeed! I would not appoint you master of a barge.’
Evett turned on him, blazing fury, while Chaloner crawled towards the broken pole. ‘Leave him alone,’ he shouted, struggling to his feet. He jabbed Evett with the pole. ‘Fight me instead.’
‘Here!’ shouted the Earl, flinging him the sword, and clearly relieved to pass the challenge to a more experienced brawler.
Chaloner lobbed the stick at the furious captain, and snatched up the weapon. When Evett saw they were more evenly matched, he became cautious again. Chaloner blocked a tentative prod, then went on an offensive of his own, although the slender town sword was no match for Evett’s heavy blade. Evett soon knew it, and his confidence returned.
‘When I have killed you, the King will die,’ he said gloatingly. ‘You heard what Downing said. My friends are making fireballs even now, and England will have new masters – ones who will not squander public money on masques in which barons pretend to be animals.’
‘You mean fanatics?’ asked Chaloner. ‘I thought you disapproved of extremism.’
‘Not all Puritans are fanatics. Some are reasonable men, who just want a return to decency.’
Chaloner was inclined to tell him that such people would almost certainly be opposed to bigamy, and that his new world order might not be all he hoped for. ‘Who?’
‘Not Buckingham?’ asked the Earl. ‘You hate him – or was that just a ruse to mislead me?’
‘He will be the first to go,’ said Evett coldly.
‘Downing will stop you,’ warned the Lord Chancellor, although he did not sound convinced.