‘The main advantage of St Giles’s is that the sermons are short,’ said Leybourn, as they entered the nave. ‘If we had gone to St Mary Staining, we would be there until noon, and there is a book I want to finish. It is about Martin Frobisher, a man I admire. Did you know he is buried in this very church?’
Chaloner shook his head. ‘Who was he? A politician?’
Leybourn pursed his lips. ‘I doubt I will ever admire a politician, Tom! Frobisher was an explorer, who searched for a Northwest Passage to the Orient. I am reading about his first voyage, though, which was to Guinea. It is enlightening, because Webb had business interests in that part of Africa – and it was at a Guinea Company dinner that he was murdered.’
‘I thought he was murdered on his way home – after the feast.’
‘His carriage failed to arrive, apparently, and suddenly everyone was too busy to offer him a ride home. He was obliged to walk, and was attacked outside his mansion. It is a long way from African House to The Strand, so his killers had plenty of time to organise themselves.’
‘That means it was a premeditated attack – not just robbers who saw a rich man alone at night.’
‘Yes, it does, and I am sure that is the case. I recall from the trial that Webb’s purse, rings and expensive clothes were still on his corpse the next day. No robber would have abandoned such easy pickings.’
‘The killer might have been disturbed before he could strip the body.’
‘True, but then the alarm would have been raised sooner. Robbery was not the motive.’
‘Do you know why Webb was elected a member of the Guinea Company in the first place?’ asked Chaloner curiously. ‘He was not a man who would have brought them credit. He owned a ship that brought slave-produced sugar to England, and the city guilds are sensitive to negative public opinion, because they do not want their halls targeted for looting when the next riot occurs.’
‘Unfortunately, the current outcry against slavery will not last. Soon, Englishmen will visit the coasts of Africa to gather slaves, and our government is keen for them to try, because it means wresting lucrative resources away from the Dutch – and we all know war is brewing with Holland. So, men like Webb will soon be the norm, not a despised minority – and the more progressive members of the Company know it.’
Chaloner sincerely hoped he was wrong. He resumed his analysis. ‘So Webb attended a feast, where he was tolerated in the hope that he might make other members wealthy. Then his carriage failed to arrive and he was killed as he walked home. Have you discovered anything else about him?’
‘He was born in the gutters, but made a fast fortune, which always attracts dislike – from those who are jealous of his success and from those who resent him joining their rank in society. However, in Webb’s case, I think the dislike was deserved: no one seems to have a good word to say about him.’
‘Clarendon said his wife made offensive remarks at Henry Lawes’s funeral,’ said Chaloner, as they squeezed into a pew that already contained a baker and his large brood. The church was packed, and a clerk was busily recording names in a ledger.
Leybourn chuckled. ‘She complained about the smell, which was crass: corpses do reek, but decent folk pretend not to notice, out of respect for the next of kin. And she took exception to the music the King had chosen. She was lucky everyone was too startled by her opinions to arrest her. Did you say there is some suggestion that Webb’s killer – Dillon – was involved in the Castle Plot?’
Chaloner nodded. ‘He and Fitz-Simons had charts of Dublin Castle, and they left London on an Ireland-bound ship before the rebellion began. The government knew about the revolt long before it happened, which must mean someone betrayed it.’
‘Someone?’ echoed Leybourn quizzically. ‘You mean a someone like Fitz-Simons or Dillon?’
‘It is possible. Or perhaps Webb was the traitor, and that is why Dillon killed him.’
‘I thought Dillon was innocent. Thurloe says so, and he is not usually wrong about such things.’
Chaloner sighed. ‘True.’
Leybourn was thoughtful. ‘Webb knew a lot of people, not all of them salubrious. Perhaps he did catch wind of a plot involving Londoners, and tried to curry favour by passing the information to official quarters. You will have to find out if you want to get to the bottom of his murder. So, you have a choice of motives: rebellion or slavery. Neither will be comfortable to explore.’
‘Murder is seldom comfortable,’ said Chaloner. He did not add that neither was anything else Thurloe and Clarendon asked him to investigate.
Chapter 5
Chyrurgeons’ Hall had started modestly, with a simple house raised in the fifteenth century. It had expanded since, and now the Company of Barber-Surgeons owned several buildings. These included the impressive Great Parlour, which boasted a first-floor refectory with an open undercroft beneath it. This was attached to the equally handsome Anatomical Theatre – by means of a cloister at ground level, and a covered corridor above. In addition, there was the Court Room, in which the Company held its meetings, bounded by a number of semi-permanent sheds, a granary and several cottages. The complex was accessed by a gate from Monkwell Street, which was manned by a watchful guard – the Company was wealthy, and often attracted thieves and burglars. The guard told Chaloner that Wiseman was still at church, but that the Company Clerk, Richard Reynell, was willing to entertain his visitor until he returned.
Reynell was a middle-aged man with a foxy face and small, intelligent eyes. His clothes were surprisingly stylish for one whose salary could not have been huge, although the oily hair that hung in lank tendrils down his back detracted from the overall impression of elegance. Surgeon Johnson – the bushy-bearded fellow who had attempted to burgle the Lord Chancellor’s office – was with him, dressed in the same puce-coloured, paunch-hugging coat he had worn the previous day. A multitude of stains suggested its owner had enjoyed a good night at the palace. Around his right forefinger was a bandage, and he held the afflicted member high above his head, as if testing the direction of the wind.
‘I am draining out poisoned blood,’ he explained, seeing Chaloner looking at it. ‘It was bitten by a green parrot, you see, and it is well known among the more educated men of my trade that they are the most dangerous kind. No man wants to be savaged by a green parrot.’
‘If you drain the bad blood by holding your finger aloft, then surely the toxins will flood into your arm,’ said Chaloner, puzzled. ‘And then into the rest of your body.’
‘Yes, but that is what livers are for,’ declared Johnson. Even Reynell frowned his surprise at this particular piece of information. ‘They attract dirty blood and convert it to pellets that are then expelled in vomit. I shall take a purge later and will be cured tomorrow.’
Chaloner was glad it had not been Johnson who had answered the summons to tend him the day before. ‘How did you come to be pecked in the first place?’ he asked.
‘I was attending a lady, who was racked by a fit of violent sneezing. I immediately ascertained that this was being caused by a crucifix on her wall. As I was removing the offending object, the bird landed on my hat, and I was injured in the ensuing struggle.’
‘Do you physic many White Hall courtiers?’ Chaloner asked politely, feeling some sort of response was required, but declining to address Johnson’s bizarre diagnosis.