‘When was he found?’ he asked, as the guide escorted him out of the vile yard.
‘At dawn, when we took him his breakfast. He was not as wealthy as Mr Dillon, so we only looked in on him twice a day – Mr Dillon can have us visit him every time he rings his little bell. Poor Fanning. Gaol-fever gets a lot of them in here.’
‘Can you explain how he came by those marks on his neck?’
‘It happens when the ague stops their breath,’ said the guide in a way that suggested he believed it. ‘The governor will be sorry to lose him early – the public hate it when hangings are cancelled.’
‘I do not suppose Fanning confided in you, did he?’ asked Chaloner, clutching at straws. ‘Told you about the crime he was supposed to have committed?’
‘He never said nothing,’ said the guide, opening a door that led to the main entranceway. Chaloner heaved a sigh of relief. Safety and freedom were almost within his grasp. ‘He was a sour, angry cove, with a foul tongue. He was a ship’s chandler, though, so no common villain.’
‘Can I see Sarsfeild?’ asked Chaloner, while every fibre of his being urged him to walk out of the gate and never return. ‘He was convicted of the same crime as the other two.’
The guide looked annoyed. ‘I wish you could, because it would cost you another shilling, but he was transferred to Ludgate as soon as we heard Fanning was dead. Hah! Here is the governor at last. Come with me, so I can tell him you are here. He likes it when friends visit.’
The heavy front door had been opened to admit a fat gentleman in a tight red coat. Chaloner’s guide started to move towards him with a greasy smile, but another guard got there first and started to talk about a consignment of tallow. A porter leaned hard on the massive gate, to begin the process of closing it. Chaloner took a step towards it, then broke into a run. His guide yelled, and Chaloner turned sideways to shoot through the gap, stumbling when his shirt caught on the rough wood. He tore it free. The door started to open again, and Chaloner saw guards massing behind, ready to pour out. He raced towards the nearby market, where he was soon lost among the chaotic jumble of stalls.
Chapter 6
The stench of prison clung to Chaloner as he left Newgate market. He was due to meet Leybourn at a nearby coffee house in an hour – where they would fortify themselves before going to visit Silence Webb – and he considered going home to change first. Temperance’s house was closer, though, and he thought a spell in the yeasty warmth of her kitchen might dispel some of the reek that hung about him. He hesitated when he recalled she had gone from Puritan maid to brothel-master in the course of the last three months, but he did not have many friends in London, and was reluctant to lose one because he disapproved of her new occupation. He tapped on her door, and was conducted to the kitchen by a woman whose hair was a mass of purple ringlets. Temperance was sitting at the table, poring over a ledger. She was pleased to see him, but immediately wrinkled her nose.
‘That bad?’ he asked apologetically.
She nodded. ‘What have you done to your arm? Come and sit by the fire while you tell me, and Maude will make us some of her famous coffee.’
Chaloner rarely discussed his work with ‘civilians’. Leybourn was different, because he undertook the occasional mission for Thurloe, but Temperance was another matter entirely. He deflected her questions with a combination of abbreviated truths and subject changes, as he had done with acquaintances all his adult life. Temperance was not so easily misled, however, and refused to accept the explanation that he had simply fallen over.
‘Colonel Holles claimed you were viciously attacked at the Court ball.’
Chaloner recalled Holles mentioning Temperance’s establishment, and saw he would have to be careful, if the soldier was the kind of fellow to gossip. ‘He is wrong – it was just an accident.’
Temperance nodded in a way that said she did not believe him. ‘And Will Leybourn told me you are investigating the vagrant May shot. He said there are connections between that death, the murder of Webb and the Castle Plot, and asked me to listen for any idle chatter among my guests.’
Chaloner was startled and angry. ‘Then he should not have done. It may not be safe.’
‘There is no danger in listening, then relaying snippets to trusted friends,’ objected Temperance. She grinned suddenly. ‘I will be like the Bishop of London’s new parrot. He is teaching it prayers, and it is rewarded with a nut each time it masters a new one. How will you reward me?’
She was underestimating the risk, and Chaloner did not care what the Bishop of London did with his bird. ‘Please do not do this, Temperance. I have lost too many friends to spying already.’
Temperance’s smile was mischievous. ‘Perhaps you have, but did they enjoy the favour of powerful courtiers like Bristol and Lady Castlemaine? I provide a unique service, and no one will risk the Court’s anger by meddling with me. You worry too much.’
‘Here you are,’ said Maude, placing a dish of dark sludge in front of him. It looked as if it might relieve him of teeth if he attempted to swallow any. ‘It has extra sugar, on account of your bad arm.’
‘I have forsworn sugar,’ he said, relieved to have an excuse, ‘because of the slave trade.’
‘Have you?’ asked Maude, puzzled. ‘I am not sure my coffee is drinkable without it.’
Chaloner doubted it was drinkable with. ‘Pity.’
‘Mr Terrell, the Irish scholar, was here last night, asking for you,’ said Maude, downing the brew herself and smacking her lips to show he was missing something good.
‘Adrian May and Johan Behn were with him,’ added Temperance disapprovingly. ‘I do not think much of May at all. He leers at my girls and he has an ugly temper. I do not like Behn, either.’
‘I do,’ said Maude. Her expression became dreamy and, to his utter astonishment, Chaloner saw she was smitten with the bulky Brandenburger. She was old enough to be his mother, so it was not an attraction he would have anticipated. ‘I heard that Eaffrey Johnson wants to marry him, but if she does not make an honest man of him soon, then I shall do it for her. Johan will make a perfect husband for any red-blooded woman – rich, handsome, charming and clever.’
‘Behn?’ asked Chaloner in disbelief, wondering if they were talking about the same fellow. The familiar use of the merchant’s first name did not escape his notice, either, and he had the sudden suspicion that Maude might know Behn rather better than was decent for a man with an adoring fiancée.
‘He may look pretty, but he has the feel of a bully about him,’ said Temperance, cutting across Maude’s indignant reply. ‘And there is something about him I do not trust. If I were Eaffrey, I would look elsewhere for my perfect husband.’
Maude sniffed huffily. ‘You do not know what you are talking about, and if you cannot see Johan’s charms, then there must be something wrong with you. And he is not a bully, either – at least, not with ladies.’
‘He bullies men, then?’ pounced Chaloner. ‘Who, exactly?’
Maude poured herself more coffee. ‘He quarrelled with Webb once or twice – I heard some of the Guinea Company men talking about it. Webb had accused Johan of seducing his wife, you see, although obviously a comely fellow like Johan would never set his sights on a woman like Silence.’ She fluffed up her hair in a way that suggested she considered herself a far better catch.
‘Do not forget what else the Guinea Company men told you, Maude,’ said Temperance coolly. She disapproved of her friend’s hankering for the merchant. ‘They also said Behn left the most recent dinner early and in a foul temper because of a quarrel with Webb. And it was after that that Webb was murdered.’