‘You mean spy?’ asked Chaloner, managing to inject considerable distaste into the word.
Willys nodded, oblivious to the disapproval. ‘I do it myself, all the time. In fact, I had a look in Clarendon’s rooms on the day of the ball, although I did not find anything useful. Do not worry about being caught, though. If that happens, powerful men will … make arrangements.’
‘How can I be sure of that?’
‘Because I was in an awkward position myself recently, and I was saved the very same day.’
‘Really?’ Chaloner pretended to be impressed. ‘How?’
Willys leaned closer, and his voice dropped to a confidential whisper. ‘My name was included in a letter that accused me of murder. I was innocent, of course, as were the eight men listed with me, and we have all been pardoned or allowed to disappear. As I said, great men look after their own.’
‘I heard about that case, but I was told three of the nine have been sentenced to death.’
‘True, but they have not been hanged yet. There is still plenty of time for rescue – although one of them has died of gaol-fever, which is unfortunate for him.’
‘I should say! How do you know none of those three are guilty?’
‘Because Dillon is a Quaker, and they abhor violence. Besides, I was with him in the Dolphin tavern – the one over by the Tower – the night Webb died. That is a long way from The Strand, where the crime took place. Dillon had been at the Guinea Company dinner with a friend called Fanning, but he escaped early because he said it was dull, and we both got roaring drunk together.’
‘Dillon was with you all that night?’ Chaloner recalled Dillon claiming he was drinking with a friend when Webb was killed. However, he also recalled Dillon claiming that he had been nowhere near the Guinea Company dinner, and Willys was now the third person – after Scot and Brodrick – to say that was not the case. Why had Dillon lied about the dinner? Because he did not want anything made of the fact? And why had he not mentioned his ‘alibi’ to the judge who had tried him? Chaloner could only suppose it was because Willys was also on the list of the accused. Or was Willys just trying to protect a comrade by spinning yarns now?
‘I passed out at some point,’ Willys admitted sheepishly. ‘Yet I will swear on my mother’s grave that Dillon was in no state to dash across the city, stab a man and be with me when I woke a couple of hours later.’
‘What about Fanning? Did he stay at the dinner after Dillon had left?’
‘I have no idea. All I can say is that he was not with Dillon and me in the Dolphin. Ah! Here is May, come to find out whether you have agreed to spy on Clarendon for My Lord Bristol.’
Chaloner stood to leave as May swaggered towards them. His disguise was good, but there was no point in taking risks by conversing with men who knew him well. May was dressed for riding that day, with leather boots, a cloak and spurs. His shaven head was covered by a functional grey wig that fitted him like a cap. A sturdy fighting sword was at his waist, and thrust into his belt was a snaphaunce gun that looked suspiciously similar to the one owned by Fitz-Simons. Chaloner mumbled something about buying curtain hooks from Covent Garden, but May grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving. It was not a hostile gesture, but as soon as May’s fingers closed around the splint, the game was up.
‘Heyden!’ he yelled, hauling out his dag. It discharged with an ear-splitting bang, and Chaloner was astonished that he should have missed at such close range. May was furious. He hurled the firearm away and drew his sword. ‘Now I have you!’
‘This is Vanders,’ said Willys, looking from one to the other in bewilderment. ‘I have just recruited him to work for Bristol.’
‘Fool,’ snarled May, as Chaloner backed away. ‘He is Clarendon’s creature.’
Chaloner was trapped, and there was nothing he could do or say to extricate himself from his predicament, so he made no effort to try. ‘Put up your sword, May,’ he said quietly. ‘I do not want to fight you – not in White Hall. Brawling is forbidden here, and we will both be arrested.’
‘I will not be brawling,’ said May, advancing with his weapon held in a way that showed he meant business. ‘I have just unmasked a traitor. Are you going to defend yourself, or do I just kill you?’
‘You would stab me here?’ asked Chaloner softly, while Willys gaped, appalled at how he had been duped. ‘In front of witnesses? My Earl will not stand by when his people are killed in cold blood, and Spymaster Williamson will not want a murderer on his staff.’
May lunged, and the tip of his sword went through Chaloner’s sleeve – and would have pierced his arm had the splint not been there. Reluctantly, the spy drew his own weapon to parry the next blow, but still made no move to attack. The elderly equerry and Wiseman clamoured at them to sheath their blades before the palace guard arrived, and Chaloner saw the musicians had already dashed off to fetch them. He did not feel himself to be in any particular danger, because he had seen May fight in Ireland and knew he was no swordsman. All he needed to do was stay out of blade-range until May either came to his senses or someone disarmed him. However, he revised his strategy smartly when Willys drew a wicked-looking rapier with a furious expression on his face. Two opponents were an entirely different matter.
‘May cannot kill you, because you are mine to skewer,’ Willys declared, becoming angrier by the moment as the enormity of what had happened dawned on him. He was not a clever man, but even he could see his ‘recruitment’ had given Clarendon some powerful ammunition against his master.
Chaloner blocked another blow from May, then struggled to protect himself as Willys advanced with a series of determined swipes. May started to move behind him, dividing his attention, and he saw it would only be a matter of time before one of them scored a lucky hit.
‘Stop this at once,’ barked Wiseman, although he was careful to stay well away from the flashing steel. ‘You should be ashamed of yourselves.’
‘You are behaving like Dutchmen,’ added the equerry in disgust. Recklessly, he tried to lay hold of May’s flailing weapon; Chaloner ran forward to deflect the impatient swipe that would have seen the old man injured. ‘Desist immediately, you silly young goats.’
‘Stay away, grandfather,’ warned Willys, lunging while Chaloner was preoccupied with May. Chaloner twisted to avoid the blow and stumbled over a bench. His leg gave a protesting twinge, and he only just managed to jerk away from Willys’s next swipe. ‘Or there will be an accident.’
‘There will be no accidents,’ came a voice from the door. It was Holles and the palace guard, all carrying cocked handguns. ‘You know this is illegal. Put up your swords before I shoot you.’
Seething, May did as he was told, glowering as a soldier hurried forward to snatch the weapon from his hand. But Willys was too enraged to see reason, and advanced on Chaloner with murder in his eyes. Chaloner raised his sword to deflect the first blow, then ducked in surprise when a ball smacked into the wall near his head.
‘Next time, I will do more than make a hole in the plaster,’ snarled Holles. ‘This is your last chance – both of you.’
Since he looked as though he meant it, Chaloner let his sword clatter to the floor. Immediately, Willys raced forward. Chaloner leapt away, and felt the man’s blade pass so close to his face that it sliced through the brim of his hat. Willys staggered from the force of his attack, so Chaloner shoved him hard enough to make him stumble to his knees. The weapon flew from his hand, and three soldiers hastened to secure him while he was down. Meanwhile, Holles grabbed Chaloner, searching him for more weapons. The colonel removed the knives from his belt and sleeve, but did not find the one in his boot.