‘I was expecting Yates,’ said the surveyor, disappointed. ‘We sent for some food. Ah – here he is.’
The porter staggered along the hallway with a tray that contained an inordinate amount of bread, cheese and cold meat. Leybourn’s eyes gleamed, and Chaloner supposed he was hungry. Yates placed the victuals on the table but, before he left, insisted on sampling everything, to ensure it was poison-free. Thurloe only dismissed him when the surveyor commented unhappily on the rapidly dwindling portions.
Leybourn closed the door behind the jovial porter and turned to the table, rubbing his hands eagerly. ‘I am ravenous. Do you want anything, Tom?’
Remembering what had happened the last time he had swallowed something in the ex-Spymaster’s chamber, Chaloner declined. Thurloe claimed he had no appetite either, and for a while, the only sounds in the room were Leybourn’s knife clacking on the pewter plate, and a rhythmic hammering sound from outside. Chaloner looked questioningly at Thurloe.
‘The orchard,’ replied Thurloe quietly. ‘The felling began today.’
‘Already?’ Chaloner was stunned. ‘I thought you might delay it for a few weeks at least. You are a lawyer, after all, skilled in postponement.’
‘I did my best, but Prynne’s is a powerful voice, and he invariably has what he wants. Close the window, Thomas. I cannot bear to listen.’
Chaloner obliged, then, to take Thurloe’s mind off the destruction, began to tell him all that had happened since their last meeting. The ex-Spymaster was thoughtful.
‘Willys’s murder does not sound like a carefully laid plan to me. Someone may just have snatched the opportunity presented by the bucking horse – and the fact that you and he were left unguarded. Of course, we cannot discount the possibility that the killer might have wanted you dead, too.’
‘Why?’ asked Leybourn, appalled by the tale. ‘What could anyone gain by dispatching Tom and Willys? They do not work for the same faction. Willys was on the list naming Webb’s murderers and Tom was not. Tom has connections with the Castle Plot and Willys did not–’
‘He did,’ interrupted Chaloner. ‘He was used to hinder the delivery of a shipment of arms.’
Leybourn continued as though he had not spoken. ‘There is no reason for anyone to strike at both. And perhaps there was no intention to have Tom accused of murder – he just happened to be in the cell next door. It was an unfortunate coincidence, which May seized upon with alacrity.’
‘May,’ mused Chaloner. ‘Scot told me you and he went to a tavern together recently. Now why would a decent, law-abiding fellow like you deign to associate with someone like that?’
Leybourn looked pleased with himself. ‘He heard you had training as a law-clerk, and was asking which of the Inns you attended – he is obviously hoping to unearth some youthful scandal to use against you. However, when he declined to tell me why he wanted to know, I suggested he should to talk to Prynne.’
‘Prynne will not remember me – or my youthful scandals,’ said Chaloner, surprised. ‘And he is hardly conducive company. If May does go to see him, he will be in for a deeply unpleasant time.’
Leybourn feigned innocence. ‘Really? What a pity for him.’
‘Let us consider this murder rationally,’ said Thurloe, declining to waste time discussing pranks. ‘Who might want Willys dead? It will not be Bristol, because Willys was a devious sort of man and such fellows are useful. It will not be Temple either, because he would not deprive Bristol of an aide. What about someone loyal to Lord Clarendon? He would never order a death himself, but his supporters are more practical about such matters.’
‘Brodrick?’ suggested Leybourn. ‘I confess Clarendon’s debauched kinsman mystifies me.’
‘And I do not like the way these surgeons appear every time there is some dramatic incident, either,’ said Chaloner. ‘Especially Wiseman.’
‘Are you saying that because his splint means you cannot play your viol?’ asked Leybourn.
‘No,’ replied Chaloner shortly. ‘I am saying it because he lied about being at the Guinea Company dinner. He swore he did not attend, but Reynell let slip with the truth. Not only that, but Wiseman argued with Webb about slavery on the night of the murder – another detail he neglected to mention.’
‘Webb,’ mused Thurloe. ‘You still have not identified his killer, although you have followed the contorted travels of his corpse. And Dillon will be hanged the day after tomorrow.’
‘Dillon does not think so,’ said Chaloner.
Thurloe was unhappy. ‘I have rescued men from similar situations in the past, and I can tell you that it is unwise to leave it to the last minute. The nearer one comes to an execution, the more paperwork stands between prisoner and reprieve. His master is making a grave mistake by dawdling.’
‘I am under the impression the man does not intend to operate through official channels,’ said Leybourn. ‘Half of London is expecting an audacious rescue just as the noose tightens around Dillon’s neck. There is also a rumour that Webb’s murder and the subsequent conviction of those three men is connected to the Castle Plot. If that is true, then Dillon’s escape may herald the beginning of something dangerous.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Chaloner.
‘Rebellion,’ elaborated Leybourn darkly. ‘A rerun of the one that failed in Dublin – only this time, there will be no men hired by Williamson to make it flounder. I predict violence when Dillon reaches the scaffold, and I shall close my shop and make sure the windows are barred.’
‘But who is this patron with a flair for the dramatic?’ asked Thurloe, becoming frustrated.
‘It is someone influential, or Dillon would not be so confident,’ said Leybourn. ‘It cannot be Williamson, because he arranged releases for his people within hours of their arrests. Is it Bristol?’
‘Because he is Catholic?’ asked Thurloe. ‘And Catholics feature large in Irish rebellions? If that is what you mean, then I urge you to rethink. Being a papist does not go hand in hand with sedition, although God knows we have given them cause with all this insane Bill of Uniformity.’
‘What about Clarendon, then?’ asked Leybourn.
An image of the portly Lord Chancellor hurtling forward on a prancing horse to snatch Dillon from the scaffold formed in Chaloner’s mind, and he smiled. ‘He is not a man for flamboyant gestures. Besides, he is too preoccupied with Bristol to stage last-ditch reprieves for petty villains.’
‘Buckingham?’ suggested Leybourn, running out of ideas. ‘He is a rash, ostentatious fellow. Or perhaps Lady Castlemaine intends to seduce His Majesty into signing a pardon. I have heard she is not choosy about lovers, so maybe Dillon is one of her conquests.’
‘We are looking at this the wrong way,’ said Thurloe, pursing his lips at the vulgarity. ‘We cannot identify Dillon’s master unless we know who killed Webb. Webb was murdered for a reason, and we will only unravel this mess when we know what that is. What are your theories, Tom?’
Chaloner raised his hands in a shrug. ‘Silence has emerged rather nicely from the tragedy, and so has Behn. Wiseman’s practice was destroyed by Webb’s accusations. Lisle fell foul of him, too, and so did Johnson. Meanwhile, Webb insulted Brodrick’s music, Bristol owed him money, and Temple had discovered the hard way that he was unscrupulous in business.’
‘Dillon did not quarrel with Webb, though,’ said Thurloe with satisfaction. ‘And neither did the other eight men named on the letter sent to Bristol.’