‘Did you find your killer? The man who murdered Webb?’
‘Dillon and Fanning did it, but on someone else’s orders. I am inclined to suspect May, but Scot believes it is Behn.’
Eaffrey swallowed hard, but did not leap to Behn’s defence. ‘Your Irish alias was on Bristol’s letter, Tom,’ she said after a moment, raising her hand when Chaloner tried to speak. ‘I visited Thurloe this morning, and he showed me the original note. He has a special glass that magnifies writing, and I saw quite clearly how the name had been changed from Garsfield to Sarsfeild. You obviously have a friend – someone who knows no powerful patron would step forward and provide you with a King’s pardon or let you “disappear”.’
‘Why would anyone help me? Other than Thurloe?’
‘Perhaps someone owes an obligation to the Chaloner clan. Perhaps you saved a life once, and that person found himself in a position to reciprocate. Perhaps someone did not want Lord Clarendon to lose his best spy. There are all kinds of possibilities.’
Chaloner tried to make sense of it. ‘May wrote the letter, so the name must have been changed after he sent it to Bristol. But I doubt Thurloe was ever in a position to tamper with it – if he had been, he would not have asked me to steal it, because he would already have known what it said. And nor would he have let innocent Sarsfeild be incarcerated in Newgate on my behalf.’
‘Lord Clarendon, then. At a time when half the Court is baying for his blood, trustworthy allies are important. However, your mysterious friend obviously wants to remain anonymous, or he would have made himself known to you, so my advice is to forget about him. You say Dillon and Fanning murdered Webb, and they are dead, so let that mark the end of the matter. We shall see Dillon dissected today, and then the whole affair can be buried with him.’
‘It is Willys being dissected, not Dillon. Did you notice how the cloth is tied around the corpse’s head, instead of being laid across its face? Many influential courtiers are here, and they might make a fuss if they learn Bristol’s aide has been providing their afternoon’s amusement.’
Eaffrey made a moue of distaste.
‘Are you sure it is him?’
‘As sure as I can be about anything on this case. I have answers to some questions, but not all. Who killed Willys? Who dressed as a vicar and strangled Sarsfeild? Why did May send that letter to Bristol, when the ruse could have misfired and seen him dismissed?’
‘Actually,’ came a voice far too close behind him, ‘you are quite wrong about May.’
Chaloner spun around to see a tall figure wearing a cloak and a hat that shaded his eyes and the top half on his face. The rest was dominated by a sardonic grin.
There was a sword in Dillon’s hand, and he held it in a way that suggested he was about to use it. Eaffrey gasped in horror, and Chaloner reached for his own weapon. It was not there, and he realised with a shock that he had neglected to retrieve it after Johnson had disarmed him. He backed away, looking for something with which to defend himself, but the undercroft was just an open-sided vault with pillars and a flagstone floor. And because it had been swept for the Public Anatomy, there was not so much as a twig or a pebble that could be lobbed.
‘I saw you hanged!’ breathed Eaffrey, aghast. ‘Are you some fiend, to evade death?’
Dillon ignored her. ‘I have questions, Heyden,’ he whispered. ‘My master wants to know–’
‘That is a dismal attempt at deception,’ said Chaloner contemptuously, stepping behind one of the pillars when he recognised the man’s true identity – Dillon had no reason to harm him, but someone else did. ‘You are too tall to be Dillon, your voice is too deep and the hat is at the wrong angle.’
May ripped the offending item from his bald head. ‘It was worth a try.’
‘What do you want?’ demanded Chaloner, pulling Eaffrey behind him.
‘I want an end to the trouble you have caused me,’ snapped May. ‘I want you dead.’
Chaloner balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, ready to jump one way or the other when May attacked. ‘What trouble? Perhaps we should go to see Williamson and–’
May snorted. ‘I do not think so! You will try to usurp my position – to have yourself hired and me dismissed, because you think you are a better spy than me.’
‘He is a better spy than you,’ said Eaffrey, eyeing May in distaste. ‘But he has no desire to work for Williamson or steal your post as chief toady. Why would he, when he is content with Clarendon?’
May sneered. ‘Every decent spy wants to be in the government’s employ, so why should he be any different? He has done nothing but tell lies about me ever since we returned from Ireland. But I shall have my revenge. First, I shall kill him, and then I shall sit back and watch his reputation destroyed. I have taken the liberty of hiding one or two documents in pertinent places, and when they come to light, they will ensure his name will always be associated with ignominy.’
‘That is an ungentlemanly thing to do,’ said Eaffrey angrily.
‘Ours is an ungentlemanly profession. And do not think you will avenge his death, madam, because I know about you – your real lover is Scot, and you intend to wed Behn for his money. If you attempt to harm me, I shall tell Behn, and you will be poor for the rest of your life.’
‘You are a pig!’ spat Eaffrey in disgust. Chaloner glanced at her and wondered whether the threat was enough to buy her silence. She did not want her child born into poverty, and Scot would have no money once his sister – and her fortune – married the despicable Temple.
‘What lies have I told about you?’ he asked of May.
‘About that letter to Bristol. I did not write it, and I resent the implication that I would expose the identities of my fellow agents. Your accusations have made my colleagues suspicious and wary of me. No doubt it is all part of your plan to usurp my place in Williamson’s confidence.’
‘It is nothing of the kind,’ said Chaloner impatiently, tensing when May made a practice sweep with his blade, making it whistle through the air. ‘And what do you propose to do here? Kill me with half the Court within shouting distance?’
May smiled grimly. ‘We both know no one will hear anything through those thick walls, not with Wiseman babbling about guts and bladders. You can holler all you like, but I will still skewer you.’
‘Fetch Williamson, Eaffrey,’ ordered Chaloner. He glanced around to see she had gone.
‘She is a practical lady – and an ambitious one,’ said May gloatingly. ‘So do not expect help from that quarter. She will not risk a comfortable future just to save your miserable life.’
Before Chaloner could reply, May advanced with a series of well-executed sweeps. Chaloner ducked one way, then the other around the pillar, and May missed him by no more than the width of a finger.
‘I should have dispatched you in White Hall’, hissed the bald spy. ‘I would have done, had Holles not stopped me. You had better draw, or this will be a very short fight.’
‘I cannot draw,’ said Chaloner, deeply unimpressed by the man’s powers of observation. ‘You can see I have no sword.’
May swished his blade triumphantly. ‘Then you should have come better prepared. Are you going to duck and weave all day, or will you stand and die like a man?’
He darted forward, feinting at the last moment. Chaloner jigged away, but May’s sword caught in the lace on his cuff. He knocked it free, then ran to another, thicker pier, hoping it would afford him greater protection.