‘Then he had second thoughts, and sent Scot to stop them,’ said Thurloe, who had not been drunk when Chaloner had arrived to tell them how the case had been resolved. ‘But Scot decided to enact a little vengeance of his own – on Williamson for keeping his brother in the Tower.’
‘Scot witnessed Webb’s murder,’ continued Chaloner. ‘And then he wrote Bristol a letter, naming not only Dillon and Fanning as the culprits, but exposing several of Williamson’s best agents.’
‘Why did Scot pick your Garsfield alias for his letter?’ asked Leybourn. ‘Why not Heyden?’
‘He was being clever,’ said Chaloner. ‘Or thought he was. He chose that name – which I have only ever used in Ireland – to strengthen the apparent links between Webb’s death and the Castle Plot. That was probably why he included Fitz-Simons, too – like Dillon, he was a rebel. He had stressed the Irish connection in his letter, but it was suppressed – too politically sensitive, I suppose. Fortunately for me, Eaffrey intervened.’
‘Why did she do that?’ asked Leybourn.
Chaloner looked away, and it was Thurloe who answered. ‘Because she was fond of Thomas, and was determined that nothing bad should happen to him.’
‘She was complicit in trying to have him accused of murdering Willys,’ Leybourn pointed out. ‘That is not keeping him out of harm’s way.’
‘That came later, when Thomas’s enquiries were coming too close for comfort. But even then, I do not think she would have left him to stew for long. She was a true friend and would have organised some kind of rescue or release.’
‘And Scot?’ asked Leybourn. ‘Was he a true friend, too?’
‘No,’ said Chaloner softly. ‘I misjudged him badly. I think he might well have shot me, had Eaffrey not grabbed the gun. Killing came easily to him, after all.’
‘Who did he kill?’ asked Leybourn. ‘Other than May and the scarred spy?’
‘Fitz-Simons, for a start,’ replied Thurloe. ‘Because he recognised Scot’s distinctive blue ink. The ink was a stupid mistake on Scot’s part, and shows he was losing his touch.’
‘No wonder he was keen to resign from the intelligence services,’ said Leybourn. ‘The release of his brother was probably a factor, but self-preservation played a role, too.’
‘Sarsfeild was another of his victims,’ continued Thurloe. ‘He dressed as a priest and killed him in Ludgate when he learned Thomas and I were investigating his alibi. He knew we would discover that Sarsfeild’s arrest was a case of mistaken identity, which would raise awkward questions about the rest of the letter. He strangled Sarsfeild in the hope that it would bring an end to our investigation.’
‘And the deaths of Fanning and Sarsfeild in their cells – for reasons unrelated to Webb – made Dillon think his master was tying loose ends,’ said Chaloner. ‘The reality was quite different, but it served to make Dillon more confident of his master’s power. He was deceived.’
‘He was deceived by the name of his master, too,’ said Leybourn, recalling one fact that was not lost in the drunken haze. ‘He thought it was Lord Clarendon, but it was actually Bristol.’
‘Then Scot killed Willys,’ said Thurloe. ‘He had discovered that Willys had sold guns to Irish rebels, but Willys tried to blackmail him by threatening to say Thomas was involved – a mistake of monumental proportion.’
‘Did he kill Holles, too?’ asked Leybourn.
‘That was Eaffrey,’ replied Thurloe. ‘In a ridiculous and pathetic misunderstanding, each was trying to probe the loyalty of the other. Eaffrey wanted to know whether Holles was going to be a danger to Thomas in the future – to find out whether he really had defected to Bristol. And Holles wanted to know whether Scot and Eaffrey would try to harm Clarendon by depriving him of a valued servant.’
‘It all happened so fast,’ said Chaloner unhappily. ‘Guns were out, and they both jumped to the wrong conclusions without giving themselves time to think. I keep running through the scene in my mind, trying to see if there was a way I could have averted the slaughter.’
‘There was nothing you could have done,’ said Thurloe gently. ‘Do not dwell on it.’
‘Meanwhile,’ said Leybourn, after a few minutes of silence, ‘all the barber-surgeons are guilty of is making themselves rich from conducting these Private Anatomies.’
‘Hardly!’ said Thurloe with a shudder of distaste. ‘Not only did they murder people for their corpses, but they were willing to accept any cadaver in good condition with no questions asked.’
‘Behn and Temple are innocent of everything, though,’ said Leybourn.
‘They promote slavery,’ said Chaloner. ‘Plus there is the fact that Behn is a foreign spy. He sends dispatches to his government every Tuesday, which he writes in cipher. Furthermore, he gave money to the Irish rebels, to help the Castle Plot succeed.’
Thurloe glanced sharply at him. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Because, despite what Eaffrey believed, it was obvious that there was something suspect about the man. Maude saw him with Fanning once, and Fanning – like Dillon – was a committed insurgent. I intercepted and decoded one batch of messages and passed the information to Williamson.’
‘Behn is arrested for spying?’ asked Leybourn.
‘Unfortunately, he somehow learned the game was up, and escaped. Williamson is furious.’
‘I have a confession to make,’ said Thurloe sheepishly, when the Inn’s cat approached and wound around his legs. Chaloner was pleased to see it recovered. ‘It involves a certain tonic.’
‘I already know,’ said Chaloner. ‘It was you who poisoned me.’
Leybourn gaped, while Thurloe looked reproachful. ‘I would not have put it quite like that. It makes it sound deliberate, and I assure you it was not. How did you guess?’
‘First, we suspected Prynne, but Will disproved that by drinking his wine. Then it seemed obvious that Yates had done it, but his remit was to spy, not to kill. You, however, are very interested in cures and strong medicines, and you are always willing to try new ones. I suspect your manservant stops you from doing yourself too much harm, but Yates had sent him away. You added a new cure-all called Goddard’s Drops to one experiment, but those contain volatile oil of silk among other powerful ingredients. Wiseman says they are toxic in any quantity.’
Thurloe nodded unhappily. ‘He was appalled when he knew what I had done. Still, I have learned my lesson and shall mix no more potions. I hope you bear me no grudge.’
‘No,’ said Chaloner. He sighed and looked up at the leafy branches swaying over his head. ‘I am not sure I want to work for Lord Clarendon any more. I cannot help him in his spat with Bristol, and it is only a matter of time before their followers start killing each other.’
‘He is still a powerful man, so do not abandon him just yet,’ advised Thurloe. ‘However, the Queen has noticed you at White Hall, and she has a spot of bother she wants investigated. Clarendon happened to mention that you know Portuguese, and she would like you to visit her tomorrow.’
Chaloner regarded him uneasily. ‘I hope she does not ask me to spy on the King’s mistress. Lady Castlemaine is more dangerous than Williamson, May, Scot, Behn, Temple and Bristol put together.’
A few miles away, a ship was sailing down the Thames on the Early tide. It was bound for Surinam, and carried a number of passengers, as well as a cargo of wool for the new colony. Eaffrey Johnson stood at the rail, arm-in-arm with Johan Behn. Behn was wearing warm clothes against the stiff breeze, and he looked bigger and bulkier than ever. He sighed his contentment.