‘You are a murderer, Heyden,’ she said coldly. Fortunately, a gust of wind took her words, and the Scot did not hear them. ‘There is a description circulating about the man who dispatched the elderly musician, and it matches yours. I have not forgotten the blood on your hands when you arrived later that very same night, and I am drawing my own conclusions.’
‘Then they will be wrong,’ said Chaloner, more calmly than he felt. ‘Smegergill was a friend of my father’s, and I had no reason to harm him. Indeed, his death is a source of great sadness to me.’
‘I do not believe you.’
Chaloner shrugged, effecting carelessness. ‘Then ask Will about me. He will tell you I am not the sort of man who goes around killing old people.’
‘He said you work for the government — that men of power give you unusual commissions. He believes these duties account for your condition that night. He also said you are fiercely loyal to the King, and would do anything for him. Perhaps that includes murdering old musicians.’
Chaloner knew Leybourn had offered the explanation because he had not wanted her to think badly of him. However, confiding such details carried its own dangers, and Chaloner heartily wished Leybourn had said nothing at all. He was about to reply when she gave a sudden frown, and he turned to see Thurloe walking towards them.
‘Another of William’s faithful friends,’ she sneered. ‘He is happier with me than when he just had you two for company. Why can you not accept that, and leave us alone?’
‘He means a great deal to me, madam,’ said Thurloe. He shot her one of his unreadable smiles. ‘I love him as a brother, and would sacrifice anything to see him content.’
Mary was momentarily disconcerted, not quite sure what he was saying. Nor was Chaloner, although he doubted the ex-Spymaster was merely making pleasant conversation. If Mary had any sense, she would take pains to ensure she did nothing to annoy Thurloe.
‘I do not want William associating with murderers,’ she said loudly, resuming her attack on Chaloner, who was easier to read. ‘You killed Smegergill, which probably means you killed Maylord, too. They were friends, and the death of one almost drove the other insane before you dispatched him. I heard Smegergill went around telling people that he was Caesar.’
‘Thomas has not killed anyone, madam,’ said Thurloe. He leaned closer to her, and his voice was smooth and softly menacing. Even Chaloner, who had known him for years, was slightly unsettled by it. ‘At least, not yet. He was out of the country when Maylord died, and this can be proven by a dozen witnesses in a court of law. You would be wise to drop your accusations.’
She was unnerved, but not such a novice in the world of deception that she was ready to back away without some bluster. ‘You think you can prise me away from William, but you are wrong. He loves me, and I shall stay with him for as long as I choose. And I meant what I said the other night, Heyden: you will be sorry if you cross me — and so will William.’
She stamped away, and the Scottish Hector moved to intercept her. She took a breath, and Chaloner sensed she was about to tell him what had transpired. Then she glanced back, and there was something in Thurloe’s expression that stopped her. She swallowed hard and reconsidered; from her gestures, Chaloner could tell she was making innocuous observations about the funeral.
‘She is just a bag of wind,’ said Thurloe, watching. ‘She cannot harm you.’
‘Yes, she can. She is talking to one of the men who attacked me in Smithfield. He visited her late last night, and when he left he stole Will’s silver goblets — the ones from the Royal Society.’
Thurloe was horrified. ‘That particular man is a Hector — a fellow called Kirby. I arrested him on suspicion of conspiring to murder Cromwell once, but was forced to release him for lack of evidence. I have always assumed the Hectors’ loyalty to the Cavalier cause during the Commonwealth is why the government has turned a blind eye to their felonious activities ever since the Restoration.’
‘And perhaps why Williamson hires them when he needs dirty work done.’
‘Very possibly. So, it seems Mary Cade is dangerous after all.’
Chaloner nodded, but made no other reply. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed by the three investigations that confronted him, and he was afraid for Leybourn.
Thurloe patted his arm consolingly. ‘You will find answers, do not fear. But do not allow yourself to be blinded by guilt over Smegergill. I have told you before that there may be more to his death than a harmless old man hit over the head and left to drown.’
‘I am running out of time,’ said Chaloner gloomily. ‘The Earl wants Newburne’s killer named by Monday, and I will be dismissed if I fail. And I have a thousand questions but no answers.’
Thurloe gave one of his small smiles. ‘I have an answer for you. Nobert Wenum. I was mulling it over last night, and it is an anagram. Rearrange the letters, and what do you get?’
Chaloner stared at him, his mind working fast. ‘Tom Newburne!’
Thurloe inclined his head. ‘Precisely. So, the man with the annotated copy of The Newes, who kept a careful record of the sales he made to L’Estrange’s rivals, was none other than your devious solicitor. You should not be surprised — you already knew he was corrupt.’
Chaloner was not happy with the explanation. ‘I also know he was clever, so why would he choose such an obvious alias?’
‘It was not obvious, Thomas. You had not worked it out.’
But Chaloner was still not convinced. ‘The landlord of the Rhenish Wine House made disparaging remarks about Newburne. I doubt he would have let him rent one of his attics.’
‘Newburne disguised his name, so perhaps he disguised his face, too. What did the neighbour say about Wenum? That he had a jaw that looked leprous? One of the first things I taught you about disguises is that if you give yourself an outstanding characteristic — a scarlet nose, a big moustache, lousy hair — people will see that and nothing else. Perhaps Newburne devised himself a disfiguring rash knowing that no one would remember anything more about him.’
Chaloner supposed it made sense. And if it had been Newburne renting the room next to Maylord, it made for another connection between the two deaths. Had Maylord heard or seen something about the lawyer’s dubious activities that had frightened him into trying to solicit Chaloner’s help?
‘Only two men have made positive comments about Newburne,’ he mused. ‘His friend Finch, who was not objective. And Muddiman, who said Newburne was not as corrupt as everyone claimed.’
Thurloe saw where his analysis was going. ‘The ledger is proof that Wenum — Newburne — was selling secrets to L’Estrange’s rivals, including Muddiman. Muddiman’s assertion that Newburne was not as bad as he appeared may have been him protecting an ally. You still look doubtful. Don’t be. Sometimes things really are just what they seem.’
Late that night, Chaloner revisited Hen Finch’s home. The body had been removed, and so had various other items, including anything written. As no house was ever completely devoid of documents — all men had a letter from a friend, a deed of ownership, or even a bill of sale tucked away somewhere — he assumed they had been removed en masse. He had no idea whether Finch was associated with Newburne’s corrupt dealings, but someone was obviously taking no chances.
Next, he went to Newburne’s house on Old Jewry, watching it from the garden until he was sure everyone was in bed and all lights doused. A window on the first floor had been left open, and he scaled the wall and climbed inside with a confidence born of experience. He listened carefully, but the household was exhausted by the strains of the day, and everyone was sound asleep.
He had paid careful attention to Dorcus’s tearful eulogies during the post-funeral gathering, and had concluded she had had scant idea about the real nature of her husband’s businesses. She had also expressed surprise when Hodgkinson had mentioned late nights kept when the newsbooks were being printed, leading Chaloner to deduce that she and Newburne had occupied separate bedrooms. There were several chambers on the upper floor, but only one with a door left open. Chaloner stepped inside it, and knew from its lingering aroma of sweat and tobacco that it had been used by a man.