Chaloner laughed, genuinely amused. ‘Of course you do.’
‘I have had two successes.’ There was something in Greene’s earnest, pleading voice that gave the spy pause for thought. ‘One is now a cook-maid, and the other is a laundress. You may scoff, but I hope to save more young ladies in time. Of course, I cannot do it if I am hanged …’
Chaloner regarded him sceptically. ‘And why should you want to rescue harlots?’
Greene swallowed hard, and looked away. ‘Because my sister … during the Commonwealth, when it was hard for Royalists to earn a crust … It was the only way to feed her baby, her husband being killed at Naseby. I was unemployed myself then, and had no funds to share with her.’
‘Your sister was a prostitute?’ asked Chaloner in disbelief. His own family had endured struggles as hard as any, but his kinswomen had never resorted to those sorts of measures.
‘Hush!’ hissed Greene, distressed. ‘There is no need to tell everyone. And she was not a prostitute — she just made herself available to one man in return for regular payment. After she died, I vowed to help other unfortunates. I do not know any gentlewomen in my sister’s position, so I elected to save the poorest whores instead — the ones in the Dog and Duck, whom nobody else cares about.’
Chaloner was unconvinced. ‘You have been seen laughing with them.’
‘They are cheery company, and always greet me kindly. I have grown to like them, so yes, we laugh together. It makes for a pleasant change, because I seldom have cause to laugh with anyone else.’
‘Then what about the three purses you tossed in the river on Thursday morning? Explain those.’
Greene looked unutterably weary. ‘Again, your witnesses have misconstrued an innocent act. I did not throw three purses in the river — I threw ten. They belonged to Jones, and he left them at my house after Langston and I entertained him for dinner once. We always meant to return them to him, but we kept forgetting. They were a painful reminder of an evening with good friends, so I disposed of them.’
‘Why hurl them in the Thames? Why not in a gutter? Or why not give them to your cheerful harlots? I am sure they would never refuse a free gift.’
‘Because for me, dropping them in the river was a symbolic act,’ whispered Greene miserably. ‘Jones drowned, so it seemed fitting to … But I was not thinking clearly. I see now it was a stupid thing to have done, but that did not occur to me when I did it.’
There was a pitiful plausibility about the explanations, and Chaloner found he was not sure what to think. ‘Then what about the brandywine?’ he demanded. ‘You told me you do not touch strong drink, yet you begged some from Munt on two occasions; and Turner found a secret supply in your office.’
Greene was close to tears. ‘Damn! I was hoping no one would find out about Munt, because I knew how it would look. I asked him not to mention it, but I should have known he could not be trusted.’
‘So, you lied to me,’ said Chaloner flatly. ‘The hidden brandywine was yours.’
‘No! I do not drink brandywine, and I have no idea how those flasks came to be in my office. But I did ask Munt for some — on Thursday and then on Saturday. I told him I needed its stimulation, because I planned to work late. However, the real reason is because my vicar has a liking for it.’
Chaloner raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you really expect me to believe that?’
‘Ask him. He will tell you how I give him some most weeks. But Brodrick bought every last drop in London for his Babylonian punch, and I did not want to disappoint, so I inveigled some from Munt instead. So much for trying to be nice! But can you not see what is happening? Someone wants me accused, and is twisting innocent facts to trap me. I have explanations, but no one is listening.’
Chaloner regarded him thoughtfully. Perhaps the vicar of Wapping really did rely on Greene to provide him with a weekly dose of brandywine — and Chaloner knew from Wiseman that Brodrick had bought all the available supplies for his punch. It sounded ludicrous, but sometimes the truth was absurd.
‘Who would do such a thing to you?’ he asked eventually.
‘You have asked me that before, and the answer is the same now as it was then: I do not know. I wish I did, because it must be a misunderstanding. I have lived a simple and godly life, and I cannot imagine why anyone should hate me so. All I can do is put my trust in God — and in you.’
Confused and uncertain, Chaloner decided to visit the Dog and Duck. He took a boat to the London Bridge, then made his way through the cramped, sunless alleys that formed the area known as the Bankside Stews. Mean houses, dirty taverns and filthy streets characterised that part of Southwark, and it teemed with life. The noise was deafening, with tradesmen declaring the virtues of their wares, carts clattering along cobbled streets, and a cacophony arising from an escaped and furious bull.
The Dog and Duck was famous for its willing ladies, and Chaloner supposed it was an obvious target for anyone wanting to save fallen women. He entered its vast, smelly interior, and found a seat in a corner at the back, intending to sit quietly and watch the prostitutes in action before selecting one he thought might answer his questions. But the lasses were used to men lurking in the shadows, and he was approached almost immediately by a sallow-faced girl who told him her name was Alice.
‘Are you from Court?’ she asked with a coquettish smile. ‘You are very well dressed.’
Chaloner placed a coin on the table. ‘Will you answer some questions?’
‘For a silver shilling, I will do anything you like. Shall we go upstairs?’
Chaloner watched a rat strut boldly across the festering rushes on the floor, and did not like to imagine the state of the beds. He was not particularly fastidious, but nothing would be gained from rolling around among fleas. ‘I would prefer to stay here.’
‘Very well, as long as you promise not to do anything embarrassing. I got my reputation, see.’
‘I shall do my best. Do you know a Westminster clerk called Greene?’
‘Mr Greene? Of course! He visits us almost every week. Are you his friend? I am glad he got one, because he is a lovely man. He took us to St Paul’s Cathedral on Christmas Day.’
‘Did he? What for?’
‘He said we deserved to see something beautiful. We got dressed in our best clothes, and he paid for a carriage and a nice dinner afterwards. Bless him.’
‘Does he avail himself of your services?’ asked Chaloner bluntly.
Alice’s lips tightened in disapproval. ‘That’s none of your business, and-’
Chaloner removed the coin from the table. ‘Then I shall ask someone else.’
She reached out to grab his hand, revealing black teeth in an ingratiating smile. ‘No need to be hasty, sir. You cannot blame a girl for being wary of someone what comes in asking questions about her friends. Why do you want to know anyway? Is it about the trouble he is in? He told us about that — some Court bastard is after his blood. But he is a good man, so they should leave him alone.’
‘I am trying to help him. And you can help him, too, by answering my questions honestly. So, I repeat: does Greene frolic with you?’
Alice prised the money from his fingers and shook her head. ‘No. He comes to ask after our health, and he tries to persuade us to do other jobs. He paid for Meg to train as a washerwoman.’
‘He told me,’ lied Chaloner. He had actually failed to make this connection, but supposed it made sense. Of course, Meg had not moved too far from her old trade, if she was enjoying late-night trysts with the likes of Colonel Turner in the Painted Chamber.