The Butcher Of Smithfield: Chaloner's Third Exploit in Restoration London (Thomas Chaloner Book 3)

by Susanna Gregory

  ‘Piffle,’ said Mary. Even Chaloner was surprised by the curt tone of her voice, and Leybourn looked positively distraught. ‘Eat one.’

  ‘I would rather not,’ said Leybourn plaintively. ‘It might make me ill.’

  ‘Then I shall cut it up for you,’ said Mary, going to stand behind him. She held a knife, and Chaloner was not entirely sure what she intended to do with it. He was not prepared to stand by while she slit his friend’s throat, though. He stepped into the room with his sword in one hand and Joanna’s useless gun in the other.

  ‘He said he does not want it.’

  ‘You!’ snarled Ireton, surging to his feet. Mary made a hissing sound, and he sat again, albeit reluctantly. As he did so, he picked up the knife he had been using to cut his meat.

  ‘Tom!’ said Leybourn uncertainly. ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘From upstairs,’ said Mary. She did not seem disconcerted by the spy’s sudden appearance. In fact, she seemed inexplicably pleased about it, and Chaloner had the sudden sense that something was about to go very wrong. He glanced around quickly, trying to assess what it might be. ‘He regularly burgles your house, as I told you before.’

  ‘He took your money sack off me,’ added Kirby, eager to support her claim. ‘I recognise his voice now. He came at me with a dag …’ He trailed off when he realised the implications of what he had said. Ireton was not the only Hector who rolled his eyes.

  ‘Yes, I took it from you,’ agreed Chaloner pleasantly. ‘After I saw you steal it from Will. I cannot imagine how you knew where to look for it – unless someone told you its whereabouts, of course.’

  ‘Where is my money, Tom?’ asked Leybourn, hurt and bewildered.

  ‘That is a good question,’ said Kirby, standing slowly. There was a dagger in his hand, and several Hectors grinned at each other, anticipating some entertaining violence. ‘And you will answer it.’

  ‘Before or after I paint the wall with your brains?’ asked Chaloner, aiming the gun at him.

  Kirby sat quickly, but Ireton was less easily intimidated. ‘And then what? You shoot Kirby, but how will you tackle the rest of us? You cannot win against us all.’

  ‘No one is going to kill anyone,’ said Leybourn. His face was white with anguish. ‘What is wrong with you all? Mary told me you were civilised.’

  ‘It is all right, Jonas,’ said Mary, as Kirby’s fingers tightened around his dagger. Her eyes flicked towards the fire, passing him a message. Chaloner glanced at the hearth, where there was a merry blaze. Over it was a cauldron-style pot containing something that bubbled, along with a side of pork on a spit. Chaloner had eaten nothing all day, but there was something about the situation that robbed him of his appetite. Something was definitely not right.

  ‘Do not worry about his gun,’ said the pheasant-faced man to Mary. He grinned merrily at her. ‘The firing pin is broken, so it is quite harmless.’

  ‘So it is,’ said Ireton, suddenly gleeful. ‘That puts a different complexion on matters!’

  Treen laughed jubilantly, and several of the Hectors produced daggers.

  ‘No!’ breathed Leybourn in a strangled voice. ‘Stop!’

  Chaloner saw his situation was fast becoming hopeless, and knew he should have taken more time to assess the situation before acting. What could he do against a dozen armed men? He could eliminate some with his sword, but it would only be a matter of time before he was overwhelmed. And then what would happen to Leybourn?

  Mary smiled coldly at him. ‘I have been saying for some time that you should meet Mr Crisp, and he has honoured us with his presence at dinner this evening. So, I am delighted you came.’

  Chaloner expected the large, menacing man to reply, and was startled when Pheasant Face looked up and beamed at him.

  ‘Are you a bookseller, too?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘I like booksellers! They are an erudite lot, and there is so much to learn these days. I read an English translation of Galileo’s Dialogo just yesterday, although I prefer the original Latin. Leybourn tells me you were at Cambridge.’

  Chaloner was bemused. A cheery gnome who read Latin was not what he was expecting from the Butcher of Smithfield. He recalled glimpsing a round, smiling face at Newburne’s funeral, and supposed it was the same man. Then he remembered the catlike grace with which Crisp had moved when he was with his Hectors at Smithfield and in Old Jewry, and was not so sure.

  ‘Who is your father?’ Chaloner asked, somewhat abruptly. Ireton sniggered – he knew the line Chaloner’s thoughts had taken.

  ‘This is Crisp,’ said Leybourn in a small voice. ‘I have known him for years.’

  But something was awry. And why were the Hectors not attacking him when they could overpower him with ease?

  ‘My father is Sir Nicholas,’ replied Crisp genially. ‘Have you read my piece on inshore winds and climate, by the way? Leybourn was good enough to say it was a significant contribution to navigation.’

  ‘But I did not know you had written it, not until tonight. It was published anonymously.’ Leybourn sounded as confused as Chaloner felt.

  ‘I am a modest man,’ said Crisp. ‘Where are you going, Ireton? I hope it is not to fetch your lute. I dislike music. This pork is excellent, incidentally. May I have some more?’

  ‘In a moment,’ said Mary, dismissing him carelessly. ‘We are celebrating.’

  ‘Celebrating what?’ Chaloner was watching Ireton, who had gone to lean against the far wall with his hands tucked into his belt. The spy was growing more bewildered by the minute. Ireton did not seem to be moving towards a weapon, so what was he doing?

  ‘William and I made wills today, leaving all our property to each other,’ said Mary. Her voice was smug, and Leybourn settled back into his dazed state. ‘Thurloe threatened to apply some devious legal ruling that would see me disinherited, but Ireton is a lawyer, too, and he worked out a way to prevent that from happening.’

  Ireton removed a pipe from his pocket, the picture of insouciance. ‘Thurloe’s ploy will not work now she has signed her property over to Leybourn. And she owns a small house near Uxbridge, before you say she has the better end of the bargain. She is not poor.’

  ‘You are very wet, Heyden,’ said Mary, shooting Kirby another unreadable glance. ‘Stand by the fire, to dry off. But drop your sword first.’

  Chaloner frowned. The table had been placed in such a way that Leybourn was nearest the hearth, and Crisp, as his right-hand guest, was not much further away. What was she going to do?

  ‘Yes, drop it,’ said Kirby, fingering his dagger. He drew back his arm when the spy continued to hesitate, and prepared to throw it.

  With no choice but to comply, Chaloner let the weapon clatter to the floor.

  ‘I want more pork,’ declared Crisp. He banged on the table with his spoon, more in the manner of a petulant child than a man who held a city to ransom with his evil deeds. ‘Now.’

  ‘Wait!’ snapped Mary. ‘Stand by the fire, Heyden.’

  But Chaloner was beginning to understand. ‘Will, come to me,’ he ordered.

  ‘Stay!’ barked Mary, when Leybourn started to stand. Conditioned to obey, the surveyor sank down again. ‘And go to the hearth, Heyden, before Kirby knifes you.’

  ‘I shall have a cucumber, then,’ said Crisp sulkily. He gnawed off a chunk and tossed the rest towards Kirby, who flinched away violently. It touched his hand before falling to the floor, and he began to scrub it on the side of his coat.

  ‘Will,’ said Chaloner urgently. ‘Come here.’

  ‘He stays where he is,’ said Mary harshly. She backed away, and suddenly she, Kirby and Treen dived to the floor and put their hands over their heads. Leybourn gaped at them.

  ‘Are you going to fetch the pork?’ asked Crisp. ‘These cucumbers are—’ He stopped speaking, and both hands went to his throat.

  ‘He is choking,’ said the big man next to him, alarmed. ‘He took too big a bite.’

  ‘Good bye, William,’ shouted Mary exultantly
. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  Chaloner leapt towards Leybourn, hauling him from his chair just as there was a tremendous explosion that turned the room into a chaos of sound and light. And then there was only darkness.

  Chapter 12

  There was a dull roaring in Chaloner’s ears, which gradually resolved into a single voice. He opened his eyes to see Leybourn’s frightened face looming over him, speaking indistinctly as though he was underwater. He sat up slowly, taking in the carnage around him.

  Ellis Crisp was dead, lying on the far side of the room like a broken doll, and there were three other bodies, too. One was Treen, while Mary lay gasping at his side. Chaloner scrambled upright, and grabbed Kirby, who was in the process of crawling towards the door. But before the spy could stop him, Leybourn had dealt the felon a vicious blow with a skillet, which laid him out cold.

  ‘Mary set an explosion,’ said Chaloner hoarsely, thinking for one horrible moment that Leybourn might assume he was responsible. ‘She and her friends threw themselves to the floor to avoid the blast, leaving us sitting like ducks on a pond.’

  ‘I know,’ said Leybourn brokenly. ‘It took the near-demolition of my home and a close brush with death, but my eyes are open now. I struggled to keep them closed too long, and look what it brought.’

  Chaloner was not sure what to say, so resorted to a practical analysis of what had happened. ‘Unfortunately, she miscalculated the amount of gunpowder needed, and she used too much.’

  ‘She added nails to her mixture,’ said Leybourn, shuddering when he saw what they had done to Crisp. ‘She must really have hated me.’

  ‘She did not hate you. She just wanted your money.’

  Leybourn was not listening to him. ‘She would have killed you, too, if you had followed her orders and stood by the hearth.’

  ‘I should have known,’ said Chaloner, angry with himself. ‘There were slops under the stairs – not left for slovenliness, as I assumed, but because they are a component of gunpowder. She made her own, so no purchase of the stuff could be traced back to her. That is why she miscalculated. Powder is always unpredictable, but it is even more so when an amateur manufactures it.’

  ‘What was she thinking of ? Crisp is dead, and so are some of his Hectors. Surely, that cannot have been what she intended?’

  ‘I suspect it was exactly what she intended. The explosives were in the pot over the fire, and Crisp was positioned to bear the brunt of it when it went up. So were you. I imagine she planned to have you blamed for Crisp’s death – you invited him to dinner for the express purpose of assassination. And to be doubly sure of success, she included poisonous cucumbers in her feast, too.’

  Leybourn gazed blankly at him. ‘Why would she want Crisp assassinated?’

  ‘Because that is not Crisp.’ Chaloner put his fingers in his ears and shook his head in an attempt to stop them ringing. He saw Leybourn’s bemusement, and tried to explain. ‘That is to say he is Crisp, but he is not the underworld king. I have seen the Butcher of Smithfield walking about twice now, and this Crisp is too short to be him – and nor would he have the agile, soft-footed gait of the man I saw.’

  ‘I confess I was surprised when Mary introduced us. I knew he was Crisp, because I met him years ago, but the more we spoke, the more I thought that little fellow could never have ruled Smithfield.’

  ‘Someone took his identity and turned him into something he is not. Also, Crisp claimed he did not like music, but the horse stealing is based entirely on music. He would not have made that comment, had he been the real Butcher.’

  Leybourn still looked as though he had no idea what Chaloner was talking about, and it was a testament to his shock that he looked as though he did not care, either. ‘So, who is the Butcher? One of the Hectors, who rose through the ranks and decided to succeed to the whole operation?’

  ‘I imagine we will find out when this Crisp is declared dead, and his successor steps forward to take his place.’

  ‘But who?’ pressed Leybourn. ‘Ireton is a cunning fellow; Kirby is stupid but strong.’

  Ireton’s position against the far wall had allowed him to flee the carnage, and Chaloner wondered whether he had gone to rally his forces – perhaps to march on Leybourn’s house and accuse him or murder. If so, then he would be doing it without help from Mary. She had left herself too close to the blast, and Chaloner had seen enough battlefield wounds to know she was unlikely to survive. He knelt next to her, but could tell from her eyes that she had been blinded by the flash, and could not see him.

  ‘Crisp said only people near the fire would die,’ she whispered. She sounded indignant. ‘He lied.’

  Chaloner regarded her askance. ‘Crisp told you how to kill him?’

  Her expression hardened. ‘Go away, Heyden. Why did you have to survive? You should be dead, along with your pathetic friend.’

  Chaloner glanced at Leybourn, but the surveyor was wandering around the remains of his kitchen, and was not listening. He showed no inclination to be at his lover’s side during her last moments.

  ‘Crisp told you how to kill him?’ Chaloner asked again.

  She smiled, and there was blood on her teeth. ‘You want to talk? Very well. He did not tell us how to kill him – he told us how to make powder and set an explosion that would only kill selected victims. He was fond of theories, but he was not a practical man.’

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ Chaloner knew why she was deigning to speak to him: she was hoping to keep him occupied until one of her cronies rallied, at which point he would be killed. Because she could not see, she did not know her accomplices were either dead or had fled.

  ‘We picked that pathetic, grinning little man – Ellis Crisp – and we built a legend around him. It worked for a while, but it is becoming difficult to maintain the illusion, and the real Butcher wants to claim the kingdom he has forged. So, we decided to kill Crisp in a spectacular way – one in keeping with the flamboyant character we have created for him. And as there are a few Hectors I dislike, I decided to get rid of them, too, as well as our surveyor friend.’

  ‘How did you keep the real Crisp from the public eye? Lock him in a dungeon with plenty of books?’

  ‘In a country house, visited only by his father.’

  ‘Who is Crisp’s successor?’

  ‘Someone who will make us rich. We communicate by music, but we have never met. We shall call him Crisp when he takes his throne. The creature I killed tonight does not deserve the name.’ She shifted slightly and blinked, trying to see how much longer she needed to talk.

  ‘Will you tell me about the horses?’

  She swallowed. ‘Some we returned for the reward; some we sold. It was all carefully planned, so no one would be suspicious. And no one is. Everything is working perfectly. Newburne tried to take more than his due, but he learned what happens to disloyal people. He was quietly poisoned.’

  ‘Like your husband – Valentine Pettis? And Colonel Beauclair? And James Hickes?’

  ‘Hickes was getting too inquisitive, and he acquired some of our music from Finch. Meanwhile, Val tried to do business at Crisp’s expense, and I never cared for him anyway. I wanted to marry Jonas – and I did. Why do you think I could not wed William?’

  Chaloner was bemused. ‘Murder, theft and extortion are all right, but bigamy is not?’

  ‘It would have meant lying in church, and I have my scruples.’ She blinked again, still trying to clear her vision. ‘The Butcher is a genius, so do not think you can defeat him.’

  ‘And the horses?’

  ‘Beauclair returned home unexpectedly when we went to steal his stallion, so Ireton made him eat lozenges. We took his body to White Hall in a sedan-chair. The carriers promised to keep quiet, but who takes unnecessary risks? They were given lozenges, too. The Butcher ordered us to leave cucumbers with them all, so their deaths would be deemed natural. He has a talent for deception.’

  ‘He certainly does,’ agreed Chaloner
. ‘Where is he now? I would like to meet him.’

  Her hissing laugh was distinctly malevolent. ‘Oh, you will, Heyden. You will.’

  People had been awoken by the explosion, and were massing outside. The parish constable arrived, but promptly disappeared when he saw several of the victims were Hectors, and so did some of the onlookers. Then soldiers came, and placed everyone under arrest until they were satisfied with the stories they were being told. The government did not like gunpowder in the hands of private citizens, being of the belief that its only use was for armed rebellion. Chaloner chafed at the ponderous questions put by a thickset sergeant. Every moment spent repeating himself was another moment for Crisp to assume his mantle of power, and Chaloner had the sense that unless he struck before the man was fully enthroned, he might never have another chance.

  ‘I have to get away,’ he said urgently to Leybourn, when the sergeant had gone to see whether there really was a cat in an upstairs bedroom. ‘We are wasting time here.’

  ‘You knew from the start,’ said Leybourn softly. His face was grey with shock, and he looked away when Mary’s body was carried past. ‘As soon as you set eyes on her, you saw something I did not.’

  Chaloner glanced at the door, and wondered if he could disappear into the darkness before the guards outside opened fire. ‘You are not the only one she deceived. Bridges had a similar experience.’

  ‘Do you think she really does own a house near Uxbridge?’ asked Leybourn. ‘If so, and it is proven to be mine, I shall give it to you.’

  ‘I do not want it,’ said Chaloner in distaste. ‘Besides, I suspect Kirby might have something to say about that. He is her real husband.’

  ‘He is dead. I hit him on the head with a pan.’

  ‘Unfortunately, he recovered and is now at large. The only way we shall catch him is by going after the Butcher. Of course, we have no idea who the Butcher is, or where to find him, but find him I must. He killed Newburne. Mary told me.’

  ‘I will help,’ offered Leybourn. ‘And when we locate him, I shall put a ball in his black heart.’