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

by Susanna Gregory

  ‘We must smash his vile empire,’ declared Leybourn. ‘And the only way to do that is to strike off its head. Once it is leaderless, it will founder, and hopefully Williamson will be able to crush the rest of it before someone else steps up to accept the challenge.’

  ‘Williamson? He is more likely to appoint a new Butcher – the Hectors are too useful to lose.’ Chaloner tried to rally his fading strength. ‘We cannot do this alone, Will. We need help.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that will not be coming. The only man I trust is Thurloe, and he is on the wrong side of a flooded river. And if you say Williamson will turn a blind eye to the Hectors, then there is no point in sending for him, either – he will probably arrange for us to die. The best option is for us to storm the bookshop and stab Brome before he realises what is happening.’

  ‘Kirby will shoot us long before we reach the door. How many coffee houses are there nearby?’

  Leybourn gazed uncertainly at him. ‘Why?’

  ‘How many?’

  Leybourn shrugged. ‘Half a dozen or more.’ He began to list them.

  Chaloner shoved him towards the closest. ‘Go to the ones by St Paul’s. Say the vicar of Wollaston has complained to the government about his prayer-book being smeared with grease, so the government is giving him a solid gold lectern as compensation. It will cost a thousand pounds, and will be paid for by a tax imposed on Londoners.’

  Leybourn gaped at him. ‘What for? It will cause all manner of trouble.’

  ‘Of course it will. And you can say a public announcement of the facts will be made from the newsbook offices within the hour. I will do the same along Cheapside. Carry your sword, and say people are massing in Ivy Lane to voice their objections.’

  ‘What is to stop them marching on White Hall?’ asked Leybourn uneasily.

  ‘A flooded river and no bridges. Hurry, or we will be too late.’

  Chaloner darted towards Cheapside without waiting for an answer, praying that the coffee houses would be full of their usual early-morning patrons. People saw his drawn weapon and gave him a wide berth as he ran. He shouted that there was to be a great announcement at Ivy Lane in a few moments time, and although some folk ignored him, others started to move towards the newsbook offices.

  It was easier to inflame the occupants of the coffee houses than he had anticipated, and he was startled when he reached the third one to find his tale had preceded him. Someone had run ahead, and men were streaming out of the door, heading westwards through the pouring rain. He glanced east, and saw coffee-boys racing to the next establishment and the one after that. The rumour was now well out of his control, so he turned back to Ivy Lane.

  He arrived to find a crowd of about fifty people milling in the street, and more were flocking to join them with each passing moment. Kirby was declaring that there would be no announcement, and that they should go home, but Kirby was a Hector, and his very presence in such a place was unusual enough to fuel speculation. People refused to budge. Then someone threw a stone at a window, and the sound of smashing glass brought a triumphant cheer. It was time to act.

  Chaloner ran around the block, and let himself in through Brome’s back door. It was locked and there was a guard, but one he picked with his customary deftness, and the other he felled with a sharp blow from Joanna’s otherwise useless pistol. He made his way along the corridor towards the bookshop. Brome was there, looking out of the window, and with him were Ireton and several Hectors. There was another cheer, and Kirby suddenly raced through the front door, slamming it behind him.

  ‘They are throwing rocks at me now,’ he yelled indignantly. ‘Give me a gun. There is only one way they will be driven off.’

  ‘Order them home,’ instructed Brome. ‘They will go if you tell them properly.’

  ‘I have told them properly,’ shouted Kirby, ‘but they will not listen. They are saying there is to be an announcement about some new tax. If you do not believe me, you go out and try to convince them.’

  ‘Someone is trying to obstruct us,’ said Ireton thoughtfully. ‘Where is Joanna? This is an important day, and I do not want her wandering about and spoiling everything.’

  ‘She will not spoil anything,’ said Brome icily.

  Ireton raised his hands and backed down at the fierce tenor of the bookseller’s voice.

  Chaloner took a deep breath, and stepped into the room. He levelled the dag at the group by the window. ‘The King’s troops will be here any moment, and you are all under arrest. Put up your weapons.’

  Ireton sneered. ‘What will you do when we refuse? Shoot us all? With one gun? I would have thought you had learned that lesson already. Grab him, Kirby.’

  Chaloner lobbed the dag hard enough to knock Kirby cold, then took a firmer grip on his sword. Ireton drew his own blade, while Brome hurled a dagger. It went wide, and stuck in the doorframe near Chaloner’s head.

  ‘You summoned that crowd,’ snarled Ireton, lunging at him. ‘You are the one trying to sabotage what we have worked for all these years.’

  Chaloner jumped away from him, noting that Brome was making no further attempt to fight. Leybourn had been right: he did prefer others to do his dirty work. He stood with his arms folded and indicated with a nod of his head that his men should make an end of the spy who was such a thorn in his side. Obligingly, several Hectors closed in on Chaloner from behind, restricting the space he needed to wield his sword.

  ‘I should have known,’ Chaloner said to the bookseller. ‘You warned me away from “Crisp” the first time we met. You pretended to be afraid, to frighten me into abandoning my enquiries. You knew they would lead to me discovering not only the identity of Newburne’s killer, but also your plans to take control of Smithfield.’

  ‘And you ignored me,’ said Brome wearily. ‘I tried to keep you out of it, but you did the exact opposite of whatever I recommended. You know little that can harm us, but it is a pity you meddled.’

  ‘I know enough. For example, I have deduced that you killed Finch. You admitted to hating the trumpet when we played with L’Estrange, and you showed your ignorance of the instrument when you put cucumber inside it – you put the chewed piece in the wrong place. Callously, you ate a pie while you watched Finch die.’

  ‘I was listening to him play,’ acknowledged Brome. ‘He had acquired some of the music I send to Ireton, to say where and when to procure certain horses. I needed to know whether he had decoded the messages, but I could tell from his playing that he had not. I offered him a lozenge anyway.’

  ‘Yesterday, you told me the music might be code,’ said Chaloner, jerking away from a riposte from Ireton that almost removed an ear. Once again, the hat came into its own. ‘You were testing me, to see if I had worked it out, too.’

  ‘You were good,’ acknowledged Brome. ‘I confess I had no idea at the end of the discussion whether you had guessed our secret or not. I decided your days were numbered regardless, because loose ends can be dangerous.’

  ‘Was Newburne a loose end?’

  ‘He was cheating us, which was unacceptable. I sent him some lozenges – the same as the ones I fed to Pettis, Beauclair and anyone else who did not fall in with our plans.’ Another stone hit the window with a crack, and Chaloner could hear people yelling that they wanted the news.

  ‘And it was all for horses?’ he asked.

  ‘Horses are a lucrative business,’ replied Brome. ‘And do not think the government will stop us, because Williamson knows all about it. L’Estrange got hold of a few tunes somehow, and sent them to him. He understood their significance immediately, but he turns a blind eye.’

  ‘And why not?’ asked Ireton. ‘He has nothing to lose and a great deal to gain – more advertisements sold; more people wanting to buy the newsbooks for tales of lost nags; more people reading the news he decides should be released. If you think Williamson is going to put an end to that, you are a fool.’

  ‘Why do you think he set Hickes and Greeting to solve Newburne’s murder?’
added Brome, gloating now. ‘A half-wit and a novice, neither of whom was going to discover anything. He even sent Hickes to Finch’s room on my behalf, when I foolishly left the music behind. Of course, Hickes neglected to collect the lozenges, so I was obliged to go back myself anyway.’

  ‘And you pretend to be his reluctant spy,’ said Chaloner, disgusted. ‘You let him think he has a hold over you with that pamphlet you wrote, but the reality is that the information you send him is carefully designed to benefit your own cause.’

  Smugly, Brome inclined his head.

  ‘Enough talking,’ snapped Ireton, lunging again. ‘The Butcher will be here soon.’

  His comment startled Chaloner anew. ‘What do you mean? Brome is the Butcher.’

  Ireton laughed as the spy’s lapse in concentration allowed him to perform a fancy manoeuvre that saw the sword wrenched from his hand. ‘Do not be ridiculous!’

  The door opened. ‘Joanna!’ exclaimed Brome. ‘You should not be here.’

  ‘I heard there was trouble,’ said Joanna. She looked furious. ‘And since I cannot trust you to do anything properly, I am here to sort out the mess. I cannot take Crisp’s mantle as long as there is a mob outside, baying for blood.’

  Chaloner gaped at Joanna, scarcely believing his ears, and was sufficiently astounded that Ireton came close to running him through. It was only an instinctive twist that saved him. As he turned, he saw Kirby had crawled to a cupboard and had pulled out a gun. He was priming it, and Chaloner knew he would be shot as soon as it was ready. He was running out of time, and facing insurmountable odds.

  Joanna smiled prettily at Chaloner, but he did not think he had ever seen eyes so cold. There was no trace of the rabbit now – the prey had turned predator. ‘I understand I owe you my thanks,’ she said pleasantly. ‘You relieved me of a certain problem.’

  ‘Crisp?’

  ‘Hodgkinson – Henry tells me you unmasked him as a traitor to the newsbooks. Mary must take the credit for Crisp, although I was furious when I learned she had involved poor William in our plan to be rid of the fellow. I was angry when she set her sights on him at all – he is popular, and their relationship attracted the wrong kind of attention.’

  ‘You were keen to separate them.’ Chaloner performed an agile leap across a table to avoid Ireton, and managed to retrieve his sword at the same time. He found himself facing two more Hectors. They did not possess his skill with a blade, but beating them off took too much of his failing strength.

  ‘I did want to separate them,’ she agreed, with the same icy smile. ‘I ordered her to leave him alone, but she could not resist stupid men. Still, she is gone now, which is just as well. The gunpowder was a foolish idea, and the whole affair was hopelessly bungled.’

  Chaloner’s muscles burned with fatigue when Ireton resumed his attack, and he was not sure how much longer he could fight. Then Joanna gestured for her henchman to hold off. Chaloner was amusing her, and she did not want him killed just yet. Meanwhile, Kirby sat on the floor, feverishly loading his gun.

  ‘You have been pretending to be Crisp for some time now,’ said Chaloner, wondering why he had not associated the Butcher’s slender grace with Joanna before. ‘The real one has been in the country with his books and experiments, seen only by his father. When you are out, you are surrounded by Hectors – not to protect Crisp as I assumed, but to keep anyone from coming close and seeing you. And you decline invitations—’

  ‘Like the Butchers’ Company dinner,’ said Ireton. Chaloner remembered Maylord’s neighbour mentioning Crisp’s abrupt cancellation. ‘I told you to let me go. I could have carried it off.’

  ‘I am sure you could,’ said Joanna coolly, and Chaloner saw Ireton was too ambitious for his own safety. He would not last long under the new regime. She turned to Chaloner, laughing at him. He wondered how he ever could have thought of her as sweet and meek. ‘How can I be the Butcher? You saw him the morning you went to Haye’s Coffee House with Henry, but I was with Mrs Chiffinch, consoling her over her husband’s infidelity.’

  ‘I doubt your company could have compared to that of L’Estrange,’ countered Chaloner. ‘He would have occupied Mrs Chiffinch, giving you ample time to don a disguise and make an appearance. Besides, how do you know I saw the Butcher that day? It was an insignificant event, and not the sort of thing most husbands would have mentioned to their wives. But of course it was significant, wasn’t it? Brone deliberately dallied as he gave alms to that beggar, which gave you time to change and leave the house. You wanted me to see “Crisp” at a point when I would think he could not be either of you.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Brome, rather boastfully. ‘It was a precaution, lest you later—’

  ‘We are wasting time, and this is no longer fun,’ snapped Joanna, turning to anger fast enough to be disturbing. ‘I should have killed you yesterday, but I thought you might be a useful source of information. You have now outlived that usefulness.’

  ‘I will shoot him.’ Kirby had finally finished preparing the gun, and he stood with triumph in his face. ‘I have been wanting to do this ever since he attacked me outside the Bear.’

  ‘You have not loaded it properly,’ said Ireton, rolling his eyes when Kirby squeezed the trigger and nothing happened. ‘And a sword is better for this kind of work anyway.’

  ‘News!’ came a yell from outside. ‘We want news.’

  Joanna grimaced. ‘Make a speech, Henry. Tell them the government has no intention of raising another tax. Diffuse the situation. It will please Williamson, and make him more willing to look the other way while we grow rich.’

  Ireton came after Chaloner with a series of concerted sweeps. Two more Hectors weaved behind the spy, and he stumbled when one stabbed his leg. His boot saved him from injury, but he felt himself losing ground.

  There was a roar of massed voices, and a heavy missile crashed through a window, sending glass spraying across the room. The mob cheered, and through the broken pane, Chaloner could see Leybourn, urging them on. The surveyor prised a rock from the sodden ground, but it was the windows of the house next door that paid the price. The crowd laughed, and suddenly more stones were being hurled. The room was awash with them, and one struck Chaloner’s shoulder. Then Kirby took aim again.

  The gun’s blast was deafening in the confined space, and Chaloner saw the felon drop to the floor with blood on his hand. In his haste, he had used too much powder. More stones pelted the windows, and Chaloner noticed Brome and Joanna had gone. His momentary lack of concentration saw Ireton on him, and he was hard-pressed to defend himself. Someone hit him from behind, and he fell heavily. Ireton’s sword plunged downwards, and he only just managed to twist away. Then the room was full of shouting. The crowd had stormed inside. Leybourn was at the front, blade in his hand.

  ‘Hectors!’ he yelled furiously. ‘Run them through! Proud Londoners are not afraid of Hectors!’

  Not everyone rallied to his battle cry, but enough did. The Hectors turned and ran. It was the worst thing they could have done, because the mob became braver once it smelled a rout. Chaloner saw several criminals disappear under a flailing mêlée of fists and knives.

  ‘Bastard!’ yelled Ireton at Leybourn, seeing the surveyor as the cause of the disaster. He gripped his weapon and prepared to make an end of him. Leybourn was whirling his blade around his head like a madman, but he neglected to maintain a proper grip. It flew from his fingers, and its hilt caught Ireton in the centre of the forehead. He went down as if poleaxed.

  ‘I did not mean to—’ began Leybourn, startled.

  Chaloner staggered to his feet as two burly apprentices advanced on the senseless Ireton. He put out a hand to stop them, but they knocked him away.

  ‘Joanna and Brome have escaped,’ he said to Leybourn, looking away from the carnage.

  ‘Does it matter?’ asked Leybourn, grabbing his arm and making for the door. The people who had not chased Hectors were busily looting the shop, stripping it of anything that could be car
ried. ‘They are toothless now their henchmen are on the run.’

  ‘We do not want them loose in the city. They will avenge themselves somehow.’

  ‘I saw them heading for the river, but they cannot escape because the bridge is closed. Brome was carrying a box – Newburne’s treasure, presumably.’

  The rain had stopped, but everywhere was running with water. It was so deep in Paternoster Row that it was above Chaloner’s knees, and flowed fast as it headed for lower ground. His progress was agonisingly slow. Joanna looked behind, and he could hear her urging her husband on. Brome was slower, and she would have made better time alone, but she would not leave him. When he dropped the box, she screamed at him to leave it.

  ‘Gather it up,’ ordered Chaloner, pushing Leybourn towards the abandoned hoard. ‘Or it will wash into the Thames, and the Earl will dismiss me for certain.’

  Leybourn did as he was told, grabbing mud as well as gems, while Chaloner struggled on, trying to ignore the burning exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. Joanna reached Ludgate Hill, skidding and sliding down towards the Fleet. There was a barrier across the road to stop people from approaching, but she dodged around it, dragging her husband after her. She gained the bridge, ignoring the yells of people who shouted that it was ripe for collapse.

  Hands reached out to prevent Chaloner from following, and he lost his footing. Joanna and Brome were a quarter of the way across when the structure began to sway. They tried to move faster. Chaloner punched his way free of the people who were holding him, and staggered towards the balustrade. It shuddered, and there was a tearing groan. The pair were more than halfway across, and he saw they were going to escape. Joanna turned and gave him a jaunty wave.

  Chaloner took another step, but someone came from nowhere, and he felt himself hauled backwards just as the bridge tore away from its moorings. He managed to lift his head in time to see Joanna and Brome carried with it. Brome’s mouth was open in a scream, and Joanna’s face was white with horror as they were swept downstream. Then the whole structure rolled, and began to crack apart. Chaloner closed his eyes and fell back, exhausted.