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

by Susanna Gregory

  ‘Well,’ drawled L’Estrange. ‘There is an end to them! You are lucky I followed you, or that pair would not be the only ones heading for a watery grave. I always knew Brome was a phanatique. Joanna, too, or she would have let me bed her when I made my advances. But you are in my debt now, Heyden. I saved your life, and in return, you will say nothing to Williamson about my inadvertent role in this affair.’

  ‘I shall say nothing to Williamson at all,’ said Chaloner fervently, not liking to imagine what would happen to him if the Spymaster ever discovered that he knew about the blind eye that had been turned to the Hectors’ thievery.

  ‘Very wise,’ said L’Estrange. ‘Shall we seal our arrangement with some music?’

  ‘I do not know about that,’ said Chaloner. There were limits.

  ‘Tomorrow, at three o’clock,’ said L’Estrange comfortably. ‘And do not be late.’

  Epilogue

  The Lord Chancellor rubbed his plump hands and chortled in delight as he inspected the box Chaloner had given him. He made no attempt to soil his fingers with its contents, of course, stained as they were with the filth of the street. Chaloner could have rinsed the jewels before presenting them to his master, but he had not done so, and he had refused to let Bulteel do it, either. Money was a dirty business, and he did not see why the Earl should be spared that knowledge.

  ‘And this is all of it?’ asked the Earl.

  ‘Yes,’ said Chaloner shortly. ‘It is.’

  The Earl sighed. ‘I am not accusing you of dishonesty, Heyden. I was just wondering whether the Bromes had spent any before you managed to retrieve it.’

  ‘They did not have time. Is there enough to pay Dorcus Newburne’s pension?’

  ‘I have been relieved of that particular obligation,’ said the Earl smugly. ‘Newburne was working for me, and that why I was determined to have the truth about his death. However, he was killed because he was a thief, and I cannot be held financially responsible for that sort of thing. Dorcus has agreed to forget about the pension.’

  ‘How did you persuade her to do that?’ Chaloner was startled.

  ‘Bulteel suggested I offer her an official government post instead – Assistant Editor. She is an educated lady, and said she would relish the opportunity to use her intellect to benefit her country. So, we are both happy.’

  Chaloner glanced to where Bulteel was labouring over his ledgers in an antechamber. ‘It means she will be spending a lot of time with L’Estrange.’

  ‘That is what I said. It was only fair to point out the downside of Bulteel’s recommendation, but she said she did not mind at all. In fact, she said it would be a pleasure.’

  ‘Bulteel is a clever man,’ said Chaloner, impressed by the coup the clerk had staged for his master’s benefit. ‘You would not have had this treasure without him.’

  ‘So you have said, at least a dozen times. I have rewarded him with a pleasant house in Westminster – his wife presented him with a son last night, and I do not want him wasting hours travelling between here and his old home in Southwark, when he could be working for me.’

  Chaloner smiled, pleased the clerk’s loyalty was being acknowledged at last.

  ‘I have reinstated you,’ the Earl went on. ‘I have also arranged for you to be paid for the time you were in Portugal, and I have informed Williamson that you are a vital member of my household. I do not think he will risk my wrath by harming you now.’

  ‘Harming me for what reason?’ Chaloner had not told the Earl about Williamson’s role in the Hectors’ dark business, so the Spymaster should have no need to resort to sly daggers.

  ‘For tossing a bottle of exploding oil on a fire, and throwing his soldiers into a panic. He is furious that you exposed them as incompetent to the general populace.’

  ‘I needed to leave, and they were dithering. You would not have been pleased if I had allowed Joanna to assume control of the Hectors – or if she had used Newburne’s hoard to do it.’

  ‘That is what I told him,’ said the Earl, closing the box and patting it contentedly. ‘You should avoid antagonising him in the future, though – he has a nasty habit of dispatching people he does not like. But time is passing, and I have a lot to do. The floods did much damage, and my organisational skills are needed to put all to rights. Incidentally, London is not the only city to suffer from an excess of rain. So did Oxford, and I want you to go there and solve a theft that took place in my old College when the waters were up.’

  ‘Oxford?’ asked Chaloner unhappily, wondering if he would ever be granted the opportunity to stay in London and learn about its customs and politics.

  The Earl ignored his disgruntlement. ‘The day after tomorrow will do, though – you have earned a few days of leisure. Perhaps you can use them to purchase some better clothes.’

  Chaloner congratulated Bulteel on the birth of his son, and stayed to enjoy a piece of celebratory cake. Then he walked to Lincoln’s Inn, taking a few moments to look at the green stain on the buildings around White Hall, which showed the height of the flood. The rain and a gale in the North Sea had combined to produce one of the highest tides anyone could remember, and water was still seeping from damaged buildings.

  Lincoln’s Inn’s new astrological device had been bent during one particularly fierce downfall, so it would never track the movements of the stars accurately again, but the foundation was otherwise intact. Chaloner knocked on the door to Chamber XIII, and was admitted by Leybourn. The surveyor had still not gone home, despite his brother sending word that all signs of the explosion – and Mary – had been eradicated.

  Thurloe suggested a walk in the garden. The sun was shining, a weak, watery orb in a misty sky, and birds sang in trees that dripped. The ground squelched underfoot, a morass of mud and sodden leaves. Gardeners were out in force, gathering fallen branches and sweeping paths. One sang a song about love, and Leybourn snorted his derision.

  ‘So, you have answers to all your questions, Tom,’ said Thurloe, to distract Leybourn from bitter thoughts. ‘Brome and Joanna – but mostly Joanna – conceived the notion of listening in coffee houses for details of valuable horses and the movements of their owners. This information was converted into a code in music, and was sent to Ireton and the Hectors.’

  ‘The Hectors stole the horses,’ said Chaloner. ‘And most victims bought notices in the newsbooks. Some nags were returned and the rewards claimed; others were sold.’

  ‘Why did they sell some of them?’ asked Leybourn. ‘Why not return them all?’

  ‘Because that would have aroused suspicion,’ explained Chaloner. ‘In fact, at one point, Joanna thought they were returning too many, and wrote a note telling Ireton to hold back. Somehow Finch got hold of it, probably through Newburne. Anyway, the horse thefts fulfilled two functions.’

  ‘First, making money from the rewards or the sale of these stolen horses,’ said Thurloe. ‘And second, making money for the newsbooks. Those advertisements cost five shillings a time.’

  ‘Three functions, then,’ said Chaloner. ‘They also made the newsbooks popular, which meant an increased circulation – more copies printed and more sold.’

  ‘Four functions,’ said Thurloe with a smile. ‘An increased circulation means the government has better control of the news – and therefore of the hearts and minds of the people. Everyone believed that tale about the vicar of Wollaston’s soiled prayer-book, but it was almost pure fabrication. Apparently, the book was accidentally left open when a bird flew past, but L’Estrange reported it in his own inimical way to make a point about religious phanatiques.’

  ‘Because L’Estrange is something of a phanatique himself, Williamson does not trust his judgement,’ Chaloner went on. ‘He recruited Newburne and Brome to spy on him.’

  Leybourn gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Williamson is almost as stupid as his lumbering Hickes. He chose two men who were deeply involved in the horse business and with the Hectors.’

  ‘Joanna and Brome killed Newburne
when he tried to cheat them,’ said Thurloe. ‘They killed Finch because he was interested in the coded music. They killed Colonel Beauclair, because he caught the horse thieves in the act. And they killed the two sedan-chairmen, because they carried Beauclair’s body to White Hall.’

  ‘Meanwhile, Smegergill decided he wanted to inherit his best friend’s property sooner, rather than later,’ said Chaloner. ‘But first, he wanted to add to it. He worked Maylord into a fury of indignation over Newburne’s dishonesty with the profits from the costermongery, and devised a plan to steal the solicitor’s jewels. It entailed Maylord teaching Newburne the flageolet.’

  Thurloe took up the tale. ‘Unfortunately for everyone concerned, Maylord learned about the horse thefts when he happened across some of the odd music in Newburne’s house. The knowledge that he had unearthed Hector business terrified him.’

  Chaloner frowned. Here was something that did not quite ring true. ‘Did it? I thought we had agreed that he was stronger than that.’

  Thurloe shook his head. ‘Going to the authorities with what he knew was equal to signing his own death warrant. Of course he was afraid.’

  ‘Was Smegergill involved in the thefts?’ asked Leybourn.

  Chaloner nodded. ‘Yes, but I am not sure whether he demanded a piece of the action after Maylord made his discovery, or whether he was in it from the start. However, I know he was presented with some stolen horses for his services, because Greeting told me so.’

  ‘And he was prepared to go to considerable lengths to retrieve the incriminating “documents” from Maylord’s room,’ added Thurloe. ‘I suspect Ireton involved him long before Maylord stumbled across the secret.’

  ‘I imagine you are right,’ said Leybourn. ‘Everything I have heard about him indicates he was not a man to let a lucrative opportunity pass. And he and Ireton were friends, after all.’

  ‘So, poor Maylord had to be silenced before he could reveal what the Hectors were doing,’ said Thurloe. ‘Ireton was quite happy to oblige, and Smegergill helped. Foolishly, though, neither of them thought to ask where Maylord had hidden the music before they smothered him.’

  ‘Or the key to Newburne’s box,’ said Chaloner. ‘The second of the pair that he thought – wrongly, I imagine – would allow him to claim Newburne’s jewels. Smegergill was doubtless delighted that his friend’s riches would soon be his, but was concerned about how Maylord’s death would look, too.’

  ‘Because he would be the obvious suspect for the murder?’ asked Leybourn.

  Thurloe nodded. ‘So he and Ireton left a cucumber at the scene, to conceal what had really happened. He would have knocked you over the head as soon as you had provided him with what he wanted, Thomas. You felt guilty about his death, but he brought it on himself.’

  ‘What about Dury?’ asked Leybourn. ‘Who killed him?’

  ‘One of the Hectors, on Joanna’s orders,’ said Chaloner. ‘He was investigating them too, and was coming close to the truth. He was lured to Smithfield and strangled in Hodgkinson’s print-shop. Hodgkinson was probably complicit in the affair, although his role is a murky one. I have no idea who owned his real allegiance.’

  ‘I am sorry about your cat,’ said Leybourn, after they had walked in silence for a few minutes. ‘It survived the flood and made its way back to your room, but I heard it died in the explosion that took place there.’

  ‘What explosion?’ demanded Thurloe, shocked. ‘You have not mentioned this before.’

  ‘I forgot,’ said Chaloner.

  ‘You forgot an explosion?’ asked Thurloe incredulously.

  ‘Secretive,’ said Leybourn to the ex-Spymaster. ‘I told you, he is secretive. But I shall tell you about it. It was set by Brome and Joanna. After using Hodgkinson to find out what Tom had learned about his operation, Brome tried to shoot him, but missed. Brome killed Hodgkinson, though, then fled, because he had no more ammunition for his gun and knew he could not defeat Tom in a sword fight. However, he had already set the trap in Tom’s room – he must have done it early, because otherwise the bridges would have been closed, and he would not have been able to get there.’

  ‘Fortunately, the powder was damp,’ said Chaloner, wanting an end to the tale. ‘The “explosion” was reduced to a very loud hiss, according to my landlord.’

  ‘What was he doing in your rooms?’ asked Thurloe curiously.

  ‘He went to let the cat in. The device was set to ignite when the fire was lit, which my landlord did to dry off the cat.’

  ‘But the landlord survived,’ said Thurloe. ‘Does this mean the cat did, too?’

  ‘It hissed back, apparently. It is alive and well, and making the most of London’s rats.’

  ‘But you will not be joining it for rodent repast now you are gainfully employed with the Lord Chancellor,’ said Thurloe. ‘At least, not until you annoy him the next time.’

  A mile away, in White Hall, Spymaster Williamson left his office. As usual, he donned a heavy cloak and a broad hat, so he would not be recognised. It had been several days since the Hectors’ empire had collapsed so spectacularly, but no one had come knocking on his door, demanding to know why he had maintained such a close association with it. Somehow, the Earl’s spy had failed to see the connections, although it had been a tense time, and he was glad it was over.

  ‘And the Lord Chancellor is happy with Heyden’s explanation?’ he asked the small man at his side, just to be sure. ‘He does not think there are questions that remain unanswered?’

  ‘No,’ replied Bulteel. ‘He is not naturally curious about matters of espionage, and Heyden’s report has satisfied him completely.’

  ‘Good,’ said Williamson, relieved. ‘Newburne was stupid to have left the music lying around for Maylord to find – and Maylord might have become a serious problem, had Ireton not acted when he did.’

  ‘Ireton was just in time,’ agreed Bulteel.

  They walked in silence for a while, until Williamson spoke again, ‘I trust you did not go empty-handed from the affair? I know about your new house in Westminster, but Newburne’s hoard was worth a good deal of money. I imagine you and Heyden took a little, and shared it between you?’

  ‘Not Heyden,’ said Bulteel. ‘I do not think it even occurred to him. But a few gems happened to fall into my pocket when I was given the task of washing them. Here is your half.’

  Williamson raised his hands. ‘Please!’ he demurred, although an acquisitive gleam flared in his eyes. ‘I would not dream of it.’

  ‘I insist,’ said Bulteel, pressing the pouch into the Spymaster’s ready palm. ‘It is only fair – I would not have known where to tell Heyden to look, were it not for you.’

  Williamson patted the purse with pleasure. ‘Giving up Newburne’s hoard was money lost to a good cause – I did not want the Lord Chancellor to set Heyden after me. I could kill him easily enough, but there is Thurloe to consider.’

  ‘Thurloe is nothing,’ said Bulteel contemptuously. ‘His powers have waned.’

  ‘They are not gone yet, though, and he is not a man I want as an enemy. But thank you for your help, Bulteel. Can I assume we shall work together in future?’

  ‘I think you may,’ said Bulteel comfortably. ‘Just as long as you continue to make it worth my while for declining all the bribes that come my way.’

  ‘Come with me to Smithfield,’ said Williamson. ‘The remaining Hectors are gathering, and I could do with your help.’

  ‘Will you tell them you were the real Butcher all along, and that Joanna was working for you? That Maylord discovered it, which is why he died in such terror? Fear is always a good way to keep the troops in order.’

  Williamson considered the question. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘I do not think so. We shall keep that as our little secret.’

  Historical Note

  Londoners in 1663 endured some terrible weather. There was a long, wet summer, with so much rain that prayers were said in Parliament for a reprieve. In December, there was an unusua
lly high tide, which corresponded with a gale in the North Sea, and White Hall and Westminster were flooded. Although these were two areas that were especially prone to flood, there were almost certainly problems in other parts of the city that were low lying, too, and rain would have turned the Thames’s tributaries into raging torrents. The Fleet and the Walbrook are culverted now, and most Londoners are unaware of their presence, but they were major geographical features in the seventeenth century, and bridges were important lines of communication.

  A piece of political skulduggery in September 1663 saw the experienced journalist Henry Muddiman ousted from editing the government’s official newsbooks, and Roger L’Estrange appointed in his place. The Spymaster and Under Secretary of State Joseph Williamson was behind the coup, and was determined to see the new-style publications – The Intelligencer (Mondays), and The Newes (Thursdays) – succeed. He was alarmed when people began to complain almost immediately about the fact that L’Estrange included so little domestic news. This should have come as no surprise, as L’Estrange is on record as saying that such information ‘makes the multitude too familiar with the actions and counsels of their superiors, too pragmatical and censorious, and gives them not only an itch, but a kind of colourable right and license to be meddling with the Government.’

  L’Estrange – passionate royalist, inveterate womaniser and talented violist – was very interested in providing domestic news on some subjects, though. In October and November 1663, his newsbooks were full of editorials about the Farnley Wood rebellion, in which a few desperate Parliamentarians thought they could oust the newly installed monarchy. These ‘dreadful phanatiques’ were the subject of numerous bigoted rants, and the name of every rebel was gleefully published in The Intelligencer on 16 November. Besides details of the thwarted uprising, the newsbooks for November and December 1663 carried reports about the movements of foreign courts, the damage to the vicar of Wollaston’s prayer-book, advertisements for lost and stolen horses, and several notices praising Mr Theophilus Buckworth’s Personal Lozenges and Mr Turner’s dentifrices, some of which have been used verbatim in The Butcher of Smithfield.