‘A vast quantity of imported goods passes through my hands,’ conceded Hay cagily. Then a note of pride crept into his voice. ‘More, in fact, than any other merchant in the capital.’
‘The location of his wharves – on the south bank – means he is obliged to pay an additional tariff for sending goods to the north,’ York continued. ‘Two taxes – one to unload at Bermondsey, and a second to ferry these goods across the river to the city.’
‘That seems unfair,’ said Chaloner. ‘The government is ever greedy for its subjects’ money.’
Hay’s stiff manner yielded slightly at this remark. ‘That is certainly true.’
‘York says you have two cannon on your ship, Garsfield,’ said Preacher Parr rather eagerly. ‘And the current trouble with Holland means you keep them loaded.’
‘Not always,’ said Chaloner, suspecting it would be illegal or impractical in certain situations. Was Parr trying to catch him out? ‘It depends.’
‘How much powder can you lay your hands on at any given time?’ asked Strutt.
‘Strutt was a navy purser until an argument with his captain drove him to other business,’ said Hay to Chaloner, to explain the man’s question. ‘He works for me now. He and Parr both know a lot about ships and armaments.’
Thus warned, Chaloner was reluctant to embark on specifics lest he make a mistake that would arouse their suspicions. ‘Is it safe to talk here?’ he asked pointedly. ‘Only Margaret said you normally use a cellar, because of the danger of eavesdroppers.’
‘True,’ said Strutt, glancing around quickly. The gesture was fast and furtive, and made him look like a ferret. ‘This is no place for a discussion of fire-power. We should wait until later, when our trusted colleagues will be with us.’
‘There are about thirty of us – all like-minded men,’ said Preacher Parr to Chaloner, lowering his voice conspiratorially. ‘When we gather in the cellar, we wear hoods to maintain our anonymity. It is a simple system – you will not recognize anyone, but neither will anyone recognize you.’
‘As you wish,’ said Chaloner, wondering how he was going to learn the names – or even obtain descriptions – of the conspirators under such circumstances. ‘But I have nothing to hide.’
‘Everyone has something to hide,’ said Strutt. ‘No one is perfect.’
‘You certainly are not,’ said York unpleasantly. ‘Browne could never prove you stole the provisions that were supposed to go on his ship, but it was obvious that you were guilty.’
Strutt’s greasy obsequiousness turned into something harder and more nasty. ‘The Navy Board would not agree – they reviewed my case and deemed me innocent, although I resigned from Rosebush anyway. Browne was a brute, little better than the louts who served under him, and I am glad I am no longer obliged to deal with him.’
‘He was my friend,’ said York coldly.
Strutt shot him an ambiguous look. ‘I know.’
Hay and his deputies had arranged a light supper of bread and pies before the meeting, and they invited York and Chaloner to share it with them. Chaloner hesitated, suspecting he would be quizzed about his mythical ship and knowing it would be only a matter of time before he was tripped up in a maritime inconsistency. However, he had already used the excuse of fatigue, and felt he had no choice but to join them in the dilapidated chamber that passed as Bermondsey House’s main hall. Margaret also graced them with her presence, reluctantly setting aside her pipe in order to eat. Halfway through the meal, a foppish man slouched into the room and flung himself on a bench.
‘This weather!’ he drawled, reaching for the wine jug. ‘You could fry an egg on me, I am so hot!’
‘My grandson,’ said Margaret, eyeing him with disapproval. ‘You can thank him for your being here today, because I would never have sunk this low if he had not gambled away our fortune.’
‘You spent a fair bit of it yourself,’ retorted Castell, draining his cup and filling it again. ‘You had an eye for fine clothes, handsome beaux and gay balls, so do not blame it all on me.’
Margaret cackled. ‘Well, it was good while it lasted. Who has some tobacco? I am out again.’
‘Tobacco is an agent of the devil,’ declared Rector Parr grimly. His black clothes hung loosely on his skeletal frame, adding to the overall impression of dour self-denial and austerity. Chaloner noted that even his friends seemed to find his unsmiling piety a bit of a trial, and concluded that Parr was not a man who would be invited to many parties. ‘And those who partake of it risk their immortal souls.’
‘The devil had my immortal soul years ago,’ retorted Margaret. ‘And good luck to him.’
‘He will need it,’ murmured York, passing her a pouch. Although he had shown restraint with the wine over his dinner, he was still far from sober, and Chaloner sincerely hoped he would not lose control of himself and say or do something to give them away.
‘I saw Widow Browne today,’ said Strutt. He shot York a spiteful glance, to ensure the captain knew he was about to be baited. ‘Her husband must have left her badly off, because she would never have donned such tatty clothes when he was alive. You should have seen the state of her gorget!’
‘I heard his death came at an unfortunate time,’ said Hay, speaking before York could reply. ‘Apparently he had invested everything in a special cargo he was to transport on Rosebush and his demise meant his family lost everything.’
‘Shame,’ said Strutt with a gleeful smile. ‘However, Browne damaged me with his false accusations, so I cannot find it in my heart to feel sorry for him.’
‘God does not approve of grudges,’ announced Preacher Parr. ‘Not unless they are just.’
‘Who decides what is just?’ asked Chaloner provocatively.
‘God’s faithful servants,’ replied the clergyman loftily. ‘Men like me. It was my misfortune to run foul of Browne when I tried to preach the good word to his crew – he had me thrown into the river. He was a violent brute, and God gave him a violent end.’
Chaloner recalled that Hannah and York had mentioned some past disagreement between Browne and the preacher, which had led them to put Parr on their list of suspects. The incident did not sound very serious, and Chaloner imagined Browne would barely have given it a second thought, but he could imagine how it might have gnawed at Parr’s fanatical heart. He would see it as an insult to his crusade for God and might well have decided to avenge himself with a convenient rock.
‘It was a pity one of his sailors decided to brain him,’ said Hay, his expression unreadable. ‘Personally, I thought him a decent fellow, though we only exchanged a few words before he died.’
‘Were you present when he was murdered, then?’ asked Chaloner innocently. ‘I thought he was killed in Jamaica House.’
‘No, he was attacked here,’ said Margaret, almost invisible in a cloud of smoke. ‘But Hay arranged for the law courts to be told it was Jamaica House, which was nice of him. I do not want my lovely home associated with sordid doings like murder, after all.’
There was a short, awkward pause, during which everyone thought, but did not say, that most people would consider treason and sedition just as sordid as an unlawful killing. Meanwhile, Hay grimaced, annoyed that she should expose his meddling with justice quite so readily.
Chaloner smiled pleasantly at the shipping magnate. ‘What did you and Browne exchange a “few words” about?’ he asked.
Hay was wary. ‘I cannot recall now. The incident was weeks ago, in April. Why do you ask?’
Chaloner shrugged. ‘Because I dislike the notion of seamen lobbing rocks at us senior officers. What led Walduck to strike Browne dead?’
Hay was thoughtful. ‘Well, Walduck did not draw his sword to protect Browne the moment he heard footsteps approaching, and Browne reprimanded him for it. That annoyed him – I could tell.’
‘Enough to want to kill him?’ asked Chaloner. It did not sound a very powerful motive.
‘Criminals do not behave in the same way as normal men,�
� said Hay sagely. ‘After the spat, I led Browne to the cellar where we hold our meetings, but he must have lagged behind, because when I reached the bottom of the steps I looked back to find him gone. I assumed he was with Strutt.’
‘He was not,’ said Strutt, a little too quickly. ‘I disliked him and did not want to be in his company. I kept my distance. His men were with him – I was not.’
It was a very vehement denial, and Chaloner regarded the purser curiously. Just how angry had he been about Browne’s accusations regarding his honesty? Strutt was bitter and spiteful, just the kind of man to throw a stone at an enemy rather than confront him with a sword.
‘I was some way away when the commotion started,’ added the preacher helpfully. ‘But I saw Walduck throw the rock.’
‘How?’ asked Chaloner sceptically. ‘If you were some distance off, then how could you have seen what happened? Further, I understand this meeting was late at night, so it would have been dark.’
The rector grimaced. ‘Well, perhaps I did not actually see the missile in flight, but it was obvious what Walduck had done. He made no attempt to deny the charge when I accused him of it.’
‘He just stood there,’ agreed Strutt, ‘and refused to answer questions. All he said – kept repeating – was that masonry from the house had dropped on Browne.’
‘Wicked lies,’ said Castell, reaching for more wine. Margaret nodded fervent agreement. ‘Our masonry has never hit anyone before.’
Hay continued his tale. ‘When I went to see what had happened, Browne was lying on the ground. His two sailors were leaning over him, and – as Parr just said – it was obvious that one had taken the opportunity to commit murder.’
‘Did they run away when you came?’ asked Chaloner.
‘No. They said they had been walking along behind him when he had just collapsed. Walduck was astonished when we later arrested him. He told us we would never be able to prove it.’
‘You should have seen his face at the trial,’ crowed Strutt. ‘He could not believe the jury’s verdict and kept insisting that masonry was to blame. A lump did fall, as it happened, but it was too far away to have hit Browne.’
‘Walduck was a drunken fool!’ declared Hay irritably. ‘And the attention that accrued from Browne’s death was something we all could have done without.’
‘So Hay had words with his friends in the law courts,’ finished Margaret. ‘To protect us all from scandal. He had the matter expedited too – Walduck tried and executed at top speed, so he could be buried and forgotten.’
Hay regarded her sharply, as if he detected recrimination in the comment. Margaret merely blew a smoke ring and beamed benignly at him.
‘How did you know Walduck was the culprit?’ Chaloner asked curiously, looking at each person in turn. ‘It could have been the other sailor – Tivill.’
‘Because Tivill had a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other, and he was struggling with Browne’s frisky horse,’ replied the preacher promptly. ‘He had no spare hands to lob rocks with. Besides, why use a stone, when weapons of steel were available?’
‘The same could be said about Walduck,’ Chaloner pointed out.
Parr sighed. ‘Yes, but Walduck was a killer – you could see it in his eyes.’
Chaloner was acutely aware that all their accounts were based on supposition and prejudice, and he was not sure he believed any of them. His questions were clarifying nothing about the night of the murder, or about the roles played by his various suspects.
‘I heard a thump,’ said Strutt. He smiled, as if the memory afforded him pleasure. ‘It was almost certainly Walduck’s stone cracking Browne’s skull.’
‘Had any of your associates arrived at Bermondsey House when all this happened?’ Chaloner asked, looking around at them. ‘Or were you and the two sailors the only ones there?’
The preacher shrugged his thin shoulders. ‘Others were gathering for the meeting, but it was dark, as you have pointed out, and impossible to see much. Some came to see what had happened, but they usually wear hoods, so I could not tell who indulged his curiosity and who left before there was a fuss.’
‘Did anyone ask Tivill what he saw?’ asked Chaloner. ‘He must have been the closest—’
‘He saw nothing, because he was trying to control the horse,’ replied Strutt, rather quickly. ‘It was prancing about, and as he was holding a weapon in either hand he was trying to control the beast by gripping the reins in his teeth. The fellow is an imbecile!’
Chaloner recalled Tivill from Rosebush and concurred that he was not the kind of man who would know how to cope with a situation that required three hands. He had been a liability on the ship, and only escaped hanging himself among the lines and cables because his shipmates watched out for him. His only virtue, as far as Chaloner could tell, was his willingness to fight. He was perfectly happy to lead charges against an enemy, even when they appeared to be suicidal, and Browne had used him accordingly.
‘I find this discussion distasteful,’ said Preacher Parr with a fastidious shudder. ‘Let us talk about our business instead. How many guns on your ship, Garsfield?’
‘Two,’ replied Chaloner. During one voyage, he had made a study of Rosebush’s cannon, for want of anything better to do, and knew a little about them. He spouted a few vague technical details that had the rebels leaning forward with interest.
‘Do they fire best on the up-roll or the down-roll?’ asked Strutt.
Chaloner did not have the faintest idea, although he realized the angle of the muzzle would make a difference to its efficiency. He glanced at York for help, but the captain was pouring himself wine and seemed oblivious to Chaloner’s predicament. Strutt’s eyes narrowed, and Chaloner knew he was about to be exposed as someone who did not know what he was talking about.
‘I prefer the up-roll myself,’ said Margaret, reaching out to take the jug from York. She glared at him when she found it empty. ‘It gives you greater range, and there is less chance of damage to your vessel. I manned my share of the things during the wars, you know.’
There were some startled glances, and Chaloner stood to take his leave before anyone could question him further. Hay followed suit, saying he had work to do before the meeting, while Castell announced that he had booked a prostitute at a nearby tavern. His grandmother did not seem surprised, and only commented that she was tired and that it was time to sleep. She began removing garments before she was out of the hall; loath to be subjected to anything too horrible, no one lingered. Strutt disappeared to his chamber, and Chaloner said he had a book he wanted to read.
‘The Bible?’ asked Parr, giving the impression that anything else would be anathema.
‘Tide tables,’ replied Chaloner. ‘The mariner’s Bible.’
York laughed rather wildly, then said he had letters he wanted to write. Chaloner watched him leave and hoped he would drink himself insensible before the meeting. It would be safer for everyone – especially Chaloner himself.
The meeting was not due to start for at least three hours, so Chaloner jammed the door to his room again and set off to reconnoitre the cellar in which the gathering was supposed to take place. First, though, he entered a secret passage he had discovered earlier, which had spyholes cut into its wooden walls. These allowed the occupants of various rooms to be studied without the watcher being detected.
As he groped his way through the darkness, Chaloner thought about what the conspirators had told him regarding Browne’s death. The testimony of each was questionable, and he found himself unable to determine who – if anyone – had lied. However, he had learned that no one had actually witnessed the incident, so why had Walduck been hanged? Surely, any jury would have seen there was reasonable doubt about his guilt? It was true that Walduck and Tivill had disliked their captain, but would Walduck really have brained him, then loitered around, waiting to be arrested? It made no sense. Chaloner also did not like the notion that Hay had managed to secure an early trial and a hasty execution
, or the fact that the law courts seemed to have accepted a number of falsehoods – such as where the murder had been committed – without demur.
When Chaloner reached Hay’s chamber, he peered through the spyhole to find it empty. Whatever ‘work’ the yellow-wigged shipping magnate had been going to do did not involve sitting at a desk. Hay was top of Chaloner’s list of suspects, mostly because he had so much to lose from being exposed. Not only would he face a traitor’s death, but he was wealthy and respectable, so his family, friends and associates would share his disgrace.
The next room was occupied by Strutt, who sat at a table, writing furiously. Was he doing something for Hay or – and Chaloner was deeply suspicious of the speed at which the quill was flying across the paper – was he making a record of what had transpired at dinner? If the latter, then why? Was Strutt also uncomfortable with rebellion, and was he planning to make a report to the authorities when he had sufficient evidence? Or was he penning some innocent missive that had nothing to do with revolt? Chaloner watched him for a while, thinking that if Hay was top of the list of suspects for Browne’s murder, then Strutt was a very close second. No one could hate as fiercely as Strutt without being tempted to lob sly stones when the opportunity presented itself.
Parr occupied the quarters next door. The preacher was on his knees, hands clasped before him. His face was dark and savage, and Chaloner was certain the prayers would not be ones any decent God would want to hear. Parr remained indignant that Browne had declined to allow him to spout religion at Rosebush’s crew, and Chaloner knew casual murder would be seen as divine justice by the likes of the fanatical Rector of Bermondsey.
The next room was York’s; the captain had a cup in his hand and was pacing back and forth in agitation. Had he recruited Browne to help him expose the dissidents, only to discover that Browne actually thought revolt was a very good idea? The two men had been close, it was true, but how much value did York place on friendship – especially when his own life and safety were at stake?
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