‘So this job is too challenging for you?’ taunted Franklin. ‘You, who brag that you are the best in the business?’
Chaloner found he was disappointed in the physician, who had seemed an amiable, decent sort of man, genuinely concerned with the welfare of his patients. However, as the argument progressed, he witnessed an unsettling change: Franklin’s friendly affability gradually evaporated, and he became caustic and sullen, much like his odious sibling.
‘We are the best because we are careful,’ Spring snarled. ‘And being careful does not entail working in Chelsea, where we might be recognised.’
‘So what if you are?’ Franklin flashed back. ‘Being arrested the last time was not so terrible, was it? Good things happened – you met my brother.’
Another snippet of an overheard conversation returned to Chaloner – the one between Reymes and the brown-coat in the rectory, about Spring and his friends being picked up a week after the Battle of Lowestoft, but in better health than they should have been after days in an open boat. Criminals were often offered a choice of execution or naval service, so it was obvious what had happened: Spring’s talents had snagged the attention of Richard Franklin at the Admiralty, who had suggested a third option.
‘Yes, but I doubt even he could save us from the noose if we were caught stealing yet again,’ said Spring sourly. ‘I repeat: we are not doing it.’
Franklin’s voice turned icy. ‘Then my brother will hang you tomorrow. He made our terms perfectly clear – you either follow my orders, or our alliance may be considered at an end.’ He stepped back smartly when Spring started forward with murder in his eyes. ‘And you will definitely die if I fail to report back to him by morning.’
There was a moment when it looked as though Spring would take the risk anyway, but then the felon inclined his head stiffly. ‘Very well. But bear in mind that if we are caught, we shall have nothing to lose – we will consider our alliance at an end, and you and your stinking brother will hang next to us.’
‘No one will hang if you do your work properly,’ said Franklin crossly. ‘Now go to Buckingham House and wait for me in the grounds. I will slip into the house first, to make sure everyone is asleep.’
The discussion was over. Spring and his cronies melted away into the night, while Franklin lingered a few more moments, whispering to Tooker and Samm, then he, too, disappeared. When he had gone, the warden and his henchman exchanged a glance that revealed the depth of their own concern about the scheme, then stood in silence, smoking their pipes in the warm glow from Spring’s lantern.
Hiding in the shadows, Chaloner was not sure what to do. Should he go to Buckingham House and attempt to wake the drugged courtiers, with a view to catching Franklin and his burglars in the act? Or should he confront Tooker and Samm about their policy of allowing inmates out to steal?
‘What is wrong?’ came a soft whisper at his side, making him jump. ‘I just saw a lot of prisoners sneaking through the trees. Why did you not stop them?’
Disconcerted that Eleanore had moved stealthily enough to startle him, Chaloner told her what he had overheard, finishing with the fact that he could not challenge twenty-plus heavily armed men on his own.
‘So which of them strangled Nancy?’ asked Eleanore, clearly unimpressed by his timidity. ‘Not Tooker – he does not have the courage. Samm, a prisoner or Franklin?’
‘Franklin, probably. He was in Clarendon House when Underhill died, and he was in Chelsea when Nancy, Kole and Parker were murdered.’
Eleanore was thoughtful. ‘But he will not confess on the basis of what you heard here, so we had better start with Tooker. We shall tell him that he will hang unless he turns King’s evidence and gives us what we need to charge Franklin with Nancy’s murder.’
Chaloner did not think it was a good idea to tackle Tooker when Samm was with him, but Eleanore was insistent, and he was foolishly loath to disappoint her again. He extracted a promise that she would stay in the bushes until he told her it was safe to come out, then strode forward quickly when he saw the warden and his henchman finish their pipes and prepare to re-enter their domain.
‘You have a lot of explaining to do,’ he said, watching them leap in shock at the sound of his voice. ‘I know exactly what you have been doing.’
The blood drained from Tooker’s face. Samm reached for the gun in his belt, but Chaloner held Mrs Bonney’s dag, and the chief gaoler froze into immobility when he saw it levelled at him.
‘Throw it down,’ ordered Chaloner.
‘We are only taking the air,’ blustered Tooker, watching Samm toss his weapon on the ground. ‘As we always do of an evening.’
‘That is perfectly reasonable,’ said Chaloner. ‘What is not, however, is allowing your charges out to do the same. How much money have you made from sending Spring to steal?’
‘Christ!’ gulped Tooker, white with horror. Then his voice went from indignant to wheedling. ‘It was Franklin’s idea. Him and his brother.’
‘It is true,’ nodded Samm. ‘We did not want to do it, but they made us.’
‘They threatened to kill our wives if we did not follow their orders,’ elaborated Tooker.
‘You are not married,’ said Chaloner, recalling Akers’ contention that neither cared if plague-infected prisoners put gaolers’ families in danger, because they had no spouses of their own. ‘So do not lie. You will only make matters worse.’
‘Did I say wives?’ asked Tooker desperately. ‘I meant sisters. They—’
‘Enough!’ snapped Chaloner. ‘I heard your conversation with Franklin and Spring. You—’
Tooker staggered suddenly, hand to his heart, and Chaloner’s split second of inattention allowed Samm to make his move. The gaoler hurtled forward, and crashed into Chaloner with such force that both went flying. Chaloner landed hard enough to make his head spin, and by the time his vision cleared, Samm was looming over him with a heavy stone. Chaloner jerked to one side, and felt the ground vibrate as the rock plummeted down next to his ear. Enraged and determined, Samm fastened his hands around Chaloner’s throat.
Chaloner had been in many desperate situations in his time, but never one that was quite so pathetically mundane as lying flat on his back while a brute of a man choked the life out of him. One of his arms was trapped beneath him, and it was, of course, the one he needed to reach his knives – the gun was lost in the grass. He flailed with the other, scoring several vigorous punches and even a jab to the eyes, all of which Samm stoically ignored.
He knew the most useless thing that anyone could do in his situation was to grab his assailant’s hands in the hope of prising them off, but he did it anyway. While he struggled with Samm’s diabolical strength, a distant part of his mind asked whether this was what had happened to Nancy, Underhill, Kole and Parker. It made sense that Samm was the strangler – Franklin would have more exotic means at his disposal.
He was weakening, and knew he had to do something fast. He kicked upwards as hard as he could, aiming for the chief gaoler’s groin, but although it must have hurt, Samm did not release his deadly hold. Where was Eleanore? Watching in horror from the bushes, bound by her promise to stay there until he called her? Or had she tried to come to his rescue, but had been overpowered by Tooker?
With a massive effort of will, he let go of Samm’s hands and scrabbled on the ground, hunting for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. There was nothing, not even a twig. He managed to snag a handful of dust, though, and flung it straight into the gaoler’s eyes. But Samm did not flinch, and the pressure only intensified.
And then Chaloner knew he was defeated.
Chapter 16
Chaloner heard a distant roaring. Was it thunder or the sound of approaching death? The sky was dark above him, and he could no longer see Samm’s silhouette. But the pressure was gone from his throat and Samm’s weight was no longer crushing his chest. He drew one deep, rasping breath, then another, and gradually his normal senses began to return.
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br /> ‘Stand against the wall, Tooker,’ a man’s voice was saying. Chaloner turned his head to see Samm lying face down next to him. ‘Now, if you please.’
‘This outrage will cost you dear, Akers,’ hissed Tooker. ‘Interfering with matters that do not concern you. You will pay with your life when Samm wakes up.’
‘Samm is dead,’ said Akers flatly. ‘And I will not tell you again – stand against the wall, or he will not be the only one to meet his Maker tonight.’
Chaloner blinked in an effort to dispel the lingering blurriness. Akers held the lamp, which illuminated Tooker’s furious face. It also revealed that Samm had been killed by a blow to the head. Confused and wary, Chaloner groped on the ground for Mrs Bonney’s gun.
‘Some of the prisoners are missing,’ Akers was saying to the warden. ‘And I am told that you gave orders for their release.’
‘If you want to live, walk away,’ urged Tooker. ‘Why antagonise powerful and dangerous men by meddling in their affairs? They will crush you like a fly, so drop that cudgel and leave. In return, I shall not tell anyone what happened here.’
‘And find myself throttled one night?’ Akers glanced at Samm. ‘Or will you find another way to dispatch your victims now that your pet strangler is dead? I saw what he tried to do to Chaloner.’
‘We had nothing to do with the murders,’ said Tooker. ‘Listen to me, Akers. I can give you money – lots of it. Take your wife and go somewhere far away. Altrincham, perhaps.’
Chaloner struggled to his feet with the dag in his hand. He had still not fully recovered, and would likely lose a fight if Akers accepted Tooker’s offer. He only hoped the sight of the gun would provide enough of a deterrent.
‘Tooker lets Spring and his friends out to burgle,’ he rasped. ‘It has been going on for weeks. You do not want to be associated with—’
‘Lies,’ snapped Tooker. He appealed to Akers again. ‘You can become a wealthy man tonight, and nothing will ever be said about the fact that you brained my chief gaoler.’
‘Your chief gaoler was the Chelsea Strangler,’ said Akers coldly. ‘And I caught you watching him attempting to claim his next victim. Now tell me what is going on. Not with Spring and his minions – they are nothing. I want to know what is happening in the Garden Court. Who are those prisoners? Or should I say those guests, given that they were no more captive than I am?’
‘I do not know,’ replied Tooker impatiently. ‘They did not tell me, and I did not ask. All I can say is that I was under orders to keep them hidden, and to do whatever they wanted.’ He glanced at Chaloner. ‘Which did not include being interrogated by him – they were vexed about that. But forget them, Akers. The real money comes from my arrangement with Franklin.’
‘You are a fool,’ said Akers disgustedly. ‘The business in the Garden Court is far more important than Franklin’s antics.’
‘Not so,’ insisted Tooker. ‘I am paid a pittance for housing those men, a mere fraction of what Franklin’s operation brings me.’ He blanched when Akers raised his cudgel. ‘It is true!’
‘Answer my questions, or I will knock your brains out, like I did Samm’s. Now, who are those guests, and where have they gone?’
Chaloner regarded Akers in alarm. ‘They have gone?’
‘An hour ago,’ replied the gaoler, hefting the bludgeon higher as he glared at the cowering warden. ‘And this villain had better explain what is happening or—’
‘But I do not know,’ bleated Tooker. ‘Soldiers arrived with three carriages, and off they all went. The soldiers had the proper paperwork, and it is not for me to question the government’s secret dealings.’
‘Regicides and rabble-rousers,’ croaked Chaloner. ‘I have the list from your office – ten names, with two more that were illegible because the bottom was burnt off.’
‘That was me,’ confessed Akers sheepishly. ‘I knocked over a candle when I was searching Tooker’s desk – fear made me clumsy. But what is this about regicides?’
‘They are not regicides,’ objected Tooker. ‘You met them, Chaloner – they are just harmless, middle-aged men in need of refuge. Besides, the government charged me to keep them here. They would not have done that for king-killers.’
‘Who in the government?’ demanded Akers. ‘Who signed these documents that you keep mentioning?’
‘The Lord Chancellor.’ Tooker’s eyes were calculating as he felt himself on firmer ground, and he pointed at Chaloner. ‘His master, and if he tells you otherwise, he is lying. Now, shall we say fifty pounds, Akers, to dispatch Chaloner and say no more about this unsavoury matter? I hear that Altrincham is a very beautiful place…’
Chaloner held his breath. It was a lot of money, and Akers worked in the prison because his farm had failed and he had no other source of income. But Akers scowled indignantly.
‘How dare you try to bribe me! That will go in my official report, too.’
‘All right, I should not have done that,’ conceded Tooker hastily. ‘But the business with those guests is perfectly above board. Look – here are the deeds, all signed by Clarendon himself.’
Chaloner and Akers studied them in the flickering lamplight.
‘Old customs certificates,’ said Chaloner. ‘Someone probably fished them out of the Admiralty’s rubbish heap.’ He regarded Tooker appraisingly. ‘You cannot read, can you? That is why Samm’s initials, rather than yours, were on the ledger in your office.’
‘Of course I can read!’ cried Tooker, affronted.
Chaloner held out one of the certificates. ‘Then tell me what this says.’
Tooker folded his arms. ‘No. And you cannot make me.’
The warden’s illiteracy, not uncommon in an age where education had often been interrupted by civil war and political upheaval, made several things clear to Chaloner.
‘If Tooker could not read the names on that list,’ he said to Akers, ‘then I imagine he really is ignorant of who was in his Garden Court.’
Akers grimaced wryly. ‘I read them, but I had no idea either. I memorised them, though.’ He began to recite them like a mantra. ‘Price, Broughton, Dove, Dendy—’
‘Oh, Christ!’ blurted Chaloner, as understanding shot into his mind like a bolt of lightning. ‘Dove and Dendy! The Peacemaker and the Dandy!’
Akers blinked. ‘What?’
Chaloner’s thoughts whirled in confusion, and it took an effort to articulate them. ‘Hannah’s letter … the ghost-man will leade the Peace-Maker and the Dandey to Stryke the Sicke and the Hurte. She meant Dove and Dendy. ’
‘He is deranged,’ said Tooker. ‘Ignore him, Akers, and listen to me. I—’
‘Shut up,’ snapped Akers, and turned back to Chaloner. ‘Who is Hannah?’
‘My wife.’ Chaloner’s heart was pounding. ‘She caught the plague in a theatre. The “ghost-man” is the spectre. She was not raving – she was sending me an important message!’
But the realisation raised more questions than solutions. How had Hannah known what he would be investigating weeks into the future? And why had she chosen to write her warning in such an abstruse way?
Akers nodded towards Samm’s body. ‘He is the strangler, which means he must be the spectre, too. Your Hannah was referring to him.’
‘I chased the spectre,’ said Chaloner. ‘It was too small and fast to have been Samm, while you have been under the impression that it is a woman. However, it was seen visiting the prison, so I imagine Tooker knows its identity.’
‘I admit that a person who may be the spectre has been staying in the Garden Court with the other twelve,’ hedged the warden. ‘But it was government business, and none of mine.’
‘But it is not government business, is it?’ said Akers, brandishing the worthless certificates. ‘However, it is not for us to decide whether you are a conspirator or just a fool – that will be determined at your trial. Now tell us this spectre’s name. And lest you think to lie, remember that cooperating with us may save you from the gallows.’
‘The spectre is Sutcliffe,’ predicted Chaloner. ‘Hannah probably saw the “ghost-man” at the theatre, a place that Sutcliffe liked to frequent. Cocke told us that Sutcliffe stopped going when an actor dropped dead during The Indian Queen, which was probably where Hannah caught it.’
‘All right,’ whispered Tooker, glancing around uneasily. ‘The spectre is Sutcliffe. But please do not say I told you. He is an assassin, and his strangling hands will find me, even in the Tower.’
Chaloner thought about what Thurloe had said – that Sutcliffe was a vicious malcontent, dissatisfied with everyone and everything around him. Who better to bring like-minded fanatics together? And he had a motive, too: to repay the government for laying claim to a building he thought should be his. Thinking about Thurloe made something else clear, too. He glanced at Akers.
‘You were brave,’ he murmured, ‘to send Thurloe reports about the prison.’
Akers was honourable, and exactly the sort of man with whom the ex-Spymaster would correspond. Wearily, Chaloner recalled his friend’s advice – to concentrate on the prison for answers. As usual, Thurloe had been right, and Chaloner should have listened to him.
‘I cannot tell you how relieved I was when you arrived,’ Akers whispered back, then smiled wryly. ‘I imagine you were suspicious when I tried to tell you everything that I had learned.’
Chaloner nodded. ‘But I would not have been, if you had also mentioned that you know Thurloe.’
‘But I do not know Thurloe – we have never met. I chose him as the recipient of my reports because I could not decide who in the current government might be involved. However, I was a staunch Parliamentarian in the Commonwealth, and I sometimes sent him information about my more radical Royalist neighbours, so I felt I could trust him with this, too.’
‘So he does not know your name?’ asked Chaloner, supposing it explained why Thurloe had neglected to mention that there was someone at the prison who would be on his side.
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