‘What shall we do with him then?’ asked Baron, regarding Chaloner coolly. ‘I do not want him working for me now.’
‘Leave him to me,’ said Swaddell, with a smile that made Chaloner’s blood run cold. ‘But first, we had better go outside to see what is happening for ourselves.’
The moment the door had closed behind his captors, Chaloner embarked on a frantic search of the cellar, but he discovered nothing he had not seen on his last visit. He was in an underground chamber with stone walls, no windows and a door that had been secured from the outside with a bar. He was trapped until Swaddell decided that it was time for him to die.
He was not hungry, but he ate some of Baron’s victuals anyway, partly for something to do, but also because keeping up his strength seemed like a good idea. Perhaps he would overpower or outwit Swaddell. Unfortunately, he knew he was deluding himself: the assassin was no novice at sly murder, and Chaloner held no great hope of seeing another dawn. Indeed, perhaps Swaddell was the killer he had been hunting for the last week – after all, Wheler’s death had allowed the assassin to make a profitable arrangement with Baron, while the other victims might have been sacrificed to ensure it could continue.
After he had eaten his fill, Chaloner sat on the bench, closed his eyes and cleared his mind of everything except his investigations. He started at the beginning, and reviewed all he had learned, painstakingly discarding hearsay and distilling fact from fiction. It was the first opportunity he had had for such an exercise, and gradually the glimmer of a solution began to appear.
Not long afterwards, there were footsteps and the door was unbarred. Baron strode in and went straight to the table for wine. Doe hobbled after him, although Poachin held back, and Chaloner sensed there had been a further falling out. Jacob was a silent presence at Doe’s side, while Swaddell lurked behind them all, like a spider. For one crazed moment, Chaloner considered launching himself at the assassin. It would certainly mean his own death, but he was doomed anyway, and there was something very appealing about taking Swaddell with him to the grave.
Then he reconsidered. The sight of Swaddell had aroused in him a burning desire not to be the next victim. He wanted to survive, to thwart whatever was happening, so that Swaddell would not emerge victorious. But how? He glanced at Doe’s battered face, then at Poachin. Again, he wondered how to aggravate the dissent between the two, and encourage one to his side.
‘All is not well in your domain, Baron,’ he said, beginning by testing the first conclusion he had drawn from his analysis. ‘Someone has been betraying you.’
Baron’s lack of surprise told him that this was not news. The felon said nothing, and poured himself another drink, which Chaloner took as permission to continue. Perhaps Baron wanted what he already knew to be repeated by an independent source. Chaloner did not look at the two captains, but was acutely aware that both were as taut as bowstrings.
‘Oxley and his family did not die of the pestilence,’ he went on. ‘I saw Emma’s body. It was white, and free from plague tokens. It means she was murdered and—’
‘Nonsense,’ interrupted Poachin impatiently. ‘Not every victim of the disease is afflicted with buboes. Ask any medicus.’
‘I shall,’ said Baron, regarding him coolly.
‘Perhaps I should look at the bodies,’ said Doe. He had his hand to his side again, and was obviously in pain. ‘I wonder what I would find.’
‘Stay away from the plague pits, Doe,’ said Poachin warningly. ‘I do not care if you die, but I do not want you bringing the disease back to us.’
‘Yet Chaloner poses an interesting question,’ said Baron softly. ‘Misick claims he saw buboes, but can he be trusted? He loves cards but has no money – he is so deeply in debt to Joan that he is obliged to jump every time she barks. So how could he afford to visit our tables tonight? Could it be that someone bribed him – a verdict of plague in exchange for a hand of primero?’
‘Well, do not look at me,’ said Poachin angrily. ‘I know nothing about it.’ He stabbed an accusing finger at Chaloner. ‘And do not listen to him either. He has a cunning tongue, and is trying to sow the seeds of suspicion, so we will turn against each other. Do not let him—’
‘See how the rat scampers when it is trapped,’ interrupted Doe, arms folded and a gloating expression on his face. He glanced at Baron. ‘I told you he was betraying us.’
‘It is you who is the traitor,’ snarled Poachin, although there was unease in his eyes, and he edged towards the door. ‘Do not listen to these lies, Baron. We have been friends for years, and you know I am loyal. We grew up together…’
‘We did,’ conceded Baron. ‘But that was years ago. We are different people now.’
‘You certainly are,’ snarled Poachin, finally abandoning his attempts to convince. ‘You have changed since Wheler died, and not for the better. Your wife thinks the same. She—’
With a roar of rage, Baron leapt at him, but Poachin had anticipated an attack and was ready. He raced for the door, slamming it so hard that the latch jammed. By the time Baron had wrenched it free, his captain was gone. Meanwhile, Chaloner had charged towards Jacob, aiming to have the cutlass, but the ex-footman darted behind a table, giving himself time to haul out the weapon. As Chaloner could not fight him empty-handed, he was forced to retreat.
‘See?’ Doe asked Baron, all smug satisfaction. ‘I told you Poachin was no good.’
The felon glowered and the younger man had the sense to wipe the grin from his face. ‘After him,’ Baron ordered curtly. ‘And bring him back. Alive. You go too, Jacob.’
‘Do not worry about Chaloner,’ said Swaddell, when Doe hesitated. He drew a pistol from his belt. ‘He will not do anything reckless.’
There was silence in the cellar after Doe and Jacob had gone. Baron took a deep breath, and Chaloner wondered if he knew that Doe would ignore the last part of his order, and that Poachin would soon join the growing body count. He glanced at the door. Could he reach it before Swaddell shot him? A glance at the assassin’s watchful eyes told him he could not. And even if the weapon flashed in the pan, Chaloner would have to pass Baron, and there were trainband men in the corridor outside. He would not escape by running.
Absently, he wondered what was happening on the street above. How many Londoners were doing battle over their grievances? And was Randal’s deadly sequel even now being hawked around the local taverns and coffee houses? Although Chaloner doubted he could have done much to stop it, it was nevertheless frustrating to be locked up while the city turned on itself.
‘Did you kill Wheler?’ Chaloner did not know why he bothered to ask. Baron had not confessed when he had raised the matter before, so was unlikely to do it now.
But Baron surprised him. ‘I did not,’ he said firmly. ‘I would have preferred him alive for a little longer. I never wanted to be King of Cheapside, and had made the decision to retire once he had died of lung-rot, leaving Poachin or Doe to succeed me.’
Chaloner regarded him sceptically. ‘Then why did you move so fast to take control?’
‘To protect what he and I had built – I did not want it to collapse just because Joan did not know what she was doing. When the current trouble is over, Doe can have my crown, because Poachin is right: I have changed since I took over, and Frances does not like what I have become. I have learned the hard way that power corrupts.’
There was something in the way he spoke that made Chaloner want to believe him. ‘If you are innocent, then why have you made no effort to clear your name?’
‘Why would I? My trainband is more likely to stay loyal if they think I am the sort of man who can eliminate wealthy bankers and leave no evidence. And Williamson cannot arrest me without proof – of which there is none, because I did not do it.’
‘There is evidence for the murders of Coo, Neve and Randal, though,’ Chaloner went on, wondering why Swaddell made no effort to prevent him from interrogating his ally. ‘They were killed with your guns, and that can cert
ainly be proved.’
‘The ones with the ivory butts?’ Baron raised his hands in a shrug. ‘Those were stolen.’
‘How convenient,’ said Chaloner heavily.
‘They were a gift from Doe and I noticed they were missing a week ago. Few people have access to the private part of my house, where my family live. But my captains do. Poachin…’
‘It is a blow when one cannot trust one’s underlings,’ said Swaddell consolingly. ‘The soldiers I brought with me tonight were bought off with sixpence. Is that all I am worth?’
‘And besides, I would never have killed Coo,’ Baron went on. ‘Not only because he physicked my trainband and my family, but because of Caesar…’
Chaloner frowned his puzzlement. ‘The horse?’
Baron nodded. ‘Coo was there when Wheler said I could have him. Joan honoured his wishes when Coo was alive – she did not want a saint to think badly of her – but the moment Coo died, she said there were no witnesses, and her lawyers took him back. So, you see, Coo’s murder cost me more than you can possibly know.’
‘I cannot imagine that old nag—’ began Swaddell.
‘You do not understand affection,’ interrupted Baron harshly. ‘Caesar is a member of the family, and therefore priceless.’ He turned back to Chaloner. ‘Poachin is unaware of what Wheler promised in front of Coo, because I never told him. Doe, on the other hand, is in my confidence. In other words, Doe knows that I would never have killed the physician; Poachin does not.’
‘So Poachin stole the weapons from your private quarters with the express purpose of having you accused of murder,’ surmised Swaddell.
Baron nodded. ‘People loved Coo, and the rumour that I killed him has weakened my power. You may have noticed how my trainband struggles to keep order now.’
Chaloner saw a black, deadly anger in the assassin’s eyes, suggesting he had been telling the truth about his liking for Coo, and really did want the physician’s killer brought to justice.
‘You sold Temperance seven pairs of curtains.’ Chaloner lurched to another subject when Baron finished his wine and prepared to leave again. He wanted to keep him talking, suspecting he would not live long once the felon had gone. ‘Then your curbers stole them back again, to peddle to my Earl.’
Baron’s rakish grin reappeared. ‘She did not like them much anyway, but he thought they were glorious. Where lay the harm? Neve was a rogue, though. He told Clarendon they cost three thousand pounds—’
‘Whereas you charged him twenty-nine hundred. Yes, I know. However, he did buy nine pairs, no matter what your ledger was altered to say.’
Baron raised his hands in a shrug. ‘It was worth a try. Unfortunately, Doe made rather a mess of tampering with the books – Howard the milliner was far better at it. But your Earl will have his drapery. I was not lying when I said my brother-in-law was making more.’
‘So you killed Neve,’ stated Chaloner. ‘For taking a commission without your consent.’
Baron laughed. ‘I might have been vexed if he had taken his commission out of my money, but he took his Earl’s, and that is none of my business. If you want his killer, look to Poachin. And before you ask, I did not dispatch Fatherton, Milbourn or Randal either.’
Chaloner knew Baron had not killed Milbourn, because the printer was still alive, but he was not sure what to think about the others. He said nothing, and Baron continued.
‘However, I admit to burning down the houses on Bearbinder Lane. I decided you might be right about the plague worms, especially after the Howard family perished. You may not think much of me, but I look after my own, and those buildings posed a risk to my people.’
‘Did you know I was in it at the time?’
Baron’s surprise seemed genuine. ‘Really? Why, when you said it was full of the plague?’
‘Howard,’ said Chaloner, declining to answer when he saw a way to strike at Swaddell instead. ‘Did you know that he was spying on you for Williamson?’
‘He would not have dared,’ declared Baron, and Chaloner saw the gleam of relief in the assassin’s eyes. ‘I am sorry you rejected my offer of employment, Chaloner. We could have worked well together. Come with me, Swaddell. I want a private word.’
With growing despair, Chaloner heard the bar fall into place on the other side of the door a second time, and Baron’s voice receded along the corridor. However, only seconds passed before it was removed again, and the door swung open. It was Swaddell.
Chapter 15
Chaloner said nothing as Swaddell entered the cellar, unwilling to give the assassin the satisfaction of knowing that he was talking to delay the inevitable. Then he saw that although Swaddell had two pistols in his belt and a sword at his side, none were in his hands. Hope surged through Chaloner. He could win a fist fight.
‘Come on, quickly,’ whispered Swaddell urgently. ‘I expected our four hirelings to warn Williamson of what is afoot, but the cowards appear to have let Poachin intimidate them into disappearing. Damn them for their cowardice!’
‘What trick now, Swaddell?’ asked Chaloner, making no move to do as he was told.
‘Trick?’ Swaddell regarded him in confusion, then his jaw dropped. ‘Surely you do not imagine I am really on Baron’s side?’
‘He certainly seems to think so.’
Swaddell continued to gape. ‘But you and I exchanged blood and promises!’
‘You probably exchanged them with Baron, too.’
The colour drained from Swaddell’s face and when he spoke it was in a tight whisper that shook. ‘I should kill you for that insult! I take vows seriously and I thought you did, too. Yet even so, I thought you might be uneasy, so I virtually told you to trust me.’
‘You did?’
‘I said “an oath is an oath” to remind you of our pact, and to assure you that I had the matter in hand. You played your part splendidly, convincing everyone that I had betrayed you. Now I know why: you believed it!’
‘Why should I not?’ Chaloner flashed back. ‘You took bribes from Baron to look the other way while crimes are committed.’
‘Of course I did! It is called “going undercover”. Surely you are aware of the practice?’ Swaddell was working himself into a frenzy. ‘However, every penny Baron gave me is recorded in a ledger, and the money has been ploughed back into the intelligence services.’
‘So I could go to Westminster and inspect these records?’ asked Chaloner sceptically.
Swaddell bristled. ‘This very minute if you like, although I think we both have more important matters to attend.’
With utter amazement, Chaloner realised that the absurd ritual they had played out in Maidenhead Alley had actually meant something to Swaddell. As Chaloner himself had lived a good part of his adolescence and all his adult life in situations where betrayal was the norm, it came as a shock to learn that there were people who honoured such promises. Swaddell’s principles made him feel old, jaded and rather grubby.
‘You and I are blood brothers,’ the assassin went on. ‘I would never betray you. God’s teeth, Chaloner! I expected more of you. Williamson told me you were a man of integrity.’
‘Did he?’ Chaloner found that hard to believe. However, this was a discussion that should be held when they were not in the cellar of a vicious criminal who would kill them if he knew what was happening. He indicated with a gesture that it was time to leave.
‘It is always the same,’ Swaddell went on bitterly, ignoring him. ‘Just because I occasionally eliminate certain undesirables, people think I am immoral. Well, I will have you know that I am an extremely ethical man, and I live by values that are far higher than most.’
‘Oh,’ said Chaloner, wishing he would lower his voice. ‘Well—’
‘I cannot begin to express the depth of my disappointment in you. And you had better thank God that our vow means I will not harm you, because at the moment I am sorely tempted to stick a knife in your gizzard.’
He scowled with a malignancy that was unn
erving, and Chaloner saw he was going to have to say something conciliatory or Swaddell might inveigh at him until Baron reappeared, in which case they would both die.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, trying to sound sincere. ‘I judged you by the standards I expect from others. It will not happen again.’
‘It had better not. Now follow me. We have wasted too much time already, and tomorrow is Tuesday. We shall discuss your deplorable behaviour later – if we are both still alive.’
He tugged the door open, then recoiled in shock: Baron was standing on the other side, and the black expression on the felon’s face told them that he had heard every word. Chaloner cursed himself for starting the discussion in the first place. Why could he not just have gone with Swaddell and confronted him once they were outside? Now, even if he survived Baron’s wrath, Swaddell would not.
‘I thought as much,’ said Baron, eyeing the assassin icily. ‘You refused to take an oath of allegiance to me on the grounds of your faith, and being a religious man myself, I respected your wishes. But I should have known that you were not devout.’
‘In my line of work,’ said Swaddell with admirable cool, ‘one cannot afford to be. I would spend all my time worrying about hell and eternal damnation.’
Baron whipped out a cutlass, but Swaddell jerked back, so the felon’s first swipe went wide. The assassin drew his rapier, but its slender blade was no match for the thick implement in Baron’s brawny paws, and it snapped in the first parry. He yanked out his pistols, and hurled them at Baron when impotent clicks reminded him that he had neglected to load them. Chaloner grabbed a lamp and flung it hard, but Baron batted it away impatiently, and his glittering attention did not shift from Swaddell for an instant. In desperation, Chaloner took a leaf from Polly’s book, and leapt on to the felon’s back, trying to batter him senseless with his fists.
Unfortunately, Baron was as strong as an ox, and while Chaloner was no weakling, he still found himself plucked off and hurled against the wall as though he were no more substantial than straw. The room swam before his eyes, and when his wits had stopped spinning he heard a gurgle. Baron had grabbed Swaddell, and his massive hands were around the assassin’s throat.
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