A Conspiracy of Violence (17 page)

Robert glowered. ‘You all tell me he was committed to our cause, so it seemed a logical conclusion to draw. Am I wrong about
him, then?’

‘No,’ said Robinson shortly. ‘He was a dedicated brother. But we are not here to discuss him and his mythical hoard. I am
more interested in Hewson.’

Chaloner watched uneasily. Could he be witnessing the start of yet another rebellion? There had been so many since Cromwell’s
death that people had lost count of them, and there always seemed to be some group of fanatics who believed the government
should be in its own hands. If the Brotherhood was plotting treachery, then its members were taking a serious risk by discussing
it in a public coffee house; they had not even searched the room first, to make sure it was empty.

‘So, what about Hewson?’ asked North. ‘Did he fall in the fire by accident?’

‘I doubt it,’ replied the Lord Mayor. ‘But corpses cannot speak, and I suspect we shall never know what really happened to
the poor man. Ingoldsby, do you have a question?’ He turned to the pig.

Ingoldsby! thought Chaloner. Cromwell’s cousin, and the regicide who had managed not only to persuade the King to forgive
his role in his father’s execution, but knight him into the bargain. He regarded the pig with interest, having heard so much
about him, and none of it good.

‘Yes,’ said Ingoldsby. ‘Who wanted Hewson dead?’

‘Dozens of people,’ replied Downing, startled by the question. ‘Do you want me to list them all? He was responsible for putting
down a riot, here in London, that left twenty dead. He ousted innocent Anglican priests from their churches and denounced
them as agents of the Antichrist. He fought for Cromwell during the wars and
killed God knows how many Cavaliers. Shall I continue?’

‘We should say a prayer,’ said North quietly, raising his hands. ‘For his soul.’

Chaloner eased back inside his booth. He suspected it would not go well for him if they discovered the room was not as private
as they thought, so he sat still, waiting for the meeting to finish.

‘Three,’ whispered Thomas, when North had uttered his final amen. No one took any notice of him. ‘Three!’ he said more loudly.

There was an awkward silence. ‘Possibly three,’ corrected Robinson. ‘We do not know for sure.’

‘First Barkstead, and now Hewson,’ elaborated Ingoldsby. ‘And we have not heard from Livesay in months, so he must be dead,
too. Thomas is right: that makes three of us gone.’

‘I am not so sure about Livesay,’ said Dalton unhappily. ‘I think I … We do not
know
he is dead.’

‘He is,’ said North, uncharacteristically firm. ‘I have already told you what I heard about him.’

‘What?’ asked Ingoldsby unpleasantly. ‘There have been so many rumours about the fellow that I cannot recall the one that
came from you.’

North bristled, but replied politely enough. ‘That Livesay boarded a ship for France, but there was an explosion. All aboard
were either blown up or drowned. It must have been a dreadful way to die.’ He touched the burn on his face, as if recalling
his own experiences with fire. Downing placed a comforting hand on his arm, and North shot him a wan, grateful smile.

Dalton was unconvinced. ‘It may not have been Livesay who was on the boat. Perhaps he has gone into hiding instead.’

‘Thurloe never comes here any more,’ said Thomas fearfully, after a slight pause during which the seven men considered Dalton’s
suggestion. ‘What should we infer from that?’

‘Nothing,’ said Ingoldsby firmly, ‘other than that he is busy.’

‘We are all busy,’ said Downing spitefully. ‘But
we
found the time to come.’

‘The only ones missing today are Livesay, Thurloe and those two silly soldiers who attend meetings only when it suits them,’
said Ingoldsby, reaching across the table to claim a pastry. His next words were muffled as he rammed it whole into his mouth.
‘We should never have opened our doors to military men. They are shallow beings, interested only in polishing their swords
and seducing other men’s wives.’

‘Livesay
cannot
come,’ said North softly, in a world of his own. ‘He is dead, poor soul.’

‘I think we are in danger,’ said Dalton unsteadily. ‘We agreed to disband the Brotherhood until times were more settled, but
we still meet regularly, and—’

‘Nonsense,’ declared Robert Leybourn dismissively. ‘Livesay – and even Hewson – might have died of natural causes. People
do, you know.’

‘Someone is
killing
them – us,’ insisted Dalton.

‘Not so,’ said Robinson reasonably. ‘Barkstead was executed, Hewson died in a fire, and Livesay was blown up or drowned. You
cannot assume a single hand at work here.’

‘I know who killed Barkstead,’ said Ingoldsby, shooting Downing a look of dark dislike. There was an embarrassed silence around
the table.

‘Not me,’ said Downing indignantly. ‘How was I to
know what would happen when I invited him to come to England? It was his choice to come back – I did not force him.’

Chaloner felt like standing up and denouncing him as a liar. He had heard some bald untruths in his time, but few as brazen
as that one. He clenched his hands into fists, and tried to remember when he had last felt such a strong desire to punch someone.
He was certain it had been Downing, back in March. The diplomat was speaking again, and Chaloner forced himself to listen.

‘But to return to the matter in hand, I agree with Robinson: we cannot assume Livesay and Hewson were murdered.’

‘
I
shall assume what I like,’ said Ingoldsby coldly. ‘Only a fool would ignore the dangers, and even meeting you is fraught
with risk.’

‘This meeting is not illegal,’ objected Downing. ‘We are respectable men with common interests. Why should we not gather in
a coffee house? Our Brotherhood is nothing of which to be ashamed.’

‘Then why did we not remain downstairs?’ demanded Dalton. ‘Instead, you dragged us up here, bawling to Master Urwin that we
crave privacy. We seem unable to act normally, and we do things that arouse suspicion even when there is no need. And sometimes
I feel as though I am being watched.’

‘Me, too,’ said North quietly. ‘I helped a man who slipped on ice the other morning, and I had the distinct sense of eyes
in the darkness of his stairs. I am sure someone was spying on me.’

‘Kelyng!’ breathed Ingoldsby. ‘God help us, if
he
is on our trail.’

‘Pull yourselves together,’ said Downing sharply. ‘I repeat: we are doing nothing wrong.’

‘Are you sure we are alone in here?’ asked North, glancing around him. ‘Only I have the uncomfortable feeling that I am being
watched again – right now.’

‘I checked,’ lied Downing. ‘You can see the place is deserted.’

‘The curtains on all the booths are drawn,’ said North. ‘Did you peer behind them?’

Damn, thought Chaloner.

‘No one is going to be in here with the curtains pulled,’ objected Downing with exaggerated weariness. ‘Get a hold of yourself,
man, or you will have us all a pack of nervous wrecks.’

‘I will look,’ offered Robert Leybourn, making purposefully for the first of the alcoves.

‘And what will you do if you find someone?’ asked Downing scathingly. ‘Batter out his brains with a book? Sit down, man, and
stop making a fuss.’

‘There is no need for book bashing,’ said Ingoldsby, drawing his sword. ‘I will take care of any unwanted ears.’

Chaloner heard Robert tear back the first in the row of curtains. His booth would be next.

‘There,’ said Downing, when Robert Leybourn had completed his search. ‘What did I tell you? But we should part company, before
we give each other nightmares. I wish you good day, gentlemen. Robinson and I apologise for bringing you to hear such sorry
news.’ He ushered his colleagues out until he was the only one left, then waited several moments before speaking. ‘Heyden?
I know you are in here. I arrived early for this meeting, and I saw you go up the stairs. Since you did not come down again,
you must still be here.’

Chaloner made no reply.

Downing sighed. ‘You always were slippery – Thurloe chose well when he appointed you to look after Britain’s interests abroad.
We need to talk, so come out, will you? You heard Dalton: it was I who insisted we meet in this chamber. I did so because
I
wanted
you to hear what was said. I would not have done that if I intended to harm you, would I? You have nothing to fear from me.’

Chaloner did not move.

‘Think!’ said Downing, exasperated. ‘Who persuaded
Robert Leybourn that the mouse droppings next to your pastry were a sign that no one had been in that booth for hours, even
though I know it is a ruse you have used before? I suppose they were on the floor and you shoved them on the table, just as
you did in Delft, when you were almost caught eavesdropping on the French ambassador.’

When Chaloner still did not appear, Downing grew angry.

‘I have just taken a great personal risk, so do not make me use my sword. Come on, Heyden. Out!’

Chaloner heard the scrape of metal on leather as Downing drew his sword, followed by hollow tapping sounds as the diplomat
began to jab beneath tables. He crawled away from the bench in his booth, aware that concealing himself under it had been
an act of desperation, and one that would have seen him unable to defend himself had his ploy with the droppings not worked.
Using elbows and knees, he slithered the entire length of the curtained alcoves, and was brushing himself down when Downing
glanced up from his prodding. A dagger was cradled in the palm of Chaloner’s hand, and Downing did not know it, but he would
be dead the moment he made a hostile move.

‘God’s blood!’ Downing swore, jumping in alarm at his sudden appearance. ‘How did you manage that?’

Chaloner shrugged. ‘I have some experience of escaping from tight corners, as you know.’

Downing sheathed his sword and sat at the table, indicating Chaloner was to join him. Chaloner stayed where he was, and the
diplomat leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes.

‘I do not blame you for being cautious, after what you
have just heard. You probably do not know what to think: Thurloe belongs to a Brotherhood, some members of which are murdered
or missing.’

‘So do you, Sir George.’

‘Yes, but I am in the process of extricating myself.’

‘So is Thurloe, if he declines to attend meetings.’ His unspoken addendum was that Thurloe had removed himself a good deal
further than had Downing, who was still active.

Downing smiled wryly. ‘If you were half as loyal to me as you are to him, you and I would have made a formidable team. However,
I am not so naïve as to imagine our five years together resulted in any liking for me. I employed you as a favour to Thurloe,
but you have never been anything but his man.’

‘It was not a favour: you were paid. And, after Cromwell died, you began to pass the information I collected not only to Thurloe,
but to his enemies as well.’

Downing shrugged. ‘Those were uncertain times, and no one can blame me for hedging my bets. But we are not here to discuss
me. I assume Thurloe told you about our Brotherhood?’

‘What he and I discuss is none of your affair, Sir George.’

Downing regarded him silently for a while. ‘I could reveal your past spying activities to men who would see you executed,
Heyden. But I am not a vindictive man, whatever you might think. I suspect Thurloe
has
mentioned our organisation to you, but I would like to give you my version, too, so you have a balanced view.’

‘Why?’

‘Self-preservation. You intend to work for Dalton, and it is only a matter of time before a spy of your calibre
learns the secret of the Brotherhood from him – he is panicky, unreliable and indiscreet. Kelyng is watching us closely,
and I do not want you investigating Dalton’s frightened behaviour and inadvertently exposing the rest of us. I told Thurloe
he should stop you from going to Dalton, but he said that would only arouse your suspicions. However, I will not sit back
while you put me in danger.’

‘Then tell me what you think I should know.’

Downing poured himself some coffee; it was cold and he winced as he swallowed it. ‘The Brotherhood was established after the
execution of the old king, thirteen years ago. Its remit was to limit the actions of fanatics on both sides – Parliamentarians
and
Royalists. Its founders were men of vision, who saw that extremes would bring nothing but damage and long-term hatred.’

Chaloner did not believe him. ‘Barkstead was a member, and you do not get much more extreme than signing a monarch’s death
warrant. Ingoldsby also put his name to the deed – and while the King may believe that Cromwell seized his hand and wrote
his name, he is the only man who does.’

Downing laughed. ‘The notion of a fellow like
him
standing meekly while Cousin Cromwell makes his signature
is
hilarious. However, the King thinks Ingoldsby is telling the truth, so I can only doff my hat in admiration for his gall.
If I had half his talent, I would be King of England myself.’

Reluctantly, Chaloner returned the smile. ‘It was an impressive feat of perfidy.’

‘It saved his life, though. However, he and Barkstead saw first-hand the chaos that arises from fanaticism, and they joined
the Brotherhood in the hope of securing
more moderate solutions to political problems in the future. They were not the only regicides to enrol: John Hewson, whose
charred corpse was found yesterday, was one, and so is Sir Michael Livesay – the member who has not been seen for so long.’

Chaloner was sceptical. ‘Hewson and Livesay have been living in London? But any regicide with even a remote sense of his own
safety would have escaped abroad years ago. They would be executed if they were caught here.’

‘Hewson went to the United Provinces for a while, but was homesick, so came back to live the quiet life of a shoemaker – which
was his trade before he rose to power under the Commonwealth. Livesay also returned, although he has not been seen for some
time now, and I fear North may be right about his death. With men like Kelyng around, no one is safe.’

‘You think Kelyng killed Livesay?’ Chaloner realised he knew something Downing probably did not: that Hewson had died in Kelyng’s
garden.

‘It is possible. Kelyng knows the Brotherhood exists, and his hatred of us ranges along two fronts: our desire for moderation,
and the fact that our membership includes regicides – men he has vowed to destroy. He is a zealot, and exactly the kind of
fellow we oppose.’

Chaloner wondered whether Downing was in his right wits. ‘Your association with this group is dangerous. Can you not see what
will happen
,
if Kelyng learns you keep company with regicides?’

‘But he will not – not unless
you
tell him. Barkstead and Hewson are dead; Ingoldsby will say nothing, because he is in the same pickle as me; and Livesay
is God knows where. The remaining brothers no more want the connection known than I do, so will maintain a discreet silence.’

‘Livesay’s disappearance must be worrying. He could be sitting in the Tower as we speak, spilling his secrets to anyone who
will listen.’

Downing shook his head. ‘He would never betray the Brotherhood.’

‘Why not? You are.’

‘But only to you, and you are too fond of Thurloe to tell anyone else about our little fraternity. I did not keep you under
my roof for five years without learning something about you. I am safer confiding in you than in treating you as an enemy.’

Chaloner wondered why so many people assumed his relationship to Thurloe was one of devotion. Also, Thurloe had not mentioned
membership of any kind of organisation, secret or otherwise, and Downing was wrong to think Chaloner was his confidant. He
recalled the flicker of emotion in the ex-Spymaster’s eyes when he had learned about Hewson’s death. It had been the perfect
opportunity to admit to knowing the man, but he had chosen not to take it.

‘Tell me about the Brotherhood’s cause,’ he said, wondering whether it was wise to ask for more information when common sense
told him it would be safer to walk away. But he was an intelligence officer, and asking questions about matters that were
none of his concern was a difficult habit to break.

Downing spread his hands. ‘We want a government that stands for political and religious tolerance, where men are free to voice
opinions without fear of reprisal. Is that such a wicked thing?’

‘It depends what you do to make it happen.’

‘We reason with influential people. For example, Ingoldsby and I soothe angry voices at Court; North and
Dalton encourage moderation among merchants and aldermen; Robinson, Livesay and Hewson speak to the army; Robert Leybourn
prints pamphlets urging patience. I have one here, if you would like to read it.’

Chaloner shoved it inside his jerkin. ‘And Thurloe? He is in no position to preach to anyone.’

‘He has influence over men still loyal to Cromwell. And I know he is doing his part, because there is not a radical among
the people he has recommended for employment in the new government.’

‘Does the Brotherhood have a motto – some phrase you use to identify each other?’

‘Why would we need that?’ asked Downing. ‘We know each other – well, mostly. The membership has changed over the years, and
the newer brothers may not have met the older ones.’

‘How many of you are there?’

‘Thirteen now. There were others, but some died or moved on before I was invited to join, and I do not know their names. I
can tell you the current members, if you like. We have nothing to hide.’

Chaloner thought of the unease evident at the meeting. ‘Your colleagues would not agree.’

‘They are afraid of being accused of conspiracy, which is
exactly
why the Brotherhood was founded – so that one day, no one need fear because he meets like-minded men for innocent purposes.’

‘There were seven people at the meeting today,’ said Chaloner. ‘You, Ingoldsby, North, Dalton, Robert Leybourn and Robinson
I know. Who was the large man?’

‘You mean Thomas Wade? He is the Tower’s victualling commissioner.’ Chaloner’s thoughts immediately became
a scrambled mess again: it was Wade who had gone with Evett to recover Barkstead’s treasure. ‘Robinson recruited him to help
soothe the loud-voiced army types that gather in the castle.’

Chaloner was careful to conceal his confusion. ‘In addition to those seven, there are Thurloe, Hewson, Livesay and Barkstead.
Thurloe stayed away, and the others are dead or missing. That makes eleven. Who are the remaining two?’

‘A pair of military nonentities named Clarke and Evett. Philip Evett is the Lord Chancellor’s aide, although he invariably
forgets to attend our meetings. His task is to influence the Earl, and he is doing quite well, despite his innate stupidity:
Clarendon spoke out against vengeance when the King first returned to the throne, and he continues to do so now. But I have
answered enough questions, and you must excuse me – I have a funeral to arrange.’

‘Just one more,’ said Chaloner. ‘Who is Clarke, precisely?’

‘Colonel John Clarke. He fought bravely in the wars, and was kin to Thurloe.’

‘Was?’

‘He was recently stabbed by robbers. However, the others do not know – I decided not to tell them when I saw their reaction
to the news about Hewson. There is no point in frightening them further.’

‘How do you know he was killed by robbers?’

‘Because his body was stripped naked and left by the river. I ordered my servants to listen in taverns for thieves bragging
about the crime, and when I catch them, I shall have them hanged.’

Chaloner studied him carefully, trying to decide
whether Downing actually believed the story he was telling. The diplomat was apt to draw conclusions before he had all the
facts, and it would not be the first time he had made an error of judgement. But Downing was also clever and sly, and who
knew what was really in his mind?

‘I do not understand why you have told me all this,’ he said eventually. ‘It puts you at risk.’

Downing pulled a disagreeable face. ‘Not as much as keeping quiet would have done. Kelyng has eyes everywhere, although he
is less adept at analysing intelligence than at gathering it, thank God. It is safer that you know the truth.’

‘Did you tell Thurloe you intended to confide in me?’

‘I only made up my mind when I was waiting for the others and saw you walk up the stairs here. You can tell him what I have
done. Who knows, perhaps he will ask you to join us. If he does, then come to the Dolphin tavern by Tower Lane at midday the
day after tomorrow. The annual conclave of the Royal Foundation of St Katherine is to be held then, and most of the brothers
are benefactors – the Queen is the hospital’s patron, you see, so it allows us to flaunt our generosity in the right quarters.
There is no point in supporting worthy causes if there is no benefit to the giver, I always say.’

‘This meeting of selfless donors takes place in an inn?’ asked Chaloner dubiously. It did not sound very likely, even though
the Dolphin was one of the more respectable establishments in the city.

Downing pursed his lips. ‘Of course not. The conclave takes place in St Katherine’s chapel, but the Queen always provides
a dinner afterwards, as an expression of her gratitude. Obviously, none of us want to eat hospital
food, so we suggested the Dolphin as an alternative. But if Thurloe
does
want you to become a brother, come on Wednesday, and I will tell the others he has nominated you as his representative. That
will kill two birds with one stone: palliate his annoying refusal to come to our gatherings and eliminate the danger of you
interfering from outside. It is an ideal solution.’