A Conspiracy of Violence (27 page)

‘I cannot say, sir.’

Thurloe regarded him expressionlessly. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I gave Clarendon my word.’

‘What about your word to me?’

‘I will keep that, too. I would never reveal details of the past – you should know that.’

Thurloe continued to stare. ‘Are you sure you are making the right decision today?’

‘Not really. However, you told me to do my best for Clarendon – and I made him a promise and I intend to keep it.’

‘But you must have broken confidences when you were working abroad. There is no such thing as an honest spy – he would not
be able to function!’

‘Of course, but that was in an enemy state. And we
are not talking about honesty here, but about fidelity.’

Thurloe stared into the fire, and it was some time before he spoke again. ‘I own a manor in Essex – one I managed to keep
from the Royalists when they confiscated the rest of my property. It is a good place, with fertile soil, streams and woods.
You and Metje could live there. You could have children, and let them grow up safely and happily, as you did. What do you
say?’

‘No,’ said Chaloner, acutely uncomfortable. He had been offered bribes in the past, but there was something very sordid in
what Thurloe was doing.

‘Clarendon will probably cast you aside in a week, and you will be reduced to translating letters for Dalton. But only until
Britain breaks with Holland, when you will be lucky not to be hanged as a spy for your knowledge of Dutch. It is not much
of a future. Is there
anything
I can offer you, to make you change your mind?’

Chaloner shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

‘Then we have no more to say to each other. Serve your new master well, Thomas.’

Chaloner stood, a deep sadness washing over him. He had not expected his relationship with Thurloe to end in bribes and corruption,
and he was sorry for it. ‘Goodnight, sir.’

Chaloner was opening the door when Thurloe called out to him. ‘Come back, Tom. You have passed the test – not that I had doubts,
but the last three years have made me more suspicious than I once was.’

Chaloner turned to face him. ‘Test?’

‘Of your integrity. It is difficult to know whom to trust these days, and my friends urged me to make sure of you before I
take you further into my confidence. Your
uncle would have floundered, but I always knew you were the better man. If you decline to betray someone who has been your
patron for three days, then our ten years makes you a true friend. Come and sit, please.’

‘I am tired,’ said Chaloner coolly. ‘And Metje is waiting.’

‘She will not arrive until at least ten o’clock,’ said Thurloe, standing to close the door. ‘Unless she stays away altogether,
as she did last night.’

Chaloner gaped in disbelief. ‘You sent someone to watch me?’

‘Actually, I did it myself. I keep a chamber in the Golden Lion, and I have not entirely forgotten the skills I once taught
you.’

Chaloner reached for the door again. ‘Goodnight.’

Thurloe’s grip on his wrist was surprisingly firm for a man who professed to be delicate. Chaloner could have broken it –
and the wrist, too, had he wanted – but although he was angry, his temper had seldom led him to violence.

‘I know what you were doing at the Tower,’ said Thurloe softly. ‘I attended a service in Westminster Abbey this evening, and
I met Robinson there. He said you had been looking for mushrooms, but that you, Evett and he discussed matters that had nothing
to do with fungus. These included salt beef, a buried seven thousand pounds, and plots against the King.’

‘We talked about silver spoons and Bennet’s pursuit of Fanny, too.’

Thurloe continued as if he had not spoken. ‘And I already know from the loose-tongued Pepys that there were recent excavations
for a vast sum of gold, said to have been buried by Barkstead. Since the hunt was unsuccessful, and Clarendon is desperate
for funds, I assume
he has ordered you to look into the matter. I also suspect he is keeping his new investigation a secret, or Pepys would have
been involved – and he is not, because he spent
his
day fawning over Lord Lauderdale in the Dolphin.’

Chaloner said nothing, and Thurloe released his hand.

‘I may be able to help you, but not if you scowl at me. Stop it. It is making me nervous.’

‘I do not need your help.’

‘Every man needs help on occasion, and you need mine more than you imagine. I was telling the truth when I said Downing was
very keen to learn who you are. Perhaps he offered to find out for Clarendon, who is naturally suspicious of all my people.
I am worried for you.’

‘There is no need. Clarendon already knows my real name, and I fended off Downing’s enquiries for five years in Holland. He
will not best me.’

Thurloe smiled faintly. ‘Yes, of that I am sure. Please sit down, Tom. You cannot imagine how unpleasant this has been for
me. What would I have said if you had accepted the manor, and I was then forced to admit that it does not exist? Finish your
milk. It may soothe your acid temper.’

Reluctantly, Chaloner sat, but he no longer had an appetite for milk or anything else. The first spurt of anger had faded,
but Thurloe had fallen in his estimation, and he was not sure the trust the ex-Spymaster seemed to place in his integrity
would ever be fully reciprocated. Then he reconsidered. There had been a moment when he had considered confiding in Thurloe,
which would have meant defying Clarendon. Perhaps he was not as honourable as he thought, and had no right
to sit in judgement of others. Thurloe was in an unenviable position, with men like Kelyng baying for his blood, and others
like Downing regaling him with offers of ‘friendship’. Chaloner supposed he would be cautious of everyone, too, were he in
Thurloe’s shoes. He relented, and Thurloe seemed to detect a softening of his mood, because he began to talk.

‘I suspect, from some of your earlier questions, that you have stumbled upon various matters that involve me, and you are
wondering why I have not mentioned them sooner.’

‘The Brotherhood, for a start,’ said Chaloner. ‘The society
you
founded.’

‘Who told you that?’ Thurloe sighed. ‘Downing, I suppose. Robinson, Ingoldsby and Dalton would not have blathered; Clarke,
Barkstead and Hewson cannot; and Wade, Leybourn, Evett and North are late-comers, so I suspect they do not know who started
the whole business. Of course, I could be wrong …’

‘And Livesay? Why not him?’

Thurloe’s expression did not change. ‘North believes he was killed in an explosion, but you will know for yourself how violent
“accidents” often conceal the truth. Personally, I believe he is still alive, and that he used the incident to disappear.
Dalton thinks so, too, although none of us knows for certain. What I can say, though, is that Livesay would not have told
you I founded the Brotherhood – he was not an original member, and so not in a position to know.’

‘Is it true?’

Thurloe stared at the flames for so long that Chaloner thought he was not going to reply. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘Shortly
after the birth of the Commonwealth, although
most of the first members are now dead, senile or in exile. I do not really know the newcomers – men like Evett, North and
Wade. But the Brotherhood ceased to have any significant function months ago – when England started to slide faster into the
pit of bigotry and intolerance – so it is irrelevant who is acquainted with whom.’

‘And what about the Seven?’ asked Chaloner. ‘Are you one of them, too?’

Thurloe gazed at him, bemused. ‘The Seven what?’

‘The Seven men who were determined to prevent the Restoration. Hewson and Clarke both left messages warning the Seven, and
I believe they were intended for you.’

‘For me? Why? I did not stand against the Restoration. If I had, I would not be sitting here now.’

That was true, although Chaloner was unwilling to admit it. ‘Then what about the cipher I saw in Clarendon’s room, about praising
God’s son? What does that mean?’

Thurloe regarded him uneasily. ‘What cipher? If these messages were meant for me, then why does Clarendon have them? And what
is it that you think Clarke and Hewson wanted me to know?’

Chaloner saw that interrogating Thurloe was not going to produce many answers. He sighed. ‘I saw letters on the Earl’s desk,
which I assumed were from Clarke. Perhaps I was mistaken.’

‘On his desk?’ asked Thurloe, appalled. ‘You mean lying there, for anyone to read?’

Chaloner nodded. ‘They had gone the next time I visited.’

Thurloe rubbed his eyes. ‘If I asked you, as a friend, to walk away from Barkstead’s treasure, would you do it?’

‘That would be impossible. The Earl would demand to know why, and he would guess I have been divulging matters he ordered
me to keep to myself.’

‘I do not want you associated with this business. It will almost certainly turn out badly.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Chaloner had predicted Thurloe would decline to admit an association with the Seven, but he had not
anticipated a stand over the missing treasure. Surely
he
had not been to the Tower with a spade? As two highly placed ministers in Cromwell’s government, Thurloe and Barkstead would
have known each other well, and it was entirely possible that the Lord Lieutenant had confided his secret to the Secretary
of State and Spymaster General.

‘Because treasure comes in a variety of forms, Tom, and not all of it is gold and silver. The Earl may discover he is prodding
about with more than he can handle.’

‘You are speaking in riddles, sir.’

‘I am saying you may well find treasure in the Tower, but it may not be the kind of wealth you hope for. And Clarendon may
not be pleased with the result.’

‘My remit is to find it, not assess whether it is something he will like. I agreed to undertake this task, sir, and I cannot
refuse it now. First, Clarendon is my only real hope for the future. And second, he may assume I
have
located it, but that I intend to keep it for myself. I would spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.’

‘You do that anyway,’ Thurloe pointed out. ‘It is second nature to you. I ask you again: please walk away from this dangerous
assignment while you still can. I will petition the King on your behalf, and suggest he recommends you directly to Williamson.’

‘Why would Williamson trust me, when I have failed the Lord Chancellor in a fairly simple quest?’

Thurloe sighed. ‘Very well. If I cannot dissuade you, I suppose I must help you. Let us consider Barkstead’s damned hoard,
then.’ He seldom swore, and Chaloner could see he was vexed.

‘I would rather not discuss—’

‘Do not worry about your vow to Clarendon: it is hardly your fault I guessed what you were doing. But I knew Barkstead, and
may be able to answer some questions. Tell me what you need to know.’

‘First, it would be helpful to know whether this hoard actually exists.’

‘Barkstead was a rich man, and when the Commonwealth fragmented, he knew he would lose everything he could not carry away
with him. He would definitely have hidden something somewhere, you can be sure of that.’

Chaloner thought of his uncle’s money, tucked inside the Banqueting House. ‘Then where is it?’

‘I have no idea, although I can be fairly confident in predicting that it will not be in the Tower.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he would have known that he was never likely to be in a position to go and get it again. He lived in the Lieutenant’s
Lodgings, so there is no private London house to excavate, as there would be with Robinson. Perhaps you should look at the
place he rented in Holland, before he was arrested.’

‘This treasure was packed into butter firkins. Could he have left England with what would have been a sizeable load?’

‘He knew a lot of merchants, and merchants excel at transporting goods. Of course he could have spirited his
treasure away. If
I
were forced to locate it,
I
would go to Holland.’

Since the Lord Chancellor had forbidden Chaloner to leave the country, it was not an option he could choose. ‘I was planning
to speak to Barkstead’s friends – his fellow regicides.’

‘It is a pity we do not know what happened to Livesay, because he would have been your best bet. He was commissioner for the
armed forces, and worked closely with Barkstead. They fled to Holland together, although Livesay eventually grew homesick
and came back. Did you ever see him there? He spent a few days with your uncle.’

‘What does he look like?’

Thurloe shrugged. ‘Like a Puritan – sober clothes, grim face, plain features. And he has a thin moustache like the one favoured
by the King, which he darkens daily with charcoal.’

The description fitted many men. ‘Does he have no unique characteristic or habit?’

Thurloe thought for a long time. ‘He clasps his hands when he is nervous or distressed – he interlocks his fingers, and makes
a curious rubbing motion with his palms.’

‘I do not recall anyone wringing his hands with my uncle. Do you think Livesay is in England?’

‘Yes, but not in London. Ingoldsby might have managed to convince the King of his innocence, but the other regicides paid
for their crime with their lives or imprisonment. Livesay will be in some remote retreat, using a false name and staying low.
As I said, the best way to find this treasure is to go to Holland. I can give you money, if that is what keeps you here.’

‘Thank you, sir, but I will talk to Ingoldsby first. Then perhaps Robinson will let me interview—’

‘No, Tom! Associating yourself with imprisoned regicides is a dangerous—’ Thurloe stopped speaking when there was a soft sound
in the corridor outside.

Chaloner was already on his feet, dagger in his hand. ‘Are you expecting visitors?’

‘No. It is more would-be assassins, I suppose. Will this never end?’

Thurloe, his movements stealthy, retrieved a sword from behind his chair, and took up station on the left side of the door,
while Chaloner stood to the right. They waited in silence for several moments, listening hard, and eventually there was a
gentle tap – one beat, followed by three in rapid succession, ending with two slow ones. Thurloe sighed in relief, and indicated
that Chaloner was to answer it.