A Conspiracy of Violence (7 page)

‘You told me to do all I could to impress The Hague’s burgesses,’ said Chaloner, neither denying nor confirming the charge.
‘So that is what I did. And that particular alliance brought you a lucrative treaty, so I do not think you should complain
about how I came by it.’

‘You insolent whelp!’ exclaimed Downing, struggling to his feet. ‘How dare you speak—’

‘Sit down, Sir George,’ interrupted Thurloe sharply. He gazed steadily at the spluttering diplomat until he complied, then
turned to Chaloner. He was angry, objecting to sparring matches carried out in his presence. ‘You are pale, Thomas; perhaps
you have taken a chill. Go to my bedchamber and lie down. I will see you when my business is completed.’

‘I shall bring you some more tonic,’ offered Sarah, going to fetch the jug and indicating Chaloner was to precede her into
the adjoining chamber. ‘I am not very interested in hearing their tedious discussions, and would rather have you tell me where
I can buy good cinnamon.’

‘Leave the door open so we can see you, then,’ instructed her husband. ‘And keep your voice down. We do not want a noisy analysis
of condiments distracting us.
Our
business is important.’

Chaloner was uneasy. He did not want a woman quizzing him about spices when he had not the faintest idea where they might
be purchased, suspecting he would be caught out in an instant. However, Thurloe’s visitors seemed keen to rid themselves of
him, and nodded approvingly when Sarah ushered him into the next room, leaving the door decorously ajar. Downing immediately
began a malicious diatribe about ungrateful staff, and only desisted when Thurloe regarded him with unfriendly eyes. Then
their voices dropped to inaudible murmurs, suggesting business was underway. Chaloner perched on the edge of the bed, while
Sarah kindled a lamp.

‘Do not sit there,’ she advised. ‘You will spread muck on John’s clean blankets, and he will not like that at all.’

Chaloner moved to the hearth, watching her take one of Thurloe’s night-caps and drop it in a pot that was warming over the
fire; the ex-Spymaster was fastidious and liked hot water available all day. She rolled the steaming garment into a ball and
handed it to him. He regarded it blankly.

She sighed impatiently. ‘For your leg, to ease the ache.’

‘There is nothing wrong—’

She slapped it into his hand. ‘Take it – unless you
want
to give Downing cause to jibe you.’

‘Thurloe will no more want grime on his night-cap than he will on his bedclothes.’

‘We will burn it when you have finished. He has a dozen, and will not miss one. My husband seemed to recognise you, and he
is usually good with faces. Where could you have met?’

‘Nowhere,’ replied Chaloner. He knew for a fact he had never encountered the man before – he would have remembered the orange-scented
linen and the fellow’s lumpy nose. ‘He is confusing me with someone else.’

‘Perhaps so. He is not himself at the moment – too many financial worries, I suppose. What shall we talk about? Cinnamon?
Or would you prefer to tell me your problems?’

Chaloner was startled. ‘What problems?’

‘Downing hates you, and you are unlikely to secure another post as long as he refuses a testimonial. My husband will offer
you work, but it will only be a matter of time before Downing makes him change his mind – he is a slippery, conniving fellow,
and my husband always yields to him eventually. Were you one of John’s spies? Is that why Downing is afraid of you?’

‘I am not a spy,’ replied Chaloner firmly. ‘And Downing is not afraid of me – I only wish he were, because then he might keep
his nasty opinions to himself.’

She took the cap and soaked it in the water again. ‘It is no secret that John once employed an army of agents – or that some
of them now want places in the new government. Downing sent him information about the political situation in the Netherlands,
and I assume you
did the same, since you worked with him and you speak Dutch. Well? Am I right?’

‘You have a vivid imagination,’ said Chaloner, smiling because he did not want to offend her. ‘I was just a clerk.’

She regarded him critically, head tilted to one side, then continued as if he had not spoken. ‘Downing professes himself to
be a Royalist now, and is keen to eradicate all evidence of his former loyalties. John will say nothing about him, because
he and Downing share too many secrets. But can Downing be sure
you
will not? I suspect the answer is no, and
that
is why he is wary of you.’

Chaloner wondered if she was right. He and Downing had never liked each other, although they had kept their antipathy decently
concealed until events in March had brought their true feelings to the surface, but it had never occurred to him that Downing
might see him as a threat. He hoped she was mistaken: Downing was the kind of man to make life very difficult for those he
considered a nuisance.

‘Then why is he here?’ he asked. ‘Meeting Cromwell’s old Secretary of State is not the best way to go about eliminating ties
with the former regime.’

‘John has been asked to provide reports about Britain’s relations with various foreign powers,’ she explained, ‘and Downing
was an ambassador to the Dutch. Therefore, being seen conferring with John is a good thing at the moment, because it means
Downing is providing a vital service in the government. But we were talking about why Downing detests
you
.’

‘Probably because of Metje de Haas,’ he said, to lead her away from politics.

‘Who is she?’

‘His daughter’s governess, whom I helped to evade his charms. He never did catch her.’

Sarah gave a grin that was at odds with her haughty demeanour. ‘Good. I do not like to think of women violated by those fat,
pawing hands. Where is she now? Holland? Or is she one of the secret Parliamentarians he dismissed when he returned to London?’

Chaloner saw no reason not to talk about Metje. It was safer than discussing whether the powerful Downing was a good Royalist.
He glanced to where Thurloe leaned towards the portly diplomat, listening to a whispered monologue, and wished he would hurry
up, so Sarah would stop trying to interrogate him. ‘She is in the service of William North the jeweller – a companion to his
daughter.’

‘You mean Temperance?’ asked Sarah, her face alight with sudden pleasure. ‘I know her! She and her family came from Ely, just
after the Restoration. We used to meet in St Paul’s Cathedral and explore the traders’ booths together, but then her father
declared such places out of bounds, on the grounds that they sell ribbons – the kind of wicked fripperies that insult his
Puritan sensibilities. We seldom see each other these days, which is a pity. I suppose he hired this Metje because Temperance
was lonely after the ban on shopping. Do you still see Metje?’

He changed the subject, thinking it none of her affair. ‘Your husband is a merchant?’

‘He is John Dalton.’ She looked at him in a way that indicated the name should be familiar, and sighed when she saw it was
not. ‘After the wars, he made his fortune in wine. This means he has the favour of the King, whose Court consumes rather a
lot of it. Because the King
approves of him, Downing is attempting to befriend him, too, although both are finding the process a sore trial.’

‘Is your husband a difficult man to like, then?’

She glanced sharply at him, and he sensed he had hit a nerve. ‘He can be awkward, but so are most men. I wish he were a handsome
young soldier, but we cannot choose what we want in this life, and so must make do with what we are given. Do you really speak
Dutch like a native?’

‘Metje thinks I sound German, but that is preferable to an Englishman, given that we are on the brink of war with Holland.’

‘On the brink of war?’ she echoed in disbelief. ‘We are not!’

Chaloner shook his head slowly, wondering why so many affluent Londoners were unwilling to see the truth – unlike the poor,
who seemed almost eager for the conflict. Personally, he considered the looming Dutch crisis a serious problem, and was more
than happy to talk about it – and if she passed his concerns to her husband, then so much the better. ‘We will be fighting
within three years unless someone takes steps to stop it. We would be fools to challenge the Dutch – they have more ships,
a navy in which men are actually paid, and better resources. We cannot afford to take them on.’

But she was not particularly interested, and her expression became mischievous as she thought of another question. ‘Did you
really say malicious things in Dutch when Downing was actually present?’

‘Of course not. That would have been the height of bad manners.’

She seemed disappointed. ‘Well, you should not take
his malice to heart. He hates everyone, and the feeling is wholly reciprocated. I think he was despised
before
March, but what he did to those regicides earlier this year was despicable – discovering their hiding places in Holland,
and dragging them back to be hanged and quartered. What sort of man does that to another human being?’

The descriptions that sprung into Chaloner’s mind were unrepeatable. He affected nonchalance, although she had chosen another
subject about which he felt strongly. ‘Downing supported Cromwell for ten years, and needed a spectacular way to prove himself
loyal to the King. What better way than presenting His Majesty with three former friends to be sentenced to a hideous death?’

She regarded him silently for a moment. ‘Were you with Downing when he caught them? He said you parted company last spring,
and that was when those men were apprehended.’

‘Is there any more tonic?’

‘You refuse to answer. Why? Because you helped Downing? Or because you decline to be associated with his shameful behaviour?’

Chaloner glanced towards the door. ‘Because I do not want to engage in such talk when the man is within spitting distance
of us.’

‘Spitting is the best thing to do to him. My husband went to watch those poor men die, but I could not bring myself to join
him. Did you go?’

‘No,’ replied Chaloner shortly. ‘Shall I stoke up the fire? It is cold in here.’

‘It is not cold,’ she said softly. ‘So, I surmise from your reaction that you objected to what he did, and you argued
about it. That is why he hates you, and why you are so open in your disdain for him. It is nothing to be ashamed of – there
are men who would shake your hand for defying him.’

‘And there are others who would hang me for angering a friend of the King.’

‘Downing is no man’s friend. The King was angry about what happened to those particular regicides – I heard him myself, telling
the Earl of Clarendon how wrong it was to demand the return of criminals from a foreign country. He said it made us look stupid,
for allowing their escape in the first place.’

‘The Dutch refused the extradition at first,’ said Chaloner, relenting and recalling the tense negotiations that had taken
place between government officials and Downing. ‘But he bullied, cajoled and bribed, and eventually they capitulated. One
clerk told me it was just to make him go away. And John Okey, Miles Corbet and John Barkstead paid the price.’

‘Did you meet the regicides? I suppose you did: Englishmen abroad naturally gather together, no matter what their political
affiliation.’

Chaloner frowned: first Leybourn had questioned him, and now Sarah Dalton was doing it. He was tempted to tell her to mind
her own business, but if she was close enough to Thurloe to refer to him as ‘John’, then it would be unwise to alienate her.

‘They were not interested in talking to clerks,’ he replied vaguely.

She poked the embers with a stick. ‘I have always wanted to see Holland, but my husband tells me it is too far. I doubt I
will ever go – at least, not as long as I am married to him.’

‘You could always go to East Anglia instead. There is not much to choose between them in terms of bogs and flat fields.’

She raised her eyebrows, amused. ‘I see I am talking to a true romantic.’

Chaloner was relieved when Thurloe came to tell Sarah that her husband was ready to leave. He waited in the bedchamber until
they had gone, unwilling to endure another spat with Downing. His encounter with Sarah had been perplexing, but now he needed
to muster his wits and convince Thurloe that he would be a worthy addition to the new government’s intelligence services.

‘They have gone,’ said Thurloe, beckoning him into the sitting room. ‘Dalton is a decent soul, but Downing is a sore trial.
I cannot imagine how you managed to put up with him all those years. I should have paid you double, to compensate you for
such unpleasant working conditions.’

‘He has his good points,’ replied Chaloner, walking carefully so as not to draw attention to his stiff leg. The chamber still
reeked of Dalton’s orange water.

‘Name one,’ challenged Thurloe. Chaloner hesitated. ‘You cannot, because he does not have any – except perhaps a fondness
for good music. The man is a disgrace, and what he did to Barkstead, Okey and Corbet was truly wicked. I understand he tried
to do the same to your uncle – who also signed the old king’s death warrant.’

Chaloner nodded, but made no other reply.

Thurloe regarded him closely. ‘Your uncle was my friend. I would like to know Downing had nothing to do with his end.’

‘He died of natural causes months before Downing
indulged his penchant for persecuting regicides.’ Chaloner glanced uneasily at Thurloe, wondering why Downing had been visiting
him, and whether they had traded secrets. ‘He still thinks my name is Heyden.’

‘And I recommend you keep it that way. It would be extremely unwise to let
him
know you are the nephew of a king-killer. He will almost certainly use it against you, and my influence is on the wane, so
I may not be able to stop him. What did he say when he learned death had cheated him of his prize?’

‘That he was going to excavate my uncle’s grave and cart the body to London. I thought he was jesting, but then I learned
it had happened before – that Cromwell had been exhumed and his skeleton ceremonially hanged before a crowd of spectators.’