A Conspiracy of Violence (8 page)

‘You are not the only one to be shocked by that,’ said Thurloe, reading the distaste in his face. ‘I had supposed we lived
in civilised times, and was appalled to see corpses defiled. However, there are men in the new government who consider that
sort of thing perfectly justified, so we should keep our opinions to ourselves. Are any of your family likely to visit London?’

‘No, sir. They know former Parliamentarians should stay low until the frenzy of purges is over. They will remain quietly in
Buckinghamshire.’

Thurloe indicated Chaloner was to sit opposite him, then huddled close to the fire, as if the discussion had chilled him.
‘Downing really is a selfish scoundrel. He suggested I order you back into his service just now. He detests you, and the feeling
is clearly mutual, but he could not bear the thought of Dalton having a clerk who can speak Dutch, while he does not.’

Chaloner was hopeful, prepared to put up with
Downing if it meant gainful employment. ‘Is he planning to return to The Hague soon?’

‘No – and I strongly suggest you decline any post offered by him. He cannot be trusted and you will not be safe under his
roof.
I
will never tell him your name and family connections, but that does not mean he will not learn them for himself.’

Chaloner was disappointed by the advice. ‘We will be at war soon, and Britain needs intelligence agents – preferably experienced
ones – in place as soon as possible. I could do a lot of good for our country, if the government would only send me back.’

‘Unfortunately, that is easier said than done, as far as you are concerned. You need an official diplomatic post in order
to operate efficiently, but our government has appointed its own people and dismissed the ones I hired. It is a ridiculous
– not to mention dangerous – situation, since it takes years to cultivate reliable informants, as you know. But I cannot force
Williamson to take you, even though it would be in England’s best interests.’

‘Williamson?’

‘Joseph Williamson, a clever tutor from Oxford. He is in charge of intelligence now. He is astute, quick witted and will do
well in time, but I have no influence over his decisions. All I can do is offer names to the Lord Chancellor – the Earl of
Clarendon – and hope he passes them to the right quarters. I have had scant success so far: none of the spies I recommended
have been hired by Williamson.’

‘Because he does not trust people who once worked for you?’

‘Almost certainly, and I do not blame him. I would be wary myself, were I in his position. You are in an
unenviable situation, Tom: you cannot return to Holland alone, because you need the cover of an ambassador’s entourage for
your work, but Downing declines to recommend you to his replacement in The Hague. As I see it, the only way forward is to
prove yourself first by working here.’

Chaloner was unhappy. ‘But in Holland I watched shipyards, monitored the manufacture of cannons, stole nautical charts, and
started rumours to damage Dutch alliances with France and Spain. I did not spy on my fellow countrymen, and being an agent
in a foreign country is not the same as being a spy here. I do not have the right skills for such work.’

Thurloe sighed. ‘We live in changing times, and only those prepared to adapt will survive. I will suggest you are used where
you will be most effective, but I doubt my advice will be acted upon – at least, not immediately. You may find the choice
is reduced to doing what you are told by the new government, or abandoning espionage altogether.’

Chaloner stared at the fire. He had known the situation was unpromising, but had not imagined it to be quite so bleak. He
thought about his encounters with Kelyng, Bennet, Snow and Storey, and then being questioned rather more keenly than was appropriate
by Leybourn and Sarah Dalton. He did not understand London’s tense, bitter politics, and disliked not knowing whom he could
trust. It was a bad position for a spy to be in.

‘Who is Sarah Dalton, sir?’ he asked after a while. ‘She asked a lot of questions.’

‘I trained her well, then.’

‘She is one of your agents?’ Chaloner supposed he should have guessed.

Thurloe nodded. ‘I would have told you – both of you – before I left you alone together, but it was impossible under the circumstances.
If she quizzed you, then it was on my behalf. Even though I am no longer Spymaster, a faithful few still supply me with gossip.
I am lucky they do, or men like Downing would have had my head on a block months ago. As it is, I am too knowledgeable to
kill.’

‘I am glad to hear it, sir.’

‘If anything happens to me, and you need a friend, you can turn to Sarah. I am not in the habit of divulging my agents’ identities,
but England is turbulent, and everyone needs someone he can trust.’

‘She supported Cromwell, was a Parliamentarian?’

‘Not really. Like all of us, she witnessed the undesirability of civil war, and wants to ensure we do not travel that road
again. What she supports is stability and peace. I imagine you feel much the same. Most of my people do.’

‘Do you know a bookseller called William Leybourn, sir?’ asked Chaloner, after another pause.

Thurloe nodded. ‘I buy legal pamphlets from him on occasion, although he is best known for his erudite contributions to mathematics
and surveying. Why do you ask?’

‘He also asked a lot of questions.’

‘It seems you have had a busy morning, fending off all these interrogations. Shall I summon a physician to tend your leg,
or was Sarah able to help?’

‘There is nothing—’

Thurloe’s voice was cool. ‘Do not lie, Thomas. I dislike being misled, especially since it has already cost me my favourite
night-cap.’

Chaloner regarded him uneasily. Thurloe could not possibly have seen what he and Sarah had been doing
from his fireside chair. ‘How did you—?’

‘Because it was not on the pillow where I left it, there is a suspicious pile of ashes in the hearth, and your breeches are
damp around the knee – where I know you were hit by splinters from an exploding cannon at the Battle of Naseby. You were sixteen,
and should have been at your studies.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Chaloner, trying to mask his annoyance. The last statement had told him exactly who had revealed the secret
he had been to such pains to conceal for the past seventeen years: his uncle, the regicide. The older Thomas Chaloner had
dragged his nephew from Cambridge, very much against his will, and later claimed he had joined the New Model Army of his own
volition. Chaloner had not been expected to live after Naseby, and by the time he had recovered and learned what had been
said about him, it was too late to correct the story.

Thurloe settled more comfortably in his chair. ‘You seem surprised I know about your private life. You should not be. First,
your uncle and I were friends, and so of course we discussed our families. And second, I was particular about my agents, and
investigated them very carefully before I hired them. I know more about you than you imagine. I know about a lot of people.
Why do you think my head is not on a pole outside Westminster Hall?’

‘I assumed because of your detailed knowledge of foreign affairs, sir.’

Thurloe smiled enigmatically. ‘Well, there is that, too.’

A knock at the door preceded a visit from some of Thurloe’s relations, who filled the room with boisterous shouts and laughter.
Thurloe sat amid the chaos like a
king, revered by the men, fussed over by the women and clamoured at by noisy children. He said little, but reached out to
ruffle a boy’s hair here or chuck a giggling girl under the chin there, and it did not seem possible that such a quiet, mild
man held secrets that could destroy some of the most powerful men in the country. Chaloner withdrew to a corner, although
it was not long before the whirlwind of happy voices had retreated – they were to travel to Thurloe’s own wife and children
at his manor near Oxford later that day – and he and the ex-Spymaster were alone again.

‘Marriage is a splendid institution,’ Thurloe observed smugly, knowing he was unusually fortunate. ‘And children are a blessing
from God. Do you have any plans in that direction?’

Chaloner felt like retorting that he probably knew the answer to that question already, given that he seemed to have probed
so many other private aspects of his former spy’s life. ‘Possibly.’

Thurloe seemed about to reply with something equally tart, but then changed his mind. ‘Tell me what happened this morning.
You retrieved the satchel, so I conclude you had some sort of encounter with the villains who murdered poor Charles-Stewart.’

The pouch lay on the table, and Chaloner noted it had not been opened. ‘I chased them to the Holborn Bridge, where they disappeared
into a maze of alleys and—’

‘The Fleet Rookery,’ interrupted Thurloe grimly. ‘It has an alehouse, where plots were hatched to kill the Lord Protector.
I went myself once, and overheard one plan discussed in the most brazen manner. It has been a breeding ground for rebels for
years, and I suspect it
will continue so, regardless of who sits on the throne.’

‘People tried to kill Cromwell?’ As soon as he saw the flicker of surprise in Thurloe’s eyes, Chaloner knew he should not
have asked the question.

‘I forget you are unfamiliar with your own country – although I had not imagined you to be quite so uninformed. There were
many assassination attempts, although most were the bumbling efforts of amateurs. But let us return to today. You chased the
thieves into that festering hotbed of treachery …’

‘I overheard them say they were in the pay of a powerful lawyer, so I decided to find out who. They went to White Hall, where
a servant wearing a yellow doublet paid them—’

‘Kelyng dresses his retinue in yellow.’

‘You know Kelyng?’

This time Thurloe made no attempt to disguise his astonishment. ‘Surely you have heard of Sir John Kelyng? Really, Thomas!
How can I recommend you to the government when you do not know its most infamous officials? How long have you been back?’

‘Since March, sir, but not all of it in London. I spent several months in Buckinghamshire.’

‘I know,’ said Thurloe dryly. ‘It was I who suggested you visit the siblings you have not seen in a decade, if you recall.
Families are important, and you had been away too long from yours. However, your absence is not a valid excuse for such ignorance.
Continue.’

The interview was not going well. Now Chaloner felt he was lacking in two areas: his weak leg and his poor knowledge of current
affairs. ‘Kelyng and his chamberlain were in the garden – presumably awaiting the arrival of the satchel – and there was a
skirmish. The servant
was killed.’ He saw the shocked expression on Thurloe’s face. ‘Not by me. Bennet threw a dagger.’

Thurloe stared at him. ‘They killed their own man?’ ‘Kelyng referred to him as Jones, but
he
claimed with his dying breath that his name was Hewson.’

Emotion burned briefly in Thurloe’s eyes, but was extinguished so fast Chaloner was not sure whether he had imagined it. ‘Most
men call for priests or physicians, but this fellow told you his name? Did he say anything else?’

‘That we should praise the Lord, and that it was dangerous for seven.’

‘Seven what?’

‘He did not say. I think he was raving.’

‘That was all? He mentioned no other names, no messages for loved ones?’

‘No, sir,’ said Chaloner, wondering why Thurloe should be so interested in a death that was essentially irrelevant. The ex-Spymaster
was silent for a moment, then indicated that Chaloner should continue. ‘Kelyng shot at me, but I escaped. The crowds at the
Banqueting House assumed the gunfire was Downing’s doing – falling off his horse in his haste to ride next to the King.’

‘A whisper. That is all it takes to start a rumour. Your uncle taught me that.’

‘Which one, sir?’ asked Chaloner archly, not wanting Thurloe to think his entire family consisted of the arrogant, witty hedonist
who had signed the previous king’s death warrant. ‘James? Peter? Robert?’

Thurloe pursed his lips. ‘I forgot your grandfather sired an inordinate number of brats. Eighteen, was it, from two wives?
But I only knew one of them. Your Uncle Thomas used to amuse himself by fabricating a tale, then timing how long it took before
the gossip was
repeated back to him in a garbled form. It sounds foolish, but it taught me how powerful rumours can be. Then what happened?’

‘Bennet followed me until I was able to lose him.’

‘I wondered at the time whether that pair of cut-throats might be in Kelyng’s employ. It is a pity they killed Charles-Stewart:
he was only a boy, and his mother will be devastated.’

‘Their names are Snow and Storey, sir, and they will be easy to catch. I can go to—’

‘No,’ said Thurloe tiredly. ‘If we send them to Newgate for hanging, Bennet will only replace them with others, and we will
have lost the advantage of knowing who they are. Let them be for now. They will face justice soon enough – God’s justice,
if not man’s.’

He stared into the flames and appeared to be lost in his thoughts. Chaloner glanced at the pouch again. ‘Are you going to
look inside the satchel, to see if everything is there, sir?’

Thurloe shook his head. ‘There is no need, because I know exactly what it contains. Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ Chaloner was confused.

‘Nothing. It is empty.’

Chaloner did not know whether to be angry or amused that Thurloe had sent him on a fool’s errand. He started to stand, thinking
it was time he drew the interview to a close. Thurloe had already said he could not arrange his return to Holland, and there
was no point in lingering.

Thurloe waved him back down with an impatient flick of his hand. ‘I wonder you managed to send me all those detailed reports,
if you are in the habit of tearing off in the middle of conversations.’

Chaloner tried not to be irritated. He did not know Thurloe well – they had only met on a handful of occasions, and most communication
had been in the form of letters. Each had ended his missive with polite enquiries after the other’s family, and occasionally
they had confided various worries or concerns, but the general tenor had been brisk and impersonal. He began to think it was
easier to serve Thurloe from a distance, and that he would probably dislike the man if he ever broke through his cool reserve
and came to know him better.