The Westminster Poisoner (52 page)

Haddon abandoned his chemistry, and strode forward to strike the spy. ‘How dare you judge me!’

‘So much for no suspicious marks,’ muttered Payne, a little resentfully.

‘And you can hold your tongue, too,’ snapped Haddon, rounding on him. ‘You have no business gossiping when I told you we need
to hurry. Do you want to be caught?’

‘We will not be caught,’ said Payne confidently. ‘Not when we have you to guide us. The best thing I ever did was swear that
oath to you. You have led us down this glorious path—’

‘We all swore it,’ interrupted one of the soldiers, although he did not look entirely happy. ‘We pledged to live righteous
lives, and signed a pact in our own blood. But—’

‘You swore to
him
?’ Chaloner’s thoughts whirled as he stared at Haddon. ‘Thurloe said Scobel was fat and bearded, but sickness can waste a
man, while beards can be shaved. You did not die … Margaret Symons
saw
you! She said her uncle stood by her bed, but we thought she was delirious.’

‘She and my nephew nursed me back to health three years ago,’ replied Haddon. He did not seem disconcerted that Chaloner had
guessed his real identity – and why should he? The spy was in no position to tell anyone. ‘And then I watched my so-called
friends slide from the promises they had made. It has taken me all this time to
decide to put an end to their sinfulness, but I wanted to give them every chance to reform.’

‘It was futile thinking they would,’ put in Payne. ‘As I have told you before.’

‘Symons should have inherited a fortune from you,’ said Chaloner, speaking more quickly when he saw Haddon – he could not
think of him as Scobel – inspect the contents of the cup, and give a satisfied nod. ‘But he did not, because you were alive
and still needed it.’

‘It has all gone now. I enjoy working for the Earl, though. He is impatient, condescending and opinionated, but good at heart.
And he likes dogs.’

‘So did Scobel,’ Chaloner recalled. ‘One howled over his grave, apparently.’

‘The coffin was stuffed with my clothes, and the poor beast was deceived. Payne killed the man who shot her.’ Haddon gave
the cup one last stir, then picked it up.

‘I am not comfortable with this,’ said Doling uneasily. ‘Killing wicked men is one thing, but—’

‘We cannot let him jeopardise our work,’ said Haddon. ‘And I have a plan that will ensure no questions are asked. Greene will
kill him, then swallow the rest of the poison in a fit of remorse. The case will be closed, and I shall advise the Earl that
nothing will be gained by further investigation.’

‘What?’ asked Greene in horror, as two soldiers stepped forward to hold him.

‘I told you they could not be trusted,’ said Chaloner.

Greene struggled instinctively when he was grabbed, but it was not long before the gloomy, resigned expression was back in
his eyes. He went limp in his captors’ arms. Chaloner tried to capitalise on the diversion by breaking
free, but Payne subdued him with several vicious punches that made his head spin, ignoring Haddon’s protestations about suspicious
marks. The spy had been in many difficult situations during his eventful life, but this was by far one of the most serious
– he could not see any way to help himself, no matter how hard he tried to force his sluggish mind to work.

‘Drink the wine,’ ordered Payne, taking the cup from Haddon and holding it out to Greene.

‘Refuse,’ countered Chaloner. His voice sounded thick and slurred to his own ears. ‘Do not make it easy for them – they promised
you passage to the New World, but they repay you with death.’

‘Perhaps it is for the best,’ said Greene flatly. ‘I never was easy with the notion of killing, even for God. And working
for Lady Castlemaine made me feel … tainted.’

‘You are tainted,’ said Haddon softly. ‘But if you take your own life, God will forgive you. Drink. It will soon be over.’

Greene indicated the soldiers were to release one of his hands, then he took the cup and held it to his lips. He hesitated
for a moment, then tipped it back and swallowed. Chaloner watched in disbelief – he had expected the man to put up at least
a modicum of self-defence. After a moment, the clerk doubled over and started to retch. Chaloner began to struggle again when
Payne walked towards him, and succeeded in knocking the cup with his chin, so some of its contents slopped to the floor.

‘Hold him still,’ Payne snarled.

Chaloner summoned the last of his strength and fought, writhing and twisting with all his might, knowing resistance was his
only chance of life. More poison spilled, and in frustration, Payne pushed his dagger against the
spy’s throat. There was a sharp pain, but Chaloner knew it was a victory, because it was yet another mark Wiseman would question.
More men came to pin him down. He managed to bite one and butt another in the face with his forehead. Curses filled the air.

‘It will taste of brandywine,’ snapped Haddon, becoming angry when he saw the length of time it was taking. ‘Do not make such
a fuss.’

‘I do not like this,’ said Doling, backing away from the fracas suddenly. ‘I swore to fight evil, not to dispatch honest men
for doing their duty.’

‘We have no choice,’ said Haddon impatiently. ‘Do you want to hang for murder? No? Then help Payne restrain him. The longer
you let him keep us here, the greater are our chances of discovery.’

Liquid splashed on Chaloner’s cheek as the cup was lowered towards him, and he imagined he could feel it corroding his skin.
He resisted with every fibre of his being, but his strength was spent, and Payne now gripped him so hard that he could barely
breathe. His vision began to darken.

‘No,’ ordered Doling. ‘That is enough. Let him go.’

Chaloner was astonished when the soldiers promptly stepped away. Unfortunately, Payne did not follow their example: he responded
by tightening his hold further still, and the spy found he was too weak to break loose. Worse, he could not breathe at all,
and it occurred to him that suffocation was just as effective a way to kill as poison. Payne was about to do his master’s
bidding without the toxin coming anywhere near him.

Suddenly, there was a tremendous crash, and the door flew open. The Earl stood there, Bulteel at his heels. The secretary
looked terrified, and the Earl was panting hard.

‘Stop!’ the Earl bellowed. ‘I command you to stop!’

For a moment, no one moved. The train-band gaped at him, while even Haddon seemed taken aback. He recovered quickly, though.

‘Bulteel,’ he said, ignoring the Earl. ‘Your timing is impeccable. I said I would make you pay for what you did to my dogs,
and I happen to have some spare poison. Fetch him, Payne. Doling can finish Thomas – we have wasted enough time on him.’

‘What about the Earl?’ asked Payne, releasing Chaloner and hurrying to do as he was told. The spy collapsed on the floor,
gasping for breath. ‘Can we dispatch him, too? He is from White Hall, so he
will
be corrupt.’

‘He is—’ Whatever Haddon was about to say died in his throat, and an expression of astonishment filled his face. He opened
his mouth to speak, but nothing emerged. Then he pitched forward. Payne rushed to catch him, gazing in horror at the knife
that protruded from his master’s back.

Chaloner managed to raise his head, and saw triumph gleam in Greene’s eyes. He could not imagine how the dying clerk had mustered
the strength to lob his knife, but he had done it, and Haddon was choking as blood filled his lungs.

‘You—’ Payne’s face was as black as thunder, and he dropped Haddon to take a menacing step towards the clerk. Doling interposed
himself between them.

‘Enough,’ said Doling quietly. ‘It is over.’

‘Are you insane?’ snarled Payne, trying to thrust past him. ‘We must finish this – if we let these men live, we will be signing
our own death warrants.’

‘So be it,’ said Doling, pushing him away. His men stood behind him, silent and obedient.

Eyes flashing with rage, Payne turned on Doling, but his hot-tempered lunges were no match for the older man’s cool, practised
ripostes. His eyes bulged as Doling’s sword bit into his chest. Then he crashed to the floor, and lay still. There was a brief
silence, then Chaloner heard the tap of the Earl’s tight little shoes as he moved forward tentatively.

‘London is no place for us,’ said Doling softly. ‘We thought we could stop the seeping wickedness that pervades the city,
but we became as soiled as the men we sought to eradicate.’

‘I should say,’ agreed the Earl, looking around in distaste. ‘And associating with Spymaster Williamson is unlikely to lead
you along the path of righteousness, either.’

‘Payne was the killer,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘He stabbed two men and a woman just for asking about us. Doling tried to
stop him, but Scobel had Payne under his thumb, and it turned him mad.’

‘I would like to take my men away from the city,’ said Doling, in the same low, level voice. ‘Lead them somewhere safe. Will
you try to stop me, sir?’

‘No,’ said the Earl hastily, reading a threat in the quietly spoken words. ‘However, I suspect Williamson will ensure you
never reach a court if you are captured, because he will not want his role in this affair made public. So I advise you to
leave the country with all possible speed.’

Doling gave him a curt nod, and strode out, his warriors streaming at his heels.

Chaloner forced himself to sit up, aware that by bursting in with only Bulteel at his side, the Earl had just committed an
act of remarkable courage. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked weakly.

The Earl raised his eyebrows. ‘That is
not
my idea of a heartfelt expression of gratitude, Thomas. What is wrong with you? I have just risked my life to save yours,
and I am not a naturally brave man – at least, not where dangerous villains are concerned.’

‘How did you know …’ Chaloner was too tired to think of the question he wanted to ask.

‘You have Bulteel to thank for that. He happened to be near Haddon’s house in Cannon Row, when he spotted him conferring with
Payne – a man who is wanted for murder in Westminster. He came to tell me, and we set off together. The palace guards should
be here at any moment.’

‘Thank you,’ Chaloner managed to say.

The Earl shrugged carelessly, although he looked pleased with himself. ‘You are welcome. After all, I do not want to lose
both
my spies in the same day.’

Two days later

Although the Earl was eager for explanations, he appreciated his spy was in no condition to provide him with any, and took
him to Fetter Lane in his own carriage. Chaloner was not sure at what point Hannah arrived, but he was aware of her stoking
up the fire and soothing him as he lay in a fever of dreams. When he finally woke, stiff but refreshed, the sun was shining
and the snow had melted so completely that he wondered whether he had imagined the entire episode.

‘Your Earl wants you to visit as soon as possible,’ Hannah said, as they ate the pickled ling pie she had made to celebrate
his recovery. It was not very pleasant, but she was quite open about the fact that it was the only dish she knew how to prepare,
so he supposed he would have to do all the cooking if he wanted a future with her. ‘He is eager to know where you have hidden
the missing statue.’

Chaloner set down his spoon, appetite gone as he thought about all that had happened. ‘I was wrong about
Greene, and my arrogance allowed Haddon – Scobel – to claim more victims.’

‘The Earl said you would think that, but he heard some of what was said in the Painted Chamber, and is convinced that Haddon
and Payne would have devised other ways to kill, if Greene had been unavailable. And you were not wrong, anyway.’

‘How was I not wrong? Greene poisoned Chetwynd, Vine and Langston.’

‘Because he was
forced
to. Haddon planned everything, down to the last detail, and Greene was just his instrument.’

The difference was academic, as far as Chaloner was concerned, and he knew it would be a long time – if ever – before he forgave
himself.

‘Greene confessed to the Earl before he died,’ said Hannah, when he made no reply. ‘He said Vine, Chetwynd and Langston would
not have accepted wine from “Reeve”, as they called Haddon, because they did not trust him. They all knew he wore a disguise,
which meant they were always wary of him. But no one thought Greene was a killer, which allowed him to do as Haddon ordered.
I wonder why Haddon picked on him – and why Greene let him do it.’

‘Because of the oath he swore,’ explained Chaloner. ‘He promised to be virtuous – and he tried, by helping the Southwark prostitutes
– but he compromised his principles by working for the Lady and accepting obscene books. I imagine Haddon had him marked for
death, anyway, and using him to kill the others was just a convenient way of dispatching yet another man he felt had let him
down.’

‘
L’Ecole des Filles
is not that obscene,’ said Hannah. ‘Not like Langston’s plays.’

‘You have seen them?’ asked Chaloner, startled.

‘Buckingham took me to watch one or two.’

‘I made a lot of discoveries that had nothing to do with the murders,’ said Chaloner, not wanting to know more. ‘George Vine’s
hatred for his father, his mother’s reluctance to tell me whether her husband had owned a ruby ring—’

‘George said yesterday that she thought
he
was the killer, and was reluctant to say to anything that might implicate him. What a family!’

‘Then there was Jones and his gold, and the fact that no one was investigating his death.’

‘It was assumed he just drowned,’ explained Hannah, ‘as people do with distressing frequency. No one thought there was any
need to ask questions, not even when it became known he was a bank robber.’

‘For a while, I even suspected Gold of being the killer,’ said Chaloner tiredly. ‘But he was innocent.’

‘He is guilty of marrying a very silly girl, though. I heard at Court today that Neale has asked Bess to wed him, and she
has accepted. People are calling him Golden Neale for his good fortune. But I doubt they will make each other happy.’