The Westminster Poisoner (51 page)

‘Yes, you did,’ agreed Greene quietly. ‘I cannot imagine why – I certainly would not have done. And stand still, or I shall
shoot you.’

‘So the Earl was right,’ said Chaloner, doing as he was told – it was always wise to obey orders issued by men wielding firearms.
By the same token, he knew it was reckless to taunt Greene with a discussion of his crimes, but he could not help himself.
‘You
were
running away when we caught you outside this hall. You had just murdered Chetwynd. But what did you do with the cup?’

Greene smiled, although it was a pained, unhappy expression. ‘I was not alone. I was never alone.’

For a moment, Chaloner thought he was claiming some sort of divine guidance, but then realised that God was unlikely to make
incriminating goblets disappear into thin
air. The clerk was talking about a real accomplice, one of flesh and blood.

‘Who helped you?’ demanded Chaloner. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, and he was ready to whip it out the moment Greene
lowered his guard.

The clerk made a dismissive motion: he was unwilling to say. ‘I was expecting Turner this morning, not you. He has finally
grasped that I am guilty, so it was decided to entice him here and kill him. But as you are here and he is not, I suppose
I shall have to poison you instead. I am sorry, but it must be what is meant to happen.’

‘He will be here soon,’ lied Chaloner. ‘What will you do then? If you kill either of us, my Earl will hunt you down.’

Greene shrugged. ‘How? He could not trap me when he had you and Turner, so how will he manage alone? Besides, I am taking
a ship to the New World tomorrow, and that will be an end to the matter. My master, who has guided my hand in everything,
will have to use other faithful servants to carry on his work – thanks to your Earl’s determination to unmask me, my usefulness
to him is at an end.’

‘Are you saying someone
told
you to commit these crimes?’ asked Chaloner in disbelief. ‘How in God’s name could you let yourself be used so? I thought
you were an ethical man.’

‘I have tried to be.’ Greene looked miserable, a far cry from the gloating Turner. ‘I swore an oath to be honourable, and
I have followed it faithfully. You no doubt think that murder is
dis
honourable, but these were wicked men, and my master said God wanted them gone – that it was my destiny to dispatch them for
Him. And I have always believed everything that happens is predetermined, so …’

‘I suppose your master used your association with Lady Castlemaine to persuade you to do his bidding,’ said Chaloner, more
strands of the mystery coming together in his mind. ‘You ran errands for her that decent men would have declined, and he threatened
to tell. She gave you a book …’

‘
L’Ecole des Filles
.’ Greene blushed. ‘I should not have accepted it, but I was curious and Langston said it was good. She lied about him being
alive at four o’clock, by the way – I killed him at two. But she did not lie because she knows I am the killer – her sole
objective was to oppose your Earl.’

‘And everything Turner and I discovered about you was true: you
did
beg or steal brandywine from White Hall to disguise the taste of poison.’

‘I did, although it was not my idea.’

‘Chetwynd would have been easy to kill – he would not have been suspicious of a friend offering him a warming drink on a cold
night. But how did you persuade Vine and Langston? With a gun?’

‘I told them it is more pleasant than being gut-shot,’ said Greene, gesticulating with his dag in a way that might see it
go off. ‘And we have all seen enough of war to know that is true. I shall offer you the same choice, but I recommend the poison.
It is quick and relatively painless.’

Chaloner had no intention of swallowing anything. His fingers tightened around his sword, although Greene did not notice –
he was still talking, using the flat, resigned tone that indicated he thought the whole business had been inevitable.

‘None of it was my idea: I was his puppet in everything. He told me what time I was to go out, which routes
to travel, when I should approach Munt for brandywine, even which clothes to wear. And he told me to toss Jones’s purses in
the river, although your witness was mistaken in what he saw, because I really did throw ten, not three.’

‘You are a fool! Can you not see what is happening? Someone left a red-stoned ring in your home and hid brandywine in your
office. I suspect it is your master, and that he intends to have you blamed for these murders – you said yourself that your
usefulness to him is at an end.’

Greene nodded. ‘I
will
be blamed, but I shall be in the New World, where it will not matter.’

‘Who is he?’ asked Chaloner. He gestured at the gun. ‘If I am going to be killed anyway, what does it matter if you tell me
his name?’

Greene smiled. ‘He will be here soon, and you can see for yourself. He always comes when I kill, probably to make sure I do
not weaken and show mercy.’

But the last pieces of the puzzle had snapped into place, and Chaloner knew exactly who Greene’s master was. ‘My belief in
your innocence was based on the fact that I was watching your house when Vine was killed, but now I see what happened. Your
master told you to leave by another door when you went to commit the crime. And he suggested you hide your wet coat and shoes,
too.’

Greene inclined his head. ‘He has a mind for details.’

‘And he was on hand to advise me to look for damp clothing when I returned from Westmister. He chose his victims because they
were men who pretended to be upright but were flawed – Chetwynd’s corruption, Langston’s venality, Vine’s liking for blackmail.
Earlier, in the Earl’s office, Haddon said he had a gift for detecting wickedness.’

‘He told me the same. He said hypocrisy is endemic at Westminster and White Hall, and that it was necessary to take a stand
against it. But here he is now.’

The door opened and the Lord Chancellor’s steward walked in. He was not alone, because the train-band were with him, led by
Doling and Payne.

While Greene’s attention was taken by the new arrivals, Chaloner darted towards him. Startled, Greene raised the gun and jerked
the trigger, but the weapon flashed in the pan. Chaloner snatched it from him and hurled it through a window. Perhaps someone
would hear the smashing glass and send for the palace guards. Regardless, he felt better once it was no longer in Greene’s
unsteady grip.

He whipped around when the soldiers started to stride towards him, weapons drawn. Their message was unmistakeable: there
would be no escape this time. He glanced at Haddon. The walk through the snow had warmed the steward, and he had loosened
his collar. There was a faint scar on his throat, like the one the Wapping vicar had described. Chaloner also noticed he was
wearing a ruby ring on a string around his neck. Haddon saw him looking at it.

‘Vine ripped it off me in his death throes,’ he explained, tucking it back inside his coat. ‘It belonged to my wife, and I
did not want to lose it. Payne retrieved it for me, although I understand you got it first.’

Chaloner gazed at him. ‘I thought you were a gentle man, but you are responsible for four murders: Chetwynd, Vine, Langston
and Lea.’

‘I did what was necessary. And I am sorry it must end like this – I had hoped to spare you. My plan was to kill
Turner, and have you continue to assert Greene’s innocence, but that is no longer a viable option. Lay hold of him, Doling.’

Chaloner drew his sword as Doling approached, and they exchanged a series of vicious ripostes. But Payne circled behind them,
sword jabbing at the spy’s back. When Chaloner spun around to tackle him, Doling knocked the weapon from his hand, enabling
the others to seize him. He struggled when he was searched for knives, but it was a token effort, and he knew he was well
and truly their prisoner. He did manage to kick Payne on the shin, though, causing the man to leap away with a howl of pain.

‘Do not harm him,’ shouted Haddon urgently, when Payne prepared to exact revenge. ‘We need him unmarked if my plan is to work
– Wiseman will notice any suspicious wounds.’

‘He will,’ agreed Chaloner. ‘And he will know I am not the kind of man to swallow poison—’

‘You
will
drink it,’ interrupted Payne with grim determination. ‘We will make you.’

Chaloner bucked, aiming to free a hand and grab a dagger from one of his captors, but they were too professional to fall for
such a trick, and all he did was encourage them to hold him more tightly.

‘You cannot escape from us,’ Payne jeered, clearly delighted to have the troublesome spy at his mercy at last. His grip was
hard enough to hurt. ‘Not this time.’

Chaloner was beginning to believe he might be right. But he was not going to go without some sort of fight, and he had two
weapons left to him: his tongue and his wits. He would just have to keep Haddon and his cronies talking until he could devise
a solution to his predicament.
Of course, his wits were like mud, and he could barely put together sensible sentences, let alone formulate a plan that might
save his life. But he had to rise to the challenge, because he was determined not to give Payne the satisfaction of defeating
him.

‘You are Reeve the corn-chandler,’ he said, trying to force his exhausted mind to function. ‘You disguised yourself to attend
the coffee-house meetings, because you wanted to monitor the activities of your victims—’

‘He actually wanted one of us to go,’ interrupted Payne. ‘But Doling refused to be in company with such low villains, while
I am not very good at subterfuge. He decided to watch them himself.’

Haddon said nothing, and for a moment there was silence. Chaloner flailed about for something else to say. ‘Why did you use
Greene to kill, when you have a train-band at your disposal?’

‘Because it suited me,’ replied Haddon shortly. He turned to Doling. ‘I do not anticipate many clerks will arrive for work
this morning, but we should hurry regardless. Besides, I do not want to leave my dogs alone for too long. I am sure I saw
Bulteel lurking in Cannon Row when I went there just now.’

Doling did not answer, and his dour face was cold and hard as he watched the steward remove two bottles from a satchel and
begin to mix them. The aroma of brandywine began to pervade the hall. It made Chaloner queasy. Payne noticed his reaction
and grinned nastily.

‘Matthias Lea declined our concoction at first,’ Payne said. ‘But he drank it in the end. He was a vile creature – he betrayed
his old colleagues in order to get a post with the Royalist government. So did his brother, who
will shoot himself this evening, wracked by grief over the loss of his kinsman.’

‘You told me Greene was innocent when we met near your lair,’ said Chaloner, supposing he would have to keep Payne talking,
given that Doling and Haddon were disinclined to be communicative. Of course, chatting would do him scant good if his wits
failed to keep their side of the bargain. ‘Why?’

Payne shrugged. ‘On the off-chance that you might escape. Haddon was not quite finished with him and your belief in his innocence
was staying the Earl’s hand – keeping him free to continue our work. It does not matter now, though. We have more villains
to dispatch, but we shall use other means.’

‘What other means?’ asked Chaloner. Haddon seemed to be having trouble with his potion, because he was frowning in a way that
said he was dissatisfied with it. Greene stepped forward to help.

‘Accidental drownings come next,’ replied Payne gleefully. ‘And after that, mishaps with speeding carriages. Eventually, evil
will be eradicated.’

‘Drownings,’ pounced Chaloner. ‘Like Jones. He happened across your domain, so you pushed him in the river.’

‘Actually, he came hurtling down the alley so fast, he could not stop – he sank like a stone. Then you came along. You jumped
in the water rather than fight us, then surfaced screeching for rescue.’

‘Jones was a thief,’ said Doling grimly. ‘
His
death I do not regret. He stole from the bank that now employs me – the news is all over London.’

‘Do you know why Jones was in the alley?’ asked Chaloner. He could see from the bemused expressions
on the soldiers’ faces that they had not thought to ask. ‘Because he was chasing one of Williamson’s spies – a man who subsequently
escaped.’

‘Our boat!’ exclaimed Payne. ‘We thought it had been swept away by the tide, but Williamson’s man must have climbed into it
and rowed away.’

‘He will have told the Spymaster about you,’ said Chaloner, aiming to give them cause for anxiety.

Payne laughed derisively. ‘Who do you think provides us with quarters and weapons? Williamson often calls on our services,
mostly to quell minor rebellions, which we do quietly and decisively.’

Chaloner was confused. ‘So, you are not Haddon’s men?’

‘That is none of your business,’ snapped Doling. ‘Enough talking.’

Chaloner turned to him. ‘How can you condone what Haddon is doing?’ he demanded, hoping to appeal to some deeply embedded
sense of military honour. ‘You are a soldier, not an assassin.’

‘We are warriors, fighting vice,’ declared Payne, before Doling could speak. ‘It is no different from any other war. I used
to pray with Chetwynd and the others in Scobel’s house, but their duplicity sickened me. The Restoration has allowed evil
men to prosper at the expense of good ones. Look at Symons and Doling. They are decent, but they were dismissed to make room
for scoundrels.’

‘Hargrave will be next,’ said Haddon casually, as though he was issuing invitations to dinner. ‘He rents out sub-standard
buildings, and profits from supplying materials for Langston’s disgusting plays. Then Brodrick is a cruel man, who uses
ferrets and bears for practical jokes,
while Bulteel feeds pepper-cake to dogs, and embezzles money from his Earl.’

‘No!’ objected Chaloner, appalled. ‘Bulteel is the most honest man in White Hall – more honest than you, because
he
does not pretend to be virtuous while he breaks the law.’