The Cheapside Corpse (46 page)

There was something in the way he spoke that made Chaloner want to believe him. ‘If you are innocent, then why have you made no effort to clear your name?’

‘Why would I? My trainband is more likely to stay loyal if they think I am the sort of man who can eliminate wealthy bankers and leave no evidence. And Williamson cannot arrest me without proof – of which there is none, because I did not do it.’

‘There is evidence for the murders of Coo, Neve and Randal, though,’ Chaloner went on, wondering why Swaddell made no effort to prevent him from interrogating his ally. ‘They were killed with your guns, and that can certainly be proved.’

‘The ones with the ivory butts?’ Baron raised his hands in a shrug. ‘Those were stolen.’

‘How convenient,’ said Chaloner heavily.

‘They were a gift from Doe and I noticed they were missing a week ago. Few people have access to the private part of my house, where my family live. But my captains do. Poachin…’

‘It is a blow when one cannot trust one’s underlings,’ said Swaddell consolingly. ‘The soldiers I brought with me tonight were bought off with sixpence. Is that all I am worth?’

‘And besides, I would never have killed Coo,’ Baron went on. ‘Not only because he physicked my trainband and my family, but because of Caesar…’

Chaloner frowned his puzzlement. ‘The horse?’

Baron nodded. ‘Coo was there when Wheler said I could have him. Joan honoured his wishes when Coo was alive – she did not want a saint to think badly of her – but the moment Coo died, she said there were no witnesses, and her lawyers took him back. So, you see, Coo’s murder cost me more than you can possibly know.’

‘I cannot imagine that old nag—’ began Swaddell.

‘You do not understand affection,’ interrupted Baron harshly. ‘Caesar is a member of the family, and therefore priceless.’ He turned back to Chaloner. ‘Poachin is unaware of what Wheler promised in front of Coo, because I never told him. Doe, on the other hand, is in my confidence. In other words, Doe knows that I would
never
have killed the physician; Poachin does not.’

‘So Poachin stole the weapons from your private quarters with the express purpose of having you accused of murder,’ surmised Swaddell.

Baron nodded. ‘People loved Coo, and the rumour that I killed him has weakened my power. You may have noticed how my trainband struggles to keep order now.’

Chaloner saw a black, deadly anger in the assassin’s eyes, suggesting he had been telling the truth about his liking for Coo, and really did want the physician’s killer brought to justice.

‘You sold Temperance seven pairs of curtains.’ Chaloner lurched to another subject when Baron finished his wine and prepared to leave again. He wanted to keep him talking, suspecting he would not live long once the felon had gone. ‘Then your curbers stole them back again, to peddle to my Earl.’

Baron’s rakish grin reappeared. ‘She did not like them much anyway, but he thought they were glorious. Where lay the harm? Neve was a rogue, though. He told Clarendon they cost three thousand pounds—’

‘Whereas you charged him twenty-nine hundred. Yes, I know. However, he
did
buy nine pairs, no matter what your ledger was altered to say.’

Baron raised his hands in a shrug. ‘It was worth a try. Unfortunately, Doe made rather a mess of tampering with the books – Howard the milliner was far better at it. But your Earl will have his drapery. I was not lying when I said my brother-in-law was making more.’

‘So you killed Neve,’ stated Chaloner. ‘For taking a commission without your consent.’

Baron laughed. ‘I might have been vexed if he had taken his commission out of
my
money, but he took his Earl’s, and that is none of my business. If you want his killer, look to Poachin. And before you ask, I did not dispatch Fatherton, Milbourn or Randal either.’

Chaloner knew Baron had not killed Milbourn, because the printer was still alive, but he was not sure what to think about the others. He said nothing, and Baron continued.

‘However, I admit to burning down the houses on Bearbinder Lane. I decided you might be right about the plague worms, especially after the Howard family perished. You may not think much of me, but I look after my own, and those buildings posed a risk to my people.’

‘Did you know I was in it at the time?’

Baron’s surprise seemed genuine. ‘Really? Why, when you said it was full of the plague?’

‘Howard,’ said Chaloner, declining to answer when he saw a way to strike at Swaddell instead. ‘Did you know that he was spying on you for Williamson?’

‘He would not have dared,’ declared Baron, and Chaloner saw the gleam of relief in the assassin’s eyes. ‘I am sorry you rejected my offer of employment, Chaloner. We could have worked well together. Come with me, Swaddell. I want a private word.’

With growing despair, Chaloner heard the bar fall into place on the other side of the door a second time, and Baron’s voice receded along the corridor. However, only seconds passed before it was removed again, and the door swung open. It was Swaddell.

Chaloner said nothing as Swaddell entered the cellar, unwilling to give the assassin the satisfaction of knowing that he was talking to delay the inevitable. Then he saw that although Swaddell had two pistols in his belt and a sword at his side, none were in his hands. Hope surged through Chaloner. He could win a fist fight.

‘Come on, quickly,’ whispered Swaddell urgently. ‘I expected our four hirelings to warn Williamson of what is afoot, but the cowards appear to have let Poachin intimidate them into disappearing. Damn them for their cowardice!’

‘What trick now, Swaddell?’ asked Chaloner, making no move to do as he was told.

‘Trick?’ Swaddell regarded him in confusion, then his jaw dropped. ‘Surely you do not imagine I am really on Baron’s side?’

‘He certainly seems to think so.’

Swaddell continued to gape. ‘But you and I exchanged blood and promises!’

‘You probably exchanged them with Baron, too.’

The colour drained from Swaddell’s face and when he spoke it was in a tight whisper that shook. ‘I should kill you for that insult! I take vows seriously and I thought you did, too. Yet even so, I thought you might be uneasy, so I virtually
told
you to trust me.’

‘You did?’

‘I said “an oath is an oath” to remind you of our pact, and to assure you that I had the matter in hand. You played your part splendidly, convincing everyone that I had betrayed you. Now I know why: you believed it!’

‘Why should I not?’ Chaloner flashed back. ‘You took bribes from Baron to look the other way while crimes are committed.’

‘Of course I did! It is called “going undercover”. Surely you are aware of the practice?’ Swaddell was working himself into a frenzy. ‘However, every penny Baron gave me is recorded in a ledger, and the money has been ploughed back into the intelligence services.’

‘So I could go to Westminster and inspect these records?’ asked Chaloner sceptically.

Swaddell bristled. ‘This very minute if you like, although I think we both have more important matters to attend.’

With utter amazement, Chaloner realised that the absurd ritual they had played out in Maidenhead Alley had actually meant something to Swaddell. As Chaloner himself had lived a good part of his adolescence and all his adult life in situations where betrayal was the norm, it came as a shock to learn that there were people who honoured such promises. Swaddell’s principles made him feel old, jaded and rather grubby.

‘You and I are blood brothers,’ the assassin went on. ‘I would never betray you. God’s teeth, Chaloner! I expected more of you. Williamson told me you were a man of integrity.’

‘Did he?’ Chaloner found that hard to believe. However, this was a discussion that should be held when they were not in the cellar of a vicious criminal who would kill them if he knew what was happening. He indicated with a gesture that it was time to leave.

‘It is always the same,’ Swaddell went on bitterly, ignoring him. ‘Just because I occasionally eliminate certain undesirables, people think I am immoral. Well, I will have you know that I am an extremely ethical man, and I live by values that are far higher than most.’

‘Oh,’ said Chaloner, wishing he would lower his voice. ‘Well—’

‘I cannot begin to express the depth of my disappointment in you. And you had better thank God that our vow means I will not harm you, because at the moment I am sorely tempted to stick a knife in your gizzard.’

He scowled with a malignancy that was unnerving, and Chaloner saw he was going to have to say something conciliatory or Swaddell might inveigh at him until Baron reappeared, in which case they would both die.

‘I am sorry,’ he said, trying to sound sincere. ‘I judged you by the standards I expect from others. It will not happen again.’

‘It had better not. Now follow me. We have wasted too much time already, and tomorrow is Tuesday. We shall discuss your deplorable behaviour later –
if
we are both still alive.’

He tugged the door open, then recoiled in shock: Baron was standing on the other side, and the black expression on the felon’s face told them that he had heard every word. Chaloner cursed himself for starting the discussion in the first place. Why could he not just have gone with Swaddell and confronted him once they were outside? Now, even if he survived Baron’s wrath, Swaddell would not.

‘I thought as much,’ said Baron, eyeing the assassin icily. ‘You refused to take an oath of allegiance to me on the grounds of your faith, and being a religious man myself, I respected your wishes. But I should have known that you were not devout.’

‘In my line of work,’ said Swaddell with admirable cool, ‘one cannot afford to be. I would spend all my time worrying about hell and eternal damnation.’

Baron whipped out a cutlass, but Swaddell jerked back, so the felon’s first swipe went wide. The assassin drew his rapier, but its slender blade was no match for the thick implement in Baron’s brawny paws, and it snapped in the first parry. He yanked out his pistols, and hurled them at Baron when impotent clicks reminded him that he had neglected to load them. Chaloner grabbed a lamp and flung it hard, but Baron batted it away impatiently, and his glittering attention did not shift from Swaddell for an instant. In desperation, Chaloner took a leaf from Polly’s book, and leapt on to the felon’s back, trying to batter him senseless with his fists.

Unfortunately, Baron was as strong as an ox, and while Chaloner was no weakling, he still found himself plucked off and hurled against the wall as though he were no more substantial than straw. The room swam before his eyes, and when his wits had stopped spinning he heard a gurgle. Baron had grabbed Swaddell, and his massive hands were around the assassin’s throat.

Chaloner staggered to his feet and raced forward, butting Baron powerfully enough to make him loosen his hold for the moment that Swaddell needed to wriggle free. They exchanged a glance of understanding, then attacked together, but Baron was impervious to their thumps, punches and kicks. The ones he gave back, however, were debilitating, and Chaloner knew that unless they did something fast, they were going to be pummelled into oblivion.

He glanced around wildly and his eye fell on Swaddell’s pistols. He snatched one up, and managed to dart in and deliver a sharp blow to the side of the felon’s head. Baron collapsed to his knees, reeled for a moment, then crashed to the floor.

‘Good,’ muttered Swaddell, retrieving both guns and indicating that Chaloner should take the cutlass. ‘Now follow me.’

They did not get far. When they reached the top of the stairs, they saw Doe at the end of the hall with Jacob and several other members of the trainband. Chaloner and Swaddell could not pass them, so they ducked into a conveniently located coal cupboard. They would have to wait until the coast was clear. Then Baron staggered up the stairs.

‘Swaddell has betrayed us,’ he said in a low voice that nevertheless held considerable rage. ‘Find him. He will not be far.’

‘Later,’ said Doe, pulling a gun from his belt and pointing it at Baron. ‘I have dealt with Poachin. Now it is your turn.’

Baron gaped at Doe. So did Swaddell, although Chaloner had guessed the identity of the traitor during the discussion about Caesar. Baron had made an erroneous assumption: that Doe would not have killed the witness who heard Wheler bequeath him the horse. He had overestimated his protégé’s affection for him, and the truth was that Doe did not care that Coo’s murder had lost Baron an animal for which he had formed a very deep attachment.

‘You have killed Poachin?’ asked Baron hoarsely. ‘I told you to bring him back alive.’

Doe limped down the passageway. ‘He will die tonight and so will you. You are too old for this business, and the time has come to yield to a younger man.’

Before Baron could respond, Doe lurched forward and dealt him a blow with the pommel of his dagger. It would not have landed had Baron been himself, but he was still dazed and went down hard. Scenting victory, Doe was on him like a wild animal, kicking and punching.

‘The trainband will never follow a weasel like Doe,’ hissed Swaddell to Chaloner in the darkness of their cupboard. ‘His coup will be a disaster. Baron is the lesser of two evils – we shall have to save him.’

‘For what?’ Chaloner whispered back. ‘Williamson to hang?’

Swaddell grimaced. ‘You kept saying that someone
wanted
us to think Baron guilty of murder. Well, it seems you were right.’

Chaloner knew it. ‘Doe is the killer. He shot Coo to turn people against Baron, which means he probably also killed Randal, Neve and Fatherton.’

‘Well, he will not get away with it. Now
think
!’

Chaloner assessed the situation. Doe had five armed men; he and Swaddell had a cutlass, two unloaded guns and the element of surprise. The odds were not good.

Meanwhile, Baron had mustered enough strength to push Doe away and take refuge behind a chest. Doe stood with one hand to his side – the assault had hurt him as much as his victim.

‘I should have known.’ Baron’s eyes glittered with rage. ‘All those sly words about Poachin … but it was you who plotted against me.’