The Cheapside Corpse by Susanna Gregory Page B

What happened?’
    Before Chaloner could reply, others hastened to relate what they had seen. Backwell was first. He was standing with Taylor and Joan, and Chaloner supposed they would have had a clear view of events, given that they had been in the tavern directly opposite.
    ‘After the shots, I saw two men running away,’ Backwell said. ‘One was waving a gun, which was rash – most killers would have hidden it. They disappeared up Milk Street.’
    ‘Roundheads,’ added Joan. Up close, her face was pinched and sour, and her tiny pointed teeth and small pink nose were definitely redolent of a ferret. ‘Troublemakers, like all their breed.’
    ‘You were one once,’ Backwell reminded her. ‘As was I.’
    ‘But
I
was not,’ put in Taylor haughtily. Chaloner had sensed the power of the man from a distance, but close up it was almost overwhelming, and he noticed people were careful not to stand too close. ‘I was
always
a Royalist.’
    ‘I was led astray by my first husband,’ averred Joan. ‘But he is dead, and now there is no more loyal servant of the Crown than I.’
    ‘She has changed her tune,’ murmured Shaw in Chaloner’s ear. ‘And I know why: she is afraid the King will use her former loyalties as an excuse to demand a donation for the war, as he has all the other financiers who once loved Cromwell.’
    ‘Which is probably why she married Mr Taylor’s son with such unseemly haste,’ put in Lettice. ‘Wheler left her fabulously wealthy, and she does not want to lose it to a money-hungry monarch. As Mr Taylor was a Royalist, the King leaves him and his riches alone.’
    ‘Who would want to harm Dr Coo?’ asked a man whose clothes identified him as a brewer, although not one who earned a very good living. ‘He was a gentle man.’
    ‘He was indeed, Farrow,’ sighed Backwell. ‘He will be missed among the poor – he treated them for free.’
    ‘I advised him against that,’ said Taylor. His eyes were hard, like brown buttons, and there was no kindness in the handsome face. He looked, Chaloner thought, exactly like the kind of man who would turn others’ misfortunes into profit for himself. ‘It was asking to be abused by lazy beggars who cannot be bothered to work.’
    ‘No beggar killed Coo,’ stated a laundress angrily. ‘A banker did, jealous of his popularity.’
    ‘Who cares about popularity?’ shrugged Taylor. ‘Especially from paupers. I would rather have the money they owe than their love.’
    ‘We know,’ said Farrow sullenly. ‘That greedy rogue Wheler stole my brewery, and now I am forced to borrow from you to—’
    ‘This is not the place to discuss such matters,’ interrupted Backwell sharply. ‘Not with Coo lying dead in front of us. Now, first things first. Is there any money in his pockets?’
    ‘Money?’ blurted Chaloner, startled by the question, especially after the curt reprimand that had been snapped at Farrow.
    ‘Coins,’ elaborated the banker, and his eyes took on an acquisitive gleam. ‘Pounds, shillings and pence. Cash. Currency. Legal tender. Lucre. Specie.’
    Chaloner was not the only one who grimaced his distaste when Backwell knelt next to Coo and began to rifle through the physician’s clothes. Three shillings and sixpence were found, which Backwell held up reverently, like a clergyman with the Host.
    ‘I shall keep them safe until his next of kin comes to claim them,’ he said, placing them in the purse he wore around his neck; it was already bulging. ‘Now we can discuss his murder. Who were those two men?’
    ‘I could not tell – they were wearing masks.’ Taylor addressed Backwell arrogantly, as if no one else was there. ‘But I wager anything you like that they were minions of Baron. We all know that he is not beneath murder if it suits him.
He
sent these men to dispatch Coo.’
    ‘But Coo physicks his trainband,’ said Backwell doubtfully. ‘I doubt he—’
    ‘Trainband!’ spat Taylor contemptuously. ‘His men are not a