‘Speed plans to sell the first copies in a couple of hours,’ Dorislaus wittered on. ‘And Palmer himself will be available to autograph them.’
Chaloner closed his eyes in despair. ‘The apprentices are spoiling for a fight, and Palmer might inadvertently provide the spark that ignites a riot. Other factions will join in …’
‘All fuelled by John Fry’s incendiary messages,’ agreed Dorislaus.
Chaloner was hopelessly confused. ‘But Thurloe says Fry is dead.’
‘I know, but a lot of rumours surrounded Fry’s “death” eight years ago, and you do not get smoke without a fire. Fry is obviously alive, and poised to lead one of the greatest rebellions that London has ever seen, echoed in Hull, Sussex, Bristol and God knows where else.’
Chaloner knew what would happen then: troops would be called to stamp it out, and the streets would run with blood. Royalists would race to defend the monarchy, Parliamentarians would clamour for a republic, and fanatics of every kind would aggravate the situation with incendiary speeches. London would descend into anarchy, after which the country would be plunged into yet another bout of political turmoil.
‘Perhaps we should leave,’ said Dorislaus softly, evidently thinking the same thing. ‘Leave London, I mean. We are deluding ourselves if we think Clarendon’s so-called army can stop what has been set in motion. The rebels will win, and we shall be hanged for trying to thwart them.’
‘They will not win,’ said Chaloner grimly.
‘Let us hope you are right.’ Dorislaus laughed suddenly. ‘What would my father and your uncle think if they could see us now – pondering whether to risk our necks to save the King?’
Chaloner supposed the situation did smack of the ludicrous. But as Thurloe had pointed out days ago, the King was their leader now, and Chaloner was on the Lord Chancellor’s staff. He knew where his loyalties lay. So apparently did Dorislaus, because he went to Storey’s front door and began to monitor Post House Yard without another word. Chaloner watched the courtyard, but staring at closed shutters was pointless, and it was not long before he joined the Anglo-Dutchman at the front of the house.
‘Look,’ he whispered after a while, nudging Dorislaus sharply. ‘Something is happening.’
Clerks were arriving singly and in pairs. All wore thick cloaks and hats that concealed their faces, but Chaloner identified Lamb by his bulk and Harper by his cat-like prowl.
‘Thank God!’ breathed Dorislaus, as a slight, almost girlish figure struggled for several minutes before he was able to open the door. ‘That is Samuel Morland, which means Gery and your Earl cannot be too far away.’
‘How do you know it is Morland?’ asked Chaloner warily.
‘Because I spent hours watching the Post Office for Thurloe. That latch defeats Morland every time.’
‘Every time?’ Chaloner knew Dorislaus was telling the truth about the door, because he had seen the secretary struggle with it himself. ‘How often does he come here?’
‘Several times a week, after dark. He comes to spy for Gery, which means he is on our side.’
Chaloner was far from certain about that. ‘Did you ever follow him in?’
‘Once, when I was sure no one else was there. I trailed him to the disused wing, but he secured the door behind him, and I do not possess your skill with locks.’
Chaloner had all but forgotten the hidden room and its muddle of tools and raw materials. Temperance had told him that something was being built there and that Morland was involved – Morland had denied it, but Chaloner knew better than to believe anything he said. But what was being constructed? Some dreadful new artillery piece, which John Fry would use in his rebellion?
‘We need to go in,’ he said abruptly. ‘The key to whatever is happening lies in that wing, and we have to find it before the Earl arrives.’
‘But that is why he is coming, surely?’ said Dorislaus uncomfortably. ‘To expose whatever is in there? Why should we risk ourselves by precipitating him?’
‘Because it might be a weapon,’ explained Chaloner. ‘One that will annihilate Clarendon and his forces, thus ensuring that nothing stands between Fry and his deadly objective.’
‘No,’ said Dorislaus firmly. ‘It is too dangerous. You saw how many clerks went in there. We would be caught and killed in an instant.’
‘Not if we use the tunnel under the Antwerp Coffee House. And I am not suggesting we tackle them, anyway. Just assess what is happening.’
‘Christ, Chaloner! You must have a death wish! Go, then, if you must. Here are the keys you will need to operate the panels. I will stay here and tell the Earl not to shoot you when he and his soldiers appear.’
* * *
Dorislaus was right to see flaws in the plan, but Chaloner did not know what else to do. Time was passing and it was clear that a crisis was close. As he turned into Dowgate Hill, snowflakes stinging his face, he was aware that the tensions on the streets had heightened – the groups of apprentices were larger, and an aura of dark menace had settled across the city.
Feeling as though he were operating blind and completely alone, he entered the Antwerp. It was packed to the gills, and its mood was sullen and dangerous. He left the door open deliberately, and when everyone’s belligerent attention focused on the snow that immediately gusted inside, he used the distraction to duck unseen into the scullery. He located the passage entrance quickly, unlocked it and slipped inside.
He lit a candle, and moved stealthily along the tunnel, soon reaching the entrance to Copping’s office. Once there, he listened intently, but heard only silence. Hoping the sound of the panel swinging open would not alert anyone to his presence, he grasped the lever and pulled.
The chamber was empty. Sighing his relief, he padded across it and opened the door. The corridor beyond was also deserted. Dagger in hand, he explored the main building from top to bottom, but none of the offices were occupied. The only person he saw was Morland, who was in O’Neill’s room, humming as he rifled through the Controller’s private correspondence. Two black eyes and a swollen nose were gratifying reminders of the last time he and Chaloner had met.
The only other place the clerks could be was the disused wing, so Chaloner made his way there, glancing behind him frequently. A guard was at the door, alert and watchful. Pressing back into the shadows, Chaloner scraped his knife against the wall. When the fellow came to investigate, Chaloner struck him smartly on the head and bundled his unconscious body into a cupboard.
He picked the lock on the door, and opened it carefully. The corridor beyond was dark, but there was a light at the end of it. He tiptoed forward, hearing voices in the room that contained the hidden chamber. About twenty clerks had gathered there, and Harper was addressing them.
‘We have done well again,’ he said in his softly sibilant voice. ‘Another huge profit this month, and those investigating us are still chasing their tails.’
There was a low rumble of amusement, although Lamb did not smile.
‘We should curb our activities for a while,’ he said worriedly. ‘I do not like the fact that it was the Alibonds who died in that explosion – they were more talented than any of us at milking profit from our work. Moreover, Clarendon will not overlook Gery’s failures much longer. He will appoint someone else to explore what is happening here, and we cannot afford that.’
‘You fret needlessly,’ replied Harper. ‘No one will best us, not if we continue to keep our heads. Besides, it pleases me to thwart Gery – it transpires that he was the one who murdered Knight, and that was unnecessary. Knight knew nothing of relevance.’
‘I beg to differ,’ countered Lamb. ‘Knight was perceptive, and had learned a great deal about our operation. He wrote it all down in a series of letters, apparently.’
‘Yes, but he was more concerned with what he called the Devill’s Worke,’ argued Harper. ‘And that has nothing to do with us.’
‘No,’ acknowledged Lamb. ‘But Gery might not differentiate, and I do not want
to be blamed for whatever else is unfolding. It promises to be rather more serious than a few pounds filched—’
‘We have filched more than a few pounds,’ said Harper with a mocking, hissing laugh.
‘You are missing my point,’ snapped Lamb. ‘It has been easy – too easy – to defraud the Post Office, and I have a bad feeling that someone arranged it so, to disguise this Devill’s Worke.’
‘I agree,’ said another clerk. ‘It is suspicious.’
At that moment, footsteps clattered along the hallway, and Chaloner froze in alarm. He was going to be caught between the newcomer and the clerks, and this time there would be no Dorislaus to show him secret passages. The person was humming to himself, and Chaloner instantly recognised the shadow that bobbed along the wall towards him. It was Morland.
Fortunately, Morland was not observant, and although Chaloner felt absurdly visible as he crouched behind a crate, the secretary sailed past with a jaunty step and his head held high.
‘You are late,’ said Harper sharply. ‘We were about to divide up the profits without you.’
‘That would have been unwise,’ replied Morland. His broken nose made him sound as though he had a heavy cold. ‘Gery would have exposed you weeks ago if it had not been for me, and you owe me your lives as well as a share of your earnings. Cross me, and you will regret it.’
‘Do not threaten us,’ hissed Harper, fingering his sword.
‘Then do not threaten me,’ Morland flashed. ‘You know you cannot cope without my help.’
Chaloner was disgusted but not surprised to learn that Morland had managed to profit from the crimes he was supposed to be investigating. The man was nothing if not an opportunist.
‘What happened to your face?’ asked Lamb in the silence that followed. ‘Did Gery hit you?’
Morland lifted a tentative hand to his nose. ‘Chaloner did. He is extremely dangerous.’
‘We know,’ said Harper, his voice dripping acid. ‘Which is why you agreed to take care of him for us. However, he is still at large, and poses a serious risk.’
‘I did my best – I even enlisted Gery’s help. But Chaloner is alone now, and does not know who to trust. He will make a mistake soon, confide in the wrong person. Then we shall have him.’
Chaloner’s mind reeled. Could he assume from the discussion that Gery was innocent of any wrongdoing? That he was just an investigator unequal to the task he had been allotted?
‘You should have let me deal with Chaloner,’ snarled Harper. ‘I would not have failed.’
Morland glowered. ‘No, but then we would have had Thurloe breathing down our necks. You will not deceive him as you have Gery. Leave Chaloner to me if you value your lives.’
‘Thurloe,’ said Lamb worriedly. ‘I saw him at midnight last night, with Dorislaus. They were walking very fast, and Dorislaus was gripping Thurloe’s elbow.’
‘What of it?’ asked Morland, puzzled.
Lamb’s pugilistic face was full of anxiety. ‘Well, it made me wonder why they felt the need to tear around at such an hour. Do you think Thurloe has learned something about us?’
‘Of course not,’ said Harper firmly. ‘How could he? We have been more than careful.’
Lamb’s tale made Chaloner even more uneasy. Thurloe did not usually walk around arm-in-arm with other men, and if he had been unwell and had needed support, then why had Dorislaus not mentioned it? Or was there a more sinister reason for the gesture, such as that Thurloe had actually been Dorislaus’s prisoner? Chaloner decided he would have answers from the Anglo-Dutchman the moment he returned to Storey’s house, no matter what he had to do to get them.
He turned his attention back to the gathering, hearing an aggrieved murmur from the clerks as Morland was handed a bulging purse. The secretary was playing a dangerous game, he thought, almost begging to be stabbed and dumped in the river.
‘Thank you,’ said Morland, struggling to cram it into his pocket. It tugged his expensive coat down on one side, and the answer to another question snapped clear in Chaloner’s mind: how Morland could afford to clothe himself so extravagantly. ‘And now I have something for you.’
‘You have finished it?’ asked Lamb with startled eagerness. ‘At last?’
Morland nodded, and there was an immediate chorus of delight. One or two clerks even forgot their resentment, and patted him on the back. In the shadows, Chaloner struggled to make sense of what was happening.
Clearly, Harper and his cronies were corrupt, but they were not involved in the Devill’s Worke. Therefore, Chaloner should forget about them, and concentrate on the more serious matter of thwarting John Fry. But his fear that Morland had created something deadly kept him rooted to the spot as the clerks followed the secretary into the secret chamber.
He edged forward, glad they had taken the lamps with them, which had left the main room in darkness. But now what? He could not see what Morland was doing, because the secretary was shielded by a wall of men. Then he spotted a streak of light in one of the walls – there was a gap in the panelling. He put his eye to it, and was rewarded with an excellent view of proceedings.
Morland was standing next to a large object draped in a sheet. With a flourish, he whipped off the cover to reveal a complex contraption with levers, presses and a blade. There was an immediate sigh of awe, although Chaloner only stared blankly. It was like no weapon he had ever seen.
‘Does it work?’ breathed Lamb.
‘Of course it does,’ replied Morland, offended. ‘Give me two letters. I shall open, copy and reseal one. And afterwards, I defy you to tell me which of the pair has been invaded.’
While Chaloner watched with increasing mystification, two missives were procured, and Morland bent over his machine. Wheels turned, gears clanked and there was a lot of shuddering and groaning. Chaloner prepared to dodge away, expecting some of the clerks to wander off while the experiment was in progress, but within moments, Morland was handing the missives back, saying that he had finished.
The clerks craned forward eagerly, and even Harper was obliged to admit that he could not tell which of the two had been tampered with. With a haughty flourish, Morland handed him a piece of paper, and invited him to compare it to the contents of the letter he had opened.
‘My God!’ exclaimed Harper, looking from one to the other. ‘You have it word for word.’
‘But how?’ asked Lamb, stunned. ‘It is not possible.’
‘It is all to do with pressing damp paper on to the original, which absorbs some of the ink,’ explained Morland. ‘But the details are secret. All you need to know is that my invention works.’
Not a weapon, then, thought Chaloner, but something just as deadly in its way. Not only would no one ever know whether his post had been intercepted, but the speed with which the machine had worked meant that hundreds of letters could be copied in the time it had previously taken to duplicate a few. It would revolutionise espionage overnight, and he was not surprised that the disused wing had been provided with guards and sturdy locks.
‘Williamson will give his sword-arm for this,’ crowed Lamb. ‘We shall be richer than ever.’
‘We shall not sell it,’ said Harper sharply. ‘Can you not see its potential? Every business in the country will be at our mercy, and so will every traitor, adulterer and rebel. However, it must remain secret. If people find out what we can do, they will never use the Post Office again.’
‘I am glad you are pleased,’ said Morland. ‘Because I want a higher percentage of your profits from now on. Show me the list of your December earnings, and we shall negotiate a mutually acceptable arrangement.’
The atmosphere went from celebratory to resentful again, and Harper’s face was sullen as he tugged a piece of paper from his coat. He handed it to Morland, whose eyebrows went up in astonishment.
‘My word! Forging Bishop-Marks is a lucrative business, and so is “losing” prepaid mail. You have done well. Who did you say prepared this document?’
�
�Our director’s identity is something you do not need to know,’ replied Harper shortly. He turned to his cronies. ‘When you are happy that these figures represent an accurate account of our activities this month, we shall destroy the paper.’
‘Of course,’ said Lamb irritably. ‘We always do. There is no need to remind us every time.’
He snatched it from Morland and the others clustered around him, while the secretary haggled with Harper. Morland was outrageously greedy, but as he claimed that no one except he could operate the machine, Harper had no choice but to yield to his demands.
Seeing their business was done, Chaloner hid in the corridor, sensing it would not be long before they came out. He was right. Morland left within minutes, swaggering along with an expression of great satisfaction. The rest followed, chatting in low voices.
Soon only Lamb and Harper remained. Harper opened the lamp and held out his hand, so the paper could be incinerated, but Lamb indicated that he wanted to study it more closely, to make sure he had not been cheated by the quicker minds of his fellows. Harper rolled his eyes, but left him to it. In the corridor, Chaloner tensed, heart thumping, when Harper stopped and sniffed the air, as if he could smell an intruder. But he walked on after a moment.
Although dishonest officials were the least of Chaloner’s worries, the document Lamb held was proof of their crimes, and it was apparently the only copy in existence. He knew he should concentrate on John Fry, but he hated to stand by while an important piece of evidence was destroyed. Lamb’s back was to Chaloner, so all he had to do was dart in, knock him senseless and grab it. What could go wrong?
Unfortunately, Lamb had unusually acute hearing, and whipped around at Chaloner’s first step. Chaloner managed to snatch the paper, but the blow to render Lamb unconscious was less of a success. The henchman’s expression turned from shock to anger when he recognised his assailant.
‘You!’ he snarled.
Chaloner shoved the page in his pocket and drew his sword just in time to parry the blow from Lamb’s cudgel. He knew he had to defeat him quickly, before the noise of the skirmish alerted the others, so he went on a determined offensive. But Lamb had outrage on his side, and he fought like a lion. As Chaloner had feared, the sound brought others running, and he cursed the foolish recklessness that had driven him to tackle the man.
Death in St James's Park: 8 (Exploits of Thomas Chaloner) Page 33
