The Piccadilly Plot: Chaloner's Seventh Exploit in Restoration London (The Exploits of Thomas Chaloner)

by Susanna Gregory

  ‘Do you? I rather like him.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure he is charm itself. However, do not forget that he was present at the beginning of the spat that saw Elliot and Cave dead.’

  ‘He tried to stop them from fighting, and was almost killed when Cave lunged at him.’

  ‘And that is suspect in itself. I sensed something devious about him the first time we met – years ago, when we were both much younger. Do not trust him, Tom.’

  Chaloner nodded, but although he usually respected Thurloe’s insights, he was inclined to dismiss this one. Of all the people he had met since returning from Tangier, Lester was by far the most personable.

  ‘The second case is Teviot,’ he went on. ‘He and his garrison died because Harley, Newell and Reyner gave him misleading information. All are members of the Piccadilly Company, but Reyner was murdered within hours of agreeing to tell me what happened at the ambush on Jews Hill. He gave his mother that list of the Piccadilly Company’s enemies.’

  ‘Which probably comprises the names of specific Adventurers,’ surmised Thurloe.

  ‘Then Reyner’s mother was murdered, and her list stolen. Fitzgerald says the killer will have his just deserts next Wednesday – St Frideswide’s Day – because his master has a plan.’

  ‘Pratt’s murder?’ asked Thurloe. ‘Or are we talking about a different plot?’

  ‘It must be a different one. I had the feeling that he expects something truly catastrophic, and the death of an architect – no matter how valuable Pratt thinks himself – is hardly that. But this is the third case: the letters. I have questioned the Queen’s staff, but learned nothing useful. However, Pratt hobnobs with the Piccadilly Company and the Adventurers. And he lives in the Crown.’

  ‘How will you proceed with that particular investigation?’

  ‘Spend time in White Hall, asking more questions of more people. The last case is the Earl’s stolen bricks – connected to the others by virtue of its architect and its location in Piccadilly. I have no idea who the culprits might be, and I suspect his materials will continue to go missing until the damned place is finished.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Thurloe. ‘Because I imagine that is the one your Earl would most like solved. You must visit the place as often as possible, and interview Pratt, Oliver and their workmen. Something will occur to you eventually, you will see.’

  Chaloner was not so sure, but felt it was the least of his worries. ‘Perhaps you should tell Williamson to arrest Fitzgerald, on the grounds that his master might not be able to put this diabolical plot into action if his chief henchman is unavailable.’

  ‘Lawyers would have him free within the hour – suspicion and rumour is not solid evidence. No, Tom. It is better to leave him alone, because if he goes to ground, we will never thwart him.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said Chaloner unhappily.

  The day that followed was not very successful. Chaloner arrived at White Hall to find Dugdale waiting. The Chief Usher looked decidedly fragile, with bloodshot eyes and a sallow complexion. So did the Earl’s secretary Edgeman, who was sipping some sort of tonic as he sat at his desk.

  ‘Good,’ Dugdale whispered when he saw Chaloner. ‘When you have finished telling me what you have learned about the stolen supplies, you will go to the Tennis Court. The Duke of Buckingham has challenged Mr O’Brien to a bout, and the Earl wants a representative from his household to be there.’

  ‘I suspect he would rather I hunted the brick-thief.’ Chaloner spoke deliberately loudly.

  ‘That is why he wants you to go to the game,’ said Dugdale, wincing as he put a hand to his head. ‘All his enemies will be there, and you will eavesdrop, to learn which of them is the culprit. This order comes directly from him, so you will obey it.’

  ‘But it is a bad idea,’ objected Chaloner. ‘First, the Tennis Court is too open for eavesdropping. And second, most of his enemies know me, so will watch what they say when I am near.’

  ‘Then you will have to find a way around it.’ Dugdale smirked unpleasantly. ‘But do not take too long – if you fail, you may find yourself jobless.’

  ‘Leave him alone, you two,’ said Kipps, arriving suddenly, and as bright and energetic as the Chief Usher and secretary were seedy. ‘I am tired of you baiting him all the time.’

  Dugdale ignored him. ‘Make your report to me, Chaloner, and then be about your duties.’

  ‘Significant headway has been made,’ lied Chaloner vaguely.

  ‘Good,’ said Kipps, before the Chief Usher could remark that this was insufficient. He regarded Dugdale coolly. ‘I shall pass the news to the Earl – we do not want it garbled in the retelling, do we?’ He turned back to Chaloner. ‘Have you uncovered anything about the villain who sent those letters to the Queen? That is the most serious matter, as far as I am concerned. I like the woman.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Dugdale scathingly. ‘I thought your tastes ran more towards Lady Castlemaine.’

  ‘Did you enjoy yourself at the brothel last night, Dugdale?’ asked Chaloner, speaking loudly again, this time in the hope that the Earl would hear. ‘You and Edgeman?’

  Edgeman regarded him in alarm, while Kipps’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment.

  ‘You spied on us?’ demanded Dugdale, shocked. ‘How dare you! Get out, before I commission some of my friends to teach you a lesson.’

  ‘Friends like Fitzgerald the pirate?’ asked Chaloner, unmoved. ‘Or Harley, the scout whose faulty intelligence saw five hundred men dead? You were certainly in their company last night.’

  ‘We do not know them,’ said Edgeman quickly, while Dugdale spluttered with outrage. ‘But your remarks suggest that you were in this brothel, and I am telling the Earl. He will not believe that Dugdale and I frequent such places, but you are another matter entirely.’

  He was right, and Chaloner suspected that his attempt to combat their bullying had just misfired. He had only mentioned Fitzgerald and Harley in an effort to disconcert them, but Edgeman’s denial made him think again: could the secretary and Chief Usher be associated with the Piccadilly Company? As most of its thirty members wore disguises, it was impossible to say who attended its meetings. Or did being Adventurers preclude them from joining, on the grounds that the two groups were at loggerheads?

  He bowed a curt farewell, and started to walk to the Tennis Court, although he stopped abruptly when an uncomfortable thought occurred to him: should he be wary of Kipps? The Seal Bearer had admitted that his application to join the Adventurers had been rejected, so had he promptly thrown in his lot with their rivals? Moreover, he should not have known about the Queen’s letters, because the Earl – in a rare display of discretion – had kept the matter within his family. Did that imply Kipps had another reason for knowing, namely that he was involved in the matter himself?

  The notion was not a happy one, and Chaloner was grateful he had Thurloe’s friendship, because he was otherwise quite alone.

  As Chaloner had anticipated, eavesdropping was hopeless at the Tennis Court. It was dangerous, too, because the Earl’s enemies had gathered in force, and Chaloner was jostled, pinched and poked but did not dare retaliate, because at least twenty men with swords would have been delighted to fight him if he had. Individually, they posed no threat, but en masse they were a distinct menace.

  The bullies included the big-nosed Congett, who was either still drunk from the night before, or had started imbibing afresh that morning; he ‘accidentally’ trod on Chaloner’s foot. Lady Castlemaine and the Duke of Buckingham confined themselves to verbal abuse, while others fingered the guns they wore in their belts or pretended to inspect their knives.

  Then Kipps appeared, and although he explained in an undertone that he was there to help Chaloner eavesdrop, he promptly took himself off to sit in a corner with the Adventurer Grey, who seemed to have recovered from his earlier grief and was smiling.

  ‘Stop!’ cried O’Brien, hurrying forward when Congett elbowed Chaloner hard enough to make him stumble. �
�It is not his fault that Clarendon is an ill-mannered brute. Leave him be.’

  ‘Especially as he plays the viol like an angel,’ said Kitty, smiling first at Chaloner and then at his tormentors. The spy suspected he was not the only one whose heart melted. ‘In fact, we must organise another soirée, so all our talented friends can exhibit their musical skills.’

  There was a smattering of applause, although Chaloner imagined her admirers would prefer something more rambunctious; most of them had been at Temperance’s club the previous night.

  ‘Speaking of invitations, the King has asked us to a drama in the Banqueting House,’ said O’Brien, clearly delighted. ‘A Turkish one. What fun! I can hardly wait! I shall wear a pair of—’

  ‘Never mind that,’ interrupted Buckingham briskly. He turned to Chaloner with a malevolent grin. ‘Is it true that Clarendon has taken to spending his nights under a tarpaulin, guarding his bricks and nails?’

  ‘No,’ replied Chaloner, once the spiteful laughter had died down. ‘He pays others to do it for him. His supplies are now extremely well protected, and anyone raiding them will be caught.’

  There were several uneasy glances, and he wondered whether his remark would be enough to see the thefts stop. If so, then at least something would have been gained from his trying day.

  ‘I do not believe they were stolen in the first place,’ said Lady Castlemaine. She was wearing a gown cut tight at the waist to show off her shapely figure, and careful application of face-paints almost disguised the fact that her wild lifestyle was beginning to take its toll. ‘I think Pratt underestimated what he needed, and is covering his incompetence with false accusations.’

  Chaloner stared at her, wondering whether she might be right. It was certainly possible – Pratt was not the sort of man who would admit to making mistakes.

  ‘I dislike Pratt,’ declared Congett, clinging drunkenly to a pillar. ‘He is odious for an architect.’

  ‘Odious enough to warrant being assassinated?’ asked Chaloner. He winced: the question had just slipped out. Fortunately, no one seemed surprised by it, leaving him with the impression that those deserving of timely demises was a regular topic of conversation at Court.

  ‘Dugdale would like Pratt dead,’ mused the Lady, her eyes gleaming with spite. ‘Because he is jealous of Clarendon’s admiration for the fellow. Dugdale knows he will never be Pratt’s equal, you see.’

  ‘Or that sly secretary – Edgeman,’ added Buckingham. ‘I do not think I have ever encountered a more reprehensible individual. He positively oozes corruption.’

  There was a general murmur of agreement, and Chaloner thought wistfully how satisfying it would be if Dugdale and Edgeman were responsible for the threatening letters. Moreover, it would show that Hyde had fallen for a hoax, which would make him look both ridiculous and disloyal to the Queen. But Chaloner knew better than to let prejudices lead him astray, so while he would bear the notion in mind, he would not let it influence his conclusions.

  ‘Kipps does not like Pratt, either,’ added the Lady in a low voice, glancing to where the Seal Bearer was still muttering to Grey. ‘And he is a very dark horse with his—’

  ‘I do not like this kind of talk,’ interrupted O’Brien in distaste. ‘Let us play tennis instead!’

  Buckingham obliged, but transpired to be a much better player than his opponent, and the spectators soon lost interest in what quickly became a rout. They began talking among themselves again, and their first topic of conversation was the fire.

  ‘It is almost as if someone has declared war on Adventurers,’ said Kitty with a shudder. ‘Because first there was Proby, and now Lucas and Turner. And those poor children …’

  ‘Do you think Fitzgerald did it, Secretary Leighton?’ asked Congett, tossing back a cup of wine as though it were water. ‘We all know he disapproves of our monopoly on African trade.’

  ‘No,’ replied Leighton. ‘Because he is a pirate, and monopolies are irrelevant to those who operate outside the law. I cannot see him wasting his time with us. Indeed, I am under the impression that he is in London because he has bigger fish to fry.’

  ‘What fish?’ asked Chaloner.

  ‘Fitzgerald is not a pirate!’ exclaimed Kitty, while Leighton treated Chaloner to a contemptuous glance and declined to answer. ‘He came to our house. Cave brought him, and he sang with my husband. He is not nice – and neither is his voice – but I do not see him incinerating babies.’

  ‘He prefers to be called a privateer, anyway,’ added Kipps. ‘Or a patriot.’

  ‘I disagree with you, Leighton,’ slurred Congett. ‘I believe that Fitzgerald killed Turner and Lucas to avenge his friend Reyner. He probably killed Proby, too.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ declared Leighton dismissively. ‘Reyner died in the Gaming House, which is full of gamblers. Obviously, one of them cut his throat in a quarrel over money.’

  ‘Reverend Addison – who is Tangier’s chaplain, and who came back to London on a ship named Eagle a couple of weeks ago – told me that Reyner was not a very nice man,’ confided Kipps. ‘He said he was not surprised the fellow had died violently.’

  More wine was served at that point, and the discussion moved to other matters, leaving Chaloner supposing he had better track Addison down.

  As Kitty’s mention of Cave made him wonder whether she might have any insights into why the singer had died, he set about cornering her and her husband alone. It was not easy, because Leighton stuck to them like a leech, muttering in O’Brien’s ear about the many invitations that would come his way if he invested his fortune with the Adventurers. But Chaloner managed eventually, and steered the discussion around to the dead singer.

  Kitty’s face clouded. ‘Poor Cave. He had such a lovely voice.’

  ‘It is a damned shame,’ agreed O’Brien, red-faced and sweaty after his exertions on the court. ‘He was the best tenor in London. Have you heard that the Chapel Royal choir will perform at his funeral? We shall go, of course.’

  ‘I cannot imagine why he was chosen to organise music for Tangier’s troops, though,’ said Kitty. ‘I doubt he knew any of the songs that soldiers like.’

  ‘I suppose it was a peculiar appointment, now you mention it,’ mused O’Brien. ‘And I think he was relieved to be home. Until he was murdered by Elliot, of course.’

  ‘Did he ever mention Elliot to you?’ asked Chaloner.

  O’Brien frowned. ‘You know, I think he did. At least, he mentioned running into an old friend, who had been a sailor, but who now worked for Williamson. I imagine it is the same fellow. But he only alluded to it in passing, and I doubt it is important.’

  But Chaloner was not so sure.

  The games dragged on interminably, but Chaloner dared not leave, sure the Earl would be told if he did. He chafed at the lost time, and was disgusted when he emerged to find dusk had fallen. He was weary from fending off sly prods and shoves, and wanted only to go home, but as he aimed for King Street, he met the Earl. Clarendon was surrounded by his ushers, and Hyde was at his side.

  ‘You stayed all day, then,’ the Earl said, pleased. ‘I thought you would sneak out.’

  ‘I should have done,’ said Chaloner, too tired to be politic. ‘It was a waste of time.’

  The Earl’s expression darkened. ‘In other words, you have failed to identify the brick-thief, even though you spent the entire day in his company?’

  ‘He is worthless, father,’ said Hyde, before Chaloner could point out that even if the culprit had been at the Tennis Court, he was unlikely to stand up and reveal himself. ‘He probably has no idea who wants to kill Pratt, either, and we are paying him for nothing.’

  ‘I have several suspects,’ said Chaloner, goaded into saying something he should not have done.

  ‘Good,’ said the Earl. ‘Because if you do not identify the villain by St Frideswide’s Feast – six days hence – Pratt might pay with his life. And as a deadline will serve to concentrate your mind, I shall expect answers to your other
enquiries by then, too.’

  Chaloner fought down the urge to say that he might have had them if he had not been forced to waste an entire day at the Tennis Court. ‘I doubt Pratt is in danger, sir. However, the Queen is a different matter. She will be harmed badly if the tale of—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted the Earl impatiently. ‘I know. What about Cave? Frances keeps asking for news of him. What shall I tell her?’

  ‘That she is right: his death probably is suspicious. Williamson has ordered an investigation.’

  ‘Then leave the matter to him,’ ordered the Earl. ‘Concentrate on my bricks. And on catching the author of the Teviot massacre and the villain who sent those three horrible letters to the Queen.’

  ‘Three letters?’ asked Chaloner sharply.

  ‘I came across another this afternoon,’ explained Hyde.

  ‘What did it say?’ asked Chaloner.

  Wordlessly, Hyde handed him a piece of paper, which Chaloner scanned quickly in the gathering gloom. The handwriting was the same as the last one, and so was the tenor of the message – that the Queen’s plan to dispatch Pratt would meet with the approval of all down-trodden Catholics. It was so clumsily executed that Chaloner felt a surge of anger – not towards its writer, but towards Hyde for giving it credence. He tore it into pieces.

  ‘Hey!’ cried Hyde, trying to stop him. ‘That was evidence.’

  ‘Not any more,’ said Chaloner, shoving the bits in his pocket to put on the next fire he saw. ‘And I strongly advise you to destroy the others, too. Where did the culprit leave it this time?’

  ‘In one of the Queen’s purses,’ replied Hyde sullenly.

  Chaloner regarded him askance. Purses contained ladies’ intimate personal items, and not even a private secretary should have had access to the Queen’s. ‘What were you doing in that?’

  Hyde scowled. ‘It looked overly full, so I investigated. And it was a good thing I did!’

  Unhappily, Chaloner watched the Earl and his party continue on their way. Letters on a desk and half-burned in a hearth were one thing, but in a purse were another. Had he been wrong, and the Queen was embroiled in something deadly, not from malice, but from ignorance?