Susanna Gregory: The Piccadilly Plot

‘It rained all last night, sir,’ Chaloner started to explain. ‘And-’

‘Never mind that,’ interrupted the Earl impatiently. ‘I ordered you to come here without delay, but Dugdale says you ran off on another errand.’

‘Well, he is here now,’ said Frances soothingly. ‘And I applaud his actions. Would you have had him leave poor Cave in the street, like so much rubbish? He did the decent thing.’

‘If you say so, dear.’ The Earl’s voice said he did not agree, but knew better than to argue.

‘Poor Cave,’ said Brodrick. ‘Did you ever hear him sing, cousin? It was the stuff of Heaven, and his voice will be sorely missed. I was only remarking to Lady Castle-’ He cleared his throat uncomfortably, ‘-to a friend last night that the Chapel Royal choir has been much improved since he came home.’

‘I have often heard him sing,’ said Frances, as the Earl, who had not missed Brodrick’s slip of the tongue, frowned his puzzlement at it. ‘Did his killer escape, or is he arrested?’

‘He escaped, but not before Cave stabbed him,’ supplied Dugdale. ‘I had asked Chaloner to prevent violence, but I am afraid he failed rather miserably.’

Frances regarded him coolly. ‘Did he indeed! Then why did you not intervene instead?’

Dugdale regarded her uneasily. ‘Because I am not qualified to meddle in street brawls, My Lady. I am a gentleman.’

‘A gentleman who claims to have fought for the King during the wars,’ pressed Frances. ‘So you cannot be a total stranger to weapons.’

Chaloner watched Dugdale squirm, and found himself liking Frances even more. Of course, Dugdale was likely to remember the humiliation she had inflicted on him, but it would not be her who would pay the price. It would be Chaloner, for witnessing it. The Earl clapped his hands suddenly, causing Brodrick to wince and put a hand to his head.

‘We have wasted enough time this morning, so I recommend we get down to business. Go and stand outside, Dugdale, and ensure we are not interrupted.’

‘You want me to leave?’ asked Dugdale in disbelief. ‘But I …’

He trailed off when his master pointed to the still-open door. He struggled up from the stool and bowed, although the glance he shot at Chaloner said he was seething. Chaloner, meanwhile, was uneasy. Surely his Tangier report could be of no interest to Frances, Hyde and Brodrick? His disquiet intensified when Hyde followed Dugdale to the door, to ensure his father’s instructions were being followed, and then locked it before joining the group at the hearth.

‘We learned something terrible this morning, Chaloner,’ whispered the Earl, once his son had taken the stool Dugdale had vacated. ‘The most dreadful plot …’

‘He wants you to investigate,’ said Hyde. He glared at his father. ‘Although I am more than capable of solving the case, and so is Brodrick. There is no need to involve outsiders.’

‘I am sure you can, dear,’ said Frances. ‘But we are talking about a man’s life, and Mr Chaloner has skills and experience that you do not. It would be unethical not to seek his assistance.’

‘How may I help?’ asked Chaloner, thinking that a ‘most dreadful plot’ and saving someone’s life sounded a lot more interesting than watching piles of bricks.

‘There is a plan afoot to murder my architect,’ breathed the Earl. ‘Roger Pratt.’

There was silence after the Earl had made his announcement, as he, Hyde, Brodrick and Frances waited for Chaloner to react. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and a ticking clock. It was an expensive one from France, but although it was baroque art at its finest, it was two hours fast, suggesting its makers considered an elaborate case more important than functional innards.

Chaloner stared at the Earl’s family, assuming they had misread whatever intelligence had come their way. Regardless, dispatching an architect was not his idea of a ‘most dreadful plot’.

‘Why would anyone harm Pratt?’ he asked eventually. ‘Is it because people think Clarendon House too grand, and murdering its designer might make you reconsider-’

‘No!’ snapped the Earl angrily. ‘That is not why. If it were, the villains would have struck while it was being raised. It has walls and a roof now, and most of the remaining work is internal.’

‘We told Pratt about the threat, and once he had recovered from the shock, he agreed with us,’ added Hyde. ‘It cannot be an attack on his creation, or it would have happened months ago.’

‘I believe the real plot is an attempt to inconvenience me,’ the Earl went on. ‘My enemies see the house nearing completion, and they want to delay me moving in. For spite. Or jealousy.’

‘You may think it is extreme,’ said Frances, apparently reading the doubt in Chaloner’s face, ‘but you do not need us to tell you that there are some very unpleasant people at Court.’

‘How did you hear about it?’ asked Chaloner, making an effort to take their concerns seriously. ‘Was there a rumour?’

‘We found a letter,’ explained the Earl. He looked at his wife, then at his son, and then at his cousin, before bringing troubled eyes back to Chaloner. ‘In the Queen’s personal correspondence.’

Chaloner was bemused. ‘How did it get there?’

‘Because she is the one who has commissioned the murder,’ stated Hyde baldly.

Chaloner gaped at him. Of all the people in London, Queen Katherine was the last to engage in murky business. She was a shy, convent-raised Portuguese princess who had still not come to terms with the fact that she had married into one of the most sybaritic courts in the world. Chaloner liked her, but she was unpopular with almost everyone else for several reasons: she was Catholic, she spoke poor English, and she had so far failed to provide an heir for the throne.

‘She would never involve herself in such a matter,’ he said, finally regaining his voice. ‘First, I doubt she has ever met Pratt. Second, she is not the kind of lady to kill people. And third, even if she were, she is still a virtual stranger here, and would not know how to go about it.’

‘So you say,’ snapped Hyde. ‘But, as you know, I am her Private Secretary. I found this letter.’

As it happened, Chaloner did not know that Hyde worked for the Queen, and was ashamed of himself for it, because it was the sort of detail spies should know about their employers’ families.

‘May I see it?’ he asked, still sure there had been a mistake.

Hyde looked set to refuse, but the Earl indicated he should hand it over. He did so reluctantly, and Chaloner read what had been written:

Your Majestye is truthfull in her clayme that Clarendone House is an abomination before our most Holie and Catholick God. I will kill Pratt on the Feast Day of St Frideswide, as you ordered. I remayne youre humble and obedient servant in Christ and the Virgin Marye.

‘Well?’ demanded the Earl. ‘How will you prevent this outrage?’

‘There will be no outrage, sir,’ said Chaloner, wondering what had possessed them to take such a patent piece of lunacy seriously. ‘It is hardly Her Majesty’s fault that some madman has elected to send her an insane letter.’

‘Hah!’ exclaimed Brodrick in satisfaction. ‘That is exactly what I said.’

‘Then you are both wrong,’ said Hyde, scowling. ‘The threat is genuine.’

‘It is not,’ argued Chaloner. ‘This letter is a transparent and laughable effort to implicate the Queen in something of which she is innocent. I would have thought the clumsy references to her Catholicism would have made that apparent.’

‘That is a valid point,’ agreed Frances. ‘And her English is still poor …’