Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

‘You mentioned him losing a lot of money,’ he said, eager to talk so that he would not have to listen. ‘Do you know how?’

‘His best ship sank during a storm. It was full of French gold, so King Louis arrested him and offered him a choice: repay every penny or execution. Fitzgerald had to sell everything he owned, and it broke him financially. That is why he is in London now — to recoup his losses by embarking on another business venture.’

At that moment there was a clatter of footsteps as the Piccadilly Company took its leave. Uncharitably, Chaloner wondered whether Fitzgerald’s singing had brought the meeting to a premature end, because he would certainly not have wanted to be in the same room with it — it was bad enough from a distance. He leaned forward in his chair, so he could look up the hall and watch them file out.

They left in ones and twos again, with the Dutch woman — Margareta — directing who should go when. Some elected to leave by the back door, which had Chaloner huddling towards the fire to conceal his face; but he need not have worried: no one gave him a second glance.

When everyone had gone, Chaloner claimed his gout had eased and he could walk. Marshall nodded genially and invited him to visit again, but preferably not in the mornings, which tended to be when Fitzgerald and his cronies were in conference. Evenings, he assured his visitor, would see him in far more conducive company.

For a moment, Chaloner thought the three scouts had disappeared, but then he saw them walking north. He assumed they were returning to the house from which they had emerged earlier, but they ducked into another tavern, with broken windows and a sign outside that said it was the Feathers. He followed, then went through an elaborate charade intended to make them think the encounter was coincidence.

‘How nice to see you!’ he exclaimed amiably. ‘I did not think we would meet again.’

His cordiality was not reciprocated. Colonel Harley’s pale ‘devil’ eyes were full of suspicion and Newell fingered his dagger. Reyner smiled, but it was a wary expression, devoid of friendliness.

‘Neither did we,’ said Harley, making it clear that he wished they had not.

‘Well, I suppose it is no surprise to run into you here,’ Chaloner blustered on, pretending not to notice their hostility. ‘I distinctly recall you saying that you hailed from Piccadilly.’

He remembered no such thing, but his gambit worked. Pride suffused Reyner’s face.

‘I was born here, and my mother owns this tavern,’ he said, and the smile became genuine. ‘Meanwhile, Harley and his sister have taken up residence next door, and Newell lives across the street. We prefer Piccadilly’s cleaner air to the foul vapours of the city.’

‘Understandable.’ Sensing the other two were on the verge of sending him packing, Chaloner sat down and began to talk quickly. ‘There was a meeting of the Tangier Committee yesterday.’

Harley regarded him coldly, and Chaloner began to understand what Marshall had meant about the disconcerting quality of his eyes. ‘So what? That town is no longer of interest to us.’

‘The matter of Teviot’s death was raised.’ Chaloner hoped they were not in a position to know he was lying. ‘There is going to be an official inquiry.’

Harley’s gaze did not waver, although Reyner gulped hard enough to be audible. There was a thump, and Reyner leaned down to rub his leg — Newell had dealt him a warning kick under the table. Chaloner continued to meet Harley’s gaze, but he had learned two things already: that Reyner was the weak link in the trio, and that they had reason to fear such an eventuality. It was more than he had gleaned during all the time he had spent on Eagle with them.

‘What will such an inquiry entail?’ asked Newell, when the silence following Chaloner’s announcement had extended to the point where it was uncomfortable.

Chaloner shrugged. ‘It will be conducted by lawyers from the Inns of Court, so you can be certain it will leave no stone unturned.’

Reyner groaned, then winced when Newell kicked him a second time.

‘We have nothing to fear,’ said Newell, more to Reyner than to Chaloner. ‘Jews Hill was clear of Barbary corsairs when we surveyed it, but everyone knows how fast they can move. They waited until we left, and then they crept forward. What happened to Teviot was not our fault.’

‘Impossible,’ said Chaloner immediately. ‘Jews Hill is surrounded by miles of open countryside, and ten thousand men could never lurk there without being seen. Ergo, they were in the woods when you said they were not, and anyone looking at a map will know it. The inquiry will want to know why you lied — why you killed Teviot and half his garrison.’

Harley’s eyes flashed, and his hand went to the hilt of his sword. ‘You play a dangerous game, accusing us of wilful murder.’

Chaloner smiled lazily. ‘I have powerful friends at the Inns of Court — men who owe me favours. I may be able to influence the outcome of the inquiry. Would you like me to try?’

‘In return for what?’ asked Reyner, thus reinforcing Chaloner’s suspicion that they had indeed given the hapless Teviot a deliberately misleading report.

‘I will need to know the whole truth,’ he went on, ignoring the question. ‘Clearly, you had a reason for doing what you did. Explain it to me, and I will advise you how to-’

‘We asked what you want in return,’ interrupted Harley. His hand was still on his sword, but the knife that Chaloner always carried in his sleeve was at the ready, and it would be in the colonel’s heart before his weapon was halfway out of its scabbard. Of course, he would be in trouble if the other two attacked at the same time.

‘Information,’ he replied, more to keep them talking than because it was true. ‘Specifically the names of the thieves who are stealing Clarendon House’s supplies. The culprits must use a cart, so the chances are that you have seen them passing.’

‘We have not,’ declared Reyner, before the others could speak. ‘All Piccadilly is talking about those burglaries, but none of us have seen anything. It is a mystery. The villains must travel down St James’s Street, because they certainly do not come this way.’

Newell sneered. ‘I would not tell you even if we did know their names, because I cannot abide that fat, greedy old Clarendon, and his palace is an abomination. Besides, we have nothing to fear from the Teviot affair, because Fitzgerald said-’

This time it was Harley doing the kicking under the table, and Chaloner frowned. He had assumed that the curious happenings in the Crown were unrelated to the Teviot massacre, but Newell’s remark made him reconsider. Fitzgerald was a pirate, and they operated by the dozen around Tangier, so perhaps there was a connection.

‘If you cannot give me information, I will settle for an introduction instead,’ he said, improvising wildly. ‘To Fitzgerald. He may be interested in a certain business proposition I have to offer.’

‘He will not,’ stated Harley firmly. ‘And you would be well advised to keep your mouth shut about Tangier, because you know nothing about it. If you start spreading rumours, all I can say is that you will regret it most bitterly.’

Chaloner could think of no way to prolong the discussion further, so was forced to take his leave. He went back to the Gaming House and stood in its doorway, hidden in the shadows. It was not long before the three scouts emerged from the Feathers. They were arguing, Harley and Newell muttering in fierce whispers at Reyner, who kept shaking his head. Eventually, they parted: Harley and Newell turned north, while Reyner began to walk towards the city alone.