Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

‘Why would you think they are using false names?’ asked Thurloe, puzzled.

‘Because they are the Dutch equivalent of John and Mary Smith. They might be genuine, but I seriously doubt it. Fitzgerald is not an alias, though. He is-’

‘Fitzgerald?’ asked Thurloe in horror. ‘Not John Fitzgerald the pirate?’

‘He prefers the term privateer, apparently. Do you know him? He has a ridiculous orange beard, one eye and an extremely peculiar voice.’

Thurloe’s expression was suddenly haunted. ‘Of all the enemies I faced as Spymaster, he was the one I most wish I had bested. His flagship sank recently. I had hoped he was on it.’

‘Why?’ asked Chaloner in alarm. Thurloe did not usually wish death on his opponents, and the reaction was deeply unsettling. ‘What did he do?’

‘He destroyed a number of Commonwealth vessels and butchered their crews. You must take more than your usual care if he is involved. In fact, you will stay away from him. Do you promise?’

‘No.’ Chaloner did not want his hands to be so tied. ‘He cannot be-’

‘If you tackle him alone, he will kill you. And if you take reinforcements, but lack the evidence to destroy him, he will wriggle free of the charges — and then he will kill you. You must hold back until we understand exactly what he is doing. Do you understand?’

‘But I need to question him-’

‘Please, Tom,’ said Thurloe quietly. ‘I ask you for very little, and I would be grateful if you would oblige me in this. Will you swear to stay away from him? On your mother’s soul?’

Chaloner tried to think of a way to avoid making the promise, but nothing came to mind. ‘I will,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘But-’

‘Good,’ said Thurloe, cutting across him before conditions could be attached. ‘I think I must emerge from retirement if he has returned. We shall work together on this case.’

‘No, we will not.’ Chaloner was even more alarmed. ‘He is not your only enemy — others will attack you if you start meddling with-’

‘I shall meddle where I please, Thomas,’ said Thurloe, rather dangerously. ‘Moreover, I fail to understand your persistent conviction that I need protecting. I do not. Have you forgotten that I was once Spymaster General?’

‘Spy master , not spy,’ countered Chaloner. ‘There is a world of difference. You organised missions and interpreted information gathered by others. You did not go out and do it yourself.’

Thurloe was silent for a moment. ‘Perhaps you are right. So I shall act as a spymaster again, deciphering what you bring me and collating it with snippets I shall commission from others. Will that satisfy you, or shall we work separately and less efficiently to bring Fitzgerald to task?’

‘We can try to work together,’ agreed Chaloner cautiously. ‘And see how we fare.’

Thurloe wasted no time, and immediately set about writing to old contacts, to see what shreds of information might be gleaned about the Piccadilly Company. Chaloner was detailed to return to the Crown, and engage Landlord Marshall in conversation again.

‘The man loves to gossip,’ Thurloe said. ‘Which means he probably watches the Company very closely. See what else he can tell us.’

It was raining outside, which surprised Chaloner, because the sun had been shining earlier. He was hungry, so he stopped at an ‘ordinary’ — an eating house that sold meals at set prices — on Fleet Street, and ate a venison pastry that was well past its best, although the baker assured him that the meat had spent the previous night in the ground, a popular cure for game that had been allowed to over-ripen. Afterwards, feeling slightly queasy, he took a hackney to Piccadilly.

‘Do you know William Reyner — one of the Piccadilly Company members?’ Marshall asked excitedly when he saw Chaloner, positively bursting with the need to talk. ‘Well, he was murdered last night. Harley and Newell are livid about it — they have vowed to catch the culprit and kill him.’

‘Do they have any suspects?’

‘Not that they told me,’ said Marshall ruefully. ‘But that is not my only news. Reyner’s mother is dead, too. She was found not an hour ago.’

Chaloner stared at him. ‘How did she die?’

‘Throat cut, same as her son,’ replied Marshall with ghoulish glee. ‘Perhaps Reyner told her some secret, and she was dispatched to ensure she never revealed it to anyone else — she drank, you see, so was not discreet. Or perhaps Harley or Newell killed her for not being much of a mother to their friend — he doted on her, but she was indifferent towards him.’

‘You are not safe here.’ Chaloner’s stomach churned, and he had the sickening sense that he had sealed Mrs Reyner’s fate just by visiting her. ‘Dangerous people meet in your tavern, and-’

‘Nonsense.’ Marshall raised a hand when Chaloner began to argue. ‘I complained to Mr Jones about the Piccadilly Company’s odd habits this morning, and he explained everything. He said he and his friends still export glassware, but they just do it on a larger scale, which is why they are so keen on secrecy. It is a lucrative business, apparently.’

Chaloner wondered how Marshall could have believed the tale. ‘But Fitzgerald is a-’

‘Mr Jones says Fitzgerald is a changed man now the Royalists are in power,’ interrupted Marshall with a smile. ‘He has given up piracy, and will make his fortune honestly instead.’

‘I seriously doubt-’ began Chaloner.

‘It is true,’ insisted Marshall earnestly. ‘He is respectable now, and has even been granted audiences with the King — he preyed on Cromwell’s ships during the Commonwealth, you see, which is considered patriotic these days. Indeed, he is in the Banqueting House at this very moment, invited there to watch the King devour his dinner.’

Chaloner was astounded. ‘A pirate is welcomed at Court?’

‘The King considers him a hero for what he did to the Roundheads,’ said Marshall. ‘He is a pirate no more. He took Harley and Newell with him, to cheer them up after losing their friend.’

Chaloner tried again to warn him about the danger he was in, but Marshall declined to listen, and there was nothing Chaloner could do to make him. He took his leave and began to walk to White Hall, wishing Thurloe had not shackled him with the promise to stay away from Fitzgerald, because an interview with the man might answer all manner of questions. However, while he was forbidden to approach the pirate, he could still speak to his cronies — and it was high time he had a serious discussion with Harley and Newell.

The Banqueting House was a large, airy building with huge windows and a ceiling painted by Rubens. It was never easy gaining access to it when the King was eating, because it was a popular event and places were limited. Surprisingly, the solution came from Chief Usher Dugdale, who ordered Chaloner to don a liveried hat and coat, and take his place in the Lord Chancellor’s retinue. Chaloner obliged happily, and Dugdale’s eyes narrowed in instant suspicion.

The procession set off, Kipps at the front bearing the seal. Clarendon and his wife were next, followed by their son Hyde, while the gentlemen ushers brought up the rear. All eyes were on the Earl, because he was wearing expensively fashionable shoes that were far too tight, and he waddled outrageously, more of a caricature of himself than anything his cruel mimics could ever manage.

They had not been settled for long in the gallery that overlooked the main hall before the King arrived. He sat at the table that had been set ready for him, his Queen on one side, and his mistress on the other. Poor Katherine was dark and dowdy compared to the glorious Lady Castlemaine. She looked miserable, and it was clear she wished she were somewhere else.