Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

Thurloe nodded approvingly. ‘However, if you do decide to tackle the scouts directly again, you might mention Jane . She may loosen their tongues.’

‘Who is she?’

‘ Jane is a ship that traded in Tangier when Teviot was governor. I was reliably informed last night that Harley and Newell were hired to guard her when she docked there. My spies were unable to ascertain the precise nature of the cargo, but they heard some of the crew talking. Yet what they overheard makes no sense, so perhaps we should not take it into account.’

‘What did they hear?’

‘That Jane was carrying gravel.’

By the time Chaloner reached the charnel house, Kersey was busy with the morning’s trade. Several corpses were awaiting his attention, and the chambers at the front of his premises were full of mourners. Chaloner was impressed to note that he afforded the same gentle sympathy to the poor as to the rich, offering medicinal wine to those in genuine distress, served in exquisite crystal goblets.

‘Jacob came here on Monday night and asked for his brother’s body,’ the charnel-house keeper reported angrily, taking Chaloner’s arm and pulling him towards the mortuary so they would not be overheard. ‘I assumed he was taking it home, so that friends and acquaintances could pay their last respects. But then I heard the day before yesterday that Cave was shoved in St Margaret’s churchyard with an appalling lack of ceremony. I am livid, because it reflects badly on me.’

‘How?’ asked Chaloner, puzzled. ‘You are not responsible for the arrangements.’

‘Cave was in my care, and I always take it upon myself to act as adviser to my clients’ kin,’ explained Kersey shortly. ‘People might think I recommended this unseemly course of action.’

‘I am sure they do not,’ said Chaloner soothingly. ‘What can you tell me about Jacob?’

‘A bit loutish — not like Cave at all. There was a dullness in his eyes that made me suspect he was not overly intelligent, and he looked as though he would enjoy a brawl. He wore nice clothes and had donned an especially black wig.’

Chaloner rubbed his chin. Kersey’s description, like the curate’s, sounded uncannily like Elliot. Was it possible that Brilliana was right? That he had survived Cave’s attack and was avenging himself by shoving Cave in the ground without the pomp and ceremony that was his due? If the quarrel had been about her, and not about taking the wall as they had claimed, then it was certainly possible that their antipathy towards each other was powerful enough to result in petty spite.

‘Can you remember anything else about Jacob?’ he asked.

‘He listened attentively to all I said about the grand ceremony that was being arranged, and then shoved his brother in the ground first thing the following morning, employing a novice curate to say the prayers so that no questions would be asked. It was sly, mean-spirited and niggardly.’

‘Did he tell you where he lives?’

‘Near the sign of the Sun in Covent Garden. Or so he claimed. I would pay him a visit myself and give him a piece of my mind, but I am too busy.’

‘Was Cave the only subject you discussed?’

‘No, actually,’ replied Kersey, and Chaloner was surprised to see hurt and anger in his face. ‘He looked at the table on which Cave lay, and told me it was disgraceful. No one has ever complained before and it offended me. I want you to look at it and tell me whether he was right.’

Chaloner had no desire to inspect mortuary furniture, but Kersey was clearly upset, and he liked the man. He allowed himself to be led into the hall, recoiling at the powerful stench of burning that assailed his nostrils the moment the door was opened.

‘Turner’s family and servants,’ explained Kersey. ‘And Lord Lucas. A terrible tragedy.’

He aimed for a table that looked no different to any of the others — it was sturdy and had been scrubbed so often that the wood was almost white. It was already occupied by someone else, and although Chaloner tried to prevent Kersey from whipping away the blanket — he did not want to see charred cadavers — he was too late.

But it was not a blackened specimen that lay there. It was Newell, dead of a gunshot wound.

Chaloner stared at the scout, his thoughts in turmoil. Newell was wearing the clothes he had sported when he had left the Piccadilly Company meeting with Harley and Lydcott at dawn, and was still slightly warm to the touch. He had not been dead for long.

‘He came in a few moments ago,’ explained Kersey. ‘An accident in St James’s Park — you know how people meet there to show off their new firearms. Well, he was demonstrating one to a party of interested onlookers, and he shot himself by mistake.’

Chaloner seriously doubted it. ‘Newell was an experienced soldier. He would not have-’

‘There are witnesses: Secretary Leighton, Hyde, Mr O’Brien and the lovely Kitty to name but a few. These accidents are not uncommon, because firearms are notoriously capricious.’

‘But Newell was a professional scout. He would not have killed himself by accident, no matter how temperamental the gun.’

Kersey shrugged. ‘Yet here he is, lying on my table. Tell me what you think of my furniture, Chaloner. Should I invest in new stock?’

But all Chaloner’s attention was on Newell. Experience told him that the scout had probably been looking down the barrel when he had squeezed the trigger, and the ball had taken him in the throat. There were two possibilities. Either Newell had committed suicide because he was losing his nerve over Teviot and whatever other dark matters he had embarked upon with the Piccadilly Company, or the gun had been fitted with an unusually fine firing mechanism.

‘The table,’ prompted Kersey worriedly. ‘Can you see anything wrong with it?’

‘No,’ replied Chaloner. ‘I suspect Jacob made the remark to disconcert you — and to prevent you from asking him too many questions.’

‘Well, it worked,’ said Kersey bitterly. ‘It stopped our conversation dead, and I have been distressed ever since — about the entire episode.’

‘Cave was killed by a man named James Elliot, who is supposed to have died of his wounds shortly afterwards. I do not suppose you had him in here, did you?’

‘No,’ replied Kersey with absolute conviction. ‘I have not had a stabbing victim for almost three weeks now.’

Chaloner left the charnel house aware that he now had even more to do. He had to ask Leighton, O’Brien, Kitty and Hyde about what had happened to Newell; interview Addison about Tangier; visit the Sun in Covent Garden to speak to Jacob — assuming he was not Elliot, of course; and talk to Lester about the possibility that his friend was still alive. Then he was due to visit the Queen’s apartments, and he wanted to track down Harley — it was even more urgent that he cornered the scout now, given that he was the only one of the three left alive.

His thoughts were so full of how to fit everything in that he failed to pay attention to his surroundings, and he was halfway down the lane before he became aware of several men walking towards him. They were advancing with grim purpose and it did not take a genius to see that they were there for him. There were too many to fight, so he turned, and had just broken into a run when he was faced with more men coming from the opposite direction. There were at least a dozen, all rough-looking types with cudgels.

Was he going to have an ‘accident’ now? Was someone disappointed that he had escaped suffocation the previous night, and intended to rectify the matter? He looked around quickly but either by chance or design the men had chosen a part of the alley with walls that were too high to climb, and there were no windows or doors. He would have to fight.