Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

‘Mr Kipps spent a lot of time inspecting it on Friday,’ said Frances, smiling a greeting at the spy. ‘He was greatly admiring of it, and said it is the safest depository in London.’

‘On Friday?’ asked Chaloner uneasily. He had been locked in on Friday.

‘We shall be late for church if we stand here chatting,’ said the Earl briskly. ‘My house is in your hands, Chaloner, although you will have to mind it from the garden, because I must lock up.’

When they had gone, Chaloner let himself back in with his own key and prowled, trying to learn how the thief he had chased the previous day — assuming it was not Pratt — had disappeared. But although he paced corridors and tapped on walls, he could find no hidden doorways that the fellow might have used.

He considered the stolen bricks. The conversation he had overheard on the portico told him that the thieves were known to the Earl. But who were they? Someone from his household, such as Edgeman or Dugdale? He refused to think it might be Kipps — working for Clarendon would verge on the intolerable if the one man who was friendly towards him was dismissed as a villain.

The discussion had also indicated that there might be more to the matter than the removal of materials, although he could not imagine what. Moreover, he was still sure they were disappearing during the day rather than at night, although the conviction did nothing to help him with answers.

He turned his mind to his other enquiries. First, Cave. What had induced him to fight Elliot? Did he have a brother named Jacob, or had Elliot recovered sufficiently from his wound to invent him? Lester had not seen Elliot die, and Chaloner doubted he had looked in the coffin before it was buried in St Giles-in-the-Fields.

Second, there were the letters. He was inclined to accept Thurloe’s contention that an Adventurer was responsible — Pratt was a member of the rival Piccadilly Company, after all. Moreover, the Queen was unpopular at Court, and many Adventurers were eager to secure His Majesty a fertile Protestant bride in her place. Was Secretary Leighton one of them? Or Edgeman and Dugdale?

And finally, there was the Tangier massacre. It was clear that Harley, Newell and Reyner had sent Lord Teviot into the ambush deliberately, and that the reason was tied up with the Piccadilly Company. But what was of such importance that the lives of five hundred men were seen as an acceptable sacrifice?

Of course, the soldiers were not the only casualties of whatever war was raging. Proby, Turner, Lucas, Congett, Reyner and his mother, and Newell were victims, too. And what was the significance of gravel? Was it just a convenient cargo to transport on return voyages, as Lydcott claimed? Or was it code for some other commodity?

Frustrated when no answers came, Chaloner descended to the basement, prowling the kitchens, laundries and pantries. He paused at the top of the cellar stairs and listened, but the place was silent, and wild horses would not have induced him to go down there again.

He left the house to walk outside, carefully locking the door behind him. The site was deserted, and he kicked his heels restlessly as the afternoon crept by, fretting at the hours that could have been used more profitably.

Predictably, it was late before Wright and his men arrived, although they were unrepentant when he complained. The clocks were striking eight before he was able to leave, and it had been dark for some time.

Sure the answers to almost all his questions lay in Piccadilly, Chaloner took up station in the shadows surrounding the Gaming House and began to watch the Crown tavern. It did not take him long to realise that someone else was doing the same. He drew his dagger and crept forward.

‘Tom!’ exclaimed Thurloe, once Chaloner, recognising his muffled cry of alarm, had released him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘The same as you.’ Chaloner slipped the knife back up his sleeve. ‘Is anything happening?’

Thurloe nodded. ‘The Piccadilly Company is gathering. Robert knows nothing of it, though, because he told me only an hour ago that they will not meet again until the end of next week.’

‘Who has arrived so far?’

‘Fitzgerald, Meneses, Harley, Brilliana and others who have disguised themselves so well that I cannot recognise them — about a dozen in all. Brinkes and his henchmen have ousted the drinkers from the tavern, which says something sensitive is about to be aired, because he should not need to clear a downstairs room when they meet on an upper floor.’

‘Then we had better eavesdrop.’

‘Yes, but how?’ asked Thurloe impatiently. ‘Brinkes will be watching the stairs.’

‘Stairs are not the only way to gain access to upper floors.’

‘You mean I should climb up the back of the house and listen at a window?’ asked Thurloe, raising his eyebrows. ‘I doubt I could do it, not with my fragile constitution. Besides, Brinkes has posted two guards there, and he checks them every few minutes. He is nothing if not thorough.’

‘Then create a diversion while I try.’

Thurloe’s eyes gleamed. ‘It will be dangerous, but worth it. Standing out here is a waste of time.’

Chaloner made his way to the rear of the tavern, and after a few moments something began to happen. There was a lot of girlish laughter, and suddenly three near-naked prostitutes burst into the Crown’s garden. It went without saying that the guards hurried towards them and demanded to know what they were doing. The men’s voices were angry, but their eyes said they were not averse to the interruption. Chaloner began his ascent.

It was easier than he had expected, because the building was old, and crumbling bricks provided plenty of handholds. He was soon outside the first-floor window, where he peered through the glass to see Fitzgerald sitting at the table and his associates gathered around him. The pirate’s soprano voice was clearly audible, and Chaloner was under the impression that he was in a sulk.

‘… do not see why it cannot be done. Our master will not be impressed, and neither am I.’

Chaloner tensed when Brinkes came to find out what was happening in the garden, but the henchman stormed straight towards the girls, and did not once look up at the window. In case he did, Chaloner eased to one side, using darkness and the ivy that grew up the wall to conceal himself. He turned his attention back to the meeting.

‘… rumours of our plans,’ Harley was saying. ‘I am not saying we-’

‘ Jane will arrive on Wednesday, and that is that,’ snarled Fitzgerald. ‘The plan will go ahead — on St Frideswide’s Day, just as we have intended from the start.’

‘Yes,’ said Harley, clearly struggling for patience. ‘I am not saying we should delay. I am merely reiterating the need for caution, because half of London knows something is afoot.’

Down below, Brinkes had declined the prostitutes’ offer of a free session in the bushes, and was ordering his men back to their posts. The women were shoved unceremoniously through the gate, while he began a systematic search of the garden, using his sword in a way that said he would have no problem skewering interlopers.

‘ You advise caution?’ Fitzgerald demanded, the anger in his voice reclaiming Chaloner’s attention. ‘I expected you to dispatch Teviot quietly, and what did you do? Send him into an ambush with hundreds of men! If you had shown a little caution then, our business might have been able to proceed more smoothly.’

‘It was not my idea,’ snapped Harley. ‘I was under orders, too.’

No one at the table looked as though they believed him, and Chaloner was not sure he did, either.

‘That escapade obliged us to rein back for weeks,’ said Meneses, in heavily accented English. ‘And now you say there might be an official inquiry.’