Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

‘The next time Chaloner offers to influence matters, hear him out,’ said a man whose back was to the window. His voice was familiar, although the spy could not place it.

‘No,’ countered Brilliana sharply. She looked especially lovely that night, in a low-cut gown with a simple but expensive pendant at her throat. ‘It would not surprise me to learn that he killed Newell and Reyner, to make my brother think he has no choice but to reveal what he knows. But his tactics will not work. We shall weather this storm, just as we weathered Teviot.’

‘The gravel will make everything worthwhile,’ said Meneses. There was a gleam in his eyes that was immediately recognisable as greed, and it was echoed in every person around the table.

Then disaster struck. The windowsill to which Chaloner clung gave a sudden creak, and although no one in the parlour seemed to have heard it, Brinkes and the guards immediately gazed upwards. They could not see him, but they knew something was amiss.

‘It must be that damned Ruth,’ said Brinkes. ‘She is always spying on us. Well, this time will be her last. You two take her to the woods and cut her throat. I shall stay here. They must be almost finished by now — they told me they would not be long tonight.’

‘Why not kill her here?’ asked one of the men.

‘Because it will be messy, and we do not want Lester making a fuss,’ replied Brinkes shortly. ‘This way, he will assume that she wandered off. God knows, she is lunatic enough.’

Chaloner knew he had to act fast if he wanted to save her. Unfortunately, he could do nothing while Brinkes was standing guard — he would be shot or stabbed long before he reached the ground. Agonising minutes ticked by, but the henchman showed no sign of moving. In the end, Chaloner took one of his daggers and lobbed it, heaving a sigh of relief when Brinkes hurtled after the sound like a bloodhound. It kept him occupied just long enough to allow Chaloner to slither to the ground and slip unseen through the gate.

‘I doubt my ladies gave you long enough to learn anything useful,’ said Thurloe, appearing suddenly out of the shadows in the street. ‘They were ousted too soon, and-’

‘I made a noise, and Brinkes thinks it was Ruth,’ interrupted Chaloner tersely. ‘He has sent men to kill her.’

Thurloe was too experienced an operative to ask questions when a life was at stake. He ran with Chaloner to the Crown, but the attic was already empty. Stomach churning, Chaloner set off along Piccadilly, hoping the guards had not taken her to some other dark road to carry out their grisly orders. Then he saw them some distance ahead. When Ruth tried to pull free, one slapped her.

Chaloner charged forward, and cracked him over the head with the hilt of another of his daggers. The fellow dropped to the ground senseless. The second henchman hurled Ruth away, and drew his knife. He lunged, but Chaloner parried the blow with his arm, simultaneously driving his other fist into his opponent’s throat. The guard collapsed, gagging and struggling to breathe.

‘Did I teach you to do that?’ asked Thurloe in distaste. ‘Or is it something you learned yourself?’

‘She cannot go back to the Crown,’ said Chaloner, wrapping his coat around the terrified, shivering woman. ‘I will take her to Long Acre. Will you send word to Lester? I have no idea where he lives, but Williamson will.’

Chaloner spent a long and restless night in his garret, although Ruth seemed none the worse for her experiences. She curled up on the bed and went to sleep almost immediately, instinctively trusting him to look after her. Lester did not arrive until dawn. He flew to his sister’s side, then closed his eyes in relief when he saw she was unharmed.

‘I thought you would come sooner,’ said Chaloner, irked to have spent the entire night playing nursemaid. He had not liked to leave Ruth, lest she woke and was frightened by her strange surroundings. Or worse, wandered off. He had not even been able to use the time to work on the cipher, because it was in Tothill Street, concealed in his boot.

‘Williamson did not know where to find me — I was out all night, monitoring courtiers. I can scarcely credit their capacity for merriment. Indeed, Brodrick and Buckingham are still at it, although Grey and Kipps are finally unconscious. What happened to my sister?’

Chaloner told him, half tempted to include what he had overheard in the Crown, too. He resisted, but because of his habitual reluctance to share intelligence, not because of Thurloe’s warnings.

‘I should have taken her away from that place the moment she told me there was something amiss,’ said Lester, reaching out to stroke her hair. ‘It was obvious that her fascination with its comings and goings would bring her trouble.’

Chaloner agreed. ‘So why did you leave her there?’

‘Because Landlord Marshall and his wife are kind to her,’ Lester explained. ‘And she finds comfort in familiarity. If I took her to my own home, she would be alone and miserable.’

‘What will you do with her now? She cannot go back.’

‘I shall hire a woman to sit with her. Here, if you would not mind, just until this mischief is over. It is as safe a place as any, and it will not be for more than a day or two.’

Chaloner nodded acquiescence, feeling he owed Ruth something, given that it was his fault she had almost been murdered.

‘I would stay myself,’ Lester went on. ‘But Williamson has ordered me to White Hall, where the Adventurers are holding one of their meetings — it will be followed by a reception to which he has inveigled me an invitation, so it is a unique and valuable opportunity to spy. But I shall come and play my flute tonight. That will soothe her.’

‘What time?’ asked Chaloner. Ruth was not the only one in need of calming music.

‘As soon as I finish. Perhaps we can play her a duet.’

Chaloner nodded keenly. ‘I am going to visit the surgeon who tended Elliot today — Jeremiah King. I want to be sure your brother-in-law is really dead.’

‘Of course he is dead,’ said Lester impatiently. ‘Do you think that I, a sailor who has weathered numerous battles, am incapable of identifying a corpse?’

‘How did you identify it? Did you put a glass to its mouth to test for breath? Touch its eyes to see if it flinched? Feel for a heartbeat or a pulse?’

‘Well, no, but Elliot’s face was waxen, and he looked dead.’

‘So does half the Court first thing in the morning. It means nothing.’

‘You are wrong, but talk to the surgeon if you must. He will confirm my tale.’

Chaloner wanted to go immediately, but there was another delay while Lester hired a nurse, and it was nearing ten o’clock by the time Ruth was settled. Chaloner and Lester set out to Westminster together. It was a glorious day, although frost dusted the rooftops and the red-gold leaves of trees.

‘Tell Williamson that whatever mischief is planned for the day after tomorrow may involve Jane and gravel,’ said Chaloner, deciding suddenly that it was time to demonstrate a little trust. He was sure Thurloe was wrong about Lester, and they needed all the help they could get. ‘The Piccadilly Company believe it will make them very rich.’

Lester nodded his thanks, then strode off towards New Palace Yard, while Chaloner entered the little court named Axe Yard, which comprised some very smart houses and some extremely shabby ones. Jeremiah King was home, sewing up a fearsome wound in the leg of someone who had fallen under a speeding carriage. Even at that hour of the day, he was far from sober.

‘Elliot,’ he mused, swaying unsteadily, needle and thread clutched in his bloody hand. ‘Was he the man who was really a woman?’