Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

Chaloner was sure it would, and was equally sure that Dugdale would relish every moment of it.

Clarendon’s contribution to the preparations was overseeing the refreshments. He strutted up and down the tables, adjusting a bowl here and a platter there, sampling as he went. Hyde was with him, screening his father’s antics from the other courtiers by placing himself in their line of vision. Chaloner did not blame him: Buckingham and the Lady would have ridiculed Clarendon’s comically gluttonous behaviour for months if they could have seen what he was doing.

Dugdale and Edgeman were smirking, amused both by the Earl’s brazen greediness and by Hyde’s efforts to conceal it. Brodrick was slumped in a chair, his face grey and his eyes more bloodshot than usual. He was careful to look away from the mounting piles of food.

‘You cannot still be unwell?’ the Earl was saying to him. ‘Are you sure it was because you spent so long at your prayers this morning? Not because of your soirée last night?’

‘Yes,’ said Brodrick tightly. ‘Spending hours on one’s knees takes its toll.’

‘Perhaps you should sit down to pray in future,’ said the Earl kindly. ‘God will understand.’

Brodrick had the grace to wince.

‘Tell me, cousin,’ said Hyde maliciously. ‘Who joined you in this holy marathon?’

‘Friends,’ replied Brodrick curtly. ‘Why? Would you like an invitation next time? I have never imagined you to own sufficient mettle, but if you think you can handle the challenge …’

‘I can handle any challenge issued by you,’ stated Hyde sneeringly. ‘And I-’

‘Chaloner,’ interrupted the Earl, bringing an abrupt end to the burgeoning spat, ‘are you here to say you have foiled these devilish plots? Tomorrow is when the sky will come tumbling down, according to the letters Henry intercepted, so you must have answers by now.’

‘Some, sir,’ replied Chaloner, itching to say that he might have had more if his employer had not sent him on so many fool’s errands. ‘But not enough to prevent a crisis.’

‘I have a snippet that may help,’ said the Earl. ‘You asked about Meneses yesterday, and I happened to run into the Portuguese ambassador last night. I mentioned Meneses, and he said the fellow is in London at the moment. Apparently, he has been visiting the Queen.’

‘So it is his real name,’ breathed Chaloner. ‘But why did he deny being Governor of Tangier?’

‘Does my intelligence help?’ asked the Earl, straining to hear what he was saying. ‘Are you assailed by a blinding light that will allow you to see answers to everything?’

‘Not quite,’ said Chaloner. ‘But it is helpful. Thank you, sir. However, there is one thing you can do to avert a catastrophe: issue a warrant to arrest Fitzgerald.’

‘Why? Is he the one who plans to murder Pratt?’

‘Possibly,’ hedged Chaloner, unwilling to say more with four Adventurers listening. He did not want Hyde, Brodrick, Dugdale or Edgeman to repeat his suspicions to their cronies.

‘I need more than “possibly”,’ said the Earl. ‘He has powerful connections, and I have too many enemies as it is. Unless he is the one stealing my bricks?’

‘You will never lay hold of that villain, father,’ interjected Hyde. ‘So you may as well tell Chaloner to stop wasting his time. Or-’

‘Look at Kipps!’ exclaimed the Earl suddenly, pointing to where the Lady had shrugged off Hyde’s coat, and was parading around in her indecently flimsy shift. ‘His eyes are all but hanging out of his head! Such brazen lechery is inappropriate, and I shall have words with him later.’

‘I will do it,’ offered Dugdale eagerly. ‘The man has ideas above his station, and-’

‘Many courtiers do.’ The Earl glanced at his son. ‘Including these reprehensible Adventurers. They are not good company, and I would certainly dismiss any member of my staff who had the temerity to join them. I wish you had not accepted their invitation to enrol, Henry.’

‘I accepted because it is a good way to win the friendship of men who have been our enemies,’ replied Hyde tightly, as Dugdale and Edgeman exchanged a brief but uneasy glance. ‘It is politically expedient, and it represents a chance to make some easy money.’

The Earl did not deign to debate the matter, and addressed Chaloner instead. ‘You have less than a day to find answers, because I will have these brick-thieves by tomorrow. No one steals from me and evades justice!’

At that point, it was discovered that the painting of the Turkish brothel would not fit through the door, and the Earl and his retinue were among those who hurried to tell the hapless footmen what to do about it. Brodrick made no effort to follow, and as he looked so ill, Chaloner took a piece of bread from one of the baskets and handed it to him, indicating that he would feel better if he ate. The Earl’s cousin nibbled the offering without enthusiasm.

‘I must be getting old,’ he muttered. ‘I do not recall feeling like this after a late night ten years ago. And other events are lining up relentlessly, when all I want is a quiet evening in. There is this affair, which is likely to drag on until the small hours, and then Leighton has organised a feast with a nautical theme aboard Royal Katherine tomorrow. I hope I am not seasick.’

‘How far will you be sailing?’ asked Chaloner.

Brodrick shuddered. ‘Nowhere! She will be tied to a bollard at Woolwich. But I know from my last visit that she rocks horribly, even when fastened to a pier.’

‘How well did you know Cave, the singer from the Chapel Royal?’ asked Chaloner, recalling that Brodrick’s love of music had earned him many connections in such quarters.

Brodrick blinked at the sudden change of subject, but answered anyway. ‘Not well, although I am sorry he came to such an ignoble end. Of course, he was a fearful liar.’

‘What did he lie about?’

‘He claimed he was commissioned to organise music for the troops in Tangier, but it cannot have been true — I doubt they are interested in Italian arias. Ergo, he went there for some other purpose.’

Chaloner stared at him. He had also been sceptical of Cave’s declared mission, and Kitty O’Brien had expressed reservations, too. ‘What other purpose?’

‘Personally, I believe he was one of you — an intelligencer. Sent to Tangier to spy.’

‘What evidence do you have?’

‘None whatsoever,’ replied Brodrick airily. ‘But what else could he have been doing?’

‘Perhaps he went there for business. A lot of men are making themselves very rich from Tangier, as you will know from being an Adventurer.’

Brodrick shook his head. ‘We are thriving, but we have a monopoly. No one else is licensed to trade there — it would be illegal — and Cave was not one of us. However, I suppose he might have gone to capitalise on all the corruption surrounding the building of the sea wall.’

‘That would not be easy. You do not simply arrive and demand a cut of the profits.’

‘Well, then,’ said Brodrick, tossing the half-chewed piece of bread back into the basket as he stood. ‘My point is proven. Cave was an intelligencer. After all, he was killed when he returned by one James Elliot. And who is Elliot? Spymaster Williamson’s creature!’

Chaloner gazed after Brodrick as he shuffled away. Was that the real reason for the duel? To prevent Cave from telling anyone what he had learned in Tangier? But Cave had died more than a week after his return, by which time he would already have made his report to whoever had sent him. And who had sent him? As Elliot had done the killing, it was unlikely to have been Williamson. Did that mean the Spymaster had ordered Cave’s murder?