Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

‘Brinkes did the deed, and the Piccadilly Company ordered it,’ interrupted Lester. ‘Of that I have ample proof. But someone helped Brinkes strike the fatal blow, and that man was Elliot.’

Chaloner frowned. ‘Brinkes was with someone who wore a red uniform and a Cavalier hat that hid his face …’

‘Elliot’s ceremonial naval regalia — I have an identical set. It was what enabled him and Brinkes to stroll past the port guards. Once I had your sketches, I was able to find several people who can confirm that there was bad blood between Elliot and Pepperell. Of course, I still do not know why Elliot wanted Pepperell dead. They did not like each other, but that is no reason to kill.’

‘I can answer that,’ said Chaloner, recalling what he had deduced from Pepperell’s sometimes odd behaviour aboard Eagle , and the letter he had seen in Williamson’s office — the one penned in the sea-captain’s distinctive scrawl. ‘Pepperell was Williamson’s man, too — paid to monitor passengers travelling to and from Tangier. The Piccadilly Company were aware of this, and decided that his report on Harley, Newell and Reyner should never be delivered. And how did they know what Pepperell did to boost his income? Because another of Williamson’s spies betrayed him.’

‘Elliot?’ asked Lester unhappily.

‘Elliot,’ agreed Chaloner. ‘The man who had been charged to watch the Piccadilly Company, and who moved his addled wife into rooms in the Crown to enable him to do it — keeping lodgings for himself in Covent Garden lest it transpired to be too dangerous. He used Ruth mercilessly, and did not care that his antics put her at risk.’

‘Fitzgerald must have guessed what Elliot was doing, and realised how easily he could be turned into a traitor,’ said Lester bitterly. ‘Which explains why Williamson’s knowledge about the Piccadilly Company was always so scanty — Elliot had been paid to tell him nothing of value.’

Chaloner nodded. ‘Pepperell tried to communicate two clues before he died: Piccadilly and trade. He must have learned from eavesdropping on the three scouts that the Piccadilly Company is involved in smuggling goods from Africa, and wanted Williamson to know.’

‘It is a pity he did not have the breath to be more specific,’ said Lester ruefully. ‘Because we could have done with this information days ago. Who else heard him speak?’

‘Besides the three scouts? Reverend Addison, Cave and Captain Young, who promptly seized command of Eagle and sailed her away on the evening tide.’

‘Young?’ asked Lester sharply. ‘There is an Anthony Young who sails for the Piccadilly Company. Williamson told me. Did he know Pepperell was going to be murdered? Is that why he was so quick to grab the ship?’

‘I doubt it — not in advance. But I imagine he would have understood who had ordered the murder when he saw Brinkes.’

‘And then Cave, whom we now know was a Piccadilly Company spy, was ordered to start a quarrel with Elliot and kill him,’ finished Lester. ‘Presumably, to ensure that Elliot never told anyone what he had done — no traitor can be trusted, after all. But Cave also died in the fracas …’

Chaloner did not bother to reiterate his conviction that Elliot was still alive. For all he knew, Elliot might be the villain who gave orders to Fitzgerald — his actions certainly showed him to be ruthless and unprincipled.

* * *

St Giles-in-the-Fields was a handsome, red-brick building not forty years old. Unfortunately, its brash splendour had attracted the attentions of the Puritans during the Commonwealth, and many of its best features had been smashed or stolen. Moreover, it had a much smaller churchyard than its pastoral name suggested, and was tightly hemmed in by houses. It was eerie in the shifting mist, and Lester jumped in superstitious alarm when a cat slunk across their path.

There was a small shed at the far end of the graveyard. Chaloner broke the lock with a stone and emerged with two spades and a lamp. ‘Show me Elliot’s grave.’

Lester’s jaw dropped. ‘You mean to dig him up? Christ God, Chaloner, no!’

‘We will find a box filled with stones or soil. Elliot will not be in it.’

‘Of course he will be in it!’ Lester was aghast. ‘I told you — I attended his funeral.’

‘Did you look in the coffin?’ demanded Chaloner. Lester shook his head reluctantly. ‘You were not with him when he died, and the surgeon you hired is incapable of telling the difference between the living and the dead. I know Elliot is alive and still causing mischief. Exposing his empty casket will be proof of it.’

‘Then we shall ask the sexton to do it tomorrow — with a priest on hand to say whatever prayers are appropriate when desecrating tombs. We will not burrow like ghouls-’

‘It might take weeks to obtain the necessary permissions,’ argued Chaloner. ‘And we need answers tonight. Besides, think of Ruth. Surely, she has a right to know whether she is a widow?’

Lester glared, but Chaloner’s words had the desired effect. He took a deep, unhappy breath, and led the way through the wet grass to a mound of recently dug earth. Fortunately, it was shielded from the surrounding houses by a dense yew.

‘There must be a better way to find out than this,’ he muttered. ‘If we are caught … I am sure this sort of thing is illegal. And I doubt Williamson will speak for us.’

Chaloner was sure he would not, and began to excavate as fast as he could, eager to be finished as soon as possible. It was not long before there was a hollow thud: fortunately for them, lazy gravediggers had not bothered to make the hole very deep.

Lester scraped away the remaining soil, but then hesitated uncertainly, so it was Chaloner who inserted a spade between coffin and lid, and levered. The two men exchanged a brief glance as the wood splintered, and then Chaloner took the lamp and brought it close to the coffin.

Elliot’s dead face stared out at them, an unusually black wig on his head.

‘You owe him an apology,’ said Lester, his voice low with anger and revulsion. ‘And me, too. Elliot did die when I said he did. Surgeon King was not mistaken: you are.’

Chaloner gazed at the body in disbelief. He had been so certain he was right. ‘But if Elliot has been dead since last Monday, then who buried Cave?’

‘His brother,’ replied Lester curtly. ‘You have been a spy too long, and see treachery where there is none — Jacob buried Cave to avoid funeral costs that would have crippled him. You say the descriptions of him matched Elliot, but lots of men are large and own black wigs.’

‘Then why did he tell Kersey that he lived in Covent Garden?’ demanded Chaloner defensively. ‘Elliot lived there, but Jacob never has.’

‘Because he did not want vengeful courtiers after him for depriving them of the “social event of the month”,’ snapped Lester. ‘I might have done the same in his position. And given that you are so spectacularly wrong over Elliot, are you sure your conclusions about Cave are correct?’

‘Yes,’ said Chaloner firmly. ‘He was a spy. Brodrick and Reverend Addison said so, as did Swaddell. The Piccadilly Company employed him — you were there when Swaddell confirmed it.’

Yet Thurloe had said he would not have hired a man like Cave for espionage, and so had Williamson. Was it possible that the Piccadilly Company had not, either?

‘And their claims are based on what?’ asked Lester archly. ‘Actual evidence or supposition?’

Chaloner said nothing, because the captain had a point. Moreover, Thurloe’s words were echoing loudly in his mind: that the descriptions of Jacob applied just as well to Lester as to Elliot. He glanced at the captain, taking in his bluff, hearty face and kindly eyes. Thurloe must be wrong!