Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

‘No pressure, then,’ mumbled Lester.

When Chaloner arrived at Lincoln’s Inn, panting hard from what had been another furious dash, it was to find Thurloe with company. Lydcott was lounging by the fire.

‘You are late,’ said Thurloe curtly. ‘It is almost four o’clock, and I have been worried.’

‘I told you he could look after himself,’ drawled Lydcott, standing and stretching lazily.

Chaloner limped to the cupboard where Thurloe kept his weapons. He grabbed a sword and a knife, struggling to outline all that had happened while still catching his breath. Never a man to waste time with needless questions, Thurloe armed himself, too, then led the way down the stairs at a brisk trot. Lydcott followed uninvited, his face a mask of confusion, although every time he attempted to ask a question, Thurloe waved him to silence.

‘There are no hackneys,’ said Thurloe tersely, when they reached Chancery Lane. ‘We shall have to go on foot.’

‘Go where?’ demanded Lydcott, running after them. ‘Stop! Wait! I do not understand!’

‘So Elliot did die in the swordfight,’ concluded Thurloe, ignoring his kinsman as he set a cracking pace through the dark streets. ‘Which means Cave’s brother really did bury him early in order to save money. And you have caught the brick-thief, although you will never be able to tell Clarendon the truth.’

‘Pratt knew nothing about it,’ gasped Chaloner. His lame leg ached, his shoulder throbbed, and he was not sure how much longer he could continue to race all over the city. ‘Of course, that does not exonerate him — as Clarendon House’s architect, he should have noticed there was something amiss with the place’s proportions, especially as he was so proud of them.’

‘Do you think the threat to murder Pratt came from Oliver?’ asked Thurloe, also beginning to pant. ‘So he could have Pratt’s duties and his handsome wage?’

‘No — Oliver had no reason to want the Queen implicated in a plot that will shatter diplomatic relations between us and Portugal. That is the Piccadilly Company’s doing.’

‘You are wrong,’ declared Lydcott, snatching at Thurloe’s arm to make him slow down. Thurloe shook him off impatiently. ‘Listen to me — I shall explain! Fitzgerald told me and Pratt to be at St Paul’s at dawn. He said he has a surprise for us.’

Thurloe skidded to a standstill at this remark. So did Chaloner, and although he chafed at the wasted seconds, he was grateful for the respite.

‘He must be planning to kill Pratt there, then,’ said Thurloe worriedly. ‘Another accident that will be impossible to place at his door. And he plans to dispatch you at the same time, Robert, because you have outlived your usefulness to him. Like Meneses.’

‘No,’ argued Lydcott, exasperated. ‘Fitzgerald is not a villain. How many more times must I say it? He has changed since he opposed you during the Commonwealth. He is a different man now.’

‘Go to my rooms and stay there,’ ordered Thurloe, not bothering to address the claim. ‘We shall send word of this to Williamson, and he can detail a few henchmen to rescue Pratt.’

‘He does not have any left,’ said Chaloner tiredly. ‘He is trying to recall the ones he sent to Woolwich, but I doubt he will succeed — he ordered them to go there as fast as they could travel.’

‘Then I will save Pratt,’ declared Lydcott. ‘You are wrong about this, but I shall go anyway.’

‘You will do as I say and return to Lincoln’s Inn,’ ordered Thurloe. ‘Ann would never forgive me if anything were to happen to you.’

‘And she would never forgive me if I sat by your fire while a man was murdered,’ countered Lydcott. ‘If you are wrong — which I know you are — then no harm will have been done. But if you are right, I shall be a hero.’

‘You will be a dead hero if you do not take proper care,’ warned Thurloe.

‘I shall be perfectly all right,’ said Lydcott, although there was a flippancy in the reply that said he still did not accept the seriousness of the situation.

‘Pratt will die if you do not reach him first,’ said Chaloner, speaking forcefully to make him understand the danger he was courting. ‘It is not just your life that will be forfeit if you blunder.’

‘Then I had better hurry,’ said Lydcott, giving a jaunty wave before trotting away to where the cathedral was almost invisible against the black night sky.

Chaloner and Thurloe reached Queenhithe, both breathing hard from what had been a desperate sprint. Thurloe had stumbled in a pothole and was limping, while Chaloner felt every step was draining resources he did not have.

The fog grew denser as they neared the river. It caught the feeble glow of the lamps that had been left to illuminate the pier, softening the edges of the ramshackle warehouses that lined it. Two ships were moored there, bobbing gently on the ebbing tide, and transformed by the mist into a ghostly lace of spars and rigging. The smell of the Thames was strong — mud, seaweed and wet wood. The quay appeared to be deserted.

Chaloner edged towards the ships, noting that they were tethered so close together that the stern of one overhung the other. One was Royal Katherine , tall, proud and elegant, while the other was a smaller, shabbier affair, with a wide beam, stubby masts and crooked bowsprit. There were lights and movement aplenty aboard Katherine , but the other vessel was dark and still.

‘Oh, no!’ he breathed in horror. ‘ Jane ! She has arrived early.’

‘How do you know?’ Thurloe whispered back. ‘Her name is too weathered to read.’

‘The bowsprit — Lester said it was strangely curved. She must have sailed in on the midnight tide. She looks abandoned, but I imagine crewmen will appear if we try to board.’

He was about to add something else when he saw a flash of light in the window of the nearest warehouse. He tensed, imagining it to be one of the Piccadilly Company, but then he recognised Lester’s distinctive silhouette. Wondering how the captain had completed his errand to recall Williamson’s carriages so quickly, he crept towards it, indicating Thurloe was to follow.

The door to the building had been forced, presumably so Lester could monitor the ships without being seen — although lighting a candle was hardly the best way to go about it. Thurloe apparently thought so, too, and regarded the sea-officer with open suspicion, which Lester appeared not to notice. Hastily, Chaloner indicated the light was to be doused.

‘There you are at last,’ came Williamson’s uneasy voice from the resulting gloom. ‘I was beginning to think you had deserted me. Lester found a hackney in record time, although I doubt it will catch up with my men before they reach Woolwich — and neither will the boat I dispatched. We are on our own, gentlemen.’

‘There is a lot of activity on Katherine ,’ said Lester, peering out of the window. ‘The Adventurers are definitely expected.’

‘If I had the manpower, I would arrest the entire Piccadilly Company,’ said Williamson bitterly. ‘And sort everything out later. The plot cannot unfold if its perpetrators are behind bars.’

‘Yes, but unfortunately, while you might lay hold of the minions, the master would almost certainly escape,’ Thurloe pointed out. ‘Besides, I would not recommend a mass detention of wealthy merchants. You would never hear the end of it.’

‘But who is the master?’ said Williamson in anger and frustration. ‘We know it is not Fitzgerald, and Harley is not clever enough.’

‘It must be someone closer to home,’ replied Thurloe, and Chaloner rolled his eyes when he saw his friend look meaningfully at Lester.