Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

He gave Harley a significant look, causing the colonel to smile slowly as understanding dawned. Chaloner suppressed the unsettling images that immediately flooded into his mind, and forced himself to concentrate.

‘Murder,’ he said, looking hard at Harley. ‘But that is no stranger to you, is it? I know it was you who killed Reyner and Newell. And Reyner’s mother, too.’

‘Liar!’ snarled Harley, although the alarm in his eyes told anyone who saw it that the accusation was true. He turned to Fitzgerald. ‘He is just trying to make trouble. Ignore him.’

‘Reyner was beginning to weaken,’ Chaloner went on. ‘So you gave him a paper written in the Vigenère cipher, which you said was a list of enemies and would protect him. But it did nothing to reduce his agitation, so you killed him, lest he cracked.’

‘Reyner would not have cracked,’ said Harley, although his voice lacked certainty.

‘Vigenère cipher?’ asked Fitzgerald rather dangerously. ‘Not a letter from our master?’

‘Of course not,’ said Harley quickly. ‘It was a copy of one I once sent to Teviot, describing Jews Hill. I do not know why Reyner agreed to meet Chaloner in the Gaming House, but it would not have been to reveal all.’

‘Reyner made an assignation?’ asked Fitzgerald. ‘Then it seems you were right to dispatch him.’

Harley had evidently not anticipated approval, because his expression was one of confusion. ‘I did not … It was … But never mind this. Brinkes, bring the prisoners over here.’

‘Newell suspected you were Reyner’s killer, so you murdered him, too,’ said Chaloner, as Brinkes moved to obey. He was guessing, but the immediate anger in Harley’s face said he was right. ‘You went to a gunsmith, and ordered a dag with special modifications. It killed him as he demonstrated it in St James’s Park.’

‘How very interesting,’ said Fitzgerald flatly, fingering his enormous beard.

‘And you strangled Reyner’s mother because-’

‘Because she could not keep her mouth shut,’ snarled Harley, cutting across him and addressing Fitzgerald. ‘Reyner confided in her, but she gossiped, especially when she was drunk. It was necessary, and I would do the same again.’

‘You have been busy on our behalf,’ mused Fitzgerald softly. ‘Very busy.’

Chaloner continued his attack on Harley, aiming to widen the rift that was beginning to open. ‘I know why you murdered Teviot, too — he was an Adventurer who made it difficult for Jane to trade. But was it really necessary to slaughter his soldiers as well?’

‘Of course,’ said Harley, continuing to speak to Fitzgerald. ‘Because if we had poisoned or shot him, eyebrows would have been raised — our master made that perfectly clear. His plan saw Barbary corsairs blamed instead.’

‘Not true,’ countered Fitzgerald softly. ‘There are rumours of an official inquiry. I told him he could not trust the corsairs not to blab about the arrangement you made with them, and I was right.’

‘They did not blab.’ Harley pointed an accusing finger at Chaloner. ‘ He started those tales to frighten Reyner and Newell. There is no truth in them.’

He snatched the firearm from Brinkes and there was murder in his eyes as he pointed it at Chaloner. But before he could pull the trigger, Fitzgerald stepped forward and brought the butt of his own gun down on Harley’s head. The sound it made was unpleasant, and the scout dropped to the floor, where he lay twitching.

‘I said no gunfire,’ declared Fitzgerald, with a marked lack of emotion. ‘Open a gunport and tip him out, Brinkes. We do not want the Adventurers finding him if they wander down here.’

Brinkes hasted to oblige. Lester’s face was white with shock, although Chaloner was not sure whether it was because a murder had just been committed in front of him, or because he had just realised the extent of the danger he was in.

Once Harley had been unceremoniously dumped overboard, Fitzgerald became businesslike. He turned to leave, indicating that the captives were to be brought, too.

‘Why take the risk?’ asked Brinkes. ‘Hit them over the head and toss them out.’

‘One corpse might be overlooked,’ explained Fitzgerald shortly. ‘But three will cause consternation among our enemies if they are seen. Do as I say, please, or we shall have words.’

Brinkes obeyed with alacrity, although he took the precaution of tying the prisoners’ hands first, and of searching them for weapons. Chaloner lost three knives, and Lester one.

When Brinkes was satisfied, Chaloner and Lester were shoved towards Katherine ’s stern, some two decks below where the Adventurers were carousing. On any other night, they would have been seen from the warehouse — it was now fully light — but the fog had thickened, and nothing of the quay was visible. Lester opened his mouth to yell, but was silenced by a slap from Fitzgerald.

‘You will make me angry if you try to raise the alarm,’ the pirate said mildly. ‘Come quietly, and we might still be friends. You and I were once shipmates, after all.’

But Chaloner knew he planned to kill them. He also knew that shouting would be futile: the Adventurers would not hear over the racket they were making, and even if Thurloe and Williamson did, it would take more than a word or two to explain what was happening — and he and Lester would be dead long before they could accomplish that. He turned his mind to escape, but Brinkes and his henchmen were watchful, and he knew any attempt to run would fail.

Brinkes slid through a gunport and landed lightly on Jane ’s afterdeck, which was no more than the height of a man below them. He indicated Chaloner and Lester were to follow. It was not easy with their hands tied, and both landed awkwardly. Lester sniffed as he struggled to his feet.

‘There is an odd stench on this ship. Alcohol and-’

‘You will find out soon enough,’ said Brinkes, shoving him forward. ‘Now move.’

Chaloner was also aware of the peculiar smell. He looked around for the source as he stumbled after Lester, but could see nothing amiss. To gain more time, he exaggerated his limp.

‘Hurry,’ snapped Brinkes, giving him a push. Chaloner fell to his knees in order to earn a few more seconds, causing Fitzgerald to glare and Brinkes to swear under his breath.

‘He was shot last night,’ explained Lester quickly, stepping between Chaloner and Brinkes’s fist. ‘He cannot move quickly.’

‘That did not stop him earlier,’ said Fitzgerald, ‘when he was racing around Katherine with a view to learning our plans. He might have discovered them, too, had we not been expecting him.’

‘Expecting me? But how …’ And then Chaloner understood. ‘You knew we were coming! You were waiting for us, and we walked directly into your arms.’

Fitzgerald smiled coldly. ‘We were expecting a better show, to be frank. Williamson and Thurloe should have managed something a little more impressive than a bumbling sea-officer and a worn-out Parliamentarian spy.’

‘What is he talking about, Chaloner?’ whispered Lester. ‘How did he know we were coming?’

‘Because he was warned,’ replied Chaloner. He nodded to where a flash of red ribbon indicated that someone was watching from behind a hatch. ‘Lydcott did not go to St Paul’s to save Pratt from being murdered — he ran straight to Fitzgerald, the man who has turned his paltry glassware business into a lucrative concern.’

There was a pause, and then Lydcott stepped into the open. He shrugged apologetically, and his expression was sheepish as he addressed Chaloner.

‘I had to think of myself,’ he said. ‘I owe more to Mr Fitzgerald than I do to Thurloe, who never does anything but criticise me. I am sorry you must die, but it cannot be helped-’