Susanna Gregory: The Piccadilly Plot

The guard on duty at White Hall’s Great Gate that day was Sergeant Wright, a petty, grasping individual who was heartily disliked by those soldiers who took pride in their work; those who were shirkers considered him an icon. He was an unattractive specimen with a bad complexion, stubby nose, and eyes that were too small for his doughy face.

‘You cannot come in dressed like that,’ he declared, when he saw Chaloner. ‘You are wet, dirty and there is blood on your coat. Someone else’s, more is the pity. Other gentlemen ushers do not-’

‘Let him through,’ came a commanding voice from behind them. The interruption was timely, because Chaloner did not take kindly to being berated by the likes of Wright, who was no picture of sartorial elegance himself with his food-stained tunic and greasy hair.

The speaker was Thomas Kipps, the Earl’s Seal Bearer, a tall, handsome man with an amiable face. He was dressed in the Clarendon livery of blue and gold, and it was his duty to walk ahead of his master in formal processions. Unfortunately, the Earl liked the ritual, and encouraged Kipps to escort him when he wandered around White Hall, too. Such vanity was ill-advised, because it gave his enemies the means with which to mock him — Chaloner had lost count of the times he had seen the Court rakes mimic the Earl’s waddling gait, preceded by another of their own bearing a pair of bellows in place of the seal.

Wright was outraged that someone should presume to tell him his business. ‘How dare-’

‘Clarendon wants him,’ snapped Kipps. ‘And you do not have the right to keep him waiting.’

Wright stepped aside with ill grace. Chaloner pushed past him rather more roughly than necessary, hard enough to make him stagger.

‘He is an odious fellow,’ said Kipps, once they were through the gate. ‘Do you know why he is not dismissed and someone more competent appointed in his place? Because he once carried an important message to the King during the civil wars. Anyone could have done it, but His Majesty remembers Wright, and this post is his reward.’

Chaloner liked Kipps, who alone of the Earl’s household had been friendly to him on his return from Tangier. He shrugged. ‘White Hall is full of such people.’

‘He is corrupt, too,’ Kipps grumbled on. ‘He hires out the soldiers under his command for private duties, such as acting as bodyguards or minding property. He pays them a pittance and keeps the bulk of the earnings for himself. Unfortunately, the extra work reduces their effectiveness at the palace — they are too tired to fulfil their proper responsibilities.’

Chaloner had never been impressed by White Hall’s security. And as the King’s popularity had waned since he had reclaimed his throne at the Restoration some four years earlier — mostly because of his hedonistic lifestyle and the licentiousness of his Court — he needed someone a lot more efficient than Wright to ensure his safety.

Chaloner and Kipps crossed the huge, cobbled expanse of the Great Court, which was a flurry of activity as usual. A number of courtiers had just emerged from Lady Castlemaine’s apartments, yelling drunkenly and accompanied by giggling prostitutes; the King’s mistress was famous for her unconventional parties. Elsewhere, clerks, guards and servants hurried about on more mundane business, and carts lined up to deliver supplies to kitchens, laundries, pantries and coal sheds.

‘Watch yourself when you see Clarendon,’ advised Kipps, pausing a moment to admire a duchess who was too drunk to realise that she had left the soirée without most of her clothes. More chivalrous men than he rushed to give her their coats, although they regretted their gallantry when she was sick over them. ‘Dugdale told him that you insisted on meddling in some fight on The Strand, despite the fact that you knew he was waiting.’

Chaloner groaned. ‘It is not true.’

‘I am sure of it. I wish Clarendon had not given him such power, because the man is a despot. Every night at home, I marvel that I have managed to pass another day without punching him.’

They were obliged to jump to one side when a cavalcade of coaches rattled towards them, the haughty demeanour of the drivers telling pedestrians that if they did not get out of the way they could expect to be crushed. Most of the carriages bore crests, and it was clear that the occupants considered themselves to be people of quality.

‘Adventurers,’ said Kipps disapprovingly. ‘Here for a meeting with the King who, as you will no doubt be aware, is one of their number. So is the Duke of Buckingham.’

Buckingham, the King’s oldest friend, was the first to alight when the convoy rolled to a halt. He was an athletic, striking man whose fondness for wild living was beginning to take its toll — his eyes had an unhealthy yellow tinge, his skin was sallow and he had developed a paunch.

‘He looks fragile this morning,’ Kipps went on gleefully. ‘He must have stayed too late at Lady Castlemaine’s soirée. I keep hoping he will debauch himself into an early grave, because his hatred for our Earl grows daily, and he is a powerful enemy.’

‘Are all these people Adventurers?’ asked Chaloner, staggered by the number of men who were lining up to enter the royal presence.

Kipps nodded. ‘They represent White Hall’s wealthiest courtiers. You see the short, pasty-faced villain? That is Ellis Leighton, their secretary, said to be the most dangerous man in London.’

‘Why?’ Leighton did not look particularly deadly, and when he moved, it was with a crablike scuttle that was vaguely comical, although Chaloner supposed there was something unsettling about the man’s button-like eyes, which were curiously devoid of expression.

Kipps lowered his voice, although there was no one close enough to hear. ‘Because he has amassed himself a fortune, but no one is sure how. And he has friends in London’s underworld.’

‘Is he a merchant?’

‘He calls himself a businessman, which is not the same thing at all.’

‘I see,’ said Chaloner, not seeing at all.

‘They are meeting today because one of their number has gone missing,’ Kipps continued. ‘Peter Proby has not been seen for a week, and they are worried about him.’

‘What do they think might have happened?’

‘I imagine they are afraid that he has been murdered.’

Chaloner regarded him askance. ‘Is Proby the kind of man to warrant such a fate, then?’

‘They all are,’ replied Kipps darkly. ‘They have cordoned off an entire continent, and decided that no one is allowed to profit from it except themselves. And the aggravating thing is that none of them have the faintest idea of what they are doing.’

‘You mean they do not appreciate the depth of the ill-will they have generated?’

‘Oh, I imagine they are perfectly aware of that, but being courtiers, they do not care. What I meant was that they have no concept of how to run such a venture. They are a band of aristocratic treasure hunters, whereas they should be a properly organised corporation.’

Chaloner was startled by the passion in Kipps’s voice. ‘You speak as though you resent their-’

‘I do resent it!’ declared Kipps through gritted teeth. ‘I should like to speculate in Africa myself.’

‘Join the Adventurers, then,’ suggested Chaloner.

Kipps sniffed. ‘I would not demean myself by treating with that dim-witted rabble. Besides, they rejected my application, although I have no idea why.’

Chaloner looked at the assembled men, recognising many. ‘Could it be that they comprise a large number of the Earl’s enemies? They will not want members of his household among their ranks.’

‘No,’ replied Kipps, ‘because his son is an Adventurer, and so is Dugdale. There must be another reason why they elected to exclude me, but I cannot imagine what it might be.’