Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

‘The next person out will lose his brains,’ he said grimly.

Thurloe cocked his head. ‘Fitzgerald may be in the tunnel, but O’Brien is coming down the stairs. They separated!’

‘Then we will fight them,’ said Chaloner with quiet determination. ‘One each.’

‘We cannot combat bullets with a stone,’ hissed Thurloe. ‘Run! It is our only chance!’

He was right, so Chaloner did as he was told, racing through sculleries, laundries and pantries, sure-footed again now he was in familiar territory. Suddenly, the basement began to echo with a metallic, grating sound that echoed eerily. Fitzgerald was humming to himself. Chaloner winced: not all the notes were true.

‘Whoever told him he could sing was lying,’ he whispered, wishing it would stop.

‘He warbles before making a kill,’ muttered Thurloe. ‘He thinks he has defeated us.’

Chaloner looked around desperately, but saw nothing that would help them survive. Then his eye lit on the stairs that led to the cellar. It was the last place he wanted to go, but he felt a surge of hope as a plan began to form in his mind.

‘The vault,’ he said in a low voice. ‘If we can do to Fitzgerald and O’Brien what we did to Brinkes, we might yet avenge Lester. This way — run!’

The cellar steps were dark and uninviting, and Chaloner’s chest tightened when he recalled what had happened the last time he had ventured down them. But there was no time for squeamishness. He descended them quickly and made for the strongroom. It was locked, but this time he had Wiseman’s scalpel, which proved to be a much better instrument for dealing with the mechanism.

‘Why do they not release Brinkes and his men to hunt for us?’ he asked as he worked, aware that on the floor above, O’Brien and Fitzgerald were conducting a systematic search. ‘Or summon their other Piccadilly Company cronies? Pratt, for example.’

‘Arrogance,’ replied Thurloe shortly. ‘They believe they can best us alone.’

‘Then pride will be their downfall,’ muttered Chaloner. ‘Find a lamp and light it. Quickly!’

Thurloe obliged, and it was not long before he was back. ‘I recommend you hurry,’ he said tensely, ‘because I hear footsteps on the cellar stairs.’

The words were no sooner out of his mouth when the vault’s lock clicked open. Fighting down his nausea, Chaloner tugged open the door and entered. The chest that had contained the rats was gone, and in its place were two more, both sturdy items with metal bands. There was no time for finesse, so he smashed the locks on one with the brick he had brought from the kitchen.

‘Tom!’ pleaded Thurloe nervously. ‘Are you sure we have time for this?’

Chaloner lifted the lid to reveal a mass of gold and silver ingots, with a good smattering of jewellery and precious stones. Thurloe gasped at the sheer volume of it.

‘Is this what came on Jane ?’ he breathed.

Chaloner nodded. ‘And it is time to put it to good use.’

He grabbed two large gold bars and shoved them into Thurloe’s hands, then took two himself. Leaving the chest open, and the lantern illuminating it, he dived into the room opposite, flinging the ingots away as soon as he and Thurloe were concealed in the shadows. He slipped his hand into his pocket, hunting for Wiseman’s scalpel. He could not find it, but his fingers located something else. It was the packet of Tangier dust George had given him days ago, which he had all but forgotten.

O’Brien was the first to arrive. He held a gun, and his boyish face was lit by a viciously cruel expression. It showed his true nature as the pitiless villain who had ordered the deaths of Teviot and his garrison, Proby, Lucas, Turner, Congett, Meneses and all the others who had died since he had taken exception to the Adventurers’ monopoly on African trade.

His eyes lit on the open chest, and he released a strangled cry of disbelief before running towards it. Fitzgerald arrived moments later, also armed with a dag. Chaloner tensed, willing him to step inside too, but the pirate only leaned against the doorframe.

‘The treasure!’ shouted O’Brien furiously. ‘You said it would be safe here — that you stole the only key from Pratt, and no one else would be able to get at it. But some has been stolen!’

‘Impossible,’ countered Fitzgerald. ‘No one knows it is here except you and me. Unless you -’

O’Brien’s eyes blazed as he leapt to his feet. ‘Are you accusing me of cheating you?’

‘It is not an unreasonable assumption,’ Fitzgerald flashed back. There was a tremor of fear in his voice but he held his ground. ‘Our venture was more costly than we anticipated, and the returns so far have been disappointing. Of course you might try to-’

He took several steps back as O’Brien stalked towards him, and Chaloner knew he had to act now or they would both be out in the corridor — at which point he and Thurloe would die. He leapt forward, shoving Fitzgerald as hard as he could. The pirate cannoned into O’Brien, and Chaloner started to close the door. But Fitzgerald recovered quickly, and hurled himself against it.

Chaloner’s strength was all but spent, and he felt the door begin to open, even when Thurloe raced forward to help — fury had given the pirate a diabolical might. It was then that he realised he was still holding George’s powder. With nothing to lose, he flung it in Fitzgerald’s face, hoping the footman had not been lying when he claimed it would render his former master helpless.

The pirate jerked away in surprise, and for a moment nothing happened. Then he sneezed. He blinked furiously and sneezed again. And again. Chaloner and Thurloe leaned all their weight on the door, which slammed shut, allowing the lock to click into place.

Suddenly, there was a yell from the stairs. Chaloner and Thurloe exchanged a glance of horrified dismay. Brinkes must have battered his way free at last. Weaponless, they turned and stood shoulder to shoulder, bracing themselves for the onslaught.

‘There you are!’ said Williamson, skidding to a standstill. ‘When we found Brinkes locked up but no sign of you two, we feared the worst.’

‘Fitzgerald and his master are safely secured,’ said Thurloe, indicating the strongroom with a nonchalance Chaloner was sure he could not feel. ‘However, I recommend you leave them there for a while. You may find them less feisty once the air has grown thin.’

Early November 1664

It was a fine, clear morning when Williamson married Kitty O’Brien in St Margaret’s Church. It was a small ceremony, with only Swaddell and Doines to act as witnesses. Chaloner slipped into the shadows at the back and watched, thinking that he had never seen the Spymaster look so pleased with himself, although Kitty’s expression was more difficult to read.

‘Congratulations,’ he said, as the happy couple walked up the aisle together.

Williamson inclined his head. ‘I was shocked to learn that my oldest friend was complicit in that vile affair — especially as he was already rich and had no need for more money. But before he hanged himself in my cells, he told me to look after Kitty. Today is the fulfilment of that promise.’

‘I was shocked, too,’ said Kitty, while Chaloner struggled to determine whether Williamson had had a hand in O’Brien’s alleged suicide. ‘But that is all in the past, and we must look to the future. I shall accept Leighton’s offer to join the Adventurers tomorrow. My husband … my first husband spent too much of our money on his wild schemes, and I must recoup my losses.’

‘But the Adventurers still trade in slaves,’ Chaloner pointed out. ‘That has not changed.’