Susanna Gregory: The Piccadilly Plot

‘No, it has not,’ said Kitty. She smiled, an expression that did not touch her green eyes. ‘But perhaps I shall be able to change them from within.’

They walked away, leaving Chaloner staring after them unhappily. Since the events that had culminated at Piccadilly, he had been in low spirits. He had recurring nightmares about the strongroom, his home life continued to be a trial, and he felt guilty for abandoning Lester. Thurloe pointed out patiently that any attempt at rescue would have meant his own death, but that was of scant comfort.

His work for the Earl did nothing to help, either. As there were no mysteries to investigate, he was obliged to pass the time in routine duties that put him in the company of Dugdale and Edgeman. The Earl had been furious when he had learned they were Adventurers, and they blamed Chaloner for their exposure: they set out to make his life miserable, and they succeeded.

One morning, as Dugdale railed at him for wearing a grey coat instead of the blue one he had stipulated, Kipps appeared. His fist shot towards the Chief Usher’s face and there was a dull smack as the two connected. Chaloner stared at the Seal Bearer in astonishment.

‘What did you do that for?’ howled Dugdale, hand to his nose. ‘Are you insane?’

‘A maid called Susan was just here, asking after you,’ replied Kipps, eyeing him with dislike. ‘She told me you paid her to spy on Chaloner. In his own home.’

Dugdale swallowed uneasily. ‘I did it to protect the Earl. And I would not have had to do it at all if Chaloner had been cooperative. I asked him for progress reports, but he fobbed me off with half-answers and lies. What else was I to do?’

‘Why were you so desperate to know what I-’ began Chaloner.

‘Because he is jealous of the Earl’s faith in your abilities,’ snapped Kipps. ‘But that does not excuse him from corrupting a silly girl to spy on a colleague. It is not the act of a gentleman, and I shall ensure all White Hall knows it. Moreover, if I catch him doing anything like it again, I shall hit him even harder. That goes for you, too, Edgeman. I know you were in it together.’

‘You do not care about Chaloner,’ sneered Edgeman, although he took refuge behind Dugdale as he spoke, unwilling to suffer a similar fate. ‘The reason you punched Dugdale is because he told Leighton not to let you join the Adventurers. You have always resented that.’

‘I would never enrol in that band of scoundrels,’ declared Kipps, although the flash of anger in his eyes said Edgeman was right. ‘I do not approve of monopolies. However, if he recommends against me joining anything else, a bloody nose will be the least of his problems.’

‘I am not sure that was wise,’ said Chaloner, when Edgeman had helped Dugdale away. ‘The Earl does not approve of his retainers thumping each other. Why do you think I have never hit the man myself? It is not because of my superior self-control, I assure you.’

‘What is he going to do about it?’ shrugged Kipps. ‘Tell the Earl? If he does, he will be sorry. But they have learned their lesson. They will not bother you again.’

Chaloner suspected they would just be more subtle in their hounding of him, and doubted Kipps’s intervention had done him any favours. But the punch had been a declaration of allegiance and he was heartened by it — it meant he was no longer alone and that there was someone he could call a friend in the unsettled, unpredictable world that was White Hall. Kipps’s next words promptly reversed any improvement in his mood, though.

‘Have you heard the news? Governor Bridge has been dismissed and a new man hired to rule Tangier in his place. Fitzgerald the pirate has been honoured with the post.’

Chaloner stared at him. ‘Fitzgerald? But he is in the Tower, charged with the attempted murder of most of the Adventurers and half of Queenhithe.’

‘That was ages ago,’ said Kipps. ‘It has all been forgotten now, especially as Fitzgerald has offered to bring another chest of treasure to London later in the year.’

‘So yet again the wicked prosper,’ muttered Chaloner. ‘Is there never justice in this rotten city?’

‘Fitzgerald will travel to his new domain on Royal Katherine ,’ said Kipps, straining to hear what Chaloner was mumbling. ‘The damage has been repaired and she looks as good as new again. She sails from Queenhithe on the afternoon tide.’

Chaloner went home, but the news of Fitzgerald’s freedom troubled him, and he was restless and angry. Bemused by his sullen mood, and exasperated when he declined to discuss it, Hannah sent him out for a walk, no doubt afraid that he might use his viol to settle his mind if he were allowed to stay. She need not have worried: Chaloner had not played since the events at Clarendon House, and felt no desire to do so.

‘Take George with you,’ she said. ‘I dislike being in the kitchen when he is there, and I feel like baking a cake. It will be ready on your return.’

Even more dejected, because he would be expected to eat it, Chaloner walked to Queenhithe to see for himself whether Kipps was right about Fitzgerald. George trailed at his heels.

When he arrived, he found scant evidence of the chaos that had ensued after it had almost been blown into oblivion. The warehouses that had been burned were already rebuilt, and the wharf was its usual hive of activity. Boats rocked gently as they were tugged by the ebbing tide, and Katherine stood tall and proud among them, like a graceful swan amid a flock of ducks.

Suddenly, there was a clatter of wheels on cobbles, and a convoy arrived. Chaloner clenched his fists in impotent fury when Fitzgerald alighted. Even from a distance, he could hear the high-pitched voice, laughing jovially. It seemed to be mocking him, but, short of darting forward and plunging a dagger into the man, there was nothing Chaloner could do.

‘I would not mind a berth on that ship,’ said George.

Chaloner jumped. They were the first words the footman had spoken since leaving Tothill Street. ‘You want to return to Fitzgerald’s service?’ he asked, bemused.

‘I meant as a sailor. Work my passage to Tangier.’

‘Then go,’ said Chaloner.

George stared at him. ‘I am your servant. I cannot leap on a ship.’

‘You can if I tell you to,’ said Chaloner, wondering whether he would be spared the ordeal of Hannah’s cake if he went home with the news that he had solved the problem George had become.

Once the captain had been assured that George was an experienced seaman, willing to work, he happily agreed to take him on. Chaloner gave George all the money he had with him, plus his coat; George took them without a word of thanks. Chaloner watched him stride up the gangway, then went to tell Thurloe of Fitzgerald’s good fortune.

‘What?’ exploded the ex-Spymaster. ‘How can they let such a dangerous man go free? And to promote him into a position of power into the bargain! Are they insane ?’

‘No, they are corrupt,’ replied Chaloner. ‘He bribed them with promises of more gold bars.’

‘So the profits from mismanaging the mole will go into his pocket now,’ fumed Thurloe. ‘He not only has his liberty, but he is given licence to prosper at the tax-payer’s expense.’

‘It is a sorry business, and all about money as usual,’ said Chaloner despondently.

Thurloe nodded grim agreement. ‘And it all began with O’Brien objecting to the monopoly on African trade held by the Adventurers, and deciding he was going to smash their hold on Tangier. He did not care that it would destroy the Queen and take all manner of lives in the process. But some justice was served, at least.’

‘Was it?’ Chaloner could not think of any.