Susanna Gregory: The Piccadilly Plot

‘That you should never invite Secretary Leighton here for dinner.’

The Earl stared at him. ‘These spyholes were Leighton ’ s idea?’

‘Yes — because he dislikes your opposition to the Adventurers, although when I confronted him, he claimed he never intended the matter to end in the attempted murder of your son.’

‘Did you believe him?’ asked the Earl, round-eyed.

‘No. Had his plan worked, he would have wanted the devices kept secret — but Hyde knew about them, so of course he would have killed him to ensure his silence.’

‘I shall issue a warrant for his arrest,’ said Clarendon. ‘And see what he has to say for himself once he is in the Tower. You can lay hold of him tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The Earl sighed softly. ‘So Henry did lie to me. I thought as much. He is not a brave boy and I was sceptical of him tackling gun-wielding villains. But we shall say no more about it. His mother thinks him a hero, and I would rather not distress her with the truth.’

‘Very well, sir.’

‘But the affair will not be entirely forgotten, either. I shall send him to Sweden on a diplomatic mission soon. You will accompany him.’

‘Are you punishing him or me?’ asked Chaloner, appalled by the notion of spending what might be weeks in the company of such a man.

‘Do not look so gloomy, lad,’ said the Earl, rather more kindly than was his wont. ‘I have some news you might find cheering. From Williamson.’

Chaloner doubted it, but listened politely.

‘It involves a fellow called Lester. Apparently, he managed to jump overboard before the flames caught Jane ’s gunpowder. A Queenhithe family nursed him until he regained his wits, and he is now well on the road to recovery.’

Chaloner stared at him. ‘Lester is alive?’

The Earl smiled. ‘Williamson said you would welcome the news. He is being tended by his sister in the Crown tavern, and says he would like to play his flute to your viol, if you have time.’

Chaloner felt his spirits lift at last. ‘May I …’

‘Go,’ said the Earl, waving a chubby hand.

Tangier, April 1665

George breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of sun-baked earth, the stew that was cooking, and the familiar, dusty odour of the cows he had purchased with the money Chaloner had given him. He stared up at the vast night sky, millions of stars flickering like diamonds suspended in nothingness.

He was content for the first time since Fitzgerald had enticed him to sea with promises of easy wealth and a life of adventure, and knew he had made the right decision to return home. He had not liked London’s filthy, crowded streets, and nor had he enjoyed life as a servant. Moreover, he had certainly not appreciated being hired because it was fashionable to employ black retainers.

He remembered the ones he had met at White Hall — not free men like him, but slaves taken from the Gold Coast. They had been resigned to their lot, telling him it was a better fate than the plantations in Barbados, but he had railed on their behalf, silently and bitterly, deploring the vile trade in human souls.

An evening in Tothill Street flashed into his mind, when he had eavesdropped on a discussion between Chaloner and Wiseman. Chaloner had said little, but the surgeon had made it clear who had been responsible for the infamous attack on Henrietta Maria . George had decided then that he would repay the good deed one day, although he had not been sure how — devoted servitude was certainly not on the cards. He was not a deferential man.

Then news had come of Fitzgerald’s promotion, and Chaloner had taken him to watch the pirate strut about on Queenhithe. Seeing him had angered George on two counts: because of the callous way Fitzgerald had abandoned him in a foreign city after ten years of loyal service; and because he knew Fitzgerald would dabble in the slave trade again when he reached Africa. He had vowed not to let that happen.

It had not been possible to tip him overboard on the voyage, as he had intended, because Fitzgerald had kept to his cabin, only emerging when Katherine had docked in Tangier. And after that, George had been more concerned with adapting to his new life than in monitoring his former master. But the day had come when he had gone to town to sell some livestock, and then he had made his move.

He had acquired more of the yellow dust he had used in the past, and it had not been difficult to gain access to Fitzgerald’s bedroom: the man was so certain that no one would dare move against him that security was minimal. He had blown the powder into Fitzgerald’s face, and when the pirate had been blinded by the sneezing that followed, he had plunged a knife into his black heart.

As he stared at the stars, George thought about Chaloner. Would he know who had delivered the fatal blow, or would he assume that robbers were responsible, which was the tale that was flying around Tangier? George smiled. Chaloner would guess, and perhaps sleep a little easier at night because of it. George hoped so. 480