‘Who does?’ Buckingham twisted around to see who Chaloner was talking to. ‘Odowde? I do not recall inviting you tonight.’
‘It was not my idea to come,’ whispered Odowde miserably. ‘Lambe made me.’
‘Made you?’ echoed Rupert with the cold disdain of one who had never been ‘made’ to do anything in his life. ‘How? Come on, man, speak. We do not have all night.’
From the inept way that Buckingham was poking the lock, Chaloner had a bad feeling they might. Then he noticed that Eliza’s glittering blue gaze was fixed on Odowde, who was obviously terrified by it. He stepped between them, blocking her line of sight with his body. A stifled scream of rage filtered through the gag.
‘Start with the murders,’ he prompted Odowde. ‘The first being Grace Ferine’s. Eliza and Lambe arranged for her to “fall” down the stairs, then persuaded her grieving husband to abandon conventional religion for witchery. They convinced him that his house was haunted—’
‘But it is haunted,’ gulped Lady Muskerry. ‘Ghosts are rife in High Holborn. Ask anyone.’
‘Tricks,’ said Chaloner. ‘With wires, hidey-holes and mirrors – much as happened here tonight. They met Ferine in the Swan with Two Necks, and encouraged him to spread his beliefs at Court. People began to pay a fortune for Lambe’s predictions—’
There was an immediate uproar as people demanded to know whether they had been cheated.
‘I assume they then killed Ferine?’ Rupert’s question rose above the babble, as his voice was louder than anyone else’s.
‘Yes, because he began to produce his own horoscopes,’ explained Chaloner. ‘He was good at it, better than Lambe, so it was unwanted competition.’
‘You went to the Swan and offered to take Ferine’s place,’ said Odowde, spite in his eyes as he addressed Chaloner. ‘I saw you. You were going to gather information from courtiers who wanted their fortunes told. You are part of this deception, too.’
‘What is this?’ asked Rupert, eyes narrowed.
‘I went to find out what Ferine had embroiled himself in,’ explained Chaloner, recalling the confused conversation in which he had tried to discover what it was that Eliza sold. ‘I do not know what methods he employed to predict the future, but I suspect that Lambe and Eliza used witchcraft.’
‘That is illegal,’ whispered Lady Muskerry, all wide-eyed shock. ‘She could hang for that.’
Eliza had managed to spit out the gag. ‘Lambe calculated your horoscope, Chaloner,’ she hissed, full of angry malice. ‘Your future involves smoke, explosions and blood, and death will surround you. He foresaw something else, too – a terrible plague that will ravage London and leave thousands dead.’
Chaloner ignored her. ‘They murdered Hubbert and Duncombe next. They—’
‘No, they didn’t,’ interrupted Lady Muskerry. ‘Those two died because it was predicted. Ask Mr Wiseman – he found nothing amiss.’
‘A large dose of mandrake and poppy juice leaves no trace,’ said Chaloner, recalling how Eliza had secured some from the unwitting surgeon. ‘They died purely to give credence to Lambe’s so-called prophecies.’
‘Did you throw yourself down the Banqueting Hall stairs for the same reason?’ asked Rupert, regarding Odowde contemptuously. ‘I saw it happen, and I thought it looked bogus.’
Odowde looked as though he might deny it, but a glance at Rupert’s stony, unforgiving face saw his courage wilt, and he nodded miserably. ‘Lambe forced me to.’
‘Forced you!’ sneered Eliza. ‘You did it willingly – for money.’
‘And you gave money to this scoundrel,’ said Rupert to Buckingham, prodding Lambe’s corpse with his toe. He smirked. ‘I hope you are not too seriously out of pocket.’
Buckingham eyed him coolly. ‘He helped me move forward in my quest, so it was worth the expense. However, I wish you had not shot him. It was quite unnecessary.’
‘He was going to kill us,’ stated Rupert. ‘And anyone who says otherwise is a fool – as are you, for believing the Philosopher’s Stone exists in the first place. Even if it did, the likes of Lambe would know nothing about it. And if you cannot get that damned door open, stand aside and let someone else have a go.’
Chaloner was so anxious about the passing time that he was on the verge of offering to tackle the lock himself, but the Prince had other ideas. He took his pistol and fired it at the mechanism. When that did not work, he reloaded and did it again. The door swung open, and there was a muted cheer from the courtiers. Lady Muskerry was first out, although she paused to favour Buckingham with a coy smile.
‘Thank you for an entertaining evening, My Lord. It is not one I shall forget in a hurry, and I hope you will hold another soirée soon. Life at White Hall can be so very dull, and it was fun to experience something a little different.’
Others voiced similar sentiments as they filed past, and Chaloner listened in disbelief. Perhaps the Fifth Monarchists were right to want the Court disbanded and sane men installed in their place.
Chapter 14
When the guests had gone, Chaloner sent George to fetch the palace guards, so that Eliza, Odowde and their helpmeets could be taken into custody. Eliza was safely tied to the chair, while the others stood in a line along the wall, sullen and frightened. Chaloner dared not leave Buckingham and the remaining servants to watch them until George returned in case they broke loose. Chafing at yet more wasted time, he prepared to wait, sword drawn against any attempts to escape. Buckingham slumped on a bench and gazed at Eliza, his face a mixture of resignation and anger.
‘So it was all a lie,’ he said heavily. ‘You and Lambe conspired to make a fool of me. Was he even the son of my father’s sorcerer-physician?’
Cunning glinted in Eliza’s icy eyes. ‘I know nothing about him or his business.’ She nodded towards her cronies. ‘We were only hired for this evening, and none of us had ever met Lambe before. We can prove it. Ask around – you will not find a single person who saw us together.’
‘I did,’ put in Chaloner. ‘Twice, in the Swan with Two Necks. And there was the time in St Andrew’s Churchyard when you “disappeared”. I found a piece of paper covered with the symbols he liked to draw – he was helping you with your vanishing tricks and he dropped it by mistake.’
Eliza regarded him coldly. ‘Then it will be your word against mine.’
‘However, you usually communicated via notes hidden in newsbooks,’ Chaloner went on. ‘I saw him leave you one once.’
She grinned in sudden triumph. ‘And do you actually have one of these alleged missives?’
As it was obvious that she knew he did not, Chaloner could only assume that she or one of her cronies had pickpocketed him outside the Swan.
‘As I said, it is your word against mine,’ she said smugly when he made no reply. She could not resist a further gloat. ‘And even if you do happen across one of these so-called messages, you will find nothing written on it.’
‘And that proves my case,’ pounced Chaloner. ‘The letters were penned in onion juice, which is invisible until heated. You would not have known the notes appear to be blank unless you had received them.’
‘What did you mean when you said she “disappeared” in the churchyard?’ asked Buckingham, while Eliza gave Chaloner a look of such hatred that he struggled not to recoil.
‘She did it to reinforce the notion that something supernatural was happening,’ Chaloner explained. ‘But it was all artifice. She used cleverly concealed devices in Hatton House, Ferine’s home and the graveyard, and was aided in her tricks by Lambe and patrons from the Swan. I imagine it was they who made the beam drop in Hatton House’s chapel when I was there.’
‘I wish it had crushed him,’ he heard one man mutter venomously.
Chaloner tensed when there was a ripple of agreement from the others, anticipating trouble, but nothing happened. They were all waiting for someone else to make the first move, and he was glad that Eliza was fastened to the chair, knowing she was certain
ly bold enough to lead the way. She was struggling to free herself, although she would not succeed: he had tied the knots too well.
‘These are serious crimes,’ said Buckingham sternly. ‘Defrauding the King’s friends, deceit, murder…’
‘Not murder,’ said Eliza quickly. ‘Not us. That was Lambe.’
But Chaloner knew otherwise. ‘Lambe did not kill Ferine – he had an alibi in Temperance.’
‘I hope you are not suggesting that one of us did it,’ said Eliza coldly.
Her helpmeets growled their own denials, and Chaloner saw them gaining strength from her bravado. Except Odowde, who was hunched in silent misery.
‘I said from the start that Ferine was murdered by someone familiar with the club,’ said Chaloner, aiming to puncture their growing defiance before it became a problem. ‘It—’
‘Then we are all exonerated,’ Eliza interrupted victoriously. ‘Obviously, we have never been to such a place. It caters to wealthy men, a criterion none of us meet.’
‘You knew it through Lambe, who was a frequent visitor. You climbed the ivy to the storeroom window – your antics tonight prove that you are agile – and you emptied the wine in the room that Ferine was to use. You hid behind a curtain until Snowflake went to fetch more, and the moment he was alone, you went in and smothered him.’
Eliza directed her reply to Buckingham. ‘How could I, a weak woman, do such a thing?’
‘How strong do you need to be to sit on a drunken man and hold a pillow over his face?’ asked Chaloner archly. ‘And you are not weak anyway – your acrobatics keep you fit.’
‘He is deluded,’ said Eliza, still speaking to Buckingham. ‘But Lambe is not the only one who knows about the Philosopher’s Stone, My Lord. Let us go, and I will help you to—’
‘Odowde.’ Chaloner addressed the courtier quickly when he saw the spark of hope in the Duke’s eyes; Eliza had correctly identified the one way that might see her free, her crimes conveniently forgotten. ‘Tell the truth, or you will bear the blame for all that has happened.’
‘She did kill Ferine,’ obliged Odowde dejectedly. ‘She also pushed Grace down the stairs, and gave Hubbert and Duncombe poisoned wine, all with Lambe’s connivance.’
‘Liar!’ snarled Eliza angrily. ‘You will say anything to save your own neck.’
‘I will swear any oath you like,’ said Odowde to the Duke. ‘They made me follow orders – they are ruthless bullies and I was powerless against them. But I was beginning to fight back. I had no intention of showering Prince Rupert with that bucket of excrement up in the ceiling or of stabbing Chaloner.’
‘Did you not?’ asked the Duke mildly, causing Chaloner to glance sharply at him.
‘So that is why you invited me,’ came a voice from the door. Rupert had not left Wallingford House, and had been listening to the entire discussion. ‘Now I understand.’
Chaloner did not think he would ever be pleased to see the Prince, but he found himself relieved as Rupert strutted in with his customary arrogance. The prisoners might overpower him while the Duke looked the other way in return for help with his ambitions, but they would not best him and Rupert together.
‘I tried to warn the Admiral, too,’ bleated Odowde. ‘But he would not listen. If he is killed, you cannot say it is my fault. I did all I could to save him.’
‘Save him from what?’ asked Chaloner in alarm, speaking over Eliza’s immediate denials.
‘The robbers who will attack him tonight. Lambe was going to predict it…’
‘Another so-called prophecy come true,’ said Rupert in disgust. ‘How could you allow these villains to deceive you, Buckingham? I thought you had more sense.’
Buckingham stood with a rueful sigh. He was no fool, and knew Eliza was never going to be in a position to help with his experiments now that the Prince was there. Slowly and deliberately, he turned his back on her.
‘I was blinded by my desire to discover the Philosopher’s Stone,’ he said, although with no hint of remorse. ‘Single-minded dedication is an occupational hazard for intelligent men like me – we are driven by our zeal to expand the frontiers of knowledge, and we fail to see the evil around us. Ah! Here is George with the guards. Good! Take these villains out of my sight.’
Eliza did not go quietly, and the guards grew visibly uneasy when she began to curse. Sighing irritably, Rupert snatched the scarf from her neck and wrapped it around her entire head, not only gagging her, but hiding her blazing eyes, too. As he did so, a small wooden box fell to the floor – the device that had allowed her to alter her voice. He stared at it for a moment, then crushed it under his heel before stalking away, indicating with an imperious flick of his fingers that Chaloner was to follow.
Outside, it was late and very dark. It was also unusually quiet: Good Friday was a sombre, serious occasion, and even the jaunty Lady Day visitors seemed content to have an early night.
‘It is almost midnight,’ said the Prince curtly. ‘You said you would have answers by then.’
‘In the Pope’s Head,’ said Chaloner. ‘But first I must warn Lawson.’
‘Then I shall come with you,’ determined Rupert. ‘Not on foot, though. We shall travel in my private coach, like gentlemen.’
Chaloner did not want Rupert with him, but was not in a position to refuse an offer of help. He sat in silence as they rattled along, wishing it was Thurloe at his side, or even Williamson. He hated the idea of being supported by Rupert’s over-ready pistols.
The Prince ordered his driver to take them to Westminster, in the hope that the Admiral would still be with Williamson. However, they were rattling along the Strand when Chaloner saw a cluster of people standing around several bodies. He leapt out of the coach before it had stopped, ignoring Rupert’s yell that respectable men waited for the steps to be lowered first.
Chaloner inspected the bodies quickly, and soon found Lawson, his hair matted with blood. It had started to congeal, suggesting the attack had occurred soon after the Admiral had left Wallingford House. He peered more closely at the white face, then reached out to shake Lawson’s shoulder. The eyes fluttered open, drawing gasps of astonishment from the onlookers.
‘I thought he was dead,’ breathed one. ‘He certainly looks it.’
‘The villains came at me out of the blue,’ whispered the Admiral, when he saw it was Chaloner who crouched next to him. ‘But I gave a good account of myself. God was with me – He always is when I smite His enemies.’
‘Help is coming,’ said Chaloner, hearing Rupert issue orders for a surgeon to be fetched.
Lawson waved an impatient hand. ‘So go – thwart the villains at the Pope’s Head. But do not expect help from Williamson. I was attacked before I could warn him.’
‘Prince Rupert is with me.’
Lawson pulled a disagreeable face. ‘He is better than nothing, I suppose. Go – hurry. Midnight is almost on us, and I want the bastards who sank my flagship to swing.’
Chaloner ran back to the coach and climbed in. Rupert rapped on the roof, and they were off again. They made good time, hurtling through the empty streets as if the devil himself were on their tail. As they lurched along, the Prince began a vicious diatribe about rogues who invited a man to their homes with the sole intention of embarrassing him with slyly concealed buckets.
‘Better that than what was planned for Lawson,’ said Chaloner tartly.
‘Nonsense! I would have been a laughing stock for the rest of my life – a slow death, compared to the Admiral’s brisk end. But Buckingham did himself a grave disservice with his foul pails today – no one will ever invite him anywhere ever again.’
Chaloner was far from certain of that, given what he had heard Lady Muskerry and others murmur as they had left. The Court was ever eager for novel entertainment.
‘Doubtless Lambe ordered Eliza to stab Snowflake, too,’ the Prince went on. He smiled nastily. ‘Buckingham let a vicious brute into his household, and I shall never let him forget it.’
> But Chaloner knew that Eliza had not murdered Snowflake. He shot the Prince a sidelong glance: Snowflake had died because she had guessed the secret of the gun factory at Temple Mills, and her killer was still at large.
They reached the Pope’s Head, but all was in darkness. Chaloner was about to embark on a cautious and discreet surveillance when Rupert marched up to the front door and hammered imperiously. Chaloner winced: the man was going to get them both killed.
‘No one is here.’ Rupert turned to him accusingly. ‘How will you have answers from an empty tavern?’
‘The landlord has been evicted, but Jones said it was … Where are you going?’
‘To tell Williamson that it is high time he did what he is being paid for,’ snapped Rupert. ‘I want that list of Fifth Monarchists, and I want it now. He has had plenty of time to compile it, and if he cannot oblige me, he can start looking for a new appointment.’
Chaloner watched him go with a sense of helplessness. While he had not wanted the Prince’s company, it was still unnerving to be left alone to tackle what might transpire to be a very deadly plot. Perhaps he should just go home. After all, it was Rupert’s fault that there was a secret to steal, and Williamson’s fault that the Sanhedrin were not under lock and key already. But then he thought about Snowflake and HMS London, and his resolve returned. He would see justice done for her and Captain Dare’s three hundred sailors.
He studied the tavern. It did not look as though it was about to be used for a meeting of rebels. He found a window with a loose shutter, and was through it in a trice. Once inside, he lit a candle. Most of the furniture was gone, although a few chairs and the odd table remained, too battered or ancient to warrant the effort of moving. A number of jugs lay on the floor, broken, dented or stained, which added to the feeling of recent abandonment. A bellman on Fleet Street called that it was midnight.
Perhaps Jones had sent him to the empty tavern to keep him out of the way while part of the plot swung into action. Or maybe Thurloe was right, and ambushers were lying in wait in the seemingly deserted building. As he considered the various possibilities, Chaloner became aware that there was a light in one of the rooms in the back. He drew his dagger and crept towards it.
Murder on High Holborn (Exploits of Thomas Chaloner) Page 33