The Chelsea Strangler

by Susanna GREGORY

  ‘He does not, and nor is he aware that I work here. It was cowardly to remain anonymous, I suppose, but these are dangerous times, and a man must take what precautions he can to protect himself and his own. But we should not discuss this now. Not when you have rebels to hunt, and I have a prison to secure.’

  ‘Never mind the prison,’ said Chaloner. ‘The dissidents are far more pressing.’

  ‘Unfortunately, resentment has been festering among the inmates ever since Spring was appointed as their spokesman, and it has reached crisis point. A firm hand is needed tonight, or we shall have two thousand angry Dutchmen on the loose. My duties lie here.’

  ‘Christ!’ muttered Chaloner. A mass escape would make tracking Sutcliffe and his rebels all but impossible. ‘Do you need help?’

  ‘We can put our own house in order, thank you. Do not worry – there are more good men than bad here, and they will follow me once Tooker is behind bars. It is the least I can do, given that I inadvertently misled you about the spectre – I should have known that no woman would be involved in such dark business. Of course it was Sutcliffe.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Enough to tell you that he might be small and possessed of a peculiarly feminine voice, but that you should not underestimate him.’

  Despite his brush with death, Chaloner found himself oddly light-hearted. The knowledge that Hannah had tried to help him in her dying hours meant more to him than he would have imagined, and the more he thought about it, the more certain he was that the note had been her way of telling him that he was forgiven for being away when he should have been at her side.

  He hurried back to the place where he had left Eleanore, only to find her gone. He looked around in alarm. Had Franklin or Spring caught her? Then he became aware of someone creeping towards him in the darkness, and heaved a sigh of relief when he heard Eleanore call his name.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he asked. ‘I was worried.’

  ‘I went to the village to fetch help, lest things went awry for you. Unfortunately, everyone was asleep except the Strangeways men, although it seems you did not need help anyway. So what happened with Tooker? Will he turn King’s evidence against Nancy’s killer?’

  Chaloner told her all that had transpired, including Akers’ timely intervention, and watched her eyes grow wide with shock.

  ‘So Spring and his men are robbing Buckingham House as we speak? We must stop them, Tom! We cannot stand by while they commit a crime that will make them rich. You say it was Samm who strangled my sister – he might be beyond the reach of justice, but his thieving cronies are not.’

  Chaloner caught her hand before she could dash off. ‘And do what? There are twenty of them, all armed. Besides, I need to find Sutcliffe and these so-called prisoners.’

  ‘They will be long gone, and you cannot track them in the dark. But the crime at Buckingham House can be thwarted, and if you will not help me, I shall do it myself.’

  ‘Wait! I will ask Akers to—’

  ‘He cannot – you just told me that he has his hands full with the prison. We are the only ones who can challenge Spring now. Or are you afraid of him?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Then come on.’

  Chaloner trailed after her only because his near-strangulation had left him muddle-headed, although a persistently nagging voice at the back of his mind told him it was entirely the wrong thing to do.

  The village was silent, and the air hung heavy, oppressive and sultry in the dark streets. Chaloner saw lightning again in the distance. Perhaps a thunderstorm would break the heatwave, and bring some cooler weather. He only hoped that he and Eleanore would still be alive to appreciate it.

  They passed the rectory, where one or two lights still shone, despite the late hour. He thought he saw someone in its garden, and would have stopped to investigate, but Eleanore pulled him on. Eventually, they reached Buckingham House.

  ‘Wait,’ he whispered, as she began to open the gate. He took a deep breath in an effort to clear his wits. ‘We cannot just march in. We need a plan.’

  ‘Then think of one.’ Eleanore sounded fraught and impatient in equal measure.

  ‘We shall rouse the sleeping courtiers, and let them tackle the men who aim to steal their elephants. Although we shall have to avoid Reymes, of course.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Eleanore, puzzled. ‘He will not want his guests robbed.’

  ‘Because he is involved.’ Chaloner rubbed his head, wishing he could think more clearly. ‘Perhaps not in the burglaries, but in something unsavoury, and we cannot trust him to be on our side. Ergo, he is not the person we should wake first.’

  But Eleanore shook her head in exasperation. ‘Your plan is flawed. You said that Franklin has dosed everyone with a soporific. We will not be able to wake Reymes or anyone else.’

  ‘He cannot have fed them too much, for fear of killing them, while there will certainly be servants who are awake. So you warn the staff, while I look for Greeting and Hungerford – they will help us.’

  ‘I do not like this scheme,’ declared Eleanore uneasily. ‘You do not know who to trust, so why rouse anyone? It is better to deal with Spring and his cronies ourselves – pick them off one by one in the dark. They will not know what is happening until it is too late.’

  That stratagem was even shakier than his own. ‘One mistake would see them all turning on us at once, and I doubt we will escape alive, which will leave Sutcliffe’s dissidents free to do whatever they like.’

  Eleanore was silent for a moment, then inclined her head. ‘Very well, we shall do it your way, although I hope for your sake that it works.’

  He was puzzled. ‘Why for my sake?’

  ‘Because there will be trouble if Spring does manage to make off with these courtiers’ elephants, and it emerges that the Earl of Clarendon’s spy failed to stop them.’

  She had a point, although Chaloner could think of no way around it. She opened the gate, but the notion that all was not right persisted, and this time it was powerful enough to keep him rooted to the spot.

  ‘Now what?’ she hissed, turning back irritably.

  ‘This is wrong.’ Again, he wished his wits were sharper. ‘Something is amiss…’

  ‘Yes, something is amiss – a burglary in progress! Now, come on, or it will succeed.’

  Chaloner still did not move. ‘You were not reckless with your safety outside the prison just now. What has changed?’

  Eleanore sighed softly. ‘The knowledge that these rogues are in league with the man who killed my sister. I did not know it then, but I do now. Please, Tom. We waste time by chatting here.’

  The urgency in her voice started him walking again, but his sense of impending disaster grew stronger with every step. He struggled to analyse what was bothering him, and wished he could stop for a moment to think.

  ‘It is quieter than it has been in weeks,’ whispered Eleanore, as they neared the great house. ‘Franklin’s potion has done its work well.’

  Chaloner saw a shadow by the porch, and hauled Eleanore behind a tree, out of sight. He was only just in time, as several figures emerged from behind the fountain to converge on the front door where Franklin was waiting to wave Spring and his friends inside.

  Chaloner and Eleanore crept into Buckingham House to be greeted by a very bizarre sight. Lamps were lit in the ballroom, where a dozen courtiers were slumped. Lady Savage still held her wine goblet, although her companions had managed to set theirs down before they had nodded off. Chaloner assumed that the remaining guests – Hungerford and Greeting among them – had retired to bed when they had felt lethargy descend.

  ‘Wait!’ whispered Eleanore, baulking suddenly. ‘What if the guests or their staff accuse us of being in cahoots with the robbers?’

  It was a little late to be thinking of that, thought Chaloner irritably. ‘Hungerford and Greeting will not. I will look for them, while you speak to the servants.’

  ‘But I do not know the servants
– they have no reason to trust me. I know Hungerford, though, so I will rouse him, while you fetch Greeting – who lodges on the second floor, third room on the left.’

  She had disappeared before Chaloner could demur. Swearing under his breath, he tiptoed up the stairs, hoping he would not meet a burglar, because he was still unsteady on his feet and in no state to do battle. He pulled Mrs Bonney’s gun from his belt and checked it was loaded. Perhaps the sight of a firearm would dissuade anyone from wanting a swordfight with him. He ducked behind a curtain when Spring passed. The felon was scowling, perhaps because all he carried was a mock-gold jewel box that appeared to be empty. Chaloner reached the next floor, and was just passing Cocke’s old room when he saw a light.

  The door was ajar, and he peered around it to see Doyley sitting there, writing by candlelight. Of course! The commissioner had recently abandoned the rectory for the greater comfort of Buckingham House. Chaloner heaved a sigh of relief. Doyley would help. He pushed open the door and quickly slipped inside. Doyley looked up in surprise when Chaloner put his finger to his lips, warning him against calling out.

  ‘There are burglars in the house,’ he whispered. ‘We must—’

  The tap of approaching footsteps in the hall outside caused him to peer back around the door to see who was coming. All his attention was on watching Spring pad past, so he knew nothing of Doyley’s intentions until the gun was wrenched from his hand. He sighed: he did not have time for lengthy explanations.

  ‘There are burglars in the house,’ he repeated, trying to inject sufficient urgency into his voice. ‘We need to stop them before your fellow guests lose all their elephants.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Doyley sounded angry.

  Chaloner appreciated why the commissioner was wary of someone who invaded his room in the middle of the night with a firearm, but it was exasperating even so. ‘Just trust me.’

  ‘Shut up,’ snapped Doyley, pushing him back with his free hand. ‘You will ruin everything.’

  Chaloner was about to explain further when he saw that Doyley’s shove had left a brown mark on his shirt, one that looked like a muddy fingerprint. He looked at it more closely. It was snuff. And then many things suddenly became horribly clear.

  He had seen similar smudges on the package of documents that Doyley had handed Evelyn in Deptford, and was disgusted that it should have slipped his mind. Then he would have made the connection between Doyley and the dirty smears on the list of rebels in Tooker’s office and on the elephant note – a message that Doyley must have sent to Cocke. Which meant that Doyley was involved! Chaloner felt physically sick. His stupidity would see the plot succeed!

  ‘Did you move from the rectory to oversee the crime in person?’ he asked tiredly.

  ‘No talking,’ ordered Doyley. ‘Or I will shoot you.’

  Desperately, Chaloner wondered if Eleanore had managed to alert Hungerford, but she was taking a long time over it, and he could hear the thieves moving from room to room, increasingly confident when no one stirred. Then came Reymes’ indignant voice, followed by an answering groan from a drowsy woman. Chaloner felt a surge of relief. The courtiers were waking up without outside help. The plot might yet be thwarted.

  ‘Stop,’ ordered Doyley sharply, as Chaloner took a step towards the corridor.

  ‘Why? People are coming to now. The alarm will be raised, and Spring and his friends will run to save their skins. It is over.’

  Doyley smiled coldly. ‘It is not over at all. In fact, it is only just beginning.’

  And then Chaloner understood at last. ‘This is a diversion! The real crime is taking place elsewhere – and involves regicides and other dangerous dissidents!’

  Chapter 17

  Doyley made no reply to Chaloner’s accusation, while out in the hall Reymes was yelling at the top of his voice. His howls were punctuated by indignant squawks from Lady Savage and the distant sound of a skirmish: the burglars were meeting at least some resistance from their intended victims.

  ‘You sent us to sleep with cheap wine,’ bawled Lady Savage accusingly, ‘in the belief that we are sots who will not notice. Indeed, everything here reeks of miserliness and thrift.’

  ‘How dare you!’ bellowed Reymes indignantly. ‘Do you have any idea how much it costs to house you and keep you in revels? And do not say I can afford it, because I cannot – not with a fortune to pay for the “privilege” of being a commissioner. Now drink your wine, woman, and shut up. I have work to do.’

  His voice grew closer, then Doyley’s door was flung open and he strode in, although he stopped abruptly when he saw Chaloner held at gunpoint.

  ‘He came to steal,’ explained Doyley. ‘But he chose the wrong room.’

  ‘Hah!’ exclaimed Reymes, gratification lighting his eyes. ‘So Clarendon’s spy is a common felon. Excellent! I shall not let the old goat forget this.’

  ‘I shall keep him here until you are free to take him into custody,’ said Doyley.

  Reymes nodded his thanks and was gone, leaving Chaloner blinking in confusion. If Reymes was part of the plot, he would know that the thieves hailed from the prison, so why did he believe that ‘Clarendon’s spy’ was one of them? He turned back to see Doyley smirking at him.

  ‘You have no idea what is happening, do you? But do not think you will find out, because you will make a grab for this gun soon, so I shall have to shoot you. No questions will ever be asked, and you will be dismissed as a grubby little felon who tried to rob his fellow courtiers.’

  Bewildered, Chaloner rubbed his head, although he was not at all perplexed about Doyley, who obviously intended to dispatch him as soon as a suitable interval of time had passed. So where were Sutcliffe and his rebels while Buckingham House was in turmoil? Stealing the money from the rectory? But of course they were! There had only been shillings in the bag Chaloner had taken, but there could well be guineas in the others.

  ‘Your note to Cocke was a fiction,’ he said, aiming to see if he was right. ‘The elephants are not arriving at dawn – they are already here.’

  Doyley frowned. ‘Cocke claimed he had lost that, but I had a feeling it had been stolen. I should have known it was you – a man sent to pry into matters that do not concern him.’

  ‘He dropped it in the orchard, where it was picked up by Jem Collier.’

  Chaloner could tell Doyley did not believe him, not that it mattered. He glanced at the door, wondering if he could dive through it before the commissioner pulled the trigger.

  ‘You can die in here quickly, or out there slowly,’ said Doyley sharply. ‘I strongly advise the former. Do not underestimate me, Chaloner. I will carry out my threat.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Chaloner, fraught with tension. ‘What is—’

  Doyley raised the gun and squinted down the barrel. Fortunately, Chaloner’s instincts were still sharp, even if his wits were sluggish. A distant part of his mind remembered the way Mrs Bonney’s dag had pulled to the left when he had fired it in the orchard, so he jerked in the opposite direction. The bullet cracked harmlessly into the wall.

  He leapt at Doyley before the commissioner could rearm. Doyley stumbled backwards, and Chaloner had just managed to push him against the wall when Reymes hurtled in.

  ‘Thank God!’ cried Doyley. ‘Help me, Bullen!’

  Reymes obliged his friend by slashing at Chaloner with the flat of his sword, blows that hurt enough to force him to release his prey. Chaloner scrabbled for his own weapon, but too late. Reymes’ blade was at his throat, and the savage look in his eye warned against fighting back.

  ‘He rushed me and the dag went off,’ said Doyley in a voice that was unsteady with genuine shock. ‘He would have murdered me had you not arrived. Kill him, before he tries it again.’

  ‘I am not in the habit of skewering unarmed men,’ retorted Reymes. ‘Besides, I want to see Clarendon’s face when I present him with evidence that a member of his household is a felon.’

  ‘Then I will do it.’
Doyley grabbed a knife from the table. ‘He is too dangerous to leave alive, just so you can gloat.’

  Doyley wanted him silenced before he could reveal what was afoot, Chaloner realised with quickening hope. Which meant that Reymes was not part of the conspiracy, or Doyley would not care what was divulged.

  ‘This burglary is a diversion,’ he said urgently, flinching when Doyley swiped at him. While Reymes pushed his friend back with an irritable scowl, Chaloner knocked the sword away from his throat. ‘Listen to me, Reymes. There is a plot to—’

  ‘Ignore him, Bullen,’ ordered Doyley. ‘And you cannot hand him to Clarendon alive – if you do, he will pose a serious threat to security. Let me kill him, and you will be well rewarded.’

  Reymes regarded him in surprise, which allowed Doyley to stab at Chaloner a second time, a blow the spy only just managed to evade. Chaloner fumbled for a knife of his own, but his fingers encountered the Dutch telescope instead, which was far better for blocking slashes. In the distance, a woman squealed. Was it Eleanore? Regardless, it meant the thieves had moved to another part of the house, and so posed a less immediate danger to him.

  ‘Doyley arranged for you to be burgled tonight,’ he said to Reymes. ‘By prisoners from—’

  ‘Doyley did not – I did,’ interrupted Reymes shortly. ‘Although they are not prisoners. They are locals, eager to earn a shilling for a bit of easy work. Never let it be said that life here is dull.’

  ‘They are prisoners!’ insisted Chaloner urgently, dodging yet another swipe from Doyley’s blade. ‘And while you waste time here, different thieves are stealing the elephants.’

  ‘What elephants?’ demanded Reymes, eyes narrowing.

  ‘Enough, Chaloner,’ snarled Doyley furiously. ‘You will be silent or—’

  ‘The ones in the rectory.’ Chaloner still had no idea who was in league with whom, but he knew he had to convince Reymes, or Sutcliffe and his radicals were going to succeed. ‘Doyley fabricated a tale about stockpiling food in readiness for the plague, but the cellar contains coins, not victuals. I saw them the evening you caught the Colliers.’