Reymes’ expression hardened. ‘I had a feeling that they were telling the truth when they claimed they had never been downstairs. Was it you we chased then?’
‘It must have been,’ yelled Doyley, almost beside himself. ‘So dispatch him before he tells everyone what he knows, and we have every criminal in the country at our doors.’
‘That money is for the relief of injured sailors, Chaloner,’ said Reymes sternly.’ The Sick and Hurt Fund. You would not be so unscrupulous as to put that at risk.’
‘The sick and hurt!’ Chaloner’s understanding coincided with a flicker of lightning. ‘Hannah wrote that the Peacemaker and the Dandy would strike at the sick and the hurt. She must have overheard Sutcliffe say that the rebels were going to—’
‘He is deranged,’ cried Doyley. ‘He cannot be trusted. For God’s sake, Bullen, end it!’
‘You rented Buckingham House, and invited the most debauched courtiers you could find to stay with you,’ Chaloner forged on when Reymes wavered uncertainly. ‘It was to attract attention away from the rectory. You hold noisy parties at specific times, with Greeting and Hungerford under orders to make as much racket as possible.’
‘Bullen!’ howled Doyley, lunging again. ‘Enough!’
‘It worked,’ Chaloner went on. ‘The villagers are fascinated by what happens here, and watch intently. Yet despite your best efforts, the rectory is still the subject of gossip. Wilkinson has a suspicious number of visitors for an unpopular man, and shadows move around it at night to—’
‘Doyley explained that,’ interrupted Reymes sharply. ‘We are laying in food for the village, lest the plague—’
‘There is not enough of it to supply a whole parish,’ argued Chaloner. ‘What he showed us was victuals for your brown-coats.’
‘Brown-coats?’ echoed Reymes, his eyes wary.
‘That is enough,’ snapped Doyley. ‘Either dispatch him yourself, or get out of my way and let me do it.’
‘The Sick and Hurt Fund was being delivered at the time.’ Chaloner still addressed Reymes. ‘You were probably here, overseeing the rumpus that would allow it to arrive unnoticed. Doyley pretended to take us into his confidence with the yarn about food, expecting that we would ask no more questions, but—’
‘Go and manage your burglary, Bullen,’ ordered Doyley, struggling to control his anger and frustration, ‘or it will peter out into nothing, and you will have wasted your money. Leave Chaloner to me.’
‘You told the Treasury men that the King’s gold cannot be moved before August,’ said Chaloner, ignoring Doyley as he continued to appeal to Reymes. ‘But that is not true, is it? It is a fiction, put about so that thieves will not ambush it when—’
‘Stop!’ breathed Reymes in alarm. ‘Please, no more!’
‘It is the Treasury that is arriving at dawn,’ finished Chaloner. ‘The Sick and Hurt Fund was a dry run, the final test of your careful arrangements. Everything is in place now – a team of guards, their victuals, a way of diverting attention from the place where the King’s gold will be stored—’
‘You are wrong,’ said Reymes, although his horrified eyes suggested otherwise. ‘Why would we bring it to Chelsea?’
‘Because it cannot stay in White Hall while the plague rages, and nor can it be toted around the country every time the King decides to move. It needs somewhere secure and permanent, and conveniently close to where you can fulfil your obligations as commissioner. But it is not safe here, Reymes – it is being stolen as we speak.’
‘Ignore him,’ barked Doyley. ‘He is trying to unsettle you for sinister reasons of his own. Now kill him, for God’s sake. We have wasted enough time on his nonsense.’
But Reymes’ attention remained fixed on Chaloner. ‘Stolen by whom?’
‘By the rebels who have been hiding in your prison – not as inmates, but as pampered guests. After all, who would think of looking inside a gaol for them? It was a stroke of genius to use the Garden Court to house them until the gold arrives.’
‘What rubbish is this?’ spat Doyley in disdain. ‘No one lives in the Garden Court. How could they? There is no room – it is full of food.’
‘It is not,’ countered Chaloner, ‘although you let Kipps and me believe it was when we asked, with your coy winks and enigmatic remarks. And all to protect dissidents – enemies of the state.’
‘You are the one with the regicide uncle, not me,’ hissed Doyley. ‘So do not—’
‘Shut up!’ Reymes turned back to Chaloner. ‘What dissidents?’
‘Ones who are in league with a man who thinks the College should be his, and who has been moving about Chelsea secretly, watching all that happens. People call him the spectre.’
‘You mean Sutcliffe?’ asked Reymes, frowning. ‘I thought I saw him lurking near the College one night, and I always said that the government was rash to annoy an assassin by turning “his” property into a prison.’
‘Sutcliffe!’ sneered Doyley. ‘A worn-out nobody, who spends all his time at the theatre. How can a man like him pose a danger to us? Chaloner is lying, Bullen.’
‘He aims to steal the King’s gold, and he has recruited a dozen men to help him,’ Chaloner told Reymes, acutely aware that Sutcliffe’s chances of success rose with every passing minute. ‘Agitators and radicals, who will use it for rebellion. And if they do, you will bear the blame.’
Reymes blinked. ‘Me? Why?’
‘Because you arranged for your guests to be drugged and your house to be burgled. You did it to ensure that no one will be watching the rectory when the elephants arrive, but that is not what the King will believe when his hoard disappears. Was it Doyley’s idea?’
‘The burglary was.’ Reymes cast a sidelong glance at his fellow commissioner, who was vehemently shaking his head. ‘But we have not drugged anyone. Why would we? We need the guests awake to make a fuss over the robbers.’
‘Listen!’ urged Chaloner, trying to control his rising agitation. ‘We have been howling loudly enough to wake the dead, but are your guests awake? No, they are not – other than Lady Savage, and even she has gone quiet. Doyley arranged for Franklin to dose everyone with a soporific that—’
Doyley lunged at Chaloner so hard that sparks flew from the telescope. ‘Kill him now,’ he screamed. ‘I will hear no more lies.’
‘But he is right,’ said Reymes worriedly. ‘My guests should be swarming all over the house by now and—’
With a roar of frustrated fury, Doyley leapt at Reymes instead. Reacting instinctively, Reymes raised his sword to protect himself, and Doyley’s face contorted with agony as he ran on to the point. He collapsed on the floor, clutching his chest.
‘My God!’ breathed Reymes, staring at him with a mixture of horror and confusion. ‘Everything Chaloner said is true! Why else would you attack me?’
Doyley was struggling to breathe. ‘You … killed me … Your friend…’
‘No friend of mine,’ countered Reymes unsteadily. ‘Not if you have conspired to steal the Treasury. Why would you do such a terrible thing?’
Doyley no longer tried to deny it, and the fight went out of him as his life ebbed away. ‘I also resent … burdened with … costly commission…’
‘So you threw in your lot with rebels?’ asked Reymes in a strangled voice. ‘You, who were knighted for your loyalty to the King?’
Doyley closed his eyes. ‘I deserved better … Then you said his gold … coming here … you asked my advice … to keep it safe…’
‘What have you done?’ Reymes was whiter than the dying Doyley. ‘Tell me!’
Doyley’s voice was barely audible. ‘The plan … in motion … cannot stop it now.’
It was not long before Doyley’s laboured breathing stopped, and despite frantic attempts by Reymes to make him reveal more, he died with sealed lips. When it was over, Chaloner opened the door and peered into the corridor. It was still and silent, and he wondered if the burglars had finished their raid, and were already traipsing back
to the College with their loot. If so, they would be in for a shock when they arrived.
‘Now we must try to thwart the greatest theft the country has ever known,’ said Reymes, standing slowly, and rubbing a shaking hand over his eyes. ‘Although God knows how.’
‘Summon your men,’ ordered Chaloner briskly. ‘The brown-coats from your country estate.’
‘I do not have a country estate – it was sold years ago, to pay for the civil wars. And Doyley hired the brown-coats, so obviously they cannot be trusted. On the contrary, they will likely fight against us.’
Chaloner regarded him askance. ‘Why would you let Doyley, a man who has nothing to do with the Treasury, recruit the men who will guard it?’
‘Because he offered, and I was low on funds.’ Reymes’ expression grew more wretched than ever. ‘I assumed it was a gesture of friendship, but I should have known that no one does anything for nothing in this world. Damn him to Hell!’
‘Then who do you trust in Chelsea?’
‘No one. Doyley, Franklin, Cocke … they have all betrayed me. No, wait! I trust Kipps. He is a Treasury colleague, even if he is another Clarendon man. Where is he?’
‘Gone to Hampton Court.’
Reymes closed his eyes in despair. ‘Christ God!’
‘Lend me a fast horse,’ instructed Chaloner, aware that vital moments were passing. ‘I will ride to White Hall, and tell Warwick to keep the King’s gold there.’
‘It is too late – it has already left,’ gulped Reymes. ‘And Doyley recommended that Warwick take an indirect route of his own choosing, for added security, so you are unlikely to intercept it.’
‘Warwick!’ pounced Chaloner. ‘He can be trusted. What does he know about your plans?’
Reymes looked ill. ‘Nothing – he is an empty-headed fool, which is why I turned to Doyley for help. I went secretly to White Hall on Monday night, and told him to load the carts ready for a quick getaway, but I declined to reveal anything else.’
So that was why Reymes had been striding into Chelsea from the east the previous morning, thought Chaloner; the tale about taking a walk to cure a headache was a lie. ‘Was it your idea or Doyley’s to keep Warwick in the dark?’
‘His – he said it would be safer. Indeed, nearly all “my” ideas came from him: the noisy revels, bringing the gold here, pretending to stockpile food … Christ! I have spent every penny I own on this scheme, because he said the King would reward me with a lucrative post when it succeeded. He played me for a fool, and even if I am not executed, I shall be ruined financially.’
‘So will the King,’ Chaloner pointed out.
Reymes screwed up his face in anguish and took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he released it slowly, and resolve took the place of despair.
‘No! I shall not allow these bastards to destroy me. We are going to stop them.’
‘How, when there is just you and me?’ asked Chaloner. ‘And Eleanore Unckles.’
While Reymes opened the door and peered out to check the coast was clear, Chaloner reloaded Mrs Bonney’s gun and shoved it in his belt. Then the commissioner led the way towards the stairs. He was as nimble as a rhinoceros, and Chaloner was sure they would be heard as he blundered along. There was no sign of the burglars, but far too much was at stake to risk running into them.
‘Did you really not know that the thieves were to come from the prison?’ Chaloner asked softly, indicating that Reymes was to hold back while he looked around a corner.
‘The agreement was for Franklin – whom Doyley insisted on taking into our confidence – to recruit a few trustworthy villagers. Dosing my guests with soporifics was never part of the plan. I would have refused.’
‘But why bother with such elaborate subterfuge? Why not just bring the gold here in the dead of night, when the village sleeps?’
‘Because some nosy soul would be awake, and then the elephants would be vulnerable for as long as they are stored here. Believe me, there had to be a distraction.’
Chaloner was finding it hard to credit Reymes’ gullibility. The commissioner had agreed to let Franklin hire villagers for a task that was manifestly peculiar, so how could he possibly think that they would do it without asking questions? Moreover, the rectory was near Buckingham House, so what if the false burglary attracted a crowd, all hoping to witness more lewd revels? The Treasury carts could never arrive unnoticed then. And Reymes accused Warwick of being dim-witted!
‘Tonight’s theft was never intended to pull attention away from the rectory,’ Chaloner explained, struggling not to sound contemptuous, ‘but to distract you. I imagine Doyley expected you to be killed or incapacitated, leaving him free to heap all the blame for the theft on you.’
‘But all the blame will not be heaped on me,’ countered Reymes. ‘Some will go to Clarendon, because it was his idea to move the Treasury from White Hall. So if you want to save his neck, you had better devise a plan. Fast.’
Unfortunately, Chaloner’s mind was blank, and he had started to worry about Eleanore, too. Where was she? Still trying to rouse Hungerford? Or had she encountered a thief and suffered the same fate as the two servants? Then they reached the main stairs, and his heart sank when he peered over the balustrade to see Spring and his men gathering in the hall below. Two bodies lay nearby – footmen who had bravely attempted to repel the invasion.
‘Him!’ breathed Reymes, eyes fixed furiously on Spring. ‘As soon as I clapped eyes on that fellow, I knew he was no Dutch sailor. His transfer here was almost certainly contrived.’
Chaloner recalled him saying as much in the rectory, and was unimpressed that he had failed to follow up on his suspicions, given that he intended to install the Treasury nearby. It was unforgivably lax, and told Chaloner that he should never have been appointed prefect.
‘Are we all here?’ Spring was so confident that no one could hear him that he did not bother to whisper.
‘Moor is still searching Reymes’ quarters,’ replied one of the thieves. ‘The man must be rich, because he rents this fine house, but I found nothing of value, so I told Moor to keep looking.’
Chaloner felt Reymes stiffen with rage, and shot him a warning scowl. It would serve no purpose to mount an assault when the two of them were so heavily outnumbered.
‘Moor is wasting his time,’ said another sullenly, ‘because the pickings here are paltry. Franklin risked our lives for a few jewels and some fancy clothes that will be difficult to sell on. He lied to us. We cannot live in luxury on what we found here tonight. We are—’
He stopped grumbling abruptly when another crony arrived at a run.
‘I just saw Franklin,’ the crony reported breathlessly. ‘He says Tooker is caught, and is telling Akers everything. We cannot go back to the College now, but he wrote down a place where we can hide until he finds us somewhere better.’
He handed over a piece of paper, and as Spring was directly under the balustrade, Chaloner had a good view of it. He could not read the words, but he certainly recognised the writing. It was the same untidy scrawl as the cipher message in Cocke’s room. In other words, Franklin had told the accompter how to cheat Gorges.
‘Hah!’ came a voice from the door, and everyone turned to see Hungerford, who held a sword and wore an eclectic array of improvised armour. He was followed by five similarly attired courtiers, including Greeting, the redoubtable Lady Savage and – to Chaloner’s relief – Eleanore.
Spring gaped at them. ‘You are meant to be asleep.’
‘Eleanore woke us,’ said Greeting. ‘I fled for my life when I saw the dead footmen, but then I met Dr Franklin in the garden, who assures us that we can defeat you with ease.’
‘So you had better put up your weapons,’ added Hungerford, brandishing his blade.
‘Franklin is creating yet another diversion,’ murmured Chaloner to Reymes, noting that the physician had slyly stationed himself outside, so he would not be caught up in it. ‘The Treasury must be close, so a battle here will—’
>
‘Attack the bastards, Hungerford,’ screamed Reymes, making Chaloner, courtiers and burglars alike jump in shock. ‘For King and country!’
The skirmish that followed was one of the most ridiculous Chaloner could ever recall. He and Reymes had six courtiers and two women to fight twenty felons who were desperate not to be taken. Hungerford and Lady Savage comported themselves adequately, but the rest – on both sides – were more of a danger to their friends than the enemy. Those with guns fired without taking proper aim, while the others flailed recklessly and clumsily with whatever happened to be to hand – swords and knives in some instances, but also pokers, walking canes and part of a fire-screen.
Chaloner did his best, but was acutely aware that he should be trying to save the Treasury, not doing battle with petty thieves, which did nothing for his concentration. Reymes had played right into Franklin’s hands with his foolish yell, making Chaloner wonder afresh whose side the commissioner was really on.
But luck was with him. The shots, howls, thumps and clashing blades roused more guests, who stumbled in to see what was happening. Some brought weapons, but others, assuming it was a game, lobbed books, plates and even furniture at anyone they did not recognise. Chaloner staggered when a vase struck him on the shoulder. It jolted him forward, which allowed the scything blow that would have decapitated him to pass harmlessly over his head. He glanced up at the balustrade, and saw that Eleanore had thrown it.
And then it was over. With a howl of pain and bitter frustration, Spring tossed down his cudgel. Seeing him defeated, his cronies did likewise. Only half of his men had survived the encounter unscathed; the rest had been injured, two seriously. Three courtiers lay unmoving on the floor, although whether dead, drunk or drugged was impossible to say.
‘I will turn approver,’ cried Spring, one hand to a bleeding elbow. ‘I will tell you about Tooker and Franklin in exchange for my life. I also learned things about Dutch shipping from the other inmates, which could help England to win the war.’
‘It might,’ cautioned Chaloner, stepping forward quickly to prevent an enraged Reymes from running the felon through. ‘At least give Spymaster Williamson the opportunity to decide for himself.’
The Chelsea Strangler Page 37