The Chelsea Strangler

by Susanna GREGORY

  Reymes scowled, then turned to his victorious guests. ‘You are in charge here, Newport – lock these rogues in the cellar and see to the wounded. The rest of you, come with me.’

  ‘Come with you where?’ asked Greeting warily.

  ‘To save your country from ruin, if we are not too late,’ replied Reymes shortly.

  Chaloner watched Newport begin to herd the sullen burglars towards the basement, although it was Lady Savage’s jabbing sword – stained with someone else’s blood – that convinced them to go without a fuss. Then Eleanore appeared.

  ‘I just saw Franklin racing towards the rectory,’ she reported. ‘We must stop him.’

  ‘How did you see him?’ demanded Reymes, eyes narrowing in suspicion. ‘You were in here with us, fighting thieves.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Eleanore sighed irritably when she saw it did. ‘I spotted him through the window. Now, let us catch him before he causes even more trouble.’

  There was thunder in the air as Chaloner trotted after Reymes, Eleanore and their rag-tag band of helpmeets, who comprised Greeting, Hungerford and two courtiers whose names he had forgotten. Then lightning lit the land as bright as day, before plunging it back into darkness again. It illuminated figures on the road ahead. The dissidents! Chaloner hauled out his sword and broke into a run, aiming to prevent the novices at the front from falling quite so early in the game. But it was not regicides and rabble-rousers who blocked the way.

  ‘Strangeways!’ spat Reymes. ‘I might have known! He and his vile kin are part of this damned plot, and I shall kill them where they stand.’

  He surged forward, and Chaloner was hard-pressed to keep up with him. Strangeways wore an old metal breastplate from the wars, and carried a fish-gutting knife, while young Wadham had what appeared to be a basin on his head, and brandished a stick that was far too thin to be of any use. Giles was unsteady on his feet, and the way he held his musket would have been dangerous if it had been loaded. They looked ludicrous, like characters from a comedy at the theatre. Reymes clearly thought so, too, because he faltered when he reached them, wrong-footed.

  ‘What plot?’ asked Strangeways, when the commissioner repeated his accusation.

  ‘Stealing the King’s gold,’ replied Reymes tautly. ‘As you know perfectly well. You joined it to harm me, you malicious bastard. You know I am prefect, and thus in charge of its security.’

  ‘Actually, I asked them to come,’ said Eleanore. ‘I ran to the village for help while Tom eavesdropped on Franklin and Tooker earlier. Unfortunately, Franklin dosed them with soporific as well, because everyone was fast asleep except these three. I told them to arm themselves, and prepare to defend Chelsea’s honour.’

  ‘Franklin must have doctored the wine he gave away in the Swan tonight,’ said Strangeways. He nodded towards Giles. ‘He only had one cup, but look at the state of him – reeling about like an old sot. I warned folk against drinking it, but no one listened.’

  ‘Franklin poisoned an entire village?’ asked Greeting, aghast.

  Strangeways nodded. ‘Once word spread that free claret was available, everyone flocked to the Swan to have some.’

  Reymes surveyed his troops disparagingly. ‘So here is the army that will save the King’s gold from dangerous radicals: an ancient fishmonger, a drunk, a pimply youth with a twig, a woman, Clarendon’s spy, four debauchees and me.’

  ‘You are lucky to have us,’ objected Strangeways indignantly. ‘Not everyone would abandon his principles to fight by the side of an ass like you.’

  ‘So what is the plan?’ asked Giles genially, propping his musket against Reymes in order to relight his enormous pipe. ‘March up to the rectory and let rip?’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Hungerford, eyes gleaming wildly. ‘I cannot think of a better idea. We shall probably die, but that will not matter if we save the Treasury.’

  The other courtiers exchanged uneasy glances. The sycophants at White Hall were not noted for their valour, and Chaloner could tell by the way they held their swords that most had never been drawn in anger. He swallowed hard. It was going to be a disaster!

  ‘We need a diversion,’ he said, thinking fast. ‘Two, in fact.’

  ‘Yes,’ growled Reymes. ‘A dose of their own medicine. I like that!’

  Chaloner turned to Giles, whom he adjudged to be the least useful person present – he was too intoxicated to move quietly, and would be a liability in a skirmish. Moreover, the reek from his pipe would warn anyone of his presence from miles away.

  ‘Go to Buckingham House and tell Lady Savage to make as much noise as she can. The objective is to make Franklin think that Reymes is frantically fighting burglars, and that the racket has woken his guests. Franklin will then assume that everyone at Buckingham House is occupied, which will give us the advantage of surprise.’ He turned to the others. ‘Who has guns?’

  There were five in total, including Mrs Bonney’s unreliable pistol and Giles’ musket. Chaloner loaded them himself, not trusting anyone else to do it properly. Then he took the remaining powder and fashioned a crude bomb, using the scant equipment to hand – a metal flask from Giles, a strip of cloth from Eleanore’s skirt, and the pin from Hungerford’s brooch.

  When he had finished, he glanced up to see nine faces looking at him with eager anticipation, and realised they were expecting a miracle. It was unsettling, as he could provide no such thing. He gave the weapons to Strangeways and Eleanore, and explained what he wanted them to do.

  ‘Will it work?’ asked Strangeways doubtfully.

  Chaloner nodded confidently, although the truth was that he had no idea. ‘The ground is tinder-dry.’ A sudden rumble of thunder mocked his words. ‘But it must be done before it rains.’

  ‘Then we had better hurry,’ said Wadham, ‘because it will pour soon. I can smell it in the air.’

  So could Chaloner, and he winced when several flashes of lightning illuminated them as they stood in the road, sincerely hoping that no one from the rectory happened to be looking their way, or the encounter would be over before it had begun. He turned to the others, and outlined the rest of his plan, before ensuring that everyone was armed with at least one weapon with a decent point. He glanced at Reymes, who was unexpectedly acquiescent. Was this suspicious, or was the commissioner merely glad that someone had an idea that might save his skin?

  ‘Lord,’ gulped Greeting. ‘I do not think I am equal to this. I am a musician, not a warrior.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Hungerford, as the beginnings of a rumpus began to emanate from Buckingham House. ‘Comfort yourself with the knowledge that you die for King and country.’

  ‘Follow me,’ ordered Chaloner, before Hungerford could make any more unsettling remarks.

  He set off fast, aiming for the rectory’s back gate, where he picked the lock. Then he led his helpmeets into the dark garden.

  Chapter 18

  The racket emanating from Buckingham House was impressive – Lady Savage was doing herself proud – and masked admirably the sound of snapping twigs and muffled curses as Chaloner led his troops through the rectory’s overgrown garden. His stomach churned with tension, and he was sure they would have been caught instantly had he not arranged the din. He indicated that everyone was to wait near a derelict shed, while he went to reconnoitre.

  ‘How do we know we can trust you?’ hissed Reymes, belligerent again. ‘You might decide to throw in your lot with the villains for a cut of the proceeds. I am coming with you.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Chaloner, manfully ignoring the insult to his integrity and thinking it would be better to have Reymes where he could see him anyway: the commissioner was not the only one who distrusted his allies. ‘Wadham can come, too, lest we need a message carried to the others.’

  Before Reymes could argue, he began to creep through the tangled undergrowth towards the back of the house. His heart sank at what he saw: twenty men – a dozen middle-aged fellows in nondescript clothes, and another eight whose hard-edged
demeanour suggested mercenaries.

  ‘Christ God!’ breathed Reymes. Chaloner could feel him shaking with outrage, and hoped he would not launch another anger-driven assault, or all would be lost. ‘Regicides from the list that you found in Cocke’s room. You were right after all. I cannot believe it!’

  ‘And the “soldiers” who collected them from the College,’ surmised Chaloner. ‘They gave Tooker old customs forms, and told him they were official documents of transfer.’

  ‘I recognise some of the bastards.’ Reymes pointed to the one who had spoken French in the Garden Court. ‘That is John Dove. The man by the door is Will Say, while Andrew Broughton, John Lisle and Ned Dendy are next to him. King-killers, the lot of them, just like your uncle.’

  ‘And all guests in your prison,’ Chaloner shot back, feeling that Reymes was hardly in a position to cast aspersions.

  Reymes opened his mouth to argue, but Chaloner waved him to silence, and led the way to the front of the house, where three wagons had just arrived, all covered with tarpaulins. The carts were accompanied by Warwick and six liveried guards, who Chaloner suspected had been chosen for their smart uniforms rather than their martial abilities. Reymes was right, he thought in despair: Warwick was a fool who could not be trusted with such matters. The mercenaries would cut him and his pretty men to pieces in moments.

  ‘Look,’ growled Reymes, pointing. ‘That scheming villain Franklin.’

  The physician, sleek and smug, was talking to Warwick, whose teeth could be heard clicking together in agitation, even from a distance.

  ‘But I am uncomfortable leaving it out here,’ the secretary was saying. ‘I want to see it locked safely in the cellar. And where is Reymes?’

  ‘Busy masking your arrival with a rumpus,’ replied Franklin smoothly. ‘As you can hear. And you cannot come in, because it would compromise our new security arrangements. I am not doubting your integrity, you understand, but what you do not know, you cannot later be forced to reveal. Here is the receipt to say that you have done your duty.’

  ‘All sealed and official,’ said Warwick. He sounded unhappy as he peered at it in the gloom. ‘But I am Secretary of the Treasury! You cannot expect me to leave the—’

  ‘Orders,’ interrupted Franklin crisply. ‘From high-ranking members of government, so not for the likes of you and me to question. Now, if there is nothing else, we must get on.’

  Lightning flashed again, revealing Doyley’s brown-coats in the upper windows, all with weapons trained on the yard below. Chaloner swore under his breath. Racing out and warning Warwick that he was about to hand the gold to thieves would see him shot long before he could explain – and Warwick and his men would quickly follow him to the grave.

  ‘We have never met before, Rector Wilkinson,’ said Warwick, still reluctant to abandon the precious cargo. ‘But Reymes told me that you were … slimmer.’

  ‘Strain,’ explained Franklin shortly. ‘I eat when I worry. But all will be well now that the elephants are here. Goodnight.’

  There was not much Warwick could say after being so summarily dismissed, so he mounted up, flung a last, anxious glance towards the carts, and led his guards out of the gate.

  The moment Warwick had gone, the rebels and mercenaries who had been waiting at the back of the house poured out of the front, and the brown-coats were not long in joining them. At their head was a slender figure in a long coat. Chaloner recognised him as the person he had chased two nights before – the so-called spectre.

  ‘You see, Sutcliffe?’ said Franklin smugly, as the thud of hoofs faded into the night. ‘I told you I could do it. That asinine Warwick was putty in my hands.’

  Sutcliffe flung back the cowl that shadowed his face, revealing darkly forbidding features that were unmistakably the same as the ‘batman’ on Dorothy’s wall. His eyes gleamed oddly, visible even in the gloom.

  ‘Change the horses on the carts,’ he instructed the mercenaries. His voice was high for a man, although there was nothing gentle about it. ‘A barge is waiting, and I want these crates on it before dawn. Hurry! The longer they are on land, the greater the chances that someone will see us.’

  His men raced to do his bidding. Chaloner turned to whisper to Wadham.

  ‘Go after Warwick. Tell him what is happening and bring him back. Quickly!’

  The lad nodded, then proceeded to lumber through the garden so clumsily that Sutcliffe and Franklin cocked their heads in his direction. Fortunately, both relaxed when there was a sudden renewed cacophony from Buckingham House.

  ‘Spring and his fellows are putting up a better fight than I expected,’ remarked Franklin. ‘But the racket should not last much longer. Even Reymes’ drunken libertines should be able to trounce that lowly bunch.’

  Sutcliffe was visibly angry. ‘You said there would be a minor ruckus – just enough to occupy anyone who refused your wine – but this uproar will bring the whole village here to gawp.’

  ‘Hardly – I gave them enough soporific to drop a horse. And the battle in Buckingham House is all part of my plan anyway. Spring and his crew have outlived their usefulness, and this is an easy way to be rid of them. No loose ends, as we agreed. Stupid Reymes! He thinks he is working for the King, but instead he is dispatching burglars for me. What a joke!’

  ‘No joke,’ said Sutcliffe coldly, while Chaloner sensed that Reymes was having difficulty in controlling himself. ‘And you have miscalculated. There is too much noise, and someone is bound to come and see what is happening. We cannot afford to be spotted.’

  ‘No one will come,’ said Franklin dismissively. ‘And if they do, we shall just repeat the tale that has worked before: that we are stockpiling food.’

  ‘And loading it on a barge?’ asked Sutcliffe archly. ‘Besides, Reymes will know it is a lie.’

  ‘Then I shall poison him. He will not hinder us, never fear.’

  Both turned as one of the rebels approached – the man Reymes had identified as John Lisle.

  ‘You have served us well, Franklin,’ he said amiably. ‘Both you and Cocke.’

  ‘Cocke was a liability!’ spat Franklin. ‘He was all for stealing Gorges’ money openly – and would have done it, if I had not taught him how to do it discreetly.’

  ‘I thought the dancing masters did that,’ said Sutcliffe, frowning. ‘At least, that is the rumour in the village.’

  ‘They stole from the inmates,’ corrected Franklin. ‘But I refer to funds filched from the coffers – another mystery, designed by me, to draw attention away from this place, although, as I say, Cocke would have fouled it up if I had not intervened. He also told Clarendon’s men that you and I were friends, Sutcliffe.’

  ‘He would never have done that,’ said Sutcliffe shortly. ‘Do not lie.’

  ‘I am not,’ objected Franklin. ‘It is true. He also urged them to speak to Parker, who knew enough about my activities to be a danger to us. Fortunately, the Chelsea Strangler got to Parker before they could act on the advice. But Cocke was a drunken fool, wholly incapable of holding his nerve, and I am glad he is no longer in a position to harm us.’

  ‘He was a loyal ally,’ countered Sutcliffe. ‘And the only man in London who could converse intelligently about Shakespeare’s comedies – unlike you, who knows less than a gnat.’

  ‘We enjoyed our stay in the College,’ said Lisle quickly, after a short and obviously uncomfortable silence. ‘Tooker could not have been more accommodating, and it was a fine place to hide and wait.’

  ‘I arranged it all,’ boasted Franklin, pointedly turning his back on the surly assassin. ‘Good food, lovely rooms, deliveries of weapons. Some of the gaolers were suspicious, but I told Tooker how to assuage their concerns.’

  ‘You should not have let him send burglars to London,’ said Sutcliffe accusingly. ‘It might have been a lucrative caper for you and your brother, but it posed an unnecessary risk to us.’

  ‘Rubbish! Besides, they will all be dead soon, and we will be on our way to France.�
��

  ‘You are coming with us?’ asked Lisle, surprised. ‘You will not continue your work at the asylum?’

  ‘There is no point. Parker was mistaken when he said coffee can cure insanity, and I am not wasting any more of my time on his mad theories.’

  ‘And you, Sutcliffe?’ Lisle turned to the assassin. ‘Will you accompany us overseas, or will you stay to press your claim on the College? Living in it these past few weeks must have made you want to try – to retrieve your rightful inheritance from this corrupt government.’

  ‘I shall return to Greenwich and bide my time,’ replied Sutcliffe darkly. ‘It will—’

  ‘When will I be paid?’ demanded Franklin, demonstrating his dislike of Sutcliffe by cutting rudely across him. ‘Today or at the—’

  Sutcliffe moved fast, and the physician gave a gasp that was part pain and part astonishment, before crumpling to the ground. Chaloner saw a flash of metal as the assassin sheathed his blade.

  ‘He was right about one thing,’ said Sutcliffe flatly. ‘No loose ends. Do not gape at me, Lisle – such worms can never be trusted, as you know perfectly well.’

  ‘I cannot imagine how you persuaded him to join us,’ said Lisle, staring down at the body. ‘He had a good job, the respect of his colleagues, the satisfaction of curing the sick…’

  ‘Greed,’ replied Sutcliffe, loudly enough for his fellow conspirators to hear. ‘It corrupts the most steadfast of hearts.’

  He eyed them one by one. They shuffled uneasily under his basilisk gaze, although Chaloner thought he need not worry about betrayal from them. Exiled regicides were the most dedicated radicals alive, with nothing left to live for but the prospect of another revolution.

  Chaloner and Reymes crept back through the undergrowth to their remaining troops. Hungerford was raring to go, but the others were hesitant and apprehensive, and Chaloner knew he had to set his plan in motion before they lost their nerve completely. Quickly, he repeated what he wanted each of them to do.