The Body in the Thames: Chaloner's Sixth Exploit in Restoration London (Exploits of Thomas Chaloner)

by Gregory, Susanna

  Chaloner was appalled. ‘But Newgate only held him for a day, and he learned the truth as soon as he escaped. Hanse, Molins, Compton and White have paid the price for trying to thwart him.’

  Edwards opened his eyes, and spark of defiance flashed in them. ‘But I still live, and the real Sinon Plot has not come to fruition yet. I can still stop him.’

  ‘How?’ demanded Chaloner. ‘And what is the real Sinon Plot?’

  Edwards swallowed hard and muttered a prayer. For a moment, Chaloner thought he was going to refuse to break the oath he had sworn, but he began to speak after a moment.

  ‘The peacemakers have one thread of hope left: the convention at the Savoy this evening. If that fails, Heer van Goch will go home.’

  ‘Falcon intends to sabotage it?’

  Edwards nodded. ‘But we have not been able to discover how. He might have hired assassins, planted a bomb or even prepared documents …’

  ‘What kind of documents?’

  ‘Neither government has been entirely scrupulous in its dealings with the other, and it is possible that Falcon has obtained written evidence of it. If he has, making it public will destroy friendly relations between our two countries for ever.’

  Chaloner was exasperated. ‘I do not see why you and your friends went to such pains to keep this a secret. Williamson is perfectly capable of—’

  ‘Because of Falcon himself,’ whispered Edwards. ‘He is not just the impostor-vicar from Cheapside. He is also someone powerful and wealthy – a high-ranking diplomat or politician, probably one who thinks anarchy will make him rich. Williamson is not capable of handling a traitor of such magnitude.’

  Chaloner still did not understand, but there was no time for more explanations. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘We never managed to find out, although we have our suspects: Ruyven, Zas, the conveniently missing Secretary Kun—’

  ‘I had better visit the Savoy, then,’ said Chaloner, turning towards the door.

  ‘Wait! They are not the only ones. Why does Charles Bates spend so much time in the Spares Gallery, and can we be sure he left London yesterday? Then there is Kicke, who stole from White Hall using some very good disguises. And finally, Griffith’s manservant is sinister, and I distrust him intensely, although Compton never shared my suspicions.’

  ‘You said you were going to stop Falcon today,’ said Chaloner, supposing it was down to him to put the plan into action. ‘How?’

  Edwards swallowed hard. ‘I shall go to the conference and look for him.’

  Chaloner was bemused. ‘But you have just listed six suspects, most of whom will have a legitimate reason for being there. How will you know which one to challenge? Moreover, Falcon is a master of disguise, and might decide to be someone else today. You may not recognise him.’ Especially, he thought, as Edwards was as blind as a bat.

  ‘Well, what would you have me do?’ cried Edwards, distraught. ‘I dare not go to Williamson or the Privy Council, lest one of them transpires to be the villain.’

  ‘Can you walk?’ asked Chaloner. The plan was feeble, but he could not think of a better one.

  Unfortunately, Edwards fell back on the bed when he tried to stand, moaning and clutching his middle. Chaloner was on his own.

  ‘Rest now,’ he said, wishing five amateurs had not meddled in matters best left to professionals. ‘And when Wiseman arrives, tell him everything. Perhaps he can devise a plan to—’

  ‘No,’ sobbed Edwards. ‘I will not bring Wiseman into Falcon’s sights. You are already doomed, but I will not damn anyone else.’

  Once outside the Tower, Chaloner hesitated, not sure what to do first, but acutely aware that time was passing. He pretended to be inspecting fruit on a barrow when two rough villains strode past, and fumed at the wasted moments. How could he concentrate on foiling Falcon when he could not move about the city without fear of being apprehended? Or should he give himself up, and use his capture as an opportunity to tell Williamson all he had learned?

  But then he thought about Edwards’s contention that Falcon was a high-ranking politician or diplomat. Williamson might be Falcon, and marching into his lair might see him executed on the spot. And then no one would be left to stop him. So whom could he trust?

  The only person who came to mind was van Goch, who had worked so hard for peace. Chaloner brightened as he thought it through. But how was he to reach him? He could hardly walk into the Savoy and demand an interview when the entire delegation thought he was a spy. Mulling the problem over, he hailed a hackney and ordered it to The Strand as quickly as possible.

  Once there, he hid in the alley opposite, reflecting on how best to get in. Ruyven had not been exaggerating when he said he had improved security – especially on the day when the place would be flooded by high-ranking men from both nations – and the grounds and the front of the hospital complex were thick with soldiers. He could not sneak past them in broad daylight, so he needed to gain access another way.

  He hurried to Covent Garden, where it did not take him long to find what he was looking for – a cart piled high with vegetables from the country. He experienced a pang of guilt when he punched the owner and shoved him into a convenient coal shed, but his conscience did not prick him for long. Within minutes, he was driving down Bow Street, all his attention on the task in hand. He crossed The Strand and steered the pony towards the Savoy.

  ‘What is this?’ demanded Ruyven, on duty at the gate. ‘We did not order these.’

  He spoke Dutch, so Chaloner pretended not to understand, keeping his head down and hoping Ruyven would not see through his disguise. Fortunately, a much larger wagon laden with firewood arrived at the same time, and Ruyven decided that represented more of a threat. Chaloner’s little vehicle was waved through impatiently. He abandoned it near the kitchens, and made his way towards Jacoba’s quarters. She would help him reach van Goch.

  The Savoy was busier than he had ever seen it. Its courtyard had been swept and carpets set down, so visiting dignitaries would not soil their shoes in the mud produced by drizzle and dust. Retainers were everywhere, pinning up banners, carrying platters of food and jugs of wine, and giving windows and doors a last-minute polish. Zas and Taacken stood near the State Room, heads together as they discussed some urgent point of business. Taacken looked tense and unhappy, although Zas was full of fierce good humour, his foxy eyes everywhere.

  Chaloner listened outside Jacoba’s door for a moment, to ensure she was alone, then entered. She was sitting in the window, reading. She turned sharply, and opened her mouth to scream.

  ‘It is me,’ he said urgently, raising his hands to show he meant her no harm. ‘Tom.’

  She peered at him fearfully. ‘Things are being said about you, and now you arrive in disguise!’

  He closed the distance between them quickly, and knelt at her side. ‘I am not a spy, but there is one at large – a very dangerous one. His name is Falcon.’

  Jacoba swallowed hard. ‘Falcon? There is no one here called Falcon.’

  ‘It is an alias,’ explained Chaloner tiredly. ‘He might be anyone – Kun, Zas …’ He did not mention Ruyven, but she read it in his mind anyway.

  ‘It will not be Ruyven,’ she said, shaking her head firmly. ‘He is … not that kind of man.’

  ‘You think you know him because he was your lover,’ said Chaloner bluntly. There was no time to mince words. ‘Hanse found out about your relationship, which led me to wonder whether Ruyven had killed him. But it was Falcon.’

  ‘We never meant to hurt Willem,’ said Jacoba in a small voice. ‘But he walked in on us one evening. When you offered to find out who had murdered him, I repeated what he had said about Ruyven being a bad enemy in the hope that it would keep you and Ruyven apart.’

  ‘To protect me?’ asked Chaloner, a little coolly. ‘Or him?’

  ‘Both. And my reputation. Ruyven is not clever, and I knew you could trick him into a confession. But how did you find out? We were very careful, and no one els
e knows.’

  It was a sordid business, and Chaloner was sorry that Hanse had spent the last few weeks of his life distressed by it. But Jacoba’s infidelity was not relevant to his duties that day.

  ‘Has Kun been found yet?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ Jacoba gazed at him with huge eyes. ‘But I fear he may be dead – poisoned and drowned, like Willem. And it is horrible here without them to calm ragged tempers. Downing’s accusations have the whole place in an uproar, especially the ones about you.’

  Chaloner was beginning to feel overwhelmed. ‘Downing is playing right into Falcon’s hands,’ he said bitterly. ‘As long as attention is focused on me, Falcon is free to do as he pleases.’

  ‘How do you know Downing is not Falcon?’ asked Jacoba. ‘You mention Kun and Zas as suspects, but there is nothing to say this evil is the work of a Dutchman.’

  ‘No, there is not. But regardless of who he is, we must stop him before he damages both our countries. Will you take me to Heer van Goch?’

  ‘No!’ Jacoba was appalled. ‘You will be arrested and shot before you can explain yourself.’

  ‘Please, Jacoba. I would not ask if it were not important.’

  She put her head in her hands. ‘I do not know what to think! You are no spy – Aletta would not have married one of those – but Ruyven says you are dangerous, and so does Downing.’

  ‘Then I will find my own way to the ambassador. All I ask is that you do not raise the alarm until I have had a chance to talk to him.’

  Jacoba shot him an anguished look, but rummaged in a chest to emerge with a voluminous gown and a feminine wig. She helped him don them, and told him to wash the first disguise from his face. Then she led him along a series of corridors. She was obviously frightened, and her behaviour when she met friends was suspicious, to say the least. Chaloner braced himself for capture, but although there were raised eyebrows at her uncharacteristically curt salutations, no one challenged them.

  ‘We made it,’ she murmured eventually, heaving an unsteady sigh as she stopped outside a heavy door. ‘But I still think you are insane. Leave, before you are caught.’

  ‘Go back to your rooms,’ instructed Chaloner. ‘If I am … if matters do not go according to plan, I will not tell anyone you helped me, so do not admit it.’

  When he was sure she had gone, he opened the door and stepped inside. He found himself in an antechamber, where visitors waited for private audiences with the ambassador. It was empty, so he aimed for the door at its far end. This opened into a handsome parlour, and a third door led to a bedchamber. It was closed, suggesting van Goch was resting within, rallying his energies for the looming convention. The middle room contained only one occupant.

  ‘Kun!’ exclaimed Chaloner. ‘Where have you been?’

  Kun’s jaw dropped when Chaloner flung off the wig and gown. The secretary was pale, unshaven, and his eyes were hollow. He shot an agonised glance towards the bedchamber, then beckoned Chaloner out of van Goch’s quarters, to an adjoining set of rooms. From the teetering piles of legal papers that filled them, Chaloner assumed they were Kun’s own.

  ‘You are accused of espionage!’ the secretary hissed, checking the corridor carefully before closing the door. ‘Are you insane, to come here so brazenly?’

  ‘You are hardly the man to talk,’ retorted Chaloner. ‘You, who totes stolen Privy Council papers around London in cheeses, and leaves them behind in hackney carriages.’

  Kun put his head in his hands with a groan. ‘They have been found?’

  ‘When did you take them?’ demanded Chaloner. ‘I know Hanse did not do it.’

  ‘Actually, he did – when he and van Goch were visiting Worcester House that Friday morning. He saw them on a table and slipped them in his bag. It was a blunder of monumental proportion.’

  Chaloner recalled the Earl’s confession: that the papers had gone missing earlier than he had led everyone to think. But even so, Chaloner still did not believe that his kinsman was a thief. He started to shake his head, but Kun overrode him.

  ‘He came straight to me, and told me what he had done. I was horrified, and ordered him to return them the very next day, before Clarendon missed them. But he went out that night and never returned, so the problem devolved to me. I cannot tell you what a strain it has been.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  Kun looked as if he might be sick. ‘I decided to send them back to Clarendon in a cheese, in the hope that the matter would be quietly forgotten. But …’

  ‘But a rogue hackneyman whisked you down an alley and threatened you. He brought you home, but you were so frightened, you ran, leaving them behind in your panic. Or some of them, at least.’

  Kun slumped on to a chair. ‘Putting them in the cheese was harder than I anticipated, so half were still in my pocket. I hid some in a vase, for want of somewhere safer. And look at the trouble that caused! The rest I managed to burn. But I wish to God I had set fire to them all, instead of trying to be clever, and attempting to mitigate the damage.’

  ‘But why did Hanse steal them in the first place?’ Chaloner was appalled. ‘He wanted peace, and removing papers from a house in which he was a guest was hardly the way to achieve it.’

  ‘He hoped they would reveal the identity of a traitor – a man whose machinations are damaging the negotiations. It was a desperate measure taken by a desperate man. And to rub salt into the wound, the papers were a lot of nonsense anyway – contradictory, irrelevant and misleading.’

  ‘It is a sorry mess,’ said Chaloner, disgusted. ‘Surely, you have professionals to manage this sort of thing? You and Hanse did not have to dabble yourselves.’

  ‘But we do not know who to trust!’ cried Kun. ‘Because of the man called Falcon.’

  ‘You know about Falcon? How?’

  ‘Hanse told me. He described how he met four honourable Englishmen who are committed to thwarting him. Falcon is the one who has been sabotaging the negotiations, you see.’

  ‘What did Hanse tell you about the Sinon Plot? And do not deny knowing about it this time.’

  Kun hung his head. ‘The Sinon Plot is Falcon’s final coup de grâce, a scheme that will destroy the friendship between our two nations for ever. Hanse also said he suspected Falcon was not in Newgate, and was going to visit the place to find out. But he was murdered before he could go there.’

  So he had left messages telling Chaloner to do it instead. Unfortunately, missives without explanations were useless, and Chaloner had unravelled the mystery far too late.

  ‘I went to your Spymaster on Friday night,’ said Kun brokenly. ‘I told him Falcon was trying not only to sabotage the peace talks, but to damage our governments, too. He listened politely, but I could tell he did not believe me. So I have been trying to find this villain myself.’

  ‘Is that why you have been missing? Your friends have been worried about you.’

  ‘I dared not tell anyone what I was doing, lest I inadvertently confided in Falcon or his agents. The only person I trust is Heer van Goch. He knows I am back, but no one else does.’

  ‘Falcon’s agents?’ asked Chaloner uneasily.

  ‘Of course. He cannot have achieved all this on his own. Besides, the intelligence he has used to create confusion and distrust comes from leaks at the very highest level. We are not talking about State-Room gossip here, but highly classified information.’

  ‘You do not think I am Falcon, then?’

  ‘You cannot be – you have not been in London long enough. He is either a Dutchman who travelled with us, or an Englishman who was already here.’

  ‘He plans to make his move today,’ said Chaloner. ‘At the convention. You must tell van Goch, so he can be on his guard. Meanwhile, I will try to—’

  ‘You two will not be doing anything,’ came a quiet voice from behind them.

  Chaloner spun around. It was Ruyven.

  Chaloner knew, from the expression of gloating malice on Ruyven’s face, that he was in serious trou
ble. The Dutchman held a gun, and it was primed and ready to fire. Behind him were Zas and Taacken. Zas’s expression was troubled, while Taacken’s was unreadable.

  ‘How much did you hear?’ demanded Kun uneasily.

  ‘Most of it.’ Ruyven shot Chaloner a disdainful smile. ‘This may come as a surprise, but Jacoba cares more for me than she does for you. She told me what you forced her to do.’

  Roughly, Taacken relieved Chaloner of sword, daggers and even the little gun. He tossed the latter to Ruyven, who regarded it admiringly before slipping it into his own pocket.

  ‘You have been a fool, and so was Hanse,’ said Zas to Kun in disgust. ‘Playing such games when so much was at stake! How could you have been so stupid?’

  ‘I did what I thought was right,’ said Kun with quiet dignity. ‘For peace.’

  Zas rubbed his chin as he looked at Ruyven. ‘The best way forward is to execute Chaloner. The atmosphere in the Savoy will lighten when people know he is dead, and it may buy us the time we need to catch the real traitor. Falcon, as Kun just called him.’

  ‘I shall oblige you with pleasure,’ replied Ruyven with a grin.

  ‘No!’ cried Kun, appalled. ‘You cannot murder an innocent man!’

  ‘Consider yourself lucky that we do not shoot you, too,’ said Zas coldly. ‘Your actions have harmed our country, and that makes you guilty of treason, as far as I am concerned.’

  ‘Kun, warn van Goch,’ called Chaloner urgently, as Ruyven started to manhandle him towards the door. ‘About Falcon’s plans to—’

  ‘Stay here and make sure he does not escape,’ Zas ordered Taacken, treating the secretary to a look of utter disdain. ‘And if he gives you trouble, kill him, too.’

  ‘How dare you—’ Kun’s outraged objections stopped abruptly when Taacken, unwilling to take chances, bundled him unceremoniously into a closet and locked him in.

  ‘Please,’ Chaloner begged, appalled that van Goch would go to the convention blithely unaware of Falcon’s intentions. ‘If you overheard us talking, then you will know that Falcon plans to—’