‘But who is the master?’ said Williamson in anger and frustration. ‘We know it is not Fitzgerald, and Harley is not clever enough.’
‘It must be someone closer to home,’ replied Thurloe, and Chaloner rolled his eyes when he saw his friend look meaningfully at Lester.
Williamson nodded, although he had not understood the significance of Thurloe’s glance. ‘My favoured suspect at the moment is Kipps.’
‘Kipps?’ echoed Chaloner warily.
‘He has a habit of appearing in unexpected places,’ explained Williamson. ‘Such as in the Tennis Court at an Adventurers’ gathering, even though he is not a member. And he is very rich, yet they refuse to enrol him. Why, when he seems exactly their kind of man?’
And that was not all, Chaloner thought but did not say. Kipps had pretended not to notice while Dugdale and Edgeman had rifled through the Earl’s office in search of God knew what, and he had known about the letters to the Queen, even though Clarendon and Hyde had kept them secret. Moreover, Frances had mentioned Kipps’ interest in the vault the day Chaloner had been locked in, and he had eavesdropped when Chaloner had made one of his periodic reports to the Earl. Chaloner was aware of Thurloe looking at him – he had also voiced suspicions about the Seal Bearer – but he ignored him, not yet ready to consign the affable Kipps to the role of villain.
‘I thought the culprit might be Meneses,’ said Thurloe, when Chaloner declined to speak. ‘But if he is dead, then I suppose he must be innocent. He is dead, is he not? You are certain?’
Williamson nodded. ‘Personally, I am suspicious of Dugdale and Edgeman. The Adventurers comprise many of their employer’s enemies, and I never did understand why they joined.’
‘I think it might be Leighton,’ said Chaloner softly. ‘He lives in Queenhithe, and he does sinister business with the gunsmiths in St Martin’s Lane.’
‘Leighton is high on my list of suspects, too,’ agreed Williamson. ‘He is too smug by half.’
Thurloe suddenly addressed Lester. ‘Do you know the latitude of Tangier?’
Lester blinked. ‘Of course. It is thirty-five degrees and forty-eight minutes. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason,’ replied Thurloe, although he glanced at Chaloner and there was a world of meaning in the look. Lester saw it.
‘Or is it forty-five degrees and thirty-eight minutes? It has been a while since I sailed there.’
It was not long before something began to happen. Secretary Leighton appeared, wearing a thick cloak, but identifiable by his scuttling gait. He approached Katherine silently, and stood staring at her for a moment, a sinister figure in the swirling mist. Then he clapped his hands and suddenly the quay was alive with activity.
Servants hurried from Katherine bringing torches, some of which they held aloft, while others were set into sconces along the walls. These formed bubbles of yellow light, which did little to illuminate matters, and a good deal to reflect the fog. Then a veritable cavalcade arrived, a chaos of prancing horses and rattling hooves. Within moments, the hitherto silent wharf was transformed into a riot of movement and noise. Lights began to burn in the nearby houses, as residents roused themselves from their slumbers to see what was happening.
‘The Adventurers,’ whispered Williamson, although Chaloner and Thurloe did not need to be told. ‘They are early, damn it! Is there nothing that will not conspire against us today? I was hoping for more time, to give my men a chance to return.’
‘No hope of that,’ said Lester grimly. ‘As you said, we are on our own.’
Chaloner watched helplessly as half the Court disgorged from the coaches and aimed for Katherine’s gangway. Leighton scurried forward to greet O’Brien and Kitty, who were both clearly looking forward to what promised to be an unusual occasion. Brodrick was there, too, although there was no sign of Hyde. After them came Grey, Dugdale, Edgeman, Buckingham, Lady Castlemaine and other wealthy and influential people. They assembled in a noisy, chattering throng before being assisted aboard by men in uniforms. The escorts’ unsteadiness on the gangway said they were not sailors, but White Hall servants dressed to emulate them.
‘Was Jane here when you arrived?’ Chaloner asked Williamson. There was no answer, and he looked to see the Spymaster transfixed by the sight of his friend’s wife.
‘Should I go to her?’ the Spymaster asked in a whisper, more to himself than the others. ‘Warn her that mischief is afoot, and that she should leave without delay?’
‘Yes,’ replied Chaloner. ‘And tell her to take everyone else with her.’
‘Tom is right,’ said Thurloe, after a moment. ‘I know it is not for mere spymasters to cancel such occasions – I faced similar restrictions when I held your post – but this is too grave a matter to take chances with. Go to Leighton, explain your concerns.’
‘And what if he is the master?’ asked Williamson wretchedly. ‘It will tell him that we are suspicious, and we will have lost our only advantage – the element of surprise.’
‘True,’ nodded Lester. ‘So we had better hold off until we have a clearer idea of their plans.’
‘What about Tom’s question?’ asked Thurloe, giving the captain a glance full of dark suspicion. ‘Was Jane here when you arrived?’
‘Yes,’ replied Lester. ‘I went aboard briefly, but she was deserted.’
‘Surely that is odd?’ asked Chaloner. ‘I would not leave a ship without a guard in Queenhithe.’
‘Neither would I,’ said Lester. ‘Perhaps the crew had wind of the Adventurers’ attack, and decided to scarper. I do not blame them – I would not give my life protecting a wreck like Jane.’
‘Maybe we are worrying over nothing,’ said Williamson in sudden hope. ‘The Adventurers will not attack her now – not while they are enjoying themselves on the boat next door.’
‘True,’ acknowledged Thurloe. ‘However, the Piccadilly Company’s plan is still set to unfold, and that has always promised to be the more deadly.’
‘Perhaps not even that will happen if Fitzgerald’s master fails to kill Pratt,’ persisted Williamson. ‘You say you sent a man to warn Pratt – that may be enough to retard the entire scheme.’
It was a pleasant thought, but Chaloner did not believe it. He took a deep breath in an effort to summon some energy. ‘Regardless, we are doing no good in here. We need to go aboard Katherine and find out what is happening.’
‘I will come with you,’ offered Lester immediately.
‘No,’ said Thurloe sharply. ‘He does not need your help.’
‘He does,’ countered Lester sharply. ‘I know my way around ships. He does not.’
‘Quite,’ murmured Thurloe in Chaloner’s ear. ‘He will have an unfair advantage.’
‘Perhaps we should all go,’ suggested Williamson worriedly. ‘Two of you will not be able to do much, but four …’
‘You should stay here and be ready to deploy your men, should they return,’ said Lester practically. ‘Besides, it is only a reconnaissance mission. We do not intend to do anything.’
‘Very well,’ said Williamson. ‘But be careful.’
‘Yes,’ said Thurloe pointedly, his eyes boring into Chaloner’s. ‘Be very careful.’
Chaloner followed Lester towards the ships, acutely aware of being watched by Thurloe and Williamson. Or was it other eyes that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, as it always did when he was in danger? Fitzgerald, perhaps, or his master? Because whatever Lester said, Chaloner was certain the pirate would not have left Jane unprotected, especially given that a heavily armed warship containing a lot of Adventurers was moored next to her.
There were two gangways attached to Katherine. The one the Adventurers had used boasted streamers and carpets, and led to the aft end of the upper gun deck. The other was a narrow service entry through a gunport at the bow, intended for crew. A footman had been stationed at the top of the former to deter gatecrashers, and when his back was turned, Chaloner aimed for the second.
‘There is
something odd about Jane’s trim,’ said Lester, pausing halfway up the plank to study her. Chaloner grabbed his arm and pulled him on, horrified that he should dawdle when they might be being watched. ‘She is strangely heavy in the bows.’
‘Perhaps only the back half of her has been unloaded.’
Lester smirked at this lack of nautical knowledge. ‘It is more likely that she is taking on water.’
‘The Adventurers will be pleased, then,’ said Chaloner, squeezing through the gunport. ‘If she sinks, they will not have to worry about burning her.’
Once on board, he paused to gain his bearings. Katherine was rich with the scent of new wood and tar, and he was immediately aware of the rhythmic creak of her timbers as she rocked on the ebbing tide. The guests were in the stern, and there was already a lot of noise – the clink of goblets, the plummy laughter of men who were well pleased with themselves, and the banter of lively conversation. Lester caught Chaloner’s arm.
‘They will be in the Great Cabin – that is the big room at the other end of the ship. It is the only space large enough for a party their size. Go there, and see what is happening.’
‘Where will you be?’
‘Looking at the rest of the vessel to see whether there is anything unusual. You will appreciate that I am better qualified to do it than you.’
Chaloner felt a twinge of misgiving, but nodded anyway. His unease intensified as he travelled the whole length of Katherine without encountering another person. Surely there should be servants present, managing matters behind the scenes as their masters socialised? Men to broach casks of wine, or prepare refreshments? Or sailors to ensure that ignorant landsmen did not tamper with something that might later cause problems at sea?
He reached the Great Cabin and peered around the door, expecting at any moment to be grabbed and an explanation demanded for his presence. Inside, the Adventurers were enjoying themselves. Leighton was serving rum – familiar to sailors, but still a rarity in London – from a large barrel in the centre of the room, and although there were winces at the taste, all were willing to endure it for the sake of novelty.
There was an atmosphere of jollity, which intensified when O’Brien picked up a fiddle that had been left lying artistically on a chest and began to play a medley of sea-jigs. A few people started to sing, while others spoke more loudly to make themselves heard. Drink was spilled as sloppy toasts were made, and the reek of it was strong in the crowded room.
Not everyone had given themselves over to rowdy entertainment, however. Dugdale and Edgeman stood near the door, their faces taut and expectant. Were they waiting for something to happen, or were they just uneasy after the Earl’s earlier words about dismissing members of his staff who were Adventurers? Grey was another who seemed ill at ease, and so was Swaddell, while Brodrick was clutching his stomach, claiming he was seasick.
Chaloner was about to leave when Dugdale happened to glance in his direction. Their eyes locked. The Chief Usher opened his mouth and an accusatory finger started to rise. Chaloner did not wait to find out whether anyone would be interested to hear that interlopers were aboard. He turned and ran back the way he had come. There were raised voices behind him, but he could not tell whether they were simply those of men – and women – made boisterous by the consumption of strong drink, or whether some sort of chase was in progress.
Unwilling to be ejected before he had learned anything useful, Chaloner aimed for the lower decks, sliding down three ladders in the hope that any pursuers would assume he had aimed for the gangway, and would not expect him to move deeper inside the ship. When he was sure the ruse had worked, he began to walk forward, intending to find a different set of steps to take him back to the Great Cabin’s level.
He was surprised to see lamps had been left burning at regular intervals, and wondered whether Leighton planned to open the entire vessel to the Adventurers later – and whether they would treat it with the same careless abandon that they treated Temperance’s club. Regardless, it was risky to leave unattended flames in a structure that was made of wood.
He whipped around suddenly when he heard a click behind him. It was Lester, and he was holding a gun.
‘That is far enough,’ the captain said softly. ‘It is time this matter was ended.’
Chapter 12
Chaloner gaped at the dag that Lester held. Then he saw it was not pointing at him, but at someone hiding in the shadows behind him. He turned to see Fitzgerald. The pirate stepped into the circle of light cast by the lamp, moving with a haughty confidence that immediately set alarm bells ringing in Chaloner’s mind. Before he could draw his own weapons or shout a warning to Lester, Brinkes and his henchmen emerged from the darkness, too. All carried guns and daggers.
Undeterred, Lester took aim at Fitzgerald, intending to shoot him anyway, but ducked when a knife hurtled towards him. It missed by the merest fraction, and the gun flashed in the pan. Without waiting to see what happened to Lester, Chaloner hauled his sword from its scabbard and launched himself at Brinkes, hoping the speed of his attack would catch the henchman off guard.
But Brinkes was no novice in the art of skirmishing. He feinted away and brought his gun down hard on Chaloner’s wrist, forcing him to drop the blade. Chaloner was reaching for his knife before the sword hit the floor, but the others also reacted with commendable speed, and it was not long before he was overwhelmed. Powerful hands grabbed him, and when he finally stopped struggling, he saw that Lester had been similarly secured.
‘Do not bother to shout for help,’ said Brinkes, his face bright with the prospect of violence to come. ‘You will not be heard, not above the racket the Adventurers are making.’
‘Hold them tight,’ ordered Fitzgerald in his piping treble. His single eye glittered. ‘We do not want them to interfere with our plans.’
‘What plans?’ demanded Lester.
‘I am not inclined to discuss them with you,’ replied Fitzgerald coldly.
Although it was not the first time Chaloner had been in the pirate’s presence, it was the first time he had seen him commanding troops. Fitzgerald’s manner was calm and self-assured, and the men he had hired were professionals who followed his orders unthinkingly. With a growing sense of alarm, Chaloner finally began to understand why Thurloe considered him such a formidable adversary.
Footsteps caused everyone to glance towards the stairs. It was Harley, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw that prisoners had been taken.
‘The man who has been asking questions,’ he said, regarding Chaloner with contempt. ‘You have been a nuisance ever since you realised the Piccadilly Company might make you rich.’
‘Will it?’ asked Chaloner innocently. ‘How?’
Harley sneered at him. ‘I am no more inclined to answer questions now than I was a week ago.’
‘Then let me answer them,’ said Chaloner quickly, when Harley nodded to Brinkes, who cocked his pistol and aimed it at Lester. ‘You want the Queen discredited, so Tangier will return to Portugal – away from the hands of the Adventurers. You have a sympathetic governor in Bridges, but he is greedy and demands too much—’
‘Enough,’ snapped Harley. ‘Shoot them, Brinkes. We do not have time to deal with captives, and these two are too dangerous to leave alive.’
‘No!’ countered Fitzgerald, as Brinkes prepared to obey. ‘Their yells may not carry, but gunshots will, and we do not want any alarms. I know how to dispose of them with no risk to ourselves.’
He gave Harley a significant look, causing the colonel to smile slowly as understanding dawned. Chaloner suppressed the unsettling images that immediately flooded into his mind, and forced himself to concentrate.
‘Murder,’ he said, looking hard at Harley. ‘But that is no stranger to you, is it? I know it was you who killed Reyner and Newell. And Reyner’s mother, too.’
‘Liar!’ snarled Harley, although the alarm in his eyes told anyone who saw it that the accusation was true. He turned to Fitzgerald. ‘He
is just trying to make trouble. Ignore him.’
‘Reyner was beginning to weaken,’ Chaloner went on. ‘So you gave him a paper written in the Vigenère cipher, which you said was a list of enemies and would protect him. But it did nothing to reduce his agitation, so you killed him, lest he cracked.’
‘Reyner would not have cracked,’ said Harley, although his voice lacked certainty.
‘Vigenère cipher?’ asked Fitzgerald rather dangerously. ‘Not a letter from our master?’
‘Of course not,’ said Harley quickly. ‘It was a copy of one I once sent to Teviot, describing Jews Hill. I do not know why Reyner agreed to meet Chaloner in the Gaming House, but it would not have been to reveal all.’
‘Reyner made an assignation?’ asked Fitzgerald. ‘Then it seems you were right to dispatch him.’
Harley had evidently not anticipated approval, because his expression was one of confusion. ‘I did not … It was … But never mind this. Brinkes, bring the prisoners over here.’
‘Newell suspected you were Reyner’s killer, so you murdered him, too,’ said Chaloner, as Brinkes moved to obey. He was guessing, but the immediate anger in Harley’s face said he was right. ‘You went to a gunsmith, and ordered a dag with special modifications. It killed him as he demonstrated it in St James’s Park.’
‘How very interesting,’ said Fitzgerald flatly, fingering his enormous beard.
‘And you strangled Reyner’s mother because—’
‘Because she could not keep her mouth shut,’ snarled Harley, cutting across him and addressing Fitzgerald. ‘Reyner confided in her, but she gossiped, especially when she was drunk. It was necessary, and I would do the same again.’
‘You have been busy on our behalf,’ mused Fitzgerald softly. ‘Very busy.’
Chaloner continued his attack on Harley, aiming to widen the rift that was beginning to open. ‘I know why you murdered Teviot, too – he was an Adventurer who made it difficult for Jane to trade. But was it really necessary to slaughter his soldiers as well?’
The Piccadilly Plot: Chaloner's Seventh Exploit in Restoration London (The Exploits of Thomas Chaloner) Page 37