The Piccadilly Plot (33 page)

‘
Some
Adventurers are involved,’ stressed Williamson. ‘Not all of them.’

‘The Piccadilly Company includes Fitzgerald, Meneses, Brilliana, Harley, the Janszoons and Pratt,’ Chaloner went on. ‘And
Brinkes is their henchman.’

‘Among others,’ acknowledged Williamson. ‘It also includes a number of upstanding merchants, and several knights. They are
not all sinister, and some may very well think their sole aim is to export fine glassware to New England and bring gravel
back.’

‘Meanwhile, the Adventurers also boast dozens of rich and influential people,’ Chaloner continued. ‘Leighton, the Duke of
Buckingham, the King—

‘And four members of your employer’s household,’ interjected Williamson pointedly. ‘Brodrick and Hyde are open about their
association; Dugdale and Edgeman keep it quiet.’

‘Kipps is not a member, though,’ said Lester. ‘I cannot imagine why, because he is exactly their kind of fellow – rich, brash
and interested in extravagant parties.’

‘He was rejected, although I have been unable to ascertain why,’ said Williamson. ‘I would say it is because he works for
Clarendon, whom most Adventurers hate, but if that were true, then Hyde, Brodrick, Edgeman and Dugdale would not have been
accepted, either.’

Chaloner addressed his next question to Lester. ‘Have you heard of a ship called
Jane
?’

Lester nodded. ‘She is a privateer trading out of
Tangier. A smuggler, in essence. I remember her well, because she has a peculiarly curved bowsprit. Why?’

Chaloner hesitated, but was acutely aware that he and Thurloe could not thwart what was happening alone, and the Queen was
in danger. ‘Harley may have a connection to
Jane
. It has been suggested that I use it to blackmail him for answers.’

‘Then do it: smuggling is a hanging offence, and the threat may loosen his tongue.’ Williamson smiled, although it was not
a pleasant expression. ‘Does this reluctant sharing of information mean you have decided to work with us?’

‘I will think about it,’ said Chaloner, reluctant to capitulate too readily.

‘Very well,’ said Williamson stiffly. ‘You know where to find me.’

The discussion over, Lester accompanied Chaloner along King Street, while Williamson returned to his offices. Chaloner glanced
at the sky as they went, and saw it was too late to question Addison, Jacob, Harley or the witnesses to Newell’s death before
visiting the Queen. And he dared not be late lest Hannah took umbrage and declined to let him in. Irritably, he supposed he
would have to postpone his other enquiries until afterwards.

‘I really am sorry about the way you were brought to us,’ said Lester, seeing his annoyed grimace and misunderstanding the
reason. ‘Doines is a lout.’

Chaloner glanced at him. ‘Are you happy working with Williamson?’

‘Not at all! However, I shall continue to do so until this crisis is resolved – it is my duty as a sea-officer. Yet I cannot
rid myself of the notion that he might
incarcerate Ruth in Bedlam anyway, just for spite. And she does not belong there. She may be fey-witted, but she is not insane.’

‘Was she fey-witted when she married Elliot?’

Lester shrugged uncomfortably. ‘She has always been a little … unworldly. I did not want her to wed him, but she was in love,
and I did not have the heart to withhold permission. I wish I had, though, because he did not make her happy.’

‘My wife tells me you play the flute.’ Chaloner would have liked to express his sympathy, but was unsure what to say, so he
changed the subject to one he thought Lester might prefer instead.

Lester smiled. ‘Williamson was waxing lyrical about your skill on the viol today, so perhaps we should try a duet. We shall
do it after we have saved England from that damned pirate Fitzgerald. It will give me something to look forward to.’

Chaloner met Kipps when he arrived at White Hall, but the Seal Bearer looked him up and down in horror when he heard he was
bound for the Queen’s quarters – the scuffle with Doines had taken its toll on his finery. There was also a coffee stain on
his cuff, although he could not recall spilling any. Kipps whisked him into his office, and set about polishing his shoes
and brushing the muck from his coat. He also lent him a clean shirt and a pair of white stockings.

‘I have been hearing about the Adventurers today,’ said Chaloner while he changed, intending to find out what Kipps knew about
them. ‘I understand they—’

‘Thieves and scoundrels,’ declared Kipps uncompromisingly, scrubbing so vigorously at a sleeve that Chaloner
feared he might make a hole. ‘What gives
them
the right to sequester an entire continent for themselves, forbidding anyone else to trade there?’

‘Presumably the fact that the King is a member, and he can do what he likes.’

‘I thought that was why we had Parliament,’ snapped Kipps, uncharacteristically revolutionary. ‘So monarchs cannot make decisions
based on brazen self-interest. What have you been doing to get yourself into such a mess? Surely a conversation about the
Adventurers was not the cause?’

‘Commerce is a dirty subject,’ replied Chaloner wryly.

‘It is where the Adventurers are concerned,’ agreed Kipps. ‘I am glad they rejected my application to join, because they are
treasure-hunting aristocrats, not businessmen, and their venture will founder from lack of fiscal acumen.’

‘What about the Piccadilly Company?’ probed Chaloner. ‘Would you join that?’

‘Never heard of it,’ replied Kipps briskly. ‘You have one stocking inside out, by the way. God’s blood, Chaloner! No wonder
Dugdale considers you slovenly. And if you will not wear a wig, then at least remove the blades of grass from your hair.’

He fussed until he was satisfied, unwilling for the spy to leave in anything less than pristine condition. Aware that the
process had taken some time, Chaloner set off across the Great Court at a run, but was obliged to skid to a halt when he heard
someone calling his name.

It was Hyde, the Earl puffing along in his wake with Frances on his arm. Dugdale was behind them, nose in the air and looking
more regal than his master. From the other side of the courtyard, Buckingham aped the Earl’s
portly waddle, and his rakish companions burst into peals of laughter. Hyde glowered, but it was Frances’s admonishing look
that shamed them into silence.

‘Will you let them mock our employer so, Chaloner?’ demanded Dugdale indignantly. ‘Why do you not draw your sword and punish
them for their effrontery?’

‘Because the King will not be happy if I slaughter his oldest friend, his mistress and several of his favourite barons,’ replied
Chaloner shortly. He did not have time for this sort of nonsense.

‘There is no need for impudence,’ said Dugdale mildly, although his eyes showed his anger.

‘I suggest we incarcerate him in the palace prison for a few days,’ said Hyde, eyes narrowing. ‘That will teach him to mind
his manners.’

‘That is a good idea,’ nodded Dugdale. ‘They are cold, dark and full of rats.’

Chaloner regarded him sharply. Was it coincidence that he should mention rats and dark places, or did the Chief Usher know
what had transpired in Clarendon House the night before?

‘Your incautious tongue keeps bringing you trouble, Chaloner,’ said the Earl, raising his hand to prevent his son from adding
more. ‘I understand you accused Pratt of stealing, too. I wish you had not. What if he takes umbrage and decides not to finish
my home?’

‘He will do no such thing, dear.’ Frances patted her husband’s arm soothingly. ‘His pride will not let him abandon a half-finished
masterpiece.’

‘And architects
are
vain,’ agreed Hyde. ‘I know, because I trained as one, and met lots of them.’

‘It was hardly
training
, Henry,’ remarked Frances. ‘A few months on a—’

‘We were discussing Chaloner’s claims,’ interrupted Hyde sharply, clearly furious at being put in his place by his mother.
‘I do not believe he saw these thieves. I think he invented them, to encourage us not to dismiss him.’

‘We will never do that,’ said Frances vehemently. ‘I feel much happier now he is home, looking after our interests.’ She turned
to her husband. ‘And so do you, dear. You said so only last night.’

‘Well, yes, I did,’ acknowledged the Earl. Then he scowled at Chaloner. ‘But that was before he failed to lay hold of these
villains.’

‘I can find someone better,’ said Hyde stiffly. ‘Someone who will follow orders
and
keep a civil tongue in his head. Of course, he will not be a spy, but espionage is sordid anyway, and—’

‘It
is
sordid,’ interrupted Frances. ‘But it is also necessary. And no one will dismiss Thomas, because he is better at it than
anyone we have ever known.’

She took the Earl’s arm and pulled him on their way, inclining her head to Chaloner, who was not sure whether he had just
been complimented or insulted. The twinkle in her eye led him to hope it was the former. Dugdale followed, leaving Chaloner
alone with Hyde.

‘I am glad we met,’ said Chaloner, although he chafed at the passing time, and hoped Hyde would not prove awkward to interview.
‘I understand you witnessed Newell’s death today.’

‘I decline to discuss it,’ said Hyde curtly. ‘And you cannot make me.’

Chaloner was sure he could. ‘I only wanted to ask who else was there.’

‘Lots of people,’ snapped Hyde. ‘Men often demonstrate new weapons in St James’s Park on a Saturday
morning, and I was there with Leighton and the O’Briens. It is one of London’s favourite pastimes. Well, favourite among
respectable
people. I doubt you have ever been.’

‘How close were you when it happened?’

‘Quite close – touching distance.’ Hyde’s expression was suddenly bleak, and Chaloner realised that distress, not mulishness,
was the reason for his reluctance to discuss the matter. When Hyde next spoke, it was more to himself than the spy. ‘The weapon
was a type I had never seen before – and not one I am inclined to purchase, either, given
that
demonstration of its capabilities.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Chaloner sympathetically. ‘It cannot have been easy to witness.’

Hyde shuddered, and his manner softened slightly. ‘No. But never mind Newell – I have something much more important to tell
you. I declined to mention it in front of my father, because I do not want him worried, but I found another letter this morning.’

‘Where?’ asked Chaloner.

‘In the Queen’s purse again,’ replied Hyde. ‘Which means
she
must have put it there, because no one else goes in it. It was in a different one from last time – that was red, and this
one was yellow.’

‘
You
went in it,’ Chaloner pointed out. ‘So logic dictates that someone else could, too.’

‘Yes, but I am her secretary,’ countered Hyde haughtily. ‘I am different.’

‘What did the letter say?’ asked Chaloner, declining to argue. ‘And where is it now?’

‘It reiterated all the same nonsense as the first three. I put it on the fire.’

‘Good,’ said Chaloner, pleased Hyde had done
something right at last. ‘Are you sure the whole thing was burned? No readable fragments were left?’

Hyde shot him a look of pure dislike. ‘Of course I am sure. But I cannot waste time chatting to you. I have an important Adventurers’
meeting to attend.’

The Queen’s quarters comprised a suite of rooms that were cold in winter and hot in summer, and while a few chambers afforded
a nice view of the river, most overlooked a dingy courtyard near the servants’ latrine. Chaloner went through the formalities
of admission with Captain Appleby, then climbed a staircase that was nowhere near as fine as the one that led to the Earl’s
offices.

‘There you are, Tom,’ said Hannah, emerging from a plain and rather threadbare antechamber. ‘I was beginning to think you
might have forgotten. Where have you been?’

‘Hyde found another letter today.’ Chaloner ignored the question and said what was on his mind. ‘In the Queen’s purse. Does
he often rummage around in those?’

Hannah gaped. ‘He certainly should not! I would not appreciate a man rifling through mine, not even you. They are personal.’

Chaloner was thoughtful. Had Hyde gone where no man should dare to root because he wanted to protect the Queen, or because
he was eager to see her in trouble? And there was the question that kept nagging at him: had Hyde planted the letters there
himself?

‘He said it was in a different purse from last time,’ he went on. ‘Yellow, rather than red.’

Hannah stared at him. ‘The Queen never uses the red and yellow ones – she does not like them. Her favourites are the green
and white.’

Chaloner smiled. ‘Which is indicative of her innocence – if the letters
were
hers, they would have been in the purses she uses, not in the ones she dislikes.’

‘All well and good,’ said Hannah worriedly. ‘But it means someone villainous has access to the Blue Dressing Room – the chamber
where she keeps such accessories. I shall have to work longer hours, to see if I can catch him.’

‘Please do not,’ begged Chaloner, alarmed. ‘It might be dangerous.’

‘It would be worth it.’ Hannah raised her chin bravely, reminding Chaloner of why he had married her. ‘The Queen is worth
ten of anyone else in White Hall – except the Duke and you.’

Chaloner supposed it was a compliment, although he was not flattered to be likened to Buckingham. ‘I have a number of clues,’
he lied. ‘So there is no need to risk yourself just yet. But we had better make a start before Hyde comes back.’

‘He has gone for the day. Why do you think I suggested you come now? I wanted to show you how Her Majesty gets letters without
him leaning over my shoulder and contradicting me at every turn. He really is the most frightful bore, and I wish she had
a different secretary.’

So did Chaloner. He followed her through another grimly barren chamber, to one that was luxuriously appointed, with paintings
by great masters and a wealth of fine furnishings.