The Piccadilly Plot

Chapter 10

Chaloner arrived to find White Hall in turmoil, because preparations for the ambassadorial visit had been left until the last minute. The Banqueting House was full of frantic servants, and there was an air of emergency as they tried to make everything ready in time. The situation was not helped by the number of courtiers who had appeared to ‘help’. They included the King, who seemed to know what he was doing, and a vast array of earls, dukes and lords, who did not.

Chaloner walked inside, dodging around six footmen who were struggling to carry an enormous painting of a Turkish bordello. It had been used for the play that had been performed there recently, but it was too large to hide with ceremonial cloths — and was hardly a suitable backdrop for diplomatic ceremonies — so the King had ordered it removed. Judging by the strained expressions on the men’s faces, this was easier said than done.

‘The blue ones, man!’ Buckingham was shouting to another minion, who had been charged with hanging flags. ‘We keep the red for the Russians, and today’s visitor is Swedish.’

‘I shall ensure the ambassador does not take umbrage,’ drawled Lady Castlemaine. ‘I can think of something that will make him feel welcome.’

Chaloner glanced at her once, and then looked again because he could not quite believe what he had seen. She had donned a flimsy shift that did nothing to conceal her elegant curves, and had adopted a posture to show them to their best advantage. He was not the only one whose attention had been snagged: virtually every other man was staring, too.

‘She was wearing a gown over that when she first arrived,’ said Kipps, making no effort to disguise his admiration. ‘But she gave it to the Queen, who said she was cold.’

Chaloner looked to where he pointed, and saw Katherine standing forlornly to one side. The robe was too long, and trailed rather ridiculously on the floor. Hannah, who was with her, beckoned Chaloner over.

‘I see someone caught your eye,’ she said frostily.

‘She caught Hyde’s, too.’ Chaloner gestured to where the Earl’s son was hurrying towards the Lady, divesting himself of his coat as he went.

‘What is he doing?’ asked Hannah, amused. ‘Does he intend to ravage her? The King will not appreciate that. Not in front of all these witnesses.’

They watched Hyde drape the garment around the Lady’s shoulders. Irritated, she shrugged it off, but the King happened to glance around at that moment, and was patently furious to see his mistress sharing herself with the world. He surged towards her and had it buttoned around her in a trice. He muttered something to Hyde, who flushed with pleasure.

‘Hyde will be even more unbearable now,’ said Hannah in disgust. ‘Smug little b-’

‘Why all the fuss?’ asked Chaloner quickly, looking around at the chaos. The Queen was within earshot, and he did not think she would approve of a lady-in-waiting calling her secretary names. ‘The Swedish ambassador’s reception has been planned for weeks. I read about it in The Newes.’

‘Yes, but no one reminded the Court, and it was only remembered this morning,’ explained Hannah. ‘So the King roused everyone out to make ready in time. The Queen and I have been asked to make sure all the paintings are hung straight. I am sorry I did not come home last night, by the way. I was at Brodrick’s soirée until dawn.’

‘I missed you,’ lied Chaloner, not bothering to mention that he had not been home either.

‘Brodrick had invited a lot of Adventurers,’ said Hannah disapprovingly. ‘They do nothing but party these days — they are having another one tomorrow, on Royal Katherine. O’Brien is going, too. He is flattered by the invitation, but it will not induce him to join — Kitty is too strongly opposed to slavery. But here comes the Queen. Be nice to her, Tom: she is in low spirits today.’

‘Meneses has abandoned me,’ said Katherine bitterly in Portuguese. ‘Hannah said his interest would last only as long as he thought I had money to give him, and it seems she was right. I should have listened to her.’

‘But Meneses is here, ma’am,’ said Chaloner, puzzled. ‘I saw him when I came in.’

‘Yes, but he has shifted his affections to Kitty O’Brien. Of course, he will make no headway there, because her heart belongs to Joseph Williamson. Breaking sacred wedding vows seems to be the way of this horrible Court.’

Chaloner was not sure what to say, given that the King was nearby, laughing heartily with his paramour. He was, however, aware that such remarks were dangerous for both of them, even when spoken in a language that few, if any, courtiers would understand.

‘Please, ma’am. Someone might hear-’

‘Why should I not say what I think?’ she flashed, tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘People accuse me of undermining the English throne by refusing to produce a baby. So why should I not speak treason, since people believe it of me anyway?’

‘Who believes it of you?’ asked Chaloner gently. Hannah was glaring at him, assuming he had introduced whatever subject was upsetting her mistress.

‘Everyone!’ whispered Katherine miserably. ‘Someone went into my favourite purse yesterday, and left me a terrible letter. It said the murder I had commissioned will occur tomorrow. I have commissioned no murder, but who will believe me when I deny it?’

‘Burn it,’ said Chaloner urgently. ‘As soon as possible. And make sure nothing remains, not even ashes. Do you have any idea who might have put it there?’

‘I do not think my ladies-in-waiting would stoop so low, not even Castlemaine. And the only men to have set foot in my apartments recently are my husband, Hyde and Meneses.’

‘Meneses,’ said Chaloner, a solution snapping into his mind. ‘And now he shuns you?’

Katherine bit her lip, and he saw he had been overly blunt. ‘I suppose Meneses might have done it,’ she admitted unhappily. ‘Revenge, because I cannot repay his friendship with gold and titles.’

More tears glittered, but Chaloner was spared the need to make some comforting remark by the unlikely figure of Dugdale, who approached with a patently false smile. He bowed elegantly to the Queen and turned to Chaloner. The grin stayed in place, but his eyes were hot with anger.

‘How dare you approach the Queen,’ he said. He spoke mildly, to disguise the hostility in his words. ‘If you wish to speak to royalty, you request an audience through me. The protocol is perfectly clear on this point.’

‘Thomas is being told he cannot talk to you,’ explained Hannah icily, when the Queen turned questioningly to her. She shot Dugdale a glare of dislike, not a woman to stand by while her husband was being unjustly attacked. ‘In future, he must ask this gentleman first.’

‘It is protocol, ma’am,’ reiterated Dugdale defensively. ‘And he has no right to break it.’

‘Does that mean he must request your permission to talk to his wife, too?’ asked Hannah archly. ‘Because that it what he was doing when you stormed over and interrupted us. There are protocols about that, too — and you have just broken them. Now go away, before I complain to Clarendon about your shabby manners.’

Dugdale stared at her in astonishment, but Hannah glowered at him until he bowed to the Queen and left, muttering under his breath that the Earl wanted to see Chaloner at once. Chaloner grinned, delighted to see him put so firmly in his place.

‘Vile man!’ exclaimed Hannah, watching him go. ‘He makes my skin crawl.’

Chaloner left her blackening Dugdale’s name to a Queen who barely understood, and went to see what the Earl wanted. Dugdale intercepted him, his face dark with anger.

‘And do not address her in that foreign tongue, either,’ he snarled. ‘The King issued express orders that she is to be spoken to only in English or French. How dare you defy him!’

‘I did not know,’ said Chaloner, supposing he should not be surprised. No monarch would want a wife who gabbled away to people in a language he did not understand.

‘Well, you do now,’ snapped Dugdale. ‘And if you do it again, I will tell him, and it will bring you more trouble than you can possibly imagine.’

Chaloner was sure it would, and was equally sure that Dugdale would relish every moment of it.

Clarendon’s contribution to the preparations was overseeing the refreshments. He strutted up and down the tables, adjusting a bowl here and a platter there, sampling as he went. Hyde was with him, screening his father’s antics from the other courtiers by placing himself in their line of vision. Chaloner did not blame him: Buckingham and the Lady would have ridiculed Clarendon’s comically gluttonous behaviour for months if they could have seen what he was doing.

Dugdale and Edgeman were smirking, amused both by the Earl’s brazen greediness and by Hyde’s efforts to conceal it. Brodrick was slumped in a chair, his face grey and his eyes more bloodshot than usual. He was careful to look away from the mounting piles of food.

‘You cannot still be unwell?’ the Earl was saying to him. ‘Are you sure it was because you spent so long at your prayers this morning? Not because of your soirée last night?’

‘Yes,’ said Brodrick tightly. ‘Spending hours on one’s knees takes its toll.’

‘Perhaps you should sit down to pray in future,’ said the Earl kindly. ‘God will understand.’

Brodrick had the grace to wince.

‘Tell me, cousin,’ said Hyde maliciously. ‘Who joined you in this holy marathon?’

‘Friends,’ replied Brodrick curtly. ‘Why? Would you like an invitation next time? I have never imagined you to own sufficient mettle, but if you think you can handle the challenge …’

‘I can handle any challenge issued by you,’ stated Hyde sneeringly. ‘And I-’

‘Chaloner,’ interrupted the Earl, bringing an abrupt end to the burgeoning spat, ‘are you here to say you have foiled these devilish plots? Tomorrow is when the sky will come tumbling down, according to the letters Henry intercepted, so you must have answers by now.’

‘Some, sir,’ replied Chaloner, itching to say that he might have had more if his employer had not sent him on so many fool’s errands. ‘But not enough to prevent a crisis.’

‘I have a snippet that may help,’ said the Earl. ‘You asked about Meneses yesterday, and I happened to run into the Portuguese ambassador last night. I mentioned Meneses, and he said the fellow is in London at the moment. Apparently, he has been visiting the Queen.’

‘So it is his real name,’ breathed Chaloner. ‘But why did he deny being Governor of Tangier?’

‘Does my intelligence help?’ asked the Earl, straining to hear what he was saying. ‘Are you assailed by a blinding light that will allow you to see answers to everything?’

‘Not quite,’ said Chaloner. ‘But it is helpful. Thank you, sir. However, there is one thing you can do to avert a catastrophe: issue a warrant to arrest Fitzgerald.’

‘Why? Is he the one who plans to murder Pratt?’

‘Possibly,’ hedged Chaloner, unwilling to say more with four Adventurers listening. He did not want Hyde, Brodrick, Dugdale or Edgeman to repeat his suspicions to their cronies.

‘I need more than “possibly”,’ said the Earl. ‘He has powerful connections, and I have too many enemies as it is. Unless he is the one stealing my bricks?’

‘You will never lay hold of that villain, father,’ interjected Hyde. ‘So you may as well tell Chaloner to stop wasting his time. Or-’

‘Look at Kipps!’ exclaimed the Earl suddenly, pointing to where the Lady had shrugged off Hyde’s coat, and was parading around in her indecently flimsy shift. ‘His eyes are all but hanging out of his head! Such brazen lechery is inappropriate, and I shall have words with him later.’

‘I will do it,’ offered Dugdale eagerly. ‘The man has ideas above his station, and-’

‘Many courtiers do.’ The Earl glanced at his son. ‘Including these reprehensible Adventurers. They are not good company, and I would certainly dismiss any member of my staff who had the temerity to join them. I wish you had not accepted their invitation to enrol, Henry.’

‘I accepted because it is a good way to win the friendship of men who have been our enemies,’ replied Hyde tightly, as Dugdale and Edgeman exchanged a brief but uneasy glance. ‘It is politically expedient, and it represents a chance to make some easy money.’

The Earl did not deign to debate the matter, and addressed Chaloner instead. ‘You have less than a day to find answers, because I will have these brick-thieves by tomorrow. No one steals from me and evades justice!’

At that point, it was discovered that the painting of the Turkish brothel would not fit through the door, and the Earl and his retinue were among those who hurried to tell the hapless footmen what to do about it. Brodrick made no effort to follow, and as he looked so ill, Chaloner took a piece of bread from one of the baskets and handed it to him, indicating that he would feel better if he ate. The Earl’s cousin nibbled the offering without enthusiasm.

‘I must be getting old,’ he muttered. ‘I do not recall feeling like this after a late night ten years ago. And other events are lining up relentlessly, when all I want is a quiet evening in. There is this affair, which is likely to drag on until the small hours, and then Leighton has organised a feast with a nautical theme aboard Royal Katherine tomorrow. I hope I am not seasick.’

‘How far will you be sailing?’ asked Chaloner.

Brodrick shuddered. ‘Nowhere! She will be tied to a bollard at Woolwich. But I know from my last visit that she rocks horribly, even when fastened to a pier.’

‘How well did you know Cave, the singer from the Chapel Royal?’ asked Chaloner, recalling that Brodrick’s love of music had earned him many connections in such quarters.

Brodrick blinked at the sudden change of subject, but answered anyway. ‘Not well, although I am sorry he came to such an ignoble end. Of course, he was a fearful liar.’

‘What did he lie about?’

‘He claimed he was commissioned to organise music for the troops in Tangier, but it cannot have been true — I doubt they are interested in Italian arias. Ergo, he went there for some other purpose.’

Chaloner stared at him. He had also been sceptical of Cave’s declared mission, and Kitty O’Brien had expressed reservations, too. ‘What other purpose?’

‘Personally, I believe he was one of you — an intelligencer. Sent to Tangier to spy.’

‘What evidence do you have?’

‘None whatsoever,’ replied Brodrick airily. ‘But what else could he have been doing?’

‘Perhaps he went there for business. A lot of men are making themselves very rich from Tangier, as you will know from being an Adventurer.’

Brodrick shook his head. ‘We are thriving, but we have a monopoly. No one else is licensed to trade there — it would be illegal — and Cave was not one of us. However, I suppose he might have gone to capitalise on all the corruption surrounding the building of the sea wall.’

‘That would not be easy. You do not simply arrive and demand a cut of the profits.’

‘Well, then,’ said Brodrick, tossing the half-chewed piece of bread back into the basket as he stood. ‘My point is proven. Cave was an intelligencer. After all, he was killed when he returned by one James Elliot. And who is Elliot? Spymaster Williamson’s creature!’

Chaloner gazed after Brodrick as he shuffled away. Was that the real reason for the duel? To prevent Cave from telling anyone what he had learned in Tangier? But Cave had died more than a week after his return, by which time he would already have made his report to whoever had sent him. And who had sent him? As Elliot had done the killing, it was unlikely to have been Williamson. Did that mean the Spymaster had ordered Cave’s murder?

But from what Chaloner had seen of the spat, it had been Cave who had engineered the quarrel. He shook his head slowly, not sure what to think.

It was not easy to convert the Banqueting House into a state room after its interlude as the King’s personal playhouse, and the difficulties were compounded when the ambassador arrived early. The King, pursued by valets still fussing with his ceremonial finery, rushed into the Great Court to greet him, hoping to gain the frantic servants and their noble helpers a few more minutes to prepare.

Lady Castlemaine was hot on his heels, clad in a robe that accentuated her ample frontage and narrow waist. She expected to be admired, and her jaw dropped in astonishment when the ambassador barely spared her a glance. It was the Queen who saved the day, by engaging him in a discussion about herring, a subject that made his eyes light up. As every remark needed to be translated, the ensuing conversation took some time.

‘She is a great diplomat,’ whispered Hannah proudly. ‘She took care to learn about his interests, you see. Unlike the Lady, who assumes a display of bosom will keep him transfixed.’

‘It seems to have transfixed the King,’ said Chaloner, aware that His Majesty was far more interested in the Lady than his guest’s ramblings about salting processes.

But even the Queen could not maintain a discussion about fish indefinitely, and when it eventually faltered, the ambassador began to move towards the Banqueting House again. The King heaved a sigh of relief when Buckingham winked to say all was more or less in order, and if the emissary noticed that the interior décor was somewhat unusual, he was too polite to show it.

The occasion was a large one, and guests included virtually everyone Chaloner had met since returning from Tangier. Both Adventurers and members of the Piccadilly Company were present, rubbing shoulders with naval and military officers, clerics, courtiers, merchants, servants and even local shopkeepers. Chaloner was startled to see Joan and George there, having apparently persuaded Hannah to get them in. There was a pipe clamped between George’s teeth, and his eyes were everywhere. Chaloner watched him, thinking that while it may have been Susan who had been caught spying, there was still something very questionable about the footman.

‘Fitzgerald has been invited,’ came a voice in his ear. Chaloner turned, and it took him a moment to recognise that the choleric churchman in the orange wig was Thurloe. ‘When he arrives, leave him to me — along with Lester, who is currently talking to Kipps.’

Chaloner had not known that Lester and Kipps were acquainted, but said nothing, unwilling to fuel Thurloe’s suspicions about the captain.

‘I will corner Meneses,’ he said instead. ‘I think he was the one who planted the letters in the Queen’s purses, and he has turned cool towards her now we are on the eve of Pratt’s so-called murder. Moreover, he was strangely eager for me to be disabused of the notion that he has a connection with Tangier.’

‘But he is not an Adventurer,’ Thurloe whispered. ‘And it seems to me that they are the ones who want the Queen implicated in a treasonous plot.’

‘Perhaps he infiltrated the Piccadilly Company in order to spy. It seems Cave may have been an intelligencer, too, and I cannot help but wonder whether he was sent to discover what really happened to Teviot.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Thurloe. ‘He was not the kind of man I would have entrusted with such a difficult and dangerous mission. Who else will you monitor, besides Meneses?’

‘Leighton,’ replied Chaloner promptly. ‘And I will listen to as many Adventurers and Piccadilly Company members as I can. I do not suppose you have cracked the cipher, have you?’

‘No, but Wallis did.’ Chaloner started to smile in surprise, but the ex-Spymaster’s expression was bleak. ‘Reyner told his mother that it was a list of his enemies, but either he lied to her or he was mistaken. It was actually a description of Jews Hill in Tangier — the kind of report that a scout might send to his commanding officer, detailing dips, rises and the number of trees.’

‘So it was nothing?’ asked Chaloner, acutely disappointed. ‘All that time we spent on it …’

‘Was wasted,’ agreed Thurloe grimly. ‘We must learn something today, Tom, or Fitzgerald will succeed tomorrow, and we shall all be the losers.’

Chaloner’s reply was drowned out by a sudden blast of trumpets. The King sat down on his great throne, his courtiers clustered around him so tightly that Buckingham’s face was full of Clarendon’s wig, and the Lady was pressed hard against the Bishop of Winchester. She gave the prelate a long, slow wink, and he recoiled in alarm.

There was another fanfare and the speeches began, unusually brief because no one had had time to prepare anything. The ambassador opened his mouth to remark on it, clearly interpreting the brevity as a diplomatic snub, but the King invited him to dine before he could do so, steering him towards the tables and chatting about the dancing that had been arranged for later. The Earl was one of the first to take his place at the table, knife in one chubby hand, and spoon in the other.

Only the elite had been asked to eat, and O’Brien’s face was a mask of disappointment when he realised he was not to be one of them. Kitty patted his hand consolingly, and led him away.

‘We were sorry you did not attend Brodrick’s soirée last night,’ she said, when their route took them past Chaloner. ‘We were hoping for some decent music, but there were only flageolets and drums. Moreover, the occasion became rather wild as the evening progressed.’

‘It was unruly,’ agreed O’Brien, in what was almost certainly an understatement. He started to add something else, but stopped when a shadow materialised at his side. It was Leighton.

‘I have just heard a rumour,’ said the Adventurers’ secretary silkily. ‘About Cave’s brother.’

‘I hope you do not intend to criticise him for burying Cave in St Margaret’s Church,’ said Kitty, regarding him with dislike. ‘The Chapel Royal choir had arranged a very expensive ceremony without consulting him, so I do not blame the fellow for taking matters into his own hands.’

‘Nor do I,’ agreed O’Brien stoutly. Then he grimaced. ‘Although I was rather looking forward to attending a funeral in Westminster Abbey. The music would have been fabulous.’

‘Actually, I was going to tell you something else entirely,’ said Leighton, a little coolly. ‘Namely that James Elliot — the man who killed Cave in the swordfight — pretended to be Jacob, and buried him early for spite.’

Chaloner stared at him. How had he heard that story? The only people he had told of his suspicions were Thurloe and Lester. Thurloe would never have gossiped, so did that mean Lester had spread the tale? But why would he do such a thing when it reflected badly on a man who was his friend and brother-in-law? Or had someone else reached the same conclusion, and was more inclined to chat about it?

‘Well, that cannot be true,’ said Kitty stiffly, ‘because Elliot is dead, too. Joseph Williamson told us so. Elliot was buried on Friday.’

‘Well, if he has been buried, then he must be dead,’ said Leighton slyly. ‘We are not in the habit of interring people alive in London. I cannot imagine it would be pleasant. Rats might come.’

Chaloner glanced at him sharply. Was it a random remark or one that carried a greater meaning? But Leighton’s face was impossible to read, as usual.

‘I am not discussing this,’ said Kitty firmly. ‘It is repugnant. Mr Cave was our friend.’

‘You are quite right,’ said O’Brien, taking her arm. ‘Come, we must pay our respects to Buckingham. He is having a dinner next week, and has intimated that we are to be invited.’

‘I shall put in a good word for you,’ Leighton called after them. ‘And do not forget the Adventurers’ event tomorrow at dusk. You will not be disappointed with that, I assure you.’

When they had gone, Chaloner saw a number of Adventurers had gathered together. Swaddell was with them, dark eyes alert and reptilian. His companions had been drinking, and their loud, self-congratulatory discussion was generating considerable distaste among those near enough to hear.

‘Personally, I believe their monopoly on African trade is unpatriotic,’ said Kipps, coming to stand next to Chaloner and glaring at them. ‘It means that Dutch ship-owners are growing fat on Gold Coast slaves, whereas if Africa was open to everyone, I could reap some of this profit.’

‘Are you saying you would invest in the slave trade if the Adventurers’ charter did not forbid it?’ Chaloner was shocked, because he had expected Kipps to be more principled.

‘Of course. Slaves are no different from any other commodity, and I predict they will be more profitable than gold in time.’

Chaloner itched to tell him what he thought of people who dabbled in that particular business, but Kipps’s voice had been loud, and a number of people were looking at them. They included Adventurers and several members of the Piccadilly Company. Kitty and O’Brien had also turned, while Leighton was watching the scene unfold with aloof amusement.

‘What about gravel?’ asked Chaloner. It was a reckless question in front of so many people, but he was desperate enough for clues to take the risk.

‘There is plenty of that in the Thames,’ drawled Leighton, his expression curiously bland. ‘So we have no need to import it from Africa.’

There was a hoot of mocking laughter from the Adventurers, and a meaningful exchange of glances between members of the Piccadilly Company.

‘That was an idiotic remark, Chaloner,’ said Kipps, scowling at the still-snickering merchants. ‘Gravel indeed! Have you been drinking?’

‘I hear many idiotic remarks at White Hall,’ brayed Margareta Janszoon. Her henchmen exchanged uneasy glances, and Chaloner recalled his promise to Prynne to suggest that she and her husband refrained from joining discussions they did not understand. ‘I have never heard English spoke with such greasy charm.’

‘Yes,’ said Janszoon, nodding gravely. That evening, his scar was less pronounced, slathered as it was with fashionable face pastes. ‘Everyone here is a champion at greasy charm.’

There was an angry murmur from Adventurers and Piccadilly Company members alike.

‘She is praising our command of the English language,’ explained Brodrick quickly. ‘She meant “idiomatic”, and the smooth way in which we courtiers can-’

‘Actually, I think she intended an insult,’ interrupted O’Brien, troubled. ‘She called us “greasy”.’

‘She did,’ agreed Leighton softly. ‘And I shall be glad when we go to war and defeat the Dutch at sea. They are all arrogant, impertinent and untrustworthy.’

Neither Janszoon nor Margareta had any trouble understanding that remark, and both paled. Their soldiers closed around them, hands on the hilts of their swords.

‘You call us names?’ asked Janszoon indignantly. ‘When the English leave much to be desired?’

‘How dare you!’ cried O’Brien, incensed. ‘We are the greatest nation in the world!’

‘Let us see if there is any more wine, O’Brien,’ said Brodrick loudly. He lowered his voice as he hauled his friend away. ‘Easy, man! We do not want the Swedes to think us barbarians.’

The Adventurers were more than happy to avail themselves of liquid refreshment, and followed eagerly, Leighton scuttling among them. Janszoon opened his mouth to yell something to their retreating backs, but Thurloe was suddenly in front of him.

‘Your wife has dropped her fan,’ he said, bending to scoop it up. ‘And you are quite pale. Allow me to escort you both to a place where there is more air.’

‘We do not-’ Margareta began angrily, but there was something in Thurloe’s steely gaze that made her accept the proffered arm. The guards and Janszoon followed, and so did Chaloner.

‘Your English is very good,’ Thurloe began politely, once they were outside. ‘But there are nuances in our language that are difficult for foreigners to comprehend. You might be advised to keep quiet until you are sure you understand them.’

‘We understand them,’ began Janszoon, outraged. ‘We are fluent in-’

Thurloe’s baleful eye silenced him abruptly. ‘It might be time to leave London and return home. It cannot be comfortable here for you, with our two countries on the edge of war.’

‘No,’ agreed Margareta sullenly. ‘We shall go as soon as we find a suitable ship. London is a hateful place, and we will be glad to leave it.’

‘Where in Amsterdam do you live?’ asked Chaloner in Dutch, more to placate them than for information. ‘I know it well, and-’

‘It is rude to use foreign languages here,’ snapped Margareta in English. She indicated Thurloe. ‘He did not understand what you said. My mother was right: London is full of unmannerly savages.’

‘Go home,’ said Thurloe shortly. ‘And I do not mean to your lodgings — I mean to Holland. The situation here will only grow more uneasy as we inch towards a conflict. You know you are in danger, or you would not have felt the need to hire guards.’

‘It does feel dangerous,’ agreed Janszoon, still nettled. ‘And I grow to hate the English. They are stupid if they think they can win the war.’

He took Margareta’s arm and led her towards the gate. They held their heads high, but people shot them unfriendly glances as they passed, and their guards were tense and alert.

‘Prynne was right,’ said Chaloner, watching them. ‘They are a danger to peace.’

‘I imagine any Hollander in London is a danger to peace at the moment, regardless of the quality of their English. London is itching to lynch one.’

Chaloner was bemused. ‘Why do they not learn from their experiences and keep quiet at these courtly gatherings? Or do you think they are actually clever Dutch spies, sent to needle us into war before we are ready? Shall we follow them, and demand answers?’

‘Not unless you feel equal to dispatching their guards first — I imagine they will be under orders to prevent such a situation. No, Tom, we must look to others for our answers.’

‘Fitzgerald?’

‘He has sent his apologies, saying he is unavoidably detained and cannot be here. It is bad news, because it means he is working on his plans for tomorrow. I only hope we overhear something that will allow us to thwart him, because time is fast running out.’

The heat and crowded conditions in the Banqueting House had driven many people out into the Great Court, where they congregated in groups. It was a clear autumn afternoon, and the sun was shining, so it was pleasantly warm. Thurloe slipped away to eavesdrop on Harley, who was engaged in urgent conversation with Kipps, so Chaloner aimed for Lydcott in the hope that he might have learned something useful. He was intercepted before he could reach him.

‘Today, I decided to arrest Fitzgerald and damn the consequences,’ said Williamson in a low voice. He had attempted to disguise himself, but was instantly recognisable by his haughty strut. Lester was at his side, resplendent in a fine blue coat that made him look every inch the successful sea-officer. ‘But he must have had wind of it, because he has disappeared.’

‘He will be busy making arrangements for tomorrow,’ predicted Lester soberly. ‘The threat of incarceration is not responsible for his flight, because he considers us an irrelevancy.’

Williamson glared at him. ‘But we have made some progress in learning what is to happen. Swaddell overheard a conversation between Leighton and some of his Adventurers today — they plan to attack and burn Jane. Unfortunately, he did not catch where or when.’

‘Queenhithe,’ supplied Chaloner. ‘She will dock there at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, but arson is better managed in the dark than in daylight, so I imagine they will strike tomorrow night.’

Williamson nodded his thanks for the information. ‘Then at least we shall prevent one crime. Obviously, I do not condone piracy, but we cannot allow Jane’s crew to be roasted alive. Or a conflagration set that might destroy half of London — Queenhithe has wooden warehouses.’

‘I understand you sent Cave to spy in Tangier,’ began Chaloner. ‘And-’

‘I did nothing of the kind,’ interrupted Williamson sharply. ‘I have intelligencers there, of course, but they are soldiers. What use would a musician be in such a place?’

‘Who hired him, then?’ mused Chaloner, more to himself than the others. ‘The Adventurers?’

‘Possibly,’ replied Williamson, although Chaloner had not expected an answer. ‘But here is Swaddell, come to make his report. We shall ask him.’

Chaloner was horrified. ‘He will tell you his findings here? With half the Court watching? I thought you wanted everyone to believe that he has broken with you.’

‘I do,’ replied Williamson. ‘But if we do it in full view of everyone — ensuring we look strained and angry — it eliminates the need for meeting secretly. It is safer for him.’

Chaloner would not have been fooled by such a ruse, and doubted others would, either, but it was too late to say so, because the assassin was there. He bowed stiffly to Williamson.

‘Nothing,’ he said, pointing as though he was remarking on the Banqueting House’s roof. It was patently transparent, and Chaloner cringed. ‘All they ever talk about is money. However …’

He paused as several people walked past, and resumed when they had gone. Chaloner winced a second time. He did not like Swaddell, and thought London would be a better place without him, but the man was risking his life with such reckless amateurism.

‘… they certainly plan to sink Jane. Or rather, hired hands will. The Adventurers themselves will be on Royal Katherine in Woolwich, so they can later claim ignorance of the affair.’

‘You must have heard something else,’ said Williamson in exasperation. ‘For God’s sake man!’

Swaddell glared at him. ‘I am doing my best. Unfortunately, they still do not trust me.’

‘Have you heard anyone mention gravel?’ asked Chaloner.

Swaddell frowned. ‘Leighton said Teviot had wanted some. I assume it was for the mole. Why?’

‘Do you know whether Cave was spying for the Adventurers?’ asked Williamson.

‘He was not,’ replied Swaddell with conviction. ‘He worked for the Piccadilly Company. I know, because I heard Congett tell Leighton so. He also said that he was glad Elliot had killed him.’

‘I wish we had known that sooner,’ said Lester with an irritable sigh.

‘I did not think it was important,’ snapped Swaddell. ‘But I should go or they will be suspicious.’

He bowed again and moved away, although Chaloner saw the exchange had been observed by several Adventurers, including Leighton, all of whom were smirking: they knew perfectly well that Swaddell had been sent to infiltrate them. Chaloner felt a surge of exasperation that Williamson should have employed such clumsy tactics to tackle a group of powerful and intelligent people.

‘I want your help later, Lester,’ he said, when Swaddell had gone. ‘Meet me by the Great Gate at eight o’clock.’

‘Why?’ asked Lester. ‘To play the duet we missed last night?’

‘No. We are going to solve the riddle of Elliot, Cave and Jacob once and for all.’

* * *

Leaving before Williamson could ask questions, Chaloner resumed his walk towards Lydcott. Thurloe’s errant kinsman was half-hidden behind a fountain, watching Pratt and Oliver. The pair were trying to converse with Meneses, who was pretending not to understand them.

‘This is hilarious,’ Lydcott whispered gleefully. ‘Fitzgerald has asked Pratt to keep Meneses away from any Adventurers today. Apparently, he is afraid that Meneses will tell them how successful our glassware venture has become.’

‘Why should that matter?’ asked Chaloner.

‘If they hear how profitable we are, they might decide to do something similar,’ explained Lydcott. ‘And we do not want the competition.’

Chaloner stared into Lydcott’s wide, guileless eyes, staggered by the man’s credulity. ‘Why should Meneses be a greater risk than the other members of the Piccadilly Company?’

Lydcott waved an airy hand. ‘Who knows, but I trust Fitzgerald to look after us. Four of the Adventurers — Turner, Lucas, Proby and Congett — said nasty things about us, and Fitzgerald predicted that God would disapprove of such malice. Sure enough, within days they were dead. He has an uncanny knack for prophecy.’

‘Very uncanny,’ agreed Chaloner drily. ‘I do not suppose it has occurred to you that he might have killed them himself?’

Lydcott stared at him in distaste. ‘You are just like Thurloe — so twisted by your profession that you cannot see the good in people. Fitzgerald is a decent gentleman, as I have said before.’

‘Right,’ said Chaloner. ‘Where is he tonight? It is unlike him to miss a glittering occasion.’

‘Jane will arrive in London soon, and he has a lot of paperwork to complete. We are all pleased. Her coming means money for us — another voyage successfully completed.’

‘Has he mentioned any plans for tomorrow?’ asked Chaloner, declining to inform him that Jane was coming from Tangier, not New England, and that any profit would not be derived from fine glassware. ‘Anything might help. Even where he intends to eat his breakfast.’

Lydcott shook his head. ‘He is a private man, and keeps his personal life to himself. But I had better not spend any longer lurking behind a statue — I do not want folk to think me odd. Good day, Chaloner. Give my regards to Thurloe when you see him.’

He sauntered away, whistling, and Chaloner turned his attention to Pratt, Oliver and Meneses. He needed to speak to Meneses anyway, so he abandoned his hiding place and walked to where the architect and his assistant were speaking ever more loudly in an effort to make Meneses understand them, clearly of the opinion that all foreigners would comprehend English if it was bellowed at sufficiently high volume.

‘I have heard that Lisbon is very nice,’ Oliver was yelling. The finery he had donned for the occasion had turned green with age, which did nothing to dispel the aura of mournful shabbiness that hung about him. Moreover, he had stuffed his pockets with pens and papers, which made him oddly bulky around the hips. ‘It is by the sea, I believe.’

Meneses shook his head blankly, although the gleam in his eyes indicated he was enjoying himself at the Englishmen’s expense.

‘Perhaps you can help us, Chaloner,’ said Pratt. He looked pained as he lowered his voice. ‘I have been charged to entertain this fellow, but he does not understand a word we are saying.’

‘Ask whether he enjoyed himself at Temperance North’s brothel the other night,’ suggested Chaloner. ‘Perhaps that will remind him that he can speak perfectly good English when he wants.’

‘Can he?’ asked Pratt doubtfully, as a flash of irritation crossed Meneses’ face. ‘I have never seen evidence of it — he always looks confused at Piccadilly Company meetings, too. But the Earl tells me you have a talent with languages, so you speak to him.’

‘We meet again,’ said Chaloner in Portuguese, while Meneses scowled.

‘Oh, dear,’ muttered Pratt. ‘You seem to have vexed him. Say something nice — such as that his coat is very becoming.’

‘You are a liar, Meneses,’ said Chaloner, still in Portuguese. ‘You told me you had never been to Tangier, but you were its governor. Dismissed for corruption, so I am told.’

Meneses was furious. ‘I resigned because it suited me, and the missing money was coincidental. Now go away. I am not obliged to tell you my business.’

‘What business? Sharing Piccadilly Company details with the Adventurers? You are playing a dangerous game, because men from both sides have died-’

‘And you will be next, if you continue in this vein,’ snarled Meneses.

‘He does not seem very happy talking about his coat,’ breathed Oliver in Chaloner’s ear. ‘Discuss London’s weather instead.’

‘You realise that Fitzgerald knows what you have done, do you not?’ asked Chaloner. ‘Pratt has been ordered to mind you, almost certainly to keep you here until an accident can be arranged. Like Turner, Lucas, Proby, Congett and God knows how many more.’

‘Now you have frightened him,’ whispered Pratt. ‘What did you say? That it rains all the time?’

‘What do you want from me?’ demanded Meneses, not bothering to deny the charge.

‘Tell him we have lovely summers,’ suggested Oliver. ‘Well, I remember a lovely one once.’

‘I know why you came,’ said Chaloner. ‘You still have connections in Tangier — the dubious kind. You have been helping the Piccadilly Company trade there, even though it is illegal under the Adventurers’ charter. But because you are a greedy man, you decided to hedge your bets and throw in your lot with the Adventurers, too.’

‘It was expedient,’ said Meneses stiffly. ‘Neither organisation is competent, and it was difficult to decide which was the better option. So I elected to support both. And everyone should be pleased with what I have done for the Piccadilly Company — my reports have given them an edge over the Dutch, a country with which England will soon be at war.’

‘You are in a desperate fix, Meneses,’ said Chaloner softly. ‘Fitzgerald will kill you for betraying him, and Leighton will not protect you now your usefulness to him is over. Moreover, Spymaster Williamson does not take kindly to men who try to harm our Queen.’

Meneses gazed at him. ‘I had nothing to do with planting those documents in her purses. I-’

‘Very few people know where those letters were found,’ pounced Chaloner. ‘Your own words have condemned you. How did you do it? Men are not supposed to have access to her wardrobe.’

Meneses swallowed hard. ‘Captain Appleby is a conscientious guard. He would stop anyone from entering the Blue Dressing Room, so I cannot be guilty of what you accuse me.’

‘You have just damned yourself a second time — only Her Majesty’s servants should know the name of that particular chamber. And Appleby guards the entrance to her apartments, but anyone can roam around once he is inside. However, I will not stop you, if you want to escape.’

Meneses was wary. ‘In return for what?’

‘The name of the Piccadilly Company’s master,’ replied Chaloner. ‘And do not say Fitzgerald.’

Meneses was alarmed. ‘But I do not know it — I know virtually no one’s name. Why do you think I turned to the Adventurers? Because I am mistrustful of men who decline to show me their faces.’

Chaloner suspected he was telling the truth, because he had seen the members’ penchant for disguise himself. ‘Then tell me about the gravel Jane will bring to London tomorrow.’

‘It will make us very wealthy, and it is coming from Africa. And do not ask why grit should turn us all into nabobs, because they did not share that particular detail with me.’

Chaloner was beginning to be exasperated. ‘If you cannot tell me why someone wants the Queen blamed for plotting to murder Pratt, I am taking you to Spymaster Williamson.’

‘What are you saying about me?’ asked Pratt immediately. ‘I am not building him a mansion, because everyone knows all the money he acquired in Tangier was confiscated by his government. He is as poor as a church mouse.’

And there was Meneses’ motive for travelling to England and playing such a deadly game, thought Chaloner: poverty. Meneses regarded Chaloner in alarm.

‘But they did not trust me with that information, either! I was only told to befriend her and leave the letters in places where she could not deny that she had received them. It was not easy, because she is distrustful of strangers, and it took me a long time to win her confidence. It was tedious work, because she is a bore, with her convent manners and lack of clever conversation.’

‘You do not deserve a chance to escape,’ said Chaloner coldly, reaching out to grab his arm. Pratt and Oliver gaped at the sudden show of force, so he said in English, ‘It is the Portuguese way of saying goodbye. Permanently.’

‘All right!’ squawked Meneses. ‘It is part of a plan to return Tangier to Portugal. If the Queen is accused of plotting to kill …’ — he glanced uneasily at Pratt — ‘someone, then diplomatic relations will be severed, and Portugal will demand the dowry back.’

‘Why should anyone here be interested in that outcome?’

‘Because then Tangier will no longer be in the hands of the Adventurers, and Jane can trade there again. It was impossible under Teviot, so he was deposed. Governor Bridge is more amenable, but he is greedy and demands too hefty a slice of the profits. However, if I am reinstated …’

Chaloner stared at him. ‘The Piccadilly Company is behind the plot? But I thought it was the Adventurers — Pratt is one of the Piccadilly Company’s own members …’

Meneses shrugged. ‘That is what anyone inclined to meddle was supposed to think. Our master — whoever he might be — is nothing if not clever. Do not underestimate him. He will stop at nothing to smash what he sees as an inconvenient monopoly.’

‘At the expense of damaging relations between two friendly countries? Perhaps permanently?’

‘He does not care about Britain, Portugal, the Dutch or anyone else. All he is interested in is making himself rich. At any cost.’

His mind a whirl of unanswered questions, Chaloner watched Meneses run towards the stables; the man was obviously intending to make his escape before his interrogator changed his mind.

‘Damn it, Chaloner,’ snapped Pratt. ‘I said to entertain him, not drive him away.’

‘We were discussing the plot to kill you tomorrow,’ said Chaloner, turning his gaze on the architect.

A flash of alarm crossed Pratt’s face, but it was only fleeting, and then he looked smug. ‘The news is all over London, and has made me England’s most celebrated artisan.’

‘I should not like to be threatened with death,’ said Oliver, his expressive face full of gloomy foreboding. ‘I know you say your friends will protect you, but what if they prove unequal to the task? I would rather be a nonentity and alive, than dead and famous.’

‘That is because you lack greatness,’ declared Pratt haughtily. ‘Unlike me, who is awash with it. But I had better stop Meneses, or Fitzgerald will be cross.’

He hurried away, and Chaloner looked around for Thurloe. The ex-Spymaster was nowhere to be seen, and rather than waste time hunting for him — it was nearing the time when he was to meet Lester — Chaloner asked Oliver if he had a pen and paper.

‘I do, as a matter of fact,’ replied Oliver, rummaging in his bulging pockets. ‘Mr Pratt has architectural inspirations at peculiar times, so I always have writing paraphernalia to hand — he gets vexed if his flashes of genius are forgotten for the want of a scrap of paper. But how is your enquiry into the missing bricks? Have you solved the mystery yet?’

Chaloner shook his head, and indicated Oliver should turn, so he could use his back as a desk. Employing a cipher known only to him and Thurloe, he quickly outlined all he had learned and asked the ex-Spymaster to pass whatever he deemed appropriate to Williamson. He concluded by saying that he would visit him at three o’clock the next morning in Lincoln’s Inn, sure that would give him ample time to complete everything he needed to do first. As he worked, a small pink nose poked from under Oliver’s collar. He jumped in alarm.

‘Christ! Is that a rat?’

Oliver’s mournful eyes were reproachful. ‘It is my ferret — I have mentioned him to you before. He was unwell this morning, so I brought him with me.’

He glanced around furtively before pulling the animal from his coat and affectionately stroking its silky fur. It was a pretty creature, but hardly something that should have attended a diplomatic reception. While he petted it, Oliver continued to pontificate on the Earl’s supplies.

‘Personally, I think he is making a fuss over nothing. All wealthy people should expect to lose a few bricks on occasion. It is the way builders work.’

‘Do you have a list of what has gone missing so far?’

Oliver rummaged again. ‘Yes — the Earl is in the habit of asking for it.’

‘Did you write it yourself?’ asked Chaloner, scanning the neat figures before passing it back. The losses were heavier than he had thought, and he did not blame the Earl for objecting.

‘Hyde did. He started to keep a tally at his father’s request.’

‘How will you spend the rest of your evening?’ asked Chaloner conversationally, going back to his note to Thurloe.

‘At home with my ferret,’ replied Oliver glumly. ‘Unless you happen to know any nice young ladies who might keep a lonely Westminster man company? In fact, I had better go now — he is getting restless, and I should not like him to escape. Someone might keep him.’

Chaloner was thoughtful as he and Oliver parted, aware that he now had more than enough clues to solve one of his mysteries. He walked towards the gate, where a number of black servants had assembled. George was among them, taller than most by a head, and a sullen, looming presence that inhibited the friendly chatter that would normally have characterised such a gathering. Chaloner beckoned him out, noting the relieved glances that were immediately exchanged. George was as unpopular there as he was in Tothill Street.

‘I want you to deliver this note to a choleric minister who wears an orange wig,’ said Chaloner, passing it to him. ‘He should be here somewhere, so there is no need to leave White Hall.’

‘Good,’ said George. ‘Because I have just heard that there is to be dancing in the Banqueting House later. And there is nothing so entertaining as watching white men dance.’

‘Really,’ said Chaloner coolly. ‘And how do you do it?’

‘With passion. And colour and noise.’

‘Well, do not do it here. Hannah might not like it, especially if you invite Joan to take the floor with you.’

Amusement gleamed briefly in George’s eyes at the notion. ‘When I was on Jane-’ He stopped suddenly, disgusted at the inadvertent slip.

‘Jane?’ asked Chaloner mildly. ‘You told me you had never heard of her.’

George shrugged and looked away. ‘I was mistaken. She is not a memorable ship.’

‘And what about the gravel she carried? Is that forgettable, too? What is it? Another word for diamonds? Or perhaps for some exotic spice? Or sugar from the plantations?’

‘It is gravel,’ replied George sullenly. ‘Stones and dirt.’

‘Fitzgerald may well have transported gravel to Tangier,’ acknowledged Chaloner. ‘The mole will need a lot of it. But what did he transport out?’

‘You will have to ask him. Although I would not recommend it. He has a temper.’

‘So do I,’ said Chaloner shortly. ‘And it is beginning to fray with you. You cannot have sailed with Fitzgerald and not known what he carried in his holds. You are neither blind nor stupid.’

‘No,’ agreed George. ‘But I did not choose to pry.’

‘You pry when it suits you,’ Chaloner retorted. ‘Did you translate the cipher you found in my pen-box, by the way, or would you like me to help you?’

George regarded him with steady eyes. ‘You confuse me with Susan. She was the spy.’

Chaloner threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Fine! Can I trust you to deliver that message or shall I hire one of these others?’

‘You can trust me,’ said George. He looked offended, and perhaps it was the suggestion that he was unreliable that encouraged him to attempt an explanation. ‘There was always gravel in Jane’s holds. Even in Tangier, when Fitzgerald could have sold the lot, he kept some back. Thus any customs official boarding her will find gravel at any time in her voyage. As is written in her log.’

Chaloner stared at him, struggling to understand what he was being told. ‘Fitzgerald lost a ship carrying gold, which is valuable but that does not require much space. It could have been concealed under a pile of gravel …’

George gave a brief smile. ‘Well, then. Perhaps that is all you need to know.’

He bowed and walked away, leaving Chaloner with the glimmer of another solution as facts came together in his mind. If the Piccadilly Company’s business was trading small but highly valuable items, then it was not surprising that Teviot had objected to Jane’s presence in Tangier — as an Adventurer, he would have preferred the profits to go to himself and his friends. It made sense, therefore, that the Piccadilly Company would want a more amenable governor, although Chaloner was appalled that nearly five hundred men had to die to make it happen. Meneses was right: Fitzgerald and his master would do anything to smash a powerful monopoly.

Chaloner was hovering by the Great Gate as the clocks struck eight. It was moonless, but clear, although the stars were invisible because plummeting temperatures were beginning to produce another thick fog. Chaloner did not mind. It would conceal him, and make his next task easier.

‘We should be listening for rumours about tomorrow,’ said Lester, arriving a few moments later. ‘Not wasting time with this errand. What is it, anyway?’

‘We are going to St Giles-in-the-Fields.’

‘Why? To look in the register of burials to convince yourself that Elliot is dead? I assure you, I did not imagine attending his funeral. It would be better to stay here, and-’

‘Williamson can eavesdrop without us. Of course, there is a reason why his enquiries have been so spectacularly unsuccessful: there was a spy in his organisation.’

‘Almost certainly,’ agreed Lester, matching the brisk pace Chaloner set. ‘He is not a man who commands loyalty, and I imagine a lot of his agents take the traitor’s penny. But what does this have to do with Elliot? Or do you think he was such a fellow?’

‘Yes, and I believe that is why Cave challenged him.’

‘I suppose it is possible.’ Lester looked troubled. ‘Elliot was an excellent man to have at one’s back at sea, but he became a different fellow once on land. I should never have let him marry Ruth. He gambled, which made him greedy for money, and that led him down dark paths. My enquiries have revealed that he was definitely involved in Pepperell’s murder.’

The stabbing of the Eagle’s captain the day she had docked at Queenhithe seemed a long time ago, although it was only a little more than two weeks. Chaloner recalled what he had seen.

‘Brinkes murdered Pepperell. I watched it happen, and so did several other-’

‘Brinkes did the deed, and the Piccadilly Company ordered it,’ interrupted Lester. ‘Of that I have ample proof. But someone helped Brinkes strike the fatal blow, and that man was Elliot.’

Chaloner frowned. ‘Brinkes was with someone who wore a red uniform and a Cavalier hat that hid his face …’

‘Elliot’s ceremonial naval regalia — I have an identical set. It was what enabled him and Brinkes to stroll past the port guards. Once I had your sketches, I was able to find several people who can confirm that there was bad blood between Elliot and Pepperell. Of course, I still do not know why Elliot wanted Pepperell dead. They did not like each other, but that is no reason to kill.’

‘I can answer that,’ said Chaloner, recalling what he had deduced from Pepperell’s sometimes odd behaviour aboard Eagle, and the letter he had seen in Williamson’s office — the one penned in the sea-captain’s distinctive scrawl. ‘Pepperell was Williamson’s man, too — paid to monitor passengers travelling to and from Tangier. The Piccadilly Company were aware of this, and decided that his report on Harley, Newell and Reyner should never be delivered. And how did they know what Pepperell did to boost his income? Because another of Williamson’s spies betrayed him.’

‘Elliot?’ asked Lester unhappily.

‘Elliot,’ agreed Chaloner. ‘The man who had been charged to watch the Piccadilly Company, and who moved his addled wife into rooms in the Crown to enable him to do it — keeping lodgings for himself in Covent Garden lest it transpired to be too dangerous. He used Ruth mercilessly, and did not care that his antics put her at risk.’

‘Fitzgerald must have guessed what Elliot was doing, and realised how easily he could be turned into a traitor,’ said Lester bitterly. ‘Which explains why Williamson’s knowledge about the Piccadilly Company was always so scanty — Elliot had been paid to tell him nothing of value.’

Chaloner nodded. ‘Pepperell tried to communicate two clues before he died: Piccadilly and trade. He must have learned from eavesdropping on the three scouts that the Piccadilly Company is involved in smuggling goods from Africa, and wanted Williamson to know.’

‘It is a pity he did not have the breath to be more specific,’ said Lester ruefully. ‘Because we could have done with this information days ago. Who else heard him speak?’

‘Besides the three scouts? Reverend Addison, Cave and Captain Young, who promptly seized command of Eagle and sailed her away on the evening tide.’

‘Young?’ asked Lester sharply. ‘There is an Anthony Young who sails for the Piccadilly Company. Williamson told me. Did he know Pepperell was going to be murdered? Is that why he was so quick to grab the ship?’

‘I doubt it — not in advance. But I imagine he would have understood who had ordered the murder when he saw Brinkes.’

‘And then Cave, whom we now know was a Piccadilly Company spy, was ordered to start a quarrel with Elliot and kill him,’ finished Lester. ‘Presumably, to ensure that Elliot never told anyone what he had done — no traitor can be trusted, after all. But Cave also died in the fracas …’

Chaloner did not bother to reiterate his conviction that Elliot was still alive. For all he knew, Elliot might be the villain who gave orders to Fitzgerald — his actions certainly showed him to be ruthless and unprincipled.

* * *

St Giles-in-the-Fields was a handsome, red-brick building not forty years old. Unfortunately, its brash splendour had attracted the attentions of the Puritans during the Commonwealth, and many of its best features had been smashed or stolen. Moreover, it had a much smaller churchyard than its pastoral name suggested, and was tightly hemmed in by houses. It was eerie in the shifting mist, and Lester jumped in superstitious alarm when a cat slunk across their path.

There was a small shed at the far end of the graveyard. Chaloner broke the lock with a stone and emerged with two spades and a lamp. ‘Show me Elliot’s grave.’

Lester’s jaw dropped. ‘You mean to dig him up? Christ God, Chaloner, no!’

‘We will find a box filled with stones or soil. Elliot will not be in it.’

‘Of course he will be in it!’ Lester was aghast. ‘I told you — I attended his funeral.’

‘Did you look in the coffin?’ demanded Chaloner. Lester shook his head reluctantly. ‘You were not with him when he died, and the surgeon you hired is incapable of telling the difference between the living and the dead. I know Elliot is alive and still causing mischief. Exposing his empty casket will be proof of it.’

‘Then we shall ask the sexton to do it tomorrow — with a priest on hand to say whatever prayers are appropriate when desecrating tombs. We will not burrow like ghouls-’

‘It might take weeks to obtain the necessary permissions,’ argued Chaloner. ‘And we need answers tonight. Besides, think of Ruth. Surely, she has a right to know whether she is a widow?’

Lester glared, but Chaloner’s words had the desired effect. He took a deep, unhappy breath, and led the way through the wet grass to a mound of recently dug earth. Fortunately, it was shielded from the surrounding houses by a dense yew.

‘There must be a better way to find out than this,’ he muttered. ‘If we are caught … I am sure this sort of thing is illegal. And I doubt Williamson will speak for us.’

Chaloner was sure he would not, and began to excavate as fast as he could, eager to be finished as soon as possible. It was not long before there was a hollow thud: fortunately for them, lazy gravediggers had not bothered to make the hole very deep.

Lester scraped away the remaining soil, but then hesitated uncertainly, so it was Chaloner who inserted a spade between coffin and lid, and levered. The two men exchanged a brief glance as the wood splintered, and then Chaloner took the lamp and brought it close to the coffin.

Elliot’s dead face stared out at them, an unusually black wig on his head.