The Piccadilly Plot

Chapter 11

‘You owe him an apology,’ said Lester, his voice low with anger and revulsion. ‘And me, too. Elliot did die when I said he did. Surgeon King was not mistaken: you are.’

Chaloner gazed at the body in disbelief. He had been so certain he was right. ‘But if Elliot has been dead since last Monday, then who buried Cave?’

‘His brother,’ replied Lester curtly. ‘You have been a spy too long, and see treachery where there is none — Jacob buried Cave to avoid funeral costs that would have crippled him. You say the descriptions of him matched Elliot, but lots of men are large and own black wigs.’

‘Then why did he tell Kersey that he lived in Covent Garden?’ demanded Chaloner defensively. ‘Elliot lived there, but Jacob never has.’

‘Because he did not want vengeful courtiers after him for depriving them of the “social event of the month”,’ snapped Lester. ‘I might have done the same in his position. And given that you are so spectacularly wrong over Elliot, are you sure your conclusions about Cave are correct?’

‘Yes,’ said Chaloner firmly. ‘He was a spy. Brodrick and Reverend Addison said so, as did Swaddell. The Piccadilly Company employed him — you were there when Swaddell confirmed it.’

Yet Thurloe had said he would not have hired a man like Cave for espionage, and so had Williamson. Was it possible that the Piccadilly Company had not, either?

‘And their claims are based on what?’ asked Lester archly. ‘Actual evidence or supposition?’

Chaloner said nothing, because the captain had a point. Moreover, Thurloe’s words were echoing loudly in his mind: that the descriptions of Jacob applied just as well to Lester as to Elliot. He glanced at the captain, taking in his bluff, hearty face and kindly eyes. Thurloe must be wrong!

‘If Ruth ever learned what we have done, she would hold it against me for the rest of my life,’ Lester was saying, as he replaced the coffin lid and grabbed a spade. ‘I hope to God she never finds out.’

Chaloner hoped no one would. He clambered out of the grave. ‘Can you finish this alone?’

Lester gaped at him. ‘You are leaving? Christ God, man! I thought we were in this together.’

‘I am sorry, but there is something I need to do. And time is short.’

‘Then help me rebury the man you exhumed, and I will assist you with whatever it is.’

‘There is no time.’ Chaloner brushed mud from his clothes. ‘I need to go now.’

‘For pity’s sake!’ cried Lester, dismayed. ‘It is hardly comradely to abandon me here.’

It was not, but Chaloner did not want company when he made his next port of call. Muttering a hasty but sincere apology, he aimed for Clarendon House. It was time to resolve the business of the stolen bricks, so there would be one less matter to explore the following day, when Jane would arrive, the Adventurers would destroy her, and some diabolical plot would swing into action.

As he walked, a stealthy, solitary figure in the mist, he pushed Elliot and Lester from his mind and considered all he had learned about the Earl’s missing materials — from his visits to the site, and from what his suspects had inadvertently let slip. He knew the culprits would be at Clarendon House at that very moment, confident that they would not be disturbed while the celebrations at White Hall were in full swing. He smiled grimly. They were going to be in for a shock.

He could hardly believe his luck when he bumped into Wright outside the Crown. A knife to the throat persuaded the sergeant to answer questions that confirmed Chaloner’s suspicions, and a knock on the head ensured that he would not warn the villains before they could be confronted.

The mansion was an imposing silhouette in the blackness when Chaloner arrived. There were no guards, but he had expected that: Wright had already admitted that he and his cronies had been paid to sit in the tavern all night. He approached it silently, and aimed for the library.

Voices emanated from it, and Chaloner nodded to himself when he recognised them: all his reasoning had been correct. The only thing he did not know was why they had seen fit to steal from the Earl. He advanced silently, and saw two men there, poring over a sheaf of plans. He drew his gun, wanting them frightened into making a confession, because he did not have time for a more leisurely approach.

‘I assume those are the papers that changed hands the day I chased you,’ he said, stepping into the room and pointing the dag at its startled occupants. ‘The Earl’s son and Pratt’s assistant: two men who have betrayed a trust.’

There was a silence in the library after Chaloner had made his accusation, the two culprits regarding him in astonishment — although at his claim or his unanticipated appearance it was impossible to say.

‘How did you get in?’ demanded Hyde, startled. ‘I borrowed my father’s key, and Pratt owns the only other one in existence. And I doubt he lent it to you.’

‘Never mind keys,’ snapped Oliver, glaring accusingly at Hyde. ‘You told me you had not been followed. You damned fool! You should have been more careful.’

Hyde bristled. ‘Do not call me names! And no one followed me. You, on the other hand-’

‘I followed no one,’ interrupted Chaloner. There was no time for a silly spat. ‘Although I was certainly suspicious when Oliver told me he was going home to Westminster, but then promptly set off in the opposite direction.’

‘I did not know he was watching,’ objected Oliver, when he received an accusing scowl in his turn. ‘I am not the distrustful type.’

‘Then you are in the wrong business,’ murmured Chaloner.

‘How did you guess it was me you chased through the house the other day?’ asked Hyde. Chaloner blinked his surprise at the question — he had expected at least some declaration of innocence — while Oliver’s gloomy face was a mask of disbelief at his associate’s easy capitulation. ‘I disappeared without a trace.’

‘Yes,’ acknowledged Chaloner. ‘But that in itself is a clue — it meant there had to be secret rooms or tunnels. And that is where the “stolen” materials have been going — they have been used to build these devices. It explains why no one has ever seen them carted away: they are still here.’

‘You cannot prove that,’ warned Oliver. ‘You will never find-’

Chaloner tapped on a panel that glided open to reveal a space behind it, large enough for a man to stand. ‘Of course I will. I have been locating these contrivances for years. It will be easy.’

It was a bluff, because he still had no idea how Hyde had disappeared near the library. He walked to the desk and glanced briefly at the plans. Then he rolled them up and slid them inside his coat. They would help him understand what had been constructed where.

‘You reckoned without Wright, too,’ he went on. ‘He did not hesitate to say that he had been paid to stay away tonight. He also explained how he has been taught to arrange the supplies so that Pratt will no longer notice what is missing.’

‘You paid him to stay away?’ asked Oliver of Hyde, unimpressed. ‘That was a waste of money — he is rarely here anyway. And then he betrayed you! I told you he could not be trusted.’

‘I admit to teaching him how to re-stack bricks and wood,’ said Hyde stiffly. ‘But I certainly did not give him any money tonight. The man is a liar and a villain.’

Chaloner regarded him in disgust, thinking that a son who put his father through such torments was hardly a saint himself. He resumed his analysis.

‘You have been on my list of suspects since the morning of the chase,’ he said, ‘because you opened the door with a key. Pratt’s was around his neck, so the man I dashed after must have had the Earl’s. You are in a better position to borrow that than anyone else.’

‘Yes, but there must be more than two of them,’ said Oliver, looking hard at Chaloner. ‘Because otherwise you could not have gained access to-’

‘Most of the workmen are in your pay,’ interrupted Chaloner, loath to pursue that particular line of thought. ‘Which is why the materials disappear during the day — your tunnels and passages are constructed during normal working hours, when Pratt is away on other business. No wonder I did not see anything vanish when I stood guard at night.’

‘We were able to work in the evenings, too, before you appeared,’ said Hyde sullenly. ‘It was a damned nuisance when my father summoned you back from Tangier.’

‘It is an impressive achievement,’ said Chaloner grudgingly. ‘Especially as I imagine Pratt is unaware of what is being done to his creation. I suppose your architectural training came in useful?’

‘Very,’ said Hyde smugly. ‘My artifices are a masterpiece in their own right.’

‘Perhaps so,’ said Chaloner. ‘But I do not understand why you built them. What possible advantage is there in having your father’s house riddled with such devices?’

‘So he can spy on his enemies, stupid!’ said Hyde in sneering disdain. ‘He would never have agreed to these measures himself — you know how conservative he is — so I decided to install them for him. You will doubtless take advantage of them in time. Assuming you are still in his service, of course, which is looking increasingly unlikely at the moment. He will dismiss you when I tell him you held me at gunpoint.’

Chaloner eyed him contemptuously. ‘How will these contrivances benefit him? He does not entertain enemies in his own home. And I doubt he spies on his friends.’

Hyde opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it again, indicating that this notion had not occurred to him. ‘We shall see,’ he hedged stiffly.

‘There was another clue, too,’ Chaloner went on. ‘The note that enticed me into the strongroom was in your handwriting. I recognised it when Oliver showed me the inventory of missing materials you had made. It was a nice touch: small jaws, death and darkness.’

‘I did write those words,’ acknowledged Hyde, puzzled. ‘I have an elegant hand, and Oliver asked me to pen them as part of an anonymous love poem to his woman. Curious phrases to express passion, but each to his own. However, I doubt he left such an intimate item in the vault.’

‘Oliver does not have a woman,’ said Chaloner, recalling how the assistant architect had twice alluded to being at home with no one but his pet. ‘And then there were the muddy footprints on the cellar stairs that same night. Most were human, but there were an animal’s, too. They told me that Oliver had been there with his ferret shortly before I was locked inside.’

Oliver scowled when he saw he was cornered. ‘I only wish you had died there, as I had intended,’ he snarled. ‘Then we would not be having this ridiculous conversation.’

‘Died?’ echoed Hyde, shocked. ‘No one is supposed to die! And no one is meant to be shut in the strongroom, either. It is designed to be airless.’

‘It would have been deemed an unfortunate accident,’ said Oliver, malice suffusing his gloomy face. ‘If the lack of air had not killed him, the rats would have done.’

‘Rats?’ cried Hyde in bewilderment. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Hyde’s note would have suggested otherwise,’ said Chaloner, ignoring him.

Oliver sneered. ‘It would have been eaten. Along with most of you. But if not, no one could have proved it came from me. Hyde wrote it, after all.’

‘Stop!’ shouted Hyde, increasingly appalled. ‘Murder has no part in our plans. We will come to an arrangement with Chaloner. Every man has his price, and my father is a wealthy man.’

Oliver smiled, but his eyes were icy cold. ‘You think we can let him go, do you?’

‘It may have escaped your notice, but I am the one holding the gun,’ said Chaloner, while Hyde gaped at the assistant architect in disbelief.

Oliver’s grin widened. ‘And it may have escaped yours, but I have workmen at my disposal.’

He gestured around him, and Chaloner was horrified to see the barrels of several weapons jutting through holes in the panelling. He counted at least four. Reacting quickly, he darted across the room and grabbed Hyde around the neck, putting the dag to his temple and using the younger man’s body as a shield.

‘I still have the advantage,’ he said. He would have preferred Oliver as a hostage, but the man had been too far away. ‘Order your people to stand down, or I will kill your accomplice.’

Oliver had predicted his move, and had ducked behind the desk, out of Chaloner’s line of fire. ‘Do it, then,’ he said viciously. ‘I do not care. And then we shall dispatch you. You have been nothing but trouble ever since you came back from Africa. It will be a delight to end your life.’

Hyde had been thrashing about furiously, trying to free himself from Chaloner’s grasp, but he went rigid with shock when he heard Oliver’s words.

‘What?’ he gasped. ‘We are in this together, Oliver, so you will care if I am harmed. And you can put me down, Chaloner. You will not shoot me: you would not dare.’

‘He might not, but I shall,’ called Oliver from under the table. ‘We do not want anyone else knowing what we have installed here. And as you gave me your original drawings the other day, the only other record is in your head. In other words, you have gone from helpmeet to liability.’

‘Liability?’ squeaked Hyde in confusion. ‘No! I am your partner. And Chaloner has the plans, anyway — he put them in his coat. He will give them to you in exchange for my life.’

‘We shall take them from his corpse,’ said Oliver disdainfully. ‘You cannot bargain with them.’

Chaloner released Hyde abruptly. ‘You should choose your associates more carefully — you are about to become the victim of your own deceit.’

‘What do you mean?’ Hyde’s voice was unsteady with rising panic.

‘I cannot imagine these secret passages and spyholes were your idea,’ said Chaloner, thinking him a fool. He took a step towards Oliver’s table, but the click of more guns being cocked stopped him from taking another. ‘Did Oliver come to you with the notion, claiming they would work to your father’s advantage?’

‘Well, yes he did,’ conceded Hyde. ‘But-’

‘Who commissioned you?’ Chaloner asked of Oliver. ‘Buckingham? Lady Castlemaine? Which of the Earl’s enemies is so determined to harm him that he went to all this trouble?’

‘You will just have to wonder,’ replied Oliver, keeping his head well down. ‘Now drop the gun. You cannot hit me from where you are standing, and if you try, my friends will shoot you.’

More men had gathered in the doorway; Chaloner recognised the sullen woodmonger Vere and the labourers who worked under his supervision. All were rough, ruthless individuals who would happily commit murder for money. He knew he was unlikely to survive the encounter, so with nothing to lose, he aimed at where he thought Oliver’s chest would be and pulled the trigger. There was a loud report, and splinters flew from the table, but it was a sturdy piece of furniture, and Oliver’s startled yelp said he was unharmed.

Immediately, there was answering fire from the spyholes, which had the men at the door wheeling away in alarm. Fortunately for Chaloner, the angle of the apertures prevented them from aiming properly, and most missed, although one nicked his shoulder, causing him to drop to his knees. Hyde hurled himself to the floor and covered his head with his hands.

‘Stop!’ shouted Oliver, as there came the sound of weapons being reloaded. ‘You will damage the panelling, and Pratt will demand to know what happened. We cannot afford questions. Come in here and grab them — without bloodshed, if possible. We do not want stains on the floor.’

Men poured into the library to lay hold of Chaloner and Hyde, but although Chaloner managed to club one with the now-useless dag and disable another with a kick, it was not long before he was subdued. Then Vere relieved him of gun, sword and daggers. Wiseman’s scalpel went undetected, though, tucked as it was in his cuff.

‘You cannot do this to me!’ shrieked Hyde. ‘We have been working together for months, and-’

‘Shut up,’ snarled Vere. He looked at Oliver, who was inspecting the shattered desk, obviously amazed that he had escaped unharmed. ‘What do you want us to do with them?’

‘Put them in the strongroom.’ Oliver dragged his attention away from the table. ‘And this time, mount a guard outside to ensure they do not escape. While they suffocate, we shall concoct evidence that proves Hyde has been stealing his father’s bricks, and that Chaloner locked him in there to teach him a lesson.’

‘And became trapped himself at the same time?’ asked Vere doubtfully.

‘When they are dead, you can bury him in the woods. Everyone will assume he fled London when he realised his antics had brought about Hyde’s demise.’

‘No!’ whispered Hyde, while Chaloner went cold at the thought of being shut in the vault a second time. ‘Please, Oliver. I will not tell anyone what … There is no need to kill me.’

Oliver laughed, and Chaloner was stunned by the change in the man. Gone was the glum, shambling fellow, replaced by something far less attractive.

‘You were never going to be allowed to live, Hyde,’ he said pityingly. ‘What would be the use of these devices if you blab about them to your father? It means my employer would have wasted his money. Use the wits you were born with, boy!’

His gloating voice, coupled with a determination not be to incarcerated again, served to concentrate Chaloner’s mind, and a plan began to form. He went limp in his captors’ hands; they swore when he suddenly became a deadweight.

‘What is wrong with him?’ demanded Oliver impatiently.

‘He has passed out from the pain of his wound,’ said Vere. ‘He will not be any trouble now.’

‘Then I will deal with him and Hyde,’ said Oliver briskly. ‘Green and Berry can help. Vere — take everyone else to the Room of Audience and start work. It is imperative that we finish tonight, because the house will be crawling with people once Hyde’s corpse is found.’

Hyde started to cry, while Chaloner contrived to make himself as difficult to carry as possible. Green and Berry soon grew exasperated, and frustration turned them careless. The moment their guard dropped, he plunged the scalpel into Green’s arm. The man’s eyes widened in shock, but Chaloner was already spinning away, and had knocked Berry senseless with a punch.

‘Run!’ he hissed to Hyde, whipping around to deal with Oliver. Unfortunately, the assistant architect’s reactions were faster than he had anticipated, and he had already snatched a gun from the reeling Green, his face full of enraged fury.

At such close range, Oliver could not miss, and Chaloner braced himself for the shot that would end his life. But he had reckoned without Hyde. With a screech of passion, the Earl’s son grabbed a sledgehammer that was leaning against a wall, and swung it with all his might. It caught Oliver on the back of his head, and Chaloner knew from the sound it made that it had shattered his skull. The gun went off at the same time, and Chaloner had no idea how it had missed him.

Hyde raised the hammer again, but Chaloner grabbed his arm and pulled him away. The gunshot and Green’s shrieks would have warned the others that trouble was afoot, and sure enough he heard a distant shout. Grateful that his explorations had familiarised him with the house’s layout, he hauled Hyde along a corridor towards a chamber where there was a defective window. Hyde was sobbing hysterically, slowing them both down.

They reached the room and Chaloner forced open the shutter. He shoved Hyde through it, acutely aware of footsteps coming ever closer. Hyde was clumsy, and took longer than he should have done, so by the time it was Chaloner’s turn to escape, the workmen were almost at the door. Forced to hurry, he jumped badly, jarring his lame leg as he landed. The resulting limp slowed him down. Hyde was making good time now, though, sprinting towards the woods as fast as his feet would take him. He was soon invisible in the fog.

Chaloner was not so fortunate, and his pursuers were so close behind him that he could hear the rasp of their breath. He also aimed for the woods, in the hope that the trees would prevent them from all attacking at once — he might stand a chance if he could fight them in twos or threes.

He reached the copse, then whipped around with the scalpel. The fellow at the front of the mob reeled away with a howl of pain, but others jostled to take his place, and the ferocity of their assault made Chaloner stumble. His lame leg buckled, and he crashed to the ground. With grim purpose, Vere stepped forward, a gun in his hand.

Chaloner was not sure what happened next, except that there was a sudden yell and a ragged volley of shots. Then other men appeared, weapons at the ready, although it was too dark to see their faces. Vicious skirmishing followed, and rough hands hauled him to his feet.

‘Run! We cannot hold them off for long.’

Chaloner did not need to be told twice. He followed his rescuer through the woods, staggering along twisting paths in the misty darkness until he was wholly disoriented. Behind him, he heard more shots and the continued clash of steel.

Just when he was beginning to think it was time to stop and demand answers, they reached a row of houses, and he knew they were on the northern end of the Haymarket, because he could see the distinctive form of the windmill looming out of the fog. Then he saw his rescuer’s silhouette.

‘Lester!’

‘Pratt saw lights in Clarendon House when all should have been in darkness,’ explained Lester. ‘So he ran to White Hall to tell Williamson, assuming the brick-thieves were at work. I went with Doines and his men to lay hold of them, and we were about to pounce when you raced out with that horde on your heels. I thought we had better intervene.’

‘Thank you,’ said Chaloner sincerely.

‘Well, you did save Ruth. I shall always be in your debt for that. Of course, I am not quite so ready to forgive you for abandoning me in a graveyard with my brother-in-law’s exhumed corpse.’

‘Where is Hyde?’ asked Chaloner, not wanting to dwell on his ill-judged notions about Elliot. He stopped walking abruptly. ‘I will have to go back for him.’

‘He is here, with me,’ came a soft voice from the darkness. Chaloner jumped, disconcerted that Williamson should have been listening to their conversation. ‘And I think an explanation is in order, but not here. Lead the way to the Gaming House, Lester. We all need a drink.’

As they walked, Chaloner was aware of Hyde conversing in an urgent hiss to the Spymaster. He could not hear what was being said, but was disinclined to demean himself by telling his own side of the story. Williamson would believe what he pleased, and nothing Chaloner could say would make any difference. Doines caught up with them just outside the Gaming House.

‘Most of them got away,’ he reported. ‘But we shot two and caught Vere. He has agreed to give the others up in exchange for his freedom. Shall we take him up on his offer?’

‘Yes.’ Williamson indicated Hyde. ‘This gentlemen says they tried to kill him, and we cannot have earls’ sons assassinated. I want them all in my cells by the end of the day. And Vere can join them there once he is no longer of use to us. I dislike traitors.’

Doines saluted and disappeared, while Chaloner thought that if these orders were followed, Vere would die at his accomplices’ hands, because they would not appreciate traitors, either. He followed Williamson into the Gaming House, where the Spymaster commandeered a private room and ordered a jug of claret. He sat on a bench and allowed Lester to inspect his shoulder.

‘Just a scratch,’ the captain declared, dabbing at it rather roughly. ‘You were lucky.’

Chaloner accepted the wine Williamson poured him, resisting the urge to swallow the lot in a single gulp. His hands were unsteady and his stomach churned, mostly a reaction to the thought of being locked in the vault again — being dispatched in the woods had not been nearly as terrifying a prospect. Meanwhile, Williamson watched Hyde like a cat with a mouse.

‘You have regaled me with quite a story,’ he said. ‘About thieves stealing bricks to build secret passages in your father’s house, and how you discovered their villainy and confronted them. You had better tell me again, and this time fill in the details. Such as why you elected to challenge them all by yourself, and how Chaloner came to be involved.’

Hyde had the grace to look sheepish, but it did not prevent him from recounting a tale that put him firmly in the role of hero. He declared he had always been suspicious of Oliver and Vere, and Chaloner’s conclusions about them being in the pay of the Earl’s enemies were presented as his own. He even claimed to have saved them both from being locked in the strongroom.

‘Chaloner fainted,’ he said in conclusion. ‘And I was obliged to carry him from the house with one hand, while fighting off Vere with the other.’

‘Really?’ asked Lester coolly. ‘Because I saw you racing away to save your own skin, leaving him to the mercy of-’

‘You are mistaken,’ interrupted Hyde curtly. He turned to Williamson. ‘My only regret is not forcing Oliver to tell me the name of the man whose orders he was following.’

‘And now Oliver is dead,’ said Lester flatly. ‘Killed by Chaloner with a sledgehammer. Was that before or after Chaloner passed out, by the way? Or did he do it while he was insensible?’

‘Unfortunately, Vere and his cronies will be minions,’ said Williamson, while Hyde glowered at Lester. ‘I doubt they have been trusted with the name of the man who paid their wages, although I shall certainly ask. But what will the Earl do about it, Hyde? Destroy these spyholes?’

‘They are of no use to his enemies now, because I know about them,’ Hyde declared. ‘And as from today, so will he: I shall tell him exactly what happened. But I think the situation can be turned to his advantage. He can use them to monitor his guests.’

He shot Chaloner a glance that warned him not to reiterate his earlier remarks about the Earl not entertaining the kind of person who warranted being put under surveillance.

‘Well, he has paid for them by inadvertently providing the necessary materials,’ sighed Williamson. ‘So they are his to deploy as he sees fit.’

While Lester proceeded to interrogate Hyde, tying the younger man in knots over his lies and inconsistencies, Williamson turned to Chaloner and spoke in a low voice.

‘I am not a fool, Chaloner — I know who unravelled this mess. So why do you sit back and let Hyde take the credit?’

‘I do not care about him. I am more worried about the plans of Fitzgerald’s master.’

‘Then you had better tell me everything you have learned. Thurloe confided some of it, but there is a great deal I still do not understand, and we need to work together if we are to thwart these villains. Neither of us can do it alone.’

It was not easy to forget his dislike of the Spymaster and share his findings, but Chaloner knew he had no choice. When he had finished, Williamson was sombre.

‘There was an accident at White Hall after you left.’ Chaloner regarded him in alarm. ‘What kind of accident?’

‘The fatal kind — Meneses was trampled by a horse. No one knows how it happened, although there is some suggestion that he may have been borrowing it to go for a ride.’

Chaloner closed his eyes. Who had killed Meneses as he had tried to escape? The Piccadilly Company for his betrayal? Or the Adventurers, because he was no longer useful?

He dragged his thoughts back to the problems they would face the following day — or rather, that day, because although he had no idea of the time, he sensed it was long after midnight, and approaching the hour when he was supposed to meet Thurloe. He had not anticipated that confronting the brick-thieves would transpire to be such a deadly business, or so time-consuming.

‘From the start, I have considered the plot to kill Pratt as a bluff,’ he said. ‘That the real aim was to damage the Queen. But now I am not so sure. I think someone might actually do it.’

‘I shall arrest Pratt, then,’ said Williamson promptly. ‘They cannot kill him if he is in custody.’

Chaloner nodded approvingly. It was as good a way as any to prevent the architect from being used to harm Her Majesty. ‘Meanwhile, Jane will dock at three o’clock in the afternoon, almost certainly carrying a valuable cargo hidden beneath gravel. The Adventurers have hired men to attack and burn her, and the Piccadilly Company will resist.’

‘They will,’ agreed Williamson. ‘And the resulting mêlée could be very bloody.’

‘And finally, Leighton has arranged for his Adventurers to enjoy some sort of nautical feast aboard Royal Katherine at dusk. I have an awful feeling that a large gathering of opponents may be too great a temptation for the Piccadilly Company …’

Williamson regarded him in horror. ‘You think that is the nature of the atrocity Fitzgerald has planned? But the Adventurers comprise some of the wealthiest and most influential men in the country — members of the Privy Council, of Parliament, and of the royal family! If anything were to happen to them en masse … well, there would be chaos!’

‘I do not think the Piccadilly Company will care. They are more interested in the fact that it will leave a massive void in African trade — one they will be eager to fill.’

Williamson was silent for a moment. ‘Then our duties are obvious. First, we shall confine Pratt until he is no longer in danger. Second, troops must be sent to Woolwich, to ensure no member of the Piccadilly Company goes anywhere near Katherine. And third, someone must prevent Jane from docking at Queenhithe: she cannot be attacked if she is not there.’

‘No,’ argued Chaloner. ‘The best way to defend the Adventurers is to cancel their feast. Contact Leighton and tell him to-’

‘Impossible,’ interrupted Williamson shortly. ‘There have been threats against the Court ever since the King reclaimed his throne, and he refuses to defer to them — the Adventurers will never postpone their feast. If I suggest it, I will likely be arrested myself.’

Chaloner sighed irritably, but suspected the King was right — he and his government would never get anything done if they allowed lunatic plots to dictate their actions.

‘How many men do you have?’ he asked.

‘Not enough, especially now Doines has gone after those damned brick-thieves. Still, it cannot be helped. I shall send the rest to Woolwich, because protecting the Adventurers is paramount. Swaddell can take charge until I arrive.’

‘Why him? What will you be doing?’

‘Locating Pratt. Meanwhile, perhaps you will manage Queenhithe. Go now, though, because ships are notorious for not arriving on schedule. You will doubtless have a tedious time of it, but so will I — when he came to warn me about the brick-thieves, Pratt mentioned going out for the night. I have no idea where to start looking for him.’

‘Try the gentleman’s club on Hercules’ Pillars Alley.’

Williamson smiled. ‘Thank you. Perhaps working with you will not be as grim as I feared.’

Chaloner was grudgingly impressed when he saw Williamson swing into action, forced to admit that he was not as incompetent as he had always imagined. The Spymaster dispatched his men to Woolwich with cool efficiency — half in boats and half in coaches, lest one form of transport should prove problematic.

When they were safely on their way, ears ringing with impassioned imprecations not to waste a single second, Chaloner started to walk towards Queenhithe. He had not taken many steps before Hyde grabbed his arm. He was released abruptly when the expression on his face indicated that while he might have lost most of his weapons and been shot, he was still not someone to manhandle.

‘Contradict me at your peril,’ Hyde hissed, trying to sound menacing. ‘My father will not appreciate you calling me a liar, and neither will I.’

‘Is that so?’ said Chaloner shortly.

Seeing intimidation was not going to work, Hyde tried another tack. ‘If you will not consider my feelings, then think of him. His enemies will use my … my errors to harm him, and if he comes to grief, you will be unemployed. It is better for you if you tell the story as I have constructed it.’

‘Very well,’ said Chaloner. He started to walk away, but Hyde stood in front of him.

‘Do I have your word? Now Oliver is dead, you are the only one who can argue with my version of events — no one will listen to Vere and his helpmeets.’

‘What about the man who hired them?’ asked Chaloner, thinking him a fool. ‘He will know who designed the devices. And who helped Oliver steal the necessary materials.’

Hyde smiled coldly. ‘Yes, but he is hardly in a position to say anything, is he? By exposing me, he reveals his own role in the affair, and that is something he will never do.’

Chaloner tried to pass Hyde a third time, and was irritated when he was stopped yet again.

‘I mean it, Chaloner,’ said Hyde, confidence returning as he felt himself to be gaining the upper hand. ‘You will do as I say, because you do not want powerful enemies.’

Chaloner’s patience snapped. ‘No, I do not. I am more than happy for you to have them instead.’

Hyde regarded him uneasily. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that Oliver’s employer probably won’t contradict you publicly. However, there are other ways to express his displeasure. You are wealthy and can hire guards to protect yourself, whereas I cannot. You are right: it is better this way. Thank you.’

Chaloner was rewarded with the satisfaction of seeing alarm fill Hyde’s face.

‘He would not dare harm me!’ Hyde swallowed hard. ‘Would he?’

Chaloner regarded him dispassionately. ‘At least I know now why you have been so keen for your father to dismiss me. You were afraid I would stumble across the truth at Clarendon House.’

‘I wanted you gone because I abhor your dubious skills,’ countered Hyde, although he would not meet Chaloner’s eyes. ‘Dugdale is right: they are unseemly in a gentleman.’

‘They prevented you from being murdered tonight.’

‘Rubbish! I would have extricated myself, given time.’

Chaloner did not dignify that claim with a response. He changed the subject. ‘You are an Adventurer, are you not?’

‘What of it?’ snapped Hyde. ‘Or do you want me to inveigle you an invitation to join? I suppose it can be arranged, if that is the price of your silence.’

‘No, thank you,’ said Chaloner in distaste. ‘But tell me what you know about the event that is to be held in Woolwich tomorrow at dusk. Why did Leighton organise it?’

‘Today,’ corrected Hyde. ‘It is already well past midnight and so …’ He faltered when he saw Chaloner’s steely glare, and hastened to answer the question. ‘Because arranging interesting treats for us is the way he keeps our favour.’

‘Is he unpopular, then? He needs to bribe you to be allowed to continue as secretary?’

‘Not exactly, but our members are wary of him. There are rumours that he made himself rich by criminal means, you see, although he denies it, of course. And you are wrong, by the way — the event will not be in Woolwich. We all said it was too far to travel, so Leighton changed it.’

‘Changed it to where?’ asked Chaloner uneasily.

‘Oh, still on Royal Katherine, but she will be moored at Queenhithe instead.’

Chaloner stared at him in horror. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course — he lives in Queenhithe, and has friends who will help with the arrangements. It will not be at dusk, either. We were all disappointed by the Swedish ambassador’s reception, because too many common folk had been invited and there was not enough food. So Leighton brought our event forward. He says there is nothing so memorable as breakfast on a ship at dawn-’

‘Dawn?’ echoed Chaloner in disbelief. ‘No one will attend a function at that hour of the day!’

‘Of course they will. Most of the Court will not have been to bed, and they will be perfectly happy to round off the evening at Queenhithe. Lady Castlemaine hosts breakfasts all the time.’

Chaloner was appalled. ‘But how can Leighton change everything at such short notice? His staff will not be ready!’

‘They would not dare fail him,’ said Hyde grimly. ‘But what is the problem with-’

‘Do not go,’ said Chaloner urgently.

Hyde regarded him with dislike. ‘I most certainly shall! It will be fun.’

‘There are rumours that something terrible will befall the Adventurers on St Frideswide’s Day. And then there is Jane. Queenhithe will not be safe-’

‘I know about our plan to destroy Jane,’ said Hyde casually, as though looting and burning a ship was nothing special. ‘But she is not due to arrive until three o’clock in the afternoon. Queenhithe will be perfectly safe for hours yet.’

But Chaloner’s churning stomach told him that the change of time and venue were significant. Had Williamson’s decision to issue an arrest warrant for Fitzgerald driven the Piccadilly Company to act sooner than it had planned? And what of Leighton’s role in the affair? Was he, like Meneses, playing one side against the other, and his allegiance was actually to the Adventurers’ rivals? Chaloner thought about the man’s sly smiles and unreadable expressions — he had been an enigma from the start.

‘Stay well away,’ he urged. ‘Better still, cancel it. Tell your colleagues not to go.’

Hyde scowled. ‘Is this how things will be from now on? You will use my little indiscretion to bend me to your will?’

‘No! I am trying to save your life. And those of your friends.’

Hyde relented. ‘Unfortunately, you overestimate my influence,’ he said, although it clearly pained him to admit it. ‘I could scream warnings all night, but no one would take any notice.’

‘Well, try,’ Chaloner snapped. ‘And now I need to find Williamson.’

As the Spymaster had used every available carriage to transport his men to Woolwich, he had been reduced to walking to Hercules’ Pillars Alley. Chaloner caught up with him on Fleet Street. Lester was with him. Gasping for breath — he had run as hard as he could — Chaloner told them what Hyde had said. The blood drained from Williamson’s face.

‘But I have dispatched all my officers down the river, and Doines is off God knows where rounding up thieves! There is no one left to go to Queenhithe and protect Adventurers!’

‘Perhaps they no longer need protecting,’ said Lester hopefully. ‘Fitzgerald may even now be standing at Woolwich, scratching his head at an empty berth.’

‘No!’ whispered Williamson, shocked. ‘Chaloner is right. The plot is swinging into operation early, and we shall be found lacking.’

‘Then tell Leighton to cancel his dawn feast,’ said Lester practically. ‘It is a stupid time for a soirée anyway. At sea, we would never-’

‘We have already been through this!’ snapped Williamson. ‘It cannot be done.’

‘Then perhaps they deserve whatever is coming to them,’ muttered Lester. ‘If they are unwilling to forgo entertainment in the interests of their own safety, then they are too stupid to-’

‘Pratt will have to fend for himself,’ determined Williamson, regaining his composure as he began to make decisions. ‘Because the death of a conceited architect pales into insignificance when compared to the murder of fifty nobles and their wives. Lester, hunt down a hackney and send a message after the other carriages, ordering them back immediately. I will do the same for the boats.’

‘If you say so,’ said Lester doubtfully. ‘Although it seems to me-’

‘There is no time for debate,’ the Spymaster snapped. ‘Chaloner, go directly to Queenhithe. Lester and I will join you there as soon as we can. Wait! You are going in the wrong direction!’

‘We need all the help we can get,’ called Chaloner over his shoulder. ‘I am fetching Thurloe.’

Williamson seemed relieved. ‘Yes — he is a good man to have at one’s side in a crisis. But we must hurry. Lives depend on our actions tonight, and so does the future stability of our country.’

‘No pressure, then,’ mumbled Lester.

When Chaloner arrived at Lincoln’s Inn, panting hard from what had been another furious dash, it was to find Thurloe with company. Lydcott was lounging by the fire.

‘You are late,’ said Thurloe curtly. ‘It is almost four o’clock, and I have been worried.’

‘I told you he could look after himself,’ drawled Lydcott, standing and stretching lazily.

Chaloner limped to the cupboard where Thurloe kept his weapons. He grabbed a sword and a knife, struggling to outline all that had happened while still catching his breath. Never a man to waste time with needless questions, Thurloe armed himself, too, then led the way down the stairs at a brisk trot. Lydcott followed uninvited, his face a mask of confusion, although every time he attempted to ask a question, Thurloe waved him to silence.

‘There are no hackneys,’ said Thurloe tersely, when they reached Chancery Lane. ‘We shall have to go on foot.’

‘Go where?’ demanded Lydcott, running after them. ‘Stop! Wait! I do not understand!’

‘So Elliot did die in the swordfight,’ concluded Thurloe, ignoring his kinsman as he set a cracking pace through the dark streets. ‘Which means Cave’s brother really did bury him early in order to save money. And you have caught the brick-thief, although you will never be able to tell Clarendon the truth.’

‘Pratt knew nothing about it,’ gasped Chaloner. His lame leg ached, his shoulder throbbed, and he was not sure how much longer he could continue to race all over the city. ‘Of course, that does not exonerate him — as Clarendon House’s architect, he should have noticed there was something amiss with the place’s proportions, especially as he was so proud of them.’

‘Do you think the threat to murder Pratt came from Oliver?’ asked Thurloe, also beginning to pant. ‘So he could have Pratt’s duties and his handsome wage?’

‘No — Oliver had no reason to want the Queen implicated in a plot that will shatter diplomatic relations between us and Portugal. That is the Piccadilly Company’s doing.’

‘You are wrong,’ declared Lydcott, snatching at Thurloe’s arm to make him slow down. Thurloe shook him off impatiently. ‘Listen to me — I shall explain! Fitzgerald told me and Pratt to be at St Paul’s at dawn. He said he has a surprise for us.’

Thurloe skidded to a standstill at this remark. So did Chaloner, and although he chafed at the wasted seconds, he was grateful for the respite.

‘He must be planning to kill Pratt there, then,’ said Thurloe worriedly. ‘Another accident that will be impossible to place at his door. And he plans to dispatch you at the same time, Robert, because you have outlived your usefulness to him. Like Meneses.’

‘No,’ argued Lydcott, exasperated. ‘Fitzgerald is not a villain. How many more times must I say it? He has changed since he opposed you during the Commonwealth. He is a different man now.’

‘Go to my rooms and stay there,’ ordered Thurloe, not bothering to address the claim. ‘We shall send word of this to Williamson, and he can detail a few henchmen to rescue Pratt.’

‘He does not have any left,’ said Chaloner tiredly. ‘He is trying to recall the ones he sent to Woolwich, but I doubt he will succeed — he ordered them to go there as fast as they could travel.’

‘Then I will save Pratt,’ declared Lydcott. ‘You are wrong about this, but I shall go anyway.’

‘You will do as I say and return to Lincoln’s Inn,’ ordered Thurloe. ‘Ann would never forgive me if anything were to happen to you.’

‘And she would never forgive me if I sat by your fire while a man was murdered,’ countered Lydcott. ‘If you are wrong — which I know you are — then no harm will have been done. But if you are right, I shall be a hero.’

‘You will be a dead hero if you do not take proper care,’ warned Thurloe.

‘I shall be perfectly all right,’ said Lydcott, although there was a flippancy in the reply that said he still did not accept the seriousness of the situation.

‘Pratt will die if you do not reach him first,’ said Chaloner, speaking forcefully to make him understand the danger he was courting. ‘It is not just your life that will be forfeit if you blunder.’

‘Then I had better hurry,’ said Lydcott, giving a jaunty wave before trotting away to where the cathedral was almost invisible against the black night sky.

Chaloner and Thurloe reached Queenhithe, both breathing hard from what had been a desperate sprint. Thurloe had stumbled in a pothole and was limping, while Chaloner felt every step was draining resources he did not have.

The fog grew denser as they neared the river. It caught the feeble glow of the lamps that had been left to illuminate the pier, softening the edges of the ramshackle warehouses that lined it. Two ships were moored there, bobbing gently on the ebbing tide, and transformed by the mist into a ghostly lace of spars and rigging. The smell of the Thames was strong — mud, seaweed and wet wood. The quay appeared to be deserted.

Chaloner edged towards the ships, noting that they were tethered so close together that the stern of one overhung the other. One was Royal Katherine, tall, proud and elegant, while the other was a smaller, shabbier affair, with a wide beam, stubby masts and crooked bowsprit. There were lights and movement aplenty aboard Katherine, but the other vessel was dark and still.

‘Oh, no!’ he breathed in horror. ‘Jane! She has arrived early.’

‘How do you know?’ Thurloe whispered back. ‘Her name is too weathered to read.’

‘The bowsprit — Lester said it was strangely curved. She must have sailed in on the midnight tide. She looks abandoned, but I imagine crewmen will appear if we try to board.’

He was about to add something else when he saw a flash of light in the window of the nearest warehouse. He tensed, imagining it to be one of the Piccadilly Company, but then he recognised Lester’s distinctive silhouette. Wondering how the captain had completed his errand to recall Williamson’s carriages so quickly, he crept towards it, indicating Thurloe was to follow.

The door to the building had been forced, presumably so Lester could monitor the ships without being seen — although lighting a candle was hardly the best way to go about it. Thurloe apparently thought so, too, and regarded the sea-officer with open suspicion, which Lester appeared not to notice. Hastily, Chaloner indicated the light was to be doused.

‘There you are at last,’ came Williamson’s uneasy voice from the resulting gloom. ‘I was beginning to think you had deserted me. Lester found a hackney in record time, although I doubt it will catch up with my men before they reach Woolwich — and neither will the boat I dispatched. We are on our own, gentlemen.’

‘There is a lot of activity on Katherine,’ said Lester, peering out of the window. ‘The Adventurers are definitely expected.’

‘If I had the manpower, I would arrest the entire Piccadilly Company,’ said Williamson bitterly. ‘And sort everything out later. The plot cannot unfold if its perpetrators are behind bars.’

‘Yes, but unfortunately, while you might lay hold of the minions, the master would almost certainly escape,’ Thurloe pointed out. ‘Besides, I would not recommend a mass detention of wealthy merchants. You would never hear the end of it.’

‘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.’