The Piccadilly Plot

Epilogue

Early November 1664

It was a fine, clear morning when Williamson married Kitty O’Brien in St Margaret’s Church. It was a small ceremony, with only Swaddell and Doines to act as witnesses. Chaloner slipped into the shadows at the back and watched, thinking that he had never seen the Spymaster look so pleased with himself, although Kitty’s expression was more difficult to read.

‘Congratulations,’ he said, as the happy couple walked up the aisle together.

Williamson inclined his head. ‘I was shocked to learn that my oldest friend was complicit in that vile affair — especially as he was already rich and had no need for more money. But before he hanged himself in my cells, he told me to look after Kitty. Today is the fulfilment of that promise.’

‘I was shocked, too,’ said Kitty, while Chaloner struggled to determine whether Williamson had had a hand in O’Brien’s alleged suicide. ‘But that is all in the past, and we must look to the future. I shall accept Leighton’s offer to join the Adventurers tomorrow. My husband … my first husband spent too much of our money on his wild schemes, and I must recoup my losses.’

‘But the Adventurers still trade in slaves,’ Chaloner pointed out. ‘That has not changed.’

‘No, it has not,’ said Kitty. She smiled, an expression that did not touch her green eyes. ‘But perhaps I shall be able to change them from within.’

They walked away, leaving Chaloner staring after them unhappily. Since the events that had culminated at Piccadilly, he had been in low spirits. He had recurring nightmares about the strongroom, his home life continued to be a trial, and he felt guilty for abandoning Lester. Thurloe pointed out patiently that any attempt at rescue would have meant his own death, but that was of scant comfort.

His work for the Earl did nothing to help, either. As there were no mysteries to investigate, he was obliged to pass the time in routine duties that put him in the company of Dugdale and Edgeman. The Earl had been furious when he had learned they were Adventurers, and they blamed Chaloner for their exposure: they set out to make his life miserable, and they succeeded.

One morning, as Dugdale railed at him for wearing a grey coat instead of the blue one he had stipulated, Kipps appeared. His fist shot towards the Chief Usher’s face and there was a dull smack as the two connected. Chaloner stared at the Seal Bearer in astonishment.

‘What did you do that for?’ howled Dugdale, hand to his nose. ‘Are you insane?’

‘A maid called Susan was just here, asking after you,’ replied Kipps, eyeing him with dislike. ‘She told me you paid her to spy on Chaloner. In his own home.’

Dugdale swallowed uneasily. ‘I did it to protect the Earl. And I would not have had to do it at all if Chaloner had been cooperative. I asked him for progress reports, but he fobbed me off with half-answers and lies. What else was I to do?’

‘Why were you so desperate to know what I-’ began Chaloner.

‘Because he is jealous of the Earl’s faith in your abilities,’ snapped Kipps. ‘But that does not excuse him from corrupting a silly girl to spy on a colleague. It is not the act of a gentleman, and I shall ensure all White Hall knows it. Moreover, if I catch him doing anything like it again, I shall hit him even harder. That goes for you, too, Edgeman. I know you were in it together.’

‘You do not care about Chaloner,’ sneered Edgeman, although he took refuge behind Dugdale as he spoke, unwilling to suffer a similar fate. ‘The reason you punched Dugdale is because he told Leighton not to let you join the Adventurers. You have always resented that.’

‘I would never enrol in that band of scoundrels,’ declared Kipps, although the flash of anger in his eyes said Edgeman was right. ‘I do not approve of monopolies. However, if he recommends against me joining anything else, a bloody nose will be the least of his problems.’

‘I am not sure that was wise,’ said Chaloner, when Edgeman had helped Dugdale away. ‘The Earl does not approve of his retainers thumping each other. Why do you think I have never hit the man myself? It is not because of my superior self-control, I assure you.’

‘What is he going to do about it?’ shrugged Kipps. ‘Tell the Earl? If he does, he will be sorry. But they have learned their lesson. They will not bother you again.’

Chaloner suspected they would just be more subtle in their hounding of him, and doubted Kipps’s intervention had done him any favours. But the punch had been a declaration of allegiance and he was heartened by it — it meant he was no longer alone and that there was someone he could call a friend in the unsettled, unpredictable world that was White Hall. Kipps’s next words promptly reversed any improvement in his mood, though.

‘Have you heard the news? Governor Bridge has been dismissed and a new man hired to rule Tangier in his place. Fitzgerald the pirate has been honoured with the post.’

Chaloner stared at him. ‘Fitzgerald? But he is in the Tower, charged with the attempted murder of most of the Adventurers and half of Queenhithe.’

‘That was ages ago,’ said Kipps. ‘It has all been forgotten now, especially as Fitzgerald has offered to bring another chest of treasure to London later in the year.’

‘So yet again the wicked prosper,’ muttered Chaloner. ‘Is there never justice in this rotten city?’

‘Fitzgerald will travel to his new domain on Royal Katherine,’ said Kipps, straining to hear what Chaloner was mumbling. ‘The damage has been repaired and she looks as good as new again. She sails from Queenhithe on the afternoon tide.’

Chaloner went home, but the news of Fitzgerald’s freedom troubled him, and he was restless and angry. Bemused by his sullen mood, and exasperated when he declined to discuss it, Hannah sent him out for a walk, no doubt afraid that he might use his viol to settle his mind if he were allowed to stay. She need not have worried: Chaloner had not played since the events at Clarendon House, and felt no desire to do so.

‘Take George with you,’ she said. ‘I dislike being in the kitchen when he is there, and I feel like baking a cake. It will be ready on your return.’

Even more dejected, because he would be expected to eat it, Chaloner walked to Queenhithe to see for himself whether Kipps was right about Fitzgerald. George trailed at his heels.

When he arrived, he found scant evidence of the chaos that had ensued after it had almost been blown into oblivion. The warehouses that had been burned were already rebuilt, and the wharf was its usual hive of activity. Boats rocked gently as they were tugged by the ebbing tide, and Katherine stood tall and proud among them, like a graceful swan amid a flock of ducks.

Suddenly, there was a clatter of wheels on cobbles, and a convoy arrived. Chaloner clenched his fists in impotent fury when Fitzgerald alighted. Even from a distance, he could hear the high-pitched voice, laughing jovially. It seemed to be mocking him, but, short of darting forward and plunging a dagger into the man, there was nothing Chaloner could do.

‘I would not mind a berth on that ship,’ said George.

Chaloner jumped. They were the first words the footman had spoken since leaving Tothill Street. ‘You want to return to Fitzgerald’s service?’ he asked, bemused.

‘I meant as a sailor. Work my passage to Tangier.’

‘Then go,’ said Chaloner.

George stared at him. ‘I am your servant. I cannot leap on a ship.’

‘You can if I tell you to,’ said Chaloner, wondering whether he would be spared the ordeal of Hannah’s cake if he went home with the news that he had solved the problem George had become.

Once the captain had been assured that George was an experienced seaman, willing to work, he happily agreed to take him on. Chaloner gave George all the money he had with him, plus his coat; George took them without a word of thanks. Chaloner watched him stride up the gangway, then went to tell Thurloe of Fitzgerald’s good fortune.

‘What?’ exploded the ex-Spymaster. ‘How can they let such a dangerous man go free? And to promote him into a position of power into the bargain! Are they insane?’

‘No, they are corrupt,’ replied Chaloner. ‘He bribed them with promises of more gold bars.’

‘So the profits from mismanaging the mole will go into his pocket now,’ fumed Thurloe. ‘He not only has his liberty, but he is given licence to prosper at the tax-payer’s expense.’

‘It is a sorry business, and all about money as usual,’ said Chaloner despondently.

Thurloe nodded grim agreement. ‘And it all began with O’Brien objecting to the monopoly on African trade held by the Adventurers, and deciding he was going to smash their hold on Tangier. He did not care that it would destroy the Queen and take all manner of lives in the process. But some justice was served, at least.’

‘Was it?’ Chaloner could not think of any.

‘All those greedy people who hoped to profit were hit where it hurt them most — in the purse. The Piccadilly Company lost all the treasure they had spirited to Clarendon House after Jane docked — it was confiscated by the government. And it was decided that the Adventurers should pay for the repairs to Katherine, because they were fooling about on her when Jane exploded.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Chaloner. ‘But most of them are so rich that they will barely notice the loss.’

‘Well, we should not be too downcast. Fitzgerald murdered all those members of the Piccadilly Company who were involved in the plot, while the remainder are too relieved by their narrow escape to dabble with dubious characters again. And war with the Dutch will destroy the Adventurers — their ships will be unable to trade, and their venture will go bankrupt.’

‘Temporarily perhaps. Do you know, when I scuttled the slave-ship Henrietta Maria in Tangier, I believed I had made a difference — that it might make these unscrupulous merchants think twice about the trade. But the reality was that it accomplished nothing at all.’

‘It enabled dozens of people to escape life on the plantations,’ countered Thurloe. ‘They will not think it was nothing. But you are right in that the filthy business will flourish. You may have to hone your scuttling talents. Let me know if you ever need an accomplice.’

Chaloner gave him a wan smile.

Thurloe sighed. ‘Fitzgerald may have bested me yet again, but at least some of the villains met a fitting end. Brinkes and his louts are in Williamson’s tender care, while O’Brien, Harley, Brilliana, Cave, Meneses and my brother-in-law are dead.’

‘Harley was the worst. He murdered his friends and Reyner’s mother.’

‘Fitzgerald was the worst,’ corrected Thurloe. ‘He brained two men in front of you, and he was responsible for Turner, Lucas and even children burned to death, as well as Proby being hurled from the roof of St Paul’s Cathedral, Congett poisoned and Meneses trampled by a horse.’

‘It was O’Brien who issued those orders.’

‘Perhaps, but the wicked imaginativeness tells me that Fitzgerald decided how to execute them. He ordered Brinkes to kill Captain Pepperell, too, before his report on the three Tangier scouts could be delivered to Williamson.’

‘Poor Pepperell,’ said Chaloner. ‘I doubt he knew much that could harm Harley, Newell and Reyner, and there was no need to kill him. However, I think you will agree that the slaughter of the garrison on Jews Hill was by far the worst outrage in this miserable affair, and while it was O’Brien’s idea, it was Harley who put it into action.’

‘True,’ acknowledged Thurloe. ‘Of course, the Teviot affair has been vigorously suppressed. The government does not want it known that its own scouts brought about that tragedy.’

Chaloner was not surprised, being well acquainted with the fact that governments all over the world had ways to keep people from finding out about their mistakes.

‘But Pratt was not guilty of anything except making bad friends,’ he said. ‘And of naively believing that members of the Piccadilly Company would hire him to design houses for them once Jane had made them rich. He was so shocked when he learned he had been used in a plot against the Queen that he has retired from public life. He has gone to live in Norfolk.’

‘That is extreme: I have been to Norfolk.’ Thurloe sighed again. ‘However, we saved the Queen from embarrassment and persecution. That was worthwhile.’

‘It was, but she remains vulnerable until she produces an heir.’ Chaloner glanced at Thurloe. ‘I am sorry about Lydcott, by the way. He was not a bad man, either. Just lacking in judgement.’

Thurloe pursed his lips. ‘I beg to differ — he sacrificed you and me to Fitzgerald without a second thought. I was wrong about him, just as I was wrong about Lester, although Ann mourns his loss, of course. Still, at least I did not underestimate Fitzgerald, so I have not lost my touch completely.’

‘Far from it.’ Chaloner stood. ‘I had better go. The Earl asked me to meet him in Clarendon House this evening, and he will be angry if I am late.’

‘I have no desire to set foot in that place ever again,’ declared Thurloe with a shudder. ‘I shall always associate it with evil dealings.’

So would Chaloner, but he did not have the luxury of declining the Earl’s summons.

Clarendon House stood silent and imposing in its sea of mud and winter-brown trees. The site was deserted because the Earl had dismissed all the workmen, being uncertain which ones were involved with Oliver, and unwilling to take chances. More had yet to be recruited, although it would not be long before the place rang with the sounds of industry again.

As Chaloner walked up the drive, he regarded it with dislike, and began to formulate plans to burn it down. No one would miss it, except the Earl — even Hyde would be grateful to lose this monumental reminder of his gullibility. It took considerable willpower to open the door and step inside, and he could not repress a shudder as he passed the stairs that led to the basement.

He found the Earl standing in his Great Parlour, which was still scarred from Brinkes’s efforts to escape. He looked short and insignificant in its lofty grandeur, more like an interloper than its owner.

‘Hah!’ he exclaimed as Chaloner approached. ‘There is an unforeseen advantage to this place.’

‘What is that, sir?’

The Earl grinned. ‘You cannot mask the sound of your footsteps in this echoing chamber, so you will never be able to creep up on me. I am safe from frights at last.’

Chaloner had made no effort to approach quietly, but was sure it could be managed, especially in the dark. The Earl’s grin faded as he looked around him.

‘It was a pitiful business,’ he said softly.

Chaloner nodded, and stared at the floor. Lester had died saving people who continued to profit from the slave trade, and one of the greatest villains he had ever encountered was currently sailing down the Thames on his way to a new and prosperous life. Even Kitty, whose role in the affair was far from certain, was happily married to the man she had taken as her lover while her husband still lived.

‘I am sorry so many people died,’ he said quietly.

The Earl stared at him. ‘Actually, I was thinking about my stolen bricks. The other business was far from pitiful, because you presented me with four gold bars that the King’s treasurers had neglected to find.’

‘Oh,’ said Chaloner. ‘I had forgotten about those.’

‘You are a curious fellow! Anyone else in my household would have kept one for himself, but you gave me the lot.’

‘I did not want anything to do with them.’

‘Luckily for me.’ The Earl cleared his throat. ‘Henry has shown me every one of these sly secret passages, but they are all in the wrong places.’

Chaloner frowned. ‘I do not understand.’

The Earl waved a sheaf of papers at him. ‘They are in the main reception rooms, but these are large chambers, and experiments have shown that if you stand in the middle and mutter seditious remarks, a spy cannot hear you.’

Chaloner took the plans and studied them. ‘There are no devices in the bedrooms — other than yours — either. That is where most confidences will be whispered. You are right: I doubt they will serve you very well. Hyde … whoever designed them did not know what he was doing.’

‘Speaking of my son, Williamson came to see me yesterday. He had information that indicates Henry lied — that it was one of my enemies who arranged to have these spyholes installed, not him. I asked Henry about it, but he says Williamson is mistaken. What do you think?’

‘That you should never invite Secretary Leighton here for dinner.’

The Earl stared at him. ‘These spyholes were Leighton’s idea?’

‘Yes — because he dislikes your opposition to the Adventurers, although when I confronted him, he claimed he never intended the matter to end in the attempted murder of your son.’

‘Did you believe him?’ asked the Earl, round-eyed.

‘No. Had his plan worked, he would have wanted the devices kept secret — but Hyde knew about them, so of course he would have killed him to ensure his silence.’

‘I shall issue a warrant for his arrest,’ said Clarendon. ‘And see what he has to say for himself once he is in the Tower. You can lay hold of him tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The Earl sighed softly. ‘So Henry did lie to me. I thought as much. He is not a brave boy and I was sceptical of him tackling gun-wielding villains. But we shall say no more about it. His mother thinks him a hero, and I would rather not distress her with the truth.’

‘Very well, sir.’

‘But the affair will not be entirely forgotten, either. I shall send him to Sweden on a diplomatic mission soon. You will accompany him.’

‘Are you punishing him or me?’ asked Chaloner, appalled by the notion of spending what might be weeks in the company of such a man.

‘Do not look so gloomy, lad,’ said the Earl, rather more kindly than was his wont. ‘I have some news you might find cheering. From Williamson.’

Chaloner doubted it, but listened politely.

‘It involves a fellow called Lester. Apparently, he managed to jump overboard before the flames caught Jane’s gunpowder. A Queenhithe family nursed him until he regained his wits, and he is now well on the road to recovery.’

Chaloner stared at him. ‘Lester is alive?’

The Earl smiled. ‘Williamson said you would welcome the news. He is being tended by his sister in the Crown tavern, and says he would like to play his flute to your viol, if you have time.’

Chaloner felt his spirits lift at last. ‘May I …’

‘Go,’ said the Earl, waving a chubby hand.

Tangier, April 1665

George breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of sun-baked earth, the stew that was cooking, and the familiar, dusty odour of the cows he had purchased with the money Chaloner had given him. He stared up at the vast night sky, millions of stars flickering like diamonds suspended in nothingness.

He was content for the first time since Fitzgerald had enticed him to sea with promises of easy wealth and a life of adventure, and knew he had made the right decision to return home. He had not liked London’s filthy, crowded streets, and nor had he enjoyed life as a servant. Moreover, he had certainly not appreciated being hired because it was fashionable to employ black retainers.

He remembered the ones he had met at White Hall — not free men like him, but slaves taken from the Gold Coast. They had been resigned to their lot, telling him it was a better fate than the plantations in Barbados, but he had railed on their behalf, silently and bitterly, deploring the vile trade in human souls.

An evening in Tothill Street flashed into his mind, when he had eavesdropped on a discussion between Chaloner and Wiseman. Chaloner had said little, but the surgeon had made it clear who had been responsible for the infamous attack on Henrietta Maria. George had decided then that he would repay the good deed one day, although he had not been sure how — devoted servitude was certainly not on the cards. He was not a deferential man.

Then news had come of Fitzgerald’s promotion, and Chaloner had taken him to watch the pirate strut about on Queenhithe. Seeing him had angered George on two counts: because of the callous way Fitzgerald had abandoned him in a foreign city after ten years of loyal service; and because he knew Fitzgerald would dabble in the slave trade again when he reached Africa. He had vowed not to let that happen.

It had not been possible to tip him overboard on the voyage, as he had intended, because Fitzgerald had kept to his cabin, only emerging when Katherine had docked in Tangier. And after that, George had been more concerned with adapting to his new life than in monitoring his former master. But the day had come when he had gone to town to sell some livestock, and then he had made his move.

He had acquired more of the yellow dust he had used in the past, and it had not been difficult to gain access to Fitzgerald’s bedroom: the man was so certain that no one would dare move against him that security was minimal. He had blown the powder into Fitzgerald’s face, and when the pirate had been blinded by the sneezing that followed, he had plunged a knife into his black heart.

As he stared at the stars, George thought about Chaloner. Would he know who had delivered the fatal blow, or would he assume that robbers were responsible, which was the tale that was flying around Tangier? George smiled. Chaloner would guess, and perhaps sleep a little easier at night because of it. George hoped so. 480