Murder on High Holborn (34 page)

‘By whom?’ asked Chaloner, his pulse quickening.

‘By villains,’ replied Pate, unhelpfully. ‘Decent men do not blow up ships, especially the ones we need for defeating the Dutch at sea.’

‘Can you describe these villains?’ asked Chaloner of James.

Again, it was Pate who replied. ‘One was small, dark and malevolent; one had a scar on his face; and the last was yellow-haired and kept talking about King Jesus. They whispered, but James has inherited my sharp ears, and heard most of what they muttered.’

‘What did they say?’ asked Chaloner, his thoughts in turmoil. ‘Exactly.’

Pate must have heard the urgency in his voice because he indicated that James was to answer for himself. James obliged in a voice that was uncannily like his sire’s. ‘They said that blowing up the ship would be a “fine outrage for the Cause”. Those were their precise words. They left then, and were nowhere on shore when she exploded the next day.’

‘How do you know?’

James looked troubled. ‘Because they had unsettled me, so I looked for them. Our stepbrother John often talks about fanatics, and I had a feeling that these were three such rogues.’

So Jones and Strange had been responsible for what had happened to HMS
London
, while the third man was almost certainly Scarface Roberts. Had they used one of Rupert’s guns and the unusually fine powder to carry out their monstrous act? And if so, then had Roberts died because the new invention was unpredictable and dangerous to use? Chaloner knew he would have to find out quickly, before any were deployed on Easter Day.

It rained steadily for what remained of the night, but the weather brightened at dawn, even showing patches of blue among the grey. Chaloner had quizzed Pate and his family further about HMS
London
, the mill and Rupert, so that by the time it was light enough to leave, he had answers to a number of questions and a clear view of what to do next.

He still had far too many questions, though. Why had Lawson been at the factory, when he had expressed reservations about iron cannon and obviously thought little of Rupert’s inventive talents? Why had Jones, Strange and Roberts destroyed his flagship? It was most certainly not ‘a fine outrage for the Cause’ and would turn people against the Fifth Monarchists if the truth ever came out.

Although he could not have said why, Chaloner felt that the best way forward was to concentrate on HMS
London
. She was due to be weighed the following day, and while it would not be easy to cover more than thirty miles on muddy, flooded roads, he intended to try. Of course, if he was wrong, there would be hell to pay. Rupert would be furious with him for leaving the conspirators unmonitored, and so would Williamson. Temperance would also be vexed, because it was time spent away from the murders of Ferine and Snowflake. However, it might help to fulfil his promise to Lester, and that was as important to him as anything else.

Lady was in a feisty mood, and Chaloner was hard-pressed to prevent him from bolting. He let him have his head once they were clear of the village, but the track was too rutted and uneven for speed, so he was forced to rein in. After that, conditions worsened, and he was obliged to dismount. Twice, he lost the road, and wasted valuable time trying to find it again. In all, it was a strained, miserable, exhausting day, and by dusk, both horse and man were thoroughly fed up with each other. He continued on foot once the daylight had gone, letting the moon light their way. He camped in the open eventually, but it was far too cold to sleep, and he was on the road again long before the stars began to fade the following morning, Lady trailing sulkily behind him.

Eventually, he saw lights in the distance. Scenting clean stables and warm mash, Lady began to dance towards them. They had reached Prittlewell at last. Unfortunately, it was not where they needed to be.

‘You want the hamlet we call South-End for the raising of
London
,’ said a smugly gleeful farmer who was feeding his cows. He pointed. ‘Two miles in that direction.’

With a sigh, Chaloner mounted up, at which point Lady tried to rid himself of the unwelcome burden by bucking. Chaloner was too experienced a rider to be thrown, but it was tiresome nonetheless, and it became even more of annoyance when the road began to fill with other travellers. He recognised the crests on several coaches, along with a number of horsemen – London’s idle rich, come to watch the spectacle of a shattered ship rising from the deep.

He listened to snippets of conversation as he rode. Dr Lambe had evidently reread the stars, and was now predicting that the venture would be a success, although only as long as certain precautions were taken. However, no one had managed to learn what these might be, other than that one involved doing something to a snail in moonlight – something no one at Court had attempted. Lambe was clever, thought Chaloner. If his forecast proved wrong, he could simply say that the conditions he had stipulated had not been followed.

‘He prophesised something about Buckingham, too,’ Chaloner overheard the silly Lady Muskerry tell Mrs Chiffinch as their coach jolted along. ‘That he will suffer a misfortune on Friday.’

‘Good Friday,’ murmured Mrs Chiffinch. ‘The day of the Duke’s Astrological Soirée. I am not surprised – it is an evil, godless business, and only fools will attend.’

‘I am going,’ said Lady Muskerry brightly.

‘You do surprise me, dear,’ replied Mrs Chiffinch blandly.

There was other gossip, too. Ferine’s killer was still at large; Rupert’s unpredictable temper was earning him much dislike; Williamson had asked the Privy Council for more money to spend on spies, but his request was unlikely to be granted; Lady Day was transpiring to be a nuisance because of an usually large influx of visitors; and everyone was looking forward to the firework display, although there was some concern that the current Green Man might prove unequal to the task of setting them off – the Master of Ordnance might be the best qualified man available, but that did not mean he would actually be any good at it.

There were, however, no rumours about the Fifth Monarchy rebellion that was to be staged in four days’ time, which Chaloner thought remarkable given the number of people involved. Was the oath they swore responsible for the blanket of secrecy? Regardless, he found himself sorry that their expectations for a more decent society were unlikely to be realised, and that Sunday night would almost certainly see the King still debauching himself in White Hall.

South-End was not much of a place – a few rows of fishing cottages and three rough inns. There was also a chapel, currently used to house HMS
London
’s dead, which continued to wash up each day. Chaloner imagined it was usually a sleepy hamlet with nothing to disturb it but the occasional storm. That day there was a merry bustle, not just with visitors, but from canny locals who aimed to capitalise on the arrival of a lot of bulging purses.

Stalls had been set up outside almost every house, selling freshly baked bread, pies, griddled fish and cakes. Others had broached barrels of ale, while small boys darted everywhere, fetching refreshments and selling their older sisters to anyone who wanted a different form of entertainment. A surprisingly large number of courtiers did.

Chaloner made for the biggest tavern, as those fishermen who were not engaged in the brisk commerce outside were there, telling eager listeners what had happened when they had gathered on the beach to watch
London
sail past. He left Lady with a gaggle of enterprising youths who were operating a horse-minding service, and walked inside.

‘She blew up! Bang!’ one halfwit was braying. He was a huge, moon-faced creature with massive hands and the guileless grin of a child. ‘Boom!’

‘Now, Peter,’ said a fisherman whose pipe was so firmly clamped between his teeth that it looked as if it would only be removed by surgery. ‘Go and feed the chickens, there’s a good lad.’

Beaming merrily, Peter went to do as he was told, while the courtiers turned back to the story-tellers. Chaloner eased forward, recognising a number of people in the audience, including Rupert, Buckingham and Lambe. The fishermen resumed their tale, ending with the firm prediction that the engineers would not succeed in weighing
London
.

‘That is not what this sorcerer says,’ interjected Rupert, gesturing to Lambe in a way that was not entirely pleasant. ‘He did a number of nasty things with skulls, snails and tobacco leaves last night, and calculated that HMS
London
would be afloat by mid-morning.’

‘But only if the engineers follow my precise instructions,’ cautioned Lambe immediately. ‘If they vary in a single detail, the endeavour will fail.’

‘Speaking of precautions, when will you tell me how to avoid the calamity that will befall me on Good Friday?’ asked Buckingham. ‘I should not like to be a spectacle at my own soirée.’

‘If you do, it will be God’s vengeance on you for coming here,’ declared Rupert haughtily. ‘The Almighty does not like ghouls.’

‘No?’ asked Buckingham archly. ‘And you are different how, exactly?’

‘I am here in the spirit of scientific enquiry, as a member of the Royal Society,’ replied Rupert loftily. ‘I did not come because I yearn to see bloated bodies bobbing about.’

‘I am a member of the Royal Society, too,’ Buckingham reminded him. ‘Invited to join for my experiments with the Philosopher’s Stone.’

‘Invited because you offered to pay a higher subscription,’ countered Rupert nastily. ‘You are not in the same league as me.’

‘No, you are in a league of your own,’ said Buckingham ambiguously, and promptly turned back to the head fisherman. ‘I missed the beginning of your tale. Start again.’

‘You are right to listen to Mr Westcliff,’ said the taverner approvingly. ‘You can’t tell him nothing about these waters and ships. His opinion is worth having.’ He shot Lambe a look that indicated he thought the same could not be said of everyone.

Westcliff obliged. ‘I recognised the ship
London
immediately, so I called everyone outside, and we all stood along the beach to cheer her on her way. Then there was a crack followed by a great billow of smoke, and she listed to one side. A moment later, we heard the blast.’

‘Caused by fools trying to wrap new powder in old cartridge papers,’ scoffed Rupert. ‘The navy could learn a lot from the army regarding ordnance.’

‘Bilge,’ spat Westcliff, not at all awed by the lofty company around him, and so unafraid to speak his mind. He either did not see or did not care about Rupert’s shock at being so bluntly contradicted. ‘
London
’s crew would not have been doing that in the estuary.’

‘It was gas,’ stated Buckingham with considerable authority. ‘From when the sailors used the lower decks as a latrine while she was in dry dock. We all know what happens when latrine fumes ignite. A sailor went below with a lamp, and…’ He spread his hands.

‘We shall miss the fun if we loiter in here,’ said Rupert, dismissing the Duke’s theory by ignoring it. He finished his drink and stood. ‘Who is coming with me?’

No one volunteered, so he left on his own, although the tavern emptied moments later when Buckingham posed the same question. Chaloner spent a few moments pressing Westcliff for additional information, then walked to the beach himself, aware that the halfwit was trailing him.

‘A cannon in a boat,’ Peter chanted, performing a series of clumsy skips. ‘And a boat in a cannon. Bang! Boom!’

The shore was a gently sloping shelf of sandy mud, kissed by ripples from the estuary. It was littered with flotsam, mostly wood that Chaloner assumed had comprised the stricken ship, along with a smattering of the kind of debris that cluttered any beach downstream of a major city: rags, coal, bones and unidentifiable sludge, all mixed with mounds of seaweed and broken fishing nets. Gulls wheeled overhead, and there was a sharp tang of salt in the air.

A number of boats had been hauled up, and opportunistic villagers were selling seats in their lee, so that visitors could sit out of the wind. Most had been snapped up, as the weather had turned dull and cloudy with a brisk wind, and not much was happening with HMS
London
. A flotilla of small craft bobbed a little way offshore, cables and ropes forming a complex net between them, but the men operating them were sitting down. Chaloner looked at the spectators on the beach.

First and most colourful were the courtiers, who flitted here and there in their finery, concentrating on being seen by the right people. Next were the eccentrically clad gentlemen of the Royal Society, who huddled together deep in debate. Third were engineers from the Navy Board, who were directing the operation. And last were the industrious locals, bustling busily as they homed in on the opportunity to profit from the occasion.

Suddenly, there was movement on one of the boats, and winches began to wind. There was a murmur of excited anticipation onshore as something broke the surface, and everyone strained forward to see. Lambe’s expression turned smug. The object hung a foot above the water, spinning slowly and trailing seaweed. It was one of
London
’s cannon.

‘They have to retrieve those first,’ explained Rupert importantly. ‘Because otherwise their weight will make it impossible to lift the rest of the ship. It was I who realised this, and the engineers are acting on my advice.’

Chaloner imagined the Navy Board knew perfectly well how to weigh a ship, and did not need Rupert to tell them. Buckingham did a very accurate impression of the Prince’s strutting walk behind his back, which had his cronies spluttering with malicious laughter. When Rupert whipped around to see what was happening, Buckingham was looking innocently at the sky.

‘I hope the engineers remembered not to point at the moon last night,’ said Lambe. ‘That always brings bad luck. However, I saw seven jackdaws this morning, which is a
good
omen.’

Daylight did the sorcerer no favours. It lent the designs on his neck and hands a tawdry, homemade appearance, while his patterned coat appeared shabby. Even his height worked against him, making him look lanky rather than imposing. Chaloner regarded him in distaste, thinking he was definitely a man who benefited from the shadows.