The Piccadilly Plot (16 page)

‘Very little, other than that it rents rooms to a group that calls itself the Piccadilly Company. Word is that Spymaster Williamson
is trying to probe their business, but with no success. Perhaps his failure is because Swaddell is no longer with him – he
has gone to work for the Adventurers.’

‘The Adventurers?’ asked Chaloner, startled. ‘You mean the wealthy but inept aristocrats who have declared a trading monopoly
on Africa? Why would they need an assassin?’

‘I do not know. However, it is not they who meet in the Crown, and whose gatherings are so carefully guarded that no one can
eavesdrop. The Piccadilly Company worries me.’

‘I searched their parlour last night and found this.’ Chaloner handed him the singed paper.

Thurloe took it. ‘It looks like a substitution code. You should be able to break it yourself. It will not be difficult, merely
time-consuming.’

‘Apparently, the Piccadilly Company has some deadly enemies. These are their names.’ Chaloner passed him Mrs Reyner’s list.
‘They are written in Vigenère’s cipher.’

Thurloe frowned. ‘This represents more of a challenge, so I suggest I tackle it, while you work on the
document from the Crown. It will take me too long to do both, and I am busy with an errant kinsman at the moment – one of
my wife’s brothers, who has always been recklessly wild.’

‘Do you need help?’

‘I can manage, thank you. Besides, you will have enough to do if you plan to break through the secrecy surrounding the Piccadilly
Company.’

‘I think they might have something to do with what happened to Teviot in Tangier.’ Briefly, Chaloner outlined all he had learned
and reasoned, including about Reyner’s murder.

‘It sounds as though you are right to make a connection between the massacre and the Piccadilly Company,’ mused Thurloe when
he had finished. ‘But I cannot imagine what it might be.’

‘Do you know anything about them? Rumours about their plans? The identities of their members? I know some of them – for example,
the three scouts and Harley’s sister Brilliana. But “Mr Jones” is probably an alias, and I suspect the same is true of “Margareta
and Cornelis Janszoon”. They are the Dutch couple who attended a meeting in the Crown yesterday.’

‘Why would you think they are using false names?’ asked Thurloe, puzzled.

‘Because they are the Dutch equivalent of John and Mary Smith. They might be genuine, but I seriously doubt it. Fitzgerald
is not an alias, though. He is—’

‘Fitzgerald?’ asked Thurloe in horror. ‘Not John Fitzgerald the pirate?’

‘He prefers the term privateer, apparently. Do you know him? He has a ridiculous orange beard, one eye and an extremely peculiar
voice.’

Thurloe’s expression was suddenly haunted. ‘Of all the enemies I faced as Spymaster, he was the one I most wish I had bested.
His flagship sank recently. I had hoped he was on it.’

‘Why?’ asked Chaloner in alarm. Thurloe did not usually wish death on his opponents, and the reaction was deeply unsettling.
‘What did he do?’

‘He destroyed a number of Commonwealth vessels and butchered their crews. You must take more than your usual care if he is
involved. In fact, you will stay away from him. Do you promise?’

‘No.’ Chaloner did not want his hands to be so tied. ‘He cannot be—’

‘If you tackle him alone, he will kill you. And if you take reinforcements, but lack the evidence to destroy him, he will
wriggle free of the charges – and
then
he will kill you. You must hold back until we understand
exactly
what he is doing. Do you understand?’

‘But I need to question him—’

‘Please, Tom,’ said Thurloe quietly. ‘I ask you for very little, and I would be grateful if you would oblige me in this. Will
you swear to stay away from him? On your mother’s soul?’

Chaloner tried to think of a way to avoid making the promise, but nothing came to mind. ‘I will,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘But—’

‘Good,’ said Thurloe, cutting across him before conditions could be attached. ‘I think I must emerge from retirement if he
has returned. We shall work together on this case.’

‘No, we will not.’ Chaloner was even more alarmed. ‘He is not your only enemy – others will attack you if you start meddling
with—’

‘I shall meddle where I please, Thomas,’ said Thurloe, rather dangerously. ‘Moreover, I fail to understand your persistent
conviction that I need protecting. I do not. Have you forgotten that I was once Spymaster General?’

‘Spy
master
, not spy,’ countered Chaloner. ‘There is a world of difference. You organised missions and interpreted information gathered
by others. You did not go out and do it yourself.’

Thurloe was silent for a moment. ‘Perhaps you are right. So I shall act as a spymaster again, deciphering what you bring me
and collating it with snippets I shall commission from others. Will that satisfy you, or shall we work separately and less
efficiently to bring Fitzgerald to task?’

‘We can try to work together,’ agreed Chaloner cautiously. ‘And see how we fare.’

Thurloe wasted no time, and immediately set about writing to old contacts, to see what shreds of information might be gleaned
about the Piccadilly Company. Chaloner was detailed to return to the Crown, and engage Landlord Marshall in conversation again.

‘The man loves to gossip,’ Thurloe said. ‘Which means he probably watches the Company very closely. See what else he can tell
us.’

It was raining outside, which surprised Chaloner, because the sun had been shining earlier. He was hungry, so he stopped at
an ‘ordinary’ – an eating house that sold meals at set prices – on Fleet Street, and ate a venison pastry that was well past
its best, although the baker assured him that the meat had spent the previous night in the ground, a popular cure for game
that had been allowed to over-ripen. Afterwards, feeling slightly queasy, he took a hackney to Piccadilly.

‘Do you know William Reyner – one of the Piccadilly Company members?’ Marshall asked excitedly when he saw Chaloner, positively
bursting with the need to talk. ‘Well, he was murdered last night. Harley and Newell are livid about it – they have vowed
to catch the culprit and kill him.’

‘Do they have any suspects?’

‘Not that they told me,’ said Marshall ruefully. ‘But that is not my only news. Reyner’s mother is dead, too. She was found
not an hour ago.’

Chaloner stared at him. ‘How did she die?’

‘Throat cut, same as her son,’ replied Marshall with ghoulish glee. ‘Perhaps Reyner told her some secret, and she was dispatched
to ensure she never revealed it to anyone else – she drank, you see, so was not discreet. Or perhaps Harley or Newell killed
her for not being much of a mother to their friend – he doted on her, but she was indifferent towards him.’

‘You are not safe here.’ Chaloner’s stomach churned, and he had the sickening sense that
he
had sealed Mrs Reyner’s fate just by visiting her. ‘Dangerous people meet in your tavern, and—’

‘Nonsense.’ Marshall raised a hand when Chaloner began to argue. ‘I complained to Mr Jones about the Piccadilly Company’s
odd habits this morning, and he explained everything. He said he and his friends still export glassware, but they just do
it on a larger scale, which is why they are so keen on secrecy. It is a lucrative business, apparently.’

Chaloner wondered how Marshall could have believed the tale. ‘But Fitzgerald is a—’

‘Mr Jones says Fitzgerald is a changed man now the Royalists are in power,’ interrupted Marshall with a smile.
‘He has given up piracy, and will make his fortune honestly instead.’

‘I seriously doubt—’ began Chaloner.

‘It is true,’ insisted Marshall earnestly. ‘He is respectable now, and has even been granted audiences with the King – he
preyed on Cromwell’s ships during the Commonwealth, you see, which is considered patriotic these days. Indeed, he is in the
Banqueting House at this very moment, invited there to watch the King devour his dinner.’

Chaloner was astounded. ‘A pirate is welcomed at Court?’

‘The King considers him a hero for what he did to the Roundheads,’ said Marshall. ‘He is a pirate no more. He took Harley
and Newell with him, to cheer them up after losing their friend.’

Chaloner tried again to warn him about the danger he was in, but Marshall declined to listen, and there was nothing Chaloner
could do to make him. He took his leave and began to walk to White Hall, wishing Thurloe had not shackled him with the promise
to stay away from Fitzgerald, because an interview with the man might answer all manner of questions. However, while he was
forbidden to approach the pirate, he could still speak to his cronies – and it was high time he had a serious discussion with
Harley and Newell.

The Banqueting House was a large, airy building with huge windows and a ceiling painted by Rubens. It was never easy gaining
access to it when the King was eating, because it was a popular event and places were limited. Surprisingly, the solution
came from Chief Usher Dugdale, who ordered Chaloner to don a liveried hat
and coat, and take his place in the Lord Chancellor’s retinue. Chaloner obliged happily, and Dugdale’s eyes narrowed in instant
suspicion.

The procession set off, Kipps at the front bearing the seal. Clarendon and his wife were next, followed by their son Hyde,
while the gentlemen ushers brought up the rear. All eyes were on the Earl, because he was wearing expensively fashionable
shoes that were far too tight, and he waddled outrageously, more of a caricature of himself than anything his cruel mimics
could ever manage.

They had not been settled for long in the gallery that overlooked the main hall before the King arrived. He sat at the table
that had been set ready for him, his Queen on one side, and his mistress on the other. Poor Katherine was dark and dowdy compared
to the glorious Lady Castlemaine. She looked miserable, and it was clear she wished she were somewhere else.

A blaring fanfare heralded the arrival of the food, which not surprisingly was a good deal more appetising than rancid venison
pastry. There were huge pieces of roasted meat, elegantly decorated pies, whole baked fish and sweet tarts. The King fell
to with an enthusiasm that was heartening, watched intently by spectators who must have numbered in the hundreds. Because
it was hot in the Banqueting House with so many of them crammed together, and because best clothes had been donned for the
occasion, the air was thick with the reek of sweat and moth-repellent.

Chaloner looked for Fitzgerald, Harley and Newell, but they were nowhere to be seen. He wondered whether they had spun Marshall
a yarn, and the pirate was no more welcome at Court than any other man with a brazenly criminal past would be.

There were plenty of other people he recognised, though. They included Leighton, the Adventurers’ secretary, whom Kipps had
described as the most dangerous man in London. Was it true? There was definitely something compelling about the fellow, with
his button-like eyes and unsettlingly bland face.

Leighton was next to O’Brien and Kitty, whose newly acquired wealth was evident in their fine but tastefully understated clothes.
Chaloner recalled being told several times that they were the King’s current favourites – although apparently not enough to
be asked to join him at his feast. Kitty looked especially lovely in a green dress that matched her eyes, her auburn hair
in tight ringlets around her face. O’Brien’s obvious excitement with the occasion made him seem more boyish than ever, his
fair curls bobbing and his eyes flashing with unbridled delight.

Leighton kept tapping O’Brien’s arm to claim his attention, but O’Brien was more interested in the King’s feast, and Chaloner
could see them growing exasperated with each other. Meanwhile, Kitty had been cornered by Brodrick, who had a dark, sinister
figure at his side – John Swaddell, who had worked for Spymaster Williamson until seduced away by the prospect of better wages.
Surely, thought Chaloner uneasily,
Brodrick
had not hired the man? He doubted the Earl’s cousin could afford him, and he wondered whether there would be a murder to
investigate when Swaddell learned he was never going to be paid what he had been promised.

After a few moments, Hyde and Dugdale joined them, and Leighton began to address the whole ensemble, although O’Brien and
Kitty were obvious in their preference for watching the King instead, and it was not long before he gave up. Brodrick took
up the reins, relating
some tale that had them rocking with laughter, and Leighton promptly moved away, his expression difficult to read.

Eventually Chaloner spotted Fitzgerald, Harley and Newell in the opposite gallery, and supposed they must have told Marshall
the truth after all. They were with several others he had seen in the Crown, all members of the Piccadilly Company. Chaloner
abandoned the Earl and edged towards them, aiming to come close enough to eavesdrop. As he did so, he studied Fitzgerald carefully,
curious about the man who had bested Thurloe.

The pirate was wearing a fine blue suit with a matching eye-patch, and his red beard had been allowed to flow free, so it
covered his chest and a good part of his stomach. In all, it made for an arresting appearance. His peculiarly high voice was
audible over the general hubbub, as he told a sullen Harley a tale about a chest of silver.

Newell was with the swarthy man whose clothes had led Chaloner to assume he was from Lisbon. When a trumpet blast announced
the beginning of another course, the fellow jumped in alarm and blurted a curse in Portuguese. Chaloner nodded his satisfaction:
he had been right.

A short distance away, ‘the nice Mr Jones’, complete with red ribbons in his boot hose, was chatting to Margareta and Cornelis
Janszoon, although people were scowling at them, disliking Hollanders in their midst when the two countries might soon be
at war. At first, Chaloner did not rate their chances of escaping the event in one piece, but then he saw that they were accompanied
by several burly soldiers. Clearly, they were aware of their unpopularity, and had taken measures to protect themselves.