The Piccadilly Plot (41 page)

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

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

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

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

Brodrick had the grace to wince.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What did he lie about?’

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

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

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

‘What evidence do you have?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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