The Piccadilly Plot (6 page)

Buckingham, the King’s oldest friend, was the first to alight when the convoy rolled to a halt. He was an athletic, striking
man whose fondness for wild living was beginning to take its toll – his eyes had an unhealthy yellow tinge, his skin was sallow
and he had developed a paunch.

‘He looks fragile this morning,’ Kipps went on gleefully. ‘He must have stayed too late at Lady Castlemaine’s soirée. I keep
hoping he will debauch himself into an early grave, because his hatred for our Earl grows daily, and he is a powerful enemy.’

‘Are all these people Adventurers?’ asked Chaloner, staggered by the number of men who were lining up to enter the royal presence.

Kipps nodded. ‘They represent White Hall’s wealthiest courtiers. You see the short, pasty-faced villain? That is Ellis Leighton,
their secretary, said to be the most dangerous man in London.’

‘Why?’ Leighton did not look particularly deadly, and when he moved, it was with a crablike scuttle that was vaguely comical,
although Chaloner supposed there was something unsettling about the man’s button-like eyes, which were curiously devoid of
expression.

Kipps lowered his voice, although there was no one close enough to hear. ‘Because he has amassed himself a fortune, but no
one is sure how. And he has friends in London’s underworld.’

‘Is he a merchant?’

‘He calls himself a businessman, which is not the same thing at all.’

‘I see,’ said Chaloner, not seeing at all.

‘They are meeting today because one of their number has gone missing,’ Kipps continued. ‘Peter Proby has not been seen for
a week, and they are worried about him.’

‘What do they think might have happened?’

‘I imagine they are afraid that he has been murdered.’

Chaloner regarded him askance. ‘Is Proby the kind of man to warrant such a fate, then?’

‘They all are,’ replied Kipps darkly. ‘They have cordoned off an entire continent, and decided that no one is allowed to profit
from it except themselves. And the aggravating thing is that none of them have the faintest idea of what they are doing.’

‘You mean they do not appreciate the depth of the ill-will they have generated?’

‘Oh, I imagine they are perfectly aware of that, but being courtiers, they do not care. What I meant was that they have no
concept of how to run such a venture. They are a band of aristocratic treasure hunters, whereas they should be a properly
organised corporation.’

Chaloner was startled by the passion in Kipps’s voice. ‘You speak as though you resent their—’

‘I
do
resent it!’ declared Kipps through gritted teeth. ‘I should like to speculate in Africa myself.’

‘Join the Adventurers, then,’ suggested Chaloner.

Kipps sniffed. ‘I would not demean myself by treating with that dim-witted rabble. Besides, they rejected my application,
although I have no idea why.’

Chaloner looked at the assembled men, recognising many. ‘Could it be that they comprise a large number of the Earl’s enemies?
They will not want members of his household among their ranks.’

‘No,’ replied Kipps, ‘because his son is an Adventurer, and so is Dugdale. There must be another reason why
they elected to exclude me, but I cannot imagine what it might be.’

It occurred to Chaloner that they may have taken exception to Kipps referring to them as a ‘dim-witted rabble’. ‘If they are
as incompetent as you say, their venture will fail. And when it does, you can speculate to your heart’s content.’

‘Yes, but by then the Dutch will have secured all the best resources.’ Kipps sighed and gave a rueful smile. ‘Forgive me.
I cannot abide ineptitude, and the Adventurers represent it at its worst.’

Eventually, Chaloner and Kipps arrived at the great marble staircase that led to the Earl’s domain. It was cold even in the
height of summer, so it was positively frigid that day, and Chaloner shivered in his still-damp clothes. Kipps wished him
luck and disappeared into the elegantly appointed room he had been allocated, where a fire blazed merrily, and wine and cakes
had been set out for him.

Tiredly, Chaloner climbed the stairs, and continued along a passageway to the fine chamber from which the Earl conducted his
official business. He smiled at the new secretary, William Edgeman, although his friendly greeting was not returned: Edgeman,
a short, disagreeable man, was friends with Dugdale.

When Chaloner reached the door, he heard voices. The Earl’s was the loudest, but there were others, too. He knocked, but the
room’s occupants were making so much racket that no one heard.

‘You will be in trouble,’ called Edgeman, smirking gleefully. ‘The Earl was furious when he heard that you deliberately ignored
his summons in order to wander off with a corpse.’

Chaloner was not surprised to learn that he was about to be given a frosty reception – the opportunity to harm him would
have been too much of a temptation for Dugdale. He was exasperated, though. Why did the man have to be so petty? Surely someone
of his status should be above such antics?

‘Lady Clarendon, Henry Hyde and Sir Alan Brodrick have been waiting, too,’ Edgeman went on. ‘They are also angry with you.’

‘Waiting for me?’ asked Chaloner in surprise. He had never met Clarendon’s wife, Frances, while the son and heir, Henry Hyde,
had always made a point of ignoring him, making it clear that ex-Parliamentarian intelligencers were beneath his contempt.
Clarendon’s cousin Brodrick liked Chaloner, though – a feeling that was reciprocated – because they shared a love of music.

‘They will be wanting you to deal with some matter that is too sordid for the rest of us,’ predicted Edgeman unpleasantly.
‘Why else would they be so keen to meet the likes of you?’

Unwilling to listen to more of the secretary’s spiteful speculation, Chaloner knocked again, then jumped back smartly when
the door was whipped open rather abruptly. Without conscious thought, his hand dropped to his sword.

The man who stood on the other side of the door was in his mid-twenties, with a catlike face and a long, straight nose. He
was dressed in a fashionably elegant silk suit with a profusion of lace. He was Clarendon’s eldest son, who revelled in the
title of Viscount Cornbury, although most people simply referred to him by his family name of Hyde.

‘Good God!’ he yelped, when he saw the half-drawn
weapon. But he recovered himself quickly, and looked Chaloner up and down in disdain. ‘I see you have dressed for the occasion.’

Chaloner felt he could come to dislike Hyde as much as his pompous, overbearing father, and several tart responses flashed
into his mind. Fortunately, prudence prevailed, so he said nothing.

‘Enter,’ ordered Hyde, with an unwelcoming scowl. ‘With your blade
inside
its scabbard, if you would be so kind. We have been expecting you these last two hours.’

As usual, the office had been heated to suffocation point – the Earl believed cold air was bad for his gout, and always kept
the chamber wickedly hot. For once, Chaloner did not mind, although he was disconcerted when his clothes began to steam.

‘Have you discovered who is stealing my father’s bricks?’ asked Hyde in an undertone, catching the spy’s arm to hold him back
for a moment. ‘Personally, I think he is overreacting. Anyone who builds a house in London should expect a few items to go
missing. It is the natural order of things.’

‘Yes and no,’ argued Chaloner. ‘There is a big difference between “a few items going missing” and the regular and sustained
pilfering of—’

‘You are wasting your time,’ predicted Hyde. ‘You will not catch the culprit, so you should forget about it and do the job
for which you were hired – protecting my father against the many scoundrels at Court who mean him harm.’

‘Willingly,’ said Chaloner. ‘When will you tell him of this decision? Today?’

Hyde glowered. ‘Watch your tongue. My father may
overlook your insolence because he thinks he needs your services, but I am not so indulgent. Now follow me.’

The Earl was on one side of the spacious hearth, and his wife was sitting opposite him. Brodrick was next to her, slumped
with his head in his hands in a way that implied he was suffering from a serious hangover, while Dugdale perched on a stool
at the Earl’s feet. The Chief Usher looked ridiculous there, like a performing monkey, and Chaloner wondered why he had consented
to take such a demeaning position.

‘There you are at last,’ muttered Brodrick, while the Earl pointedly ignored Chaloner and continued speaking to Dugdale. ‘Where
have you been? Because of your tardiness, I am missing an important meeting with the King.’

Brodrick was generally regarded to be one of the most dissipated men at Court, although the Earl steadfastly refused to believe
anything bad about him and never tired in his campaign to secure him a lucrative post. Fortunately for Britain, others could
see Brodrick’s failings, and he had so far been denied a government appointment.

‘You are an Adventurer?’ asked Chaloner. He was not surprised. Brodrick was essentially penniless, but that had never prevented
him from enjoying an expensive lifestyle, and investing money he did not have in a badly organised venture was certainly something
he would do.

Brodrick nodded. ‘On account of the dinners – they are the best in London, and I do like a good evening out.’

‘Did the Adventurers meet last night, then?’ asked
Chaloner, taking in Brodrick’s pale face and bloodshot eyes. ‘Or were you at Lady Castlemaine’s—’

‘No,’ interrupted Brodrick, shooting his cousin an uneasy glance. The Earl hated the King’s mistress so much that he could
not even bring himself to say her name; she was always just ‘the Lady’. He would certainly not approve of Brodrick enjoying
her soirées, although Chaloner knew for a fact that Brodrick was usually the first to arrive and last to leave. ‘I caught
a chill at church yesterday.’

‘Our cousin is a very devout man,’ said Frances. She was a soft, motherly creature who had probably never been pretty, but
who had such a kind, generous face that Chaloner instinctively liked her. The wry gleam in her eye suggested that she had
Brodrick’s measure, even if her husband remained obstinately blind.

‘Ah, Chaloner,’ said the Earl, pretending to notice his gentleman usher’s arrival.

He was a short, plump man, who liked to dress fashionably, which was unfortunate because the profusion of lace, ribbons and
ruffles served to accentuate his short neck, ample girth and double chins. That morning he was clad in the sumptuous robes
that marked him as the country’s Lord Chancellor, and a yellow wig reached almost to his waist. Chaloner regarded him in astonishment,
wondering what he wore at state functions if he attired himself so elaborately when at leisure.

‘Chaloner has donned his best clothes for you today, father,’ said Hyde slyly.

‘I know you have been obliged to lurk at my mansion since you came home,’ said the Earl, eyeing his intelligencer disapprovingly,
‘but Henry is right. Must you dress so shabbily? You look like a ruffian.’

‘It rained all last night, sir,’ Chaloner started to explain. ‘And—’

‘Never mind that,’ interrupted the Earl impatiently. ‘I ordered you to come here without delay, but Dugdale says you ran off
on another errand.’

‘Well, he is here now,’ said Frances soothingly. ‘And I applaud his actions. Would you have had him leave poor Cave in the
street, like so much rubbish? He did the decent thing.’

‘If you say so, dear.’ The Earl’s voice said he did not agree, but knew better than to argue.

‘Poor Cave,’ said Brodrick. ‘Did you ever hear him sing, cousin? It was the stuff of Heaven, and his voice will be sorely
missed. I was only remarking to Lady Castle—’ He cleared his throat uncomfortably, ‘—to a friend last night that the Chapel
Royal choir has been much improved since he came home.’

‘I have often heard him sing,’ said Frances, as the Earl, who had not missed Brodrick’s slip of the tongue, frowned his puzzlement
at it. ‘Did his killer escape, or is he arrested?’

‘He escaped, but not before Cave stabbed him,’ supplied Dugdale. ‘I had asked Chaloner to prevent violence, but I am afraid
he failed rather miserably.’

Frances regarded him coolly. ‘Did he indeed! Then why did
you
not intervene instead?’

Dugdale regarded her uneasily. ‘Because I am not qualified to meddle in street brawls, My Lady. I am a gentleman.’

‘A gentleman who claims to have fought for the King during the wars,’ pressed Frances. ‘So you cannot be a total stranger
to weapons.’

Chaloner watched Dugdale squirm, and found himself liking Frances even more. Of course, Dugdale was likely
to remember the humiliation she had inflicted on him, but it would not be her who would pay the price. It would be Chaloner,
for witnessing it. The Earl clapped his hands suddenly, causing Brodrick to wince and put a hand to his head.

‘We have wasted enough time this morning, so I recommend we get down to business. Go and stand outside, Dugdale, and ensure
we are not interrupted.’

‘You want me to leave?’ asked Dugdale in disbelief. ‘But I …’

He trailed off when his master pointed to the still-open door. He struggled up from the stool and bowed, although the glance
he shot at Chaloner said he was seething. Chaloner, meanwhile, was uneasy. Surely his Tangier report could be of no interest
to Frances, Hyde and Brodrick? His disquiet intensified when Hyde followed Dugdale to the door, to ensure his father’s instructions
were being followed, and then locked it before joining the group at the hearth.

‘We learned something terrible this morning, Chaloner,’ whispered the Earl, once his son had taken the stool Dugdale had vacated.
‘The most dreadful plot …’

‘He wants you to investigate,’ said Hyde. He glared at his father. ‘Although I am more than capable of solving the case, and
so is Brodrick. There is no need to involve outsiders.’

‘I am sure you can, dear,’ said Frances. ‘But we are talking about a man’s life, and Mr Chaloner has skills and experience
that you do not. It would be unethical not to seek his assistance.’