The Piccadilly Plot (21 page)

‘Gravel?’ echoed Chaloner. Ruth had mentioned gravel, too.

Jones shrugged. ‘No ship wants to travel one way empty, and there is always a great demand for gravel. It is useful for building
roads, apparently.’

‘Who is in charge of your company?’ asked Chaloner. ‘The man Fitzgerald calls his master?’

Jones looked puzzled. ‘He does not have a master. What are you talking about?’

Chaloner could only surmise that Jones was not trusted to the same degree as Harley. ‘What is your name?’ he asked. ‘And do
not say Jones, because we both know that is an alias.’

‘Do we indeed?’ Jones seemed more amused than
offended as he raised his cup in a salute. ‘People really
are
called Jones, you know – there are dozens of us in London alone.’

Once Jones had gone, Chaloner aimed for the hall again, bored with wealthy hedonists and their secrets, and keen to go home.
His hand dropped to his dagger when someone intercepted him, but it was only Lester. Chaloner smothered a smile when he saw
the captain had chosen to wear a mask of delicate silver lace, which had been intended for a woman. It would have made him
conspicuous if anyone had been sufficiently sober to notice.

‘Everything here costs a fortune,’ Lester said disagreeably, watching the antics in the parlour with prim disapproval. He
winced and ducked as a syllabub missed its intended target and flew through the door towards him. ‘I hope Williamson reimburses
me.’

‘So you
are
working for him?’ Chaloner was unimpressed. ‘You told me you were not.’

Lester grimaced. ‘I was a free agent when we spoke this morning, but he has since learned of a certain weakness of mine, and
holds me to ransom over it.’

‘A weakness?’

Lester shot him a cool glance. ‘One I am not prepared to discuss. However, the upshot is that he thinks there was more to
Elliot’s death than a fight over a woman, and has ordered me to look into it. I do not suppose you would help, would you?
I am rather out of my depth.’

‘So would I be,’ said Chaloner shortly.

‘Not according to Williamson. He says you are the most resourceful man he has ever met.’

‘Does he?’ Chaloner was uneasy to learn that the Spymaster talked about him to all and sundry.

‘I suspect he is right to order an investigation into the Cave–Elliot affair, though,’ Lester went on soberly. ‘I have been
considering the matter, and I believe it may be connected to the murder of one Captain Pepperell. Have you heard of him? He
was stabbed in Queenhithe two Mondays ago.’

Chaloner stared at him. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘Because it is odd that
two
sea-officers should die in suspicious circumstances within a week.’

‘London is a big place. People are unlawfully killed here every day.’

‘But the matter stinks! I have already learned that Cave sang duets with O’Brien, who seems a decent fellow, and Fitzgerald,
who is a damned pirate! I cannot abide the breed. Privateers should be hanged at the yardarm, and—’

‘What else do you know about Fitzgerald?’ Chaloner headed off what promised to become a rant.

‘Is being a pirate not enough?’ demanded Lester. Then he relented. ‘Tonight, I heard him say that something terrible was going
to be common knowledge tomorrow. He also mentioned gravel.’

Chaloner regarded him narrowly. ‘What is gravel?’

Lester’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Small bits of stone, man! How much claret have you had?’

‘It must mean something else, too. Fitzgerald is in London to recoup his losses after losing a ship full of treasure. He will
not do that by trading in grit.’

‘If it is code for another commodity, then it is one I do not know.’

‘Have you heard whether Fitzgerald is working for anyone else?’ asked Chaloner.

Lester shook his head, but was more concerned with
his own enquiries than in answering questions. ‘I suppose I shall have to visit all Elliot’s old haunts to ask whether Pepperell
was ever with him, because I am sure I shall discover a connection between them. It will not be easy, though. I do not have
a way with words, and both were average men, difficult to describe.’

Chaloner had taken a liking to Lester, although he could not have said why. Perhaps it was his hearty, bluff manner, or the
stance he had taken over the slave trade. Regardless, he sensed a decency in him that was missing from virtually everyone
else at Temperance’s club.

‘I will send you something that might help. It will arrive tomorrow.’

‘What is it?’

Chaloner smiled. ‘You will have to wait and see.’

Lester drew him into an alcove when Brodrick lurched past. Behind the Earl’s cousin, clinging drunkenly to his waist, was
Dugdale with Edgeman clutching him, all three in a state of semi-undress. Chaloner was sure the Earl would be appalled if
he could see them. Then came several Privy Councillors and five Members of Parliament, singing a popular tavern song at the
tops of their voices as they danced along in a single, weaving line. They jigged out of the front door, took a turn around
the courtyard, and trotted back in again before aiming for the kitchens. The screech of outrage from the French cook would
have been audible in Chelsey.

‘It is good to know our country is in such capable hands,’ said Lester contemptuously. ‘God save us! Is this why I risk my
life in the navy? So these monkeys can sit in authority over us?’

‘Easy! It is hardly sensible to bawl treasonous remarks when half the government might hear.’

Lester rubbed his eyes. ‘My apologies. Incidentally, Williamson said that if I saw you, I was to urge you to go to his office.
Normally, I would tell you where to put such an invitation, but I have a bad feeling about whatever is unfolding in Piccadilly.
I recommend you oblige him.’

Chaloner nodded, but had no intention of following the advice as long as Thurloe was helping him. If the ex-Spymaster proved
lacking, then he might see whether Williamson was prepared to trade information, but he was certainly not ready to go down
that road yet, aware that there would be a price for collaboration – and he was not sure whether it was one he would be willing
to pay.

Chaloner was about to leave the club and go home when he remembered that he had not paid his respects to Temperance, and while
they were not the close friends they once were, he was loath to hurt her feelings. He found her in an antechamber with Wiseman.
The surgeon was asleep, and she was in the process of covering him with a blanket.

‘He is exhausted, poor lamb,’ she whispered, although if Wiseman could slumber through the drunken revels in the parlour,
then she had no need to lower her voice. ‘Because of that terrible business with Sir Edward Turner. Richard was the first
medicus
on the scene, you see.’

Temperance was a large young woman, who should not have worn gowns designed for those with slimmer figures. She had once owned
glorious chestnut curls, but had shaved them off to don a wig, which was seen as more fashionable. The upshot was that she
was fat, plain and bald, although Wiseman did not seem to mind, because they had been lovers for months.

‘What terrible business?’ asked Chaloner, recalling how he had seen the obese Adventurer not many hours before, watching
the King dine in the Banqueting House. The spectacle had made Turner hungry, he recalled, while his thin friend Lord Lucas
had been sickened by the sight of such plenty.

‘You will hear about it tomorrow. All London will be appalled by the news.’

Chaloner stared at her. Could this be what Fitzgerald had mentioned? ‘Tell me about it.’

Temperance smoothed Wiseman’s hair back from his face in a gesture of infinite tenderness. Chaloner felt a mild twinge of
envy; Hannah was never so loving with him.

‘Turner’s house caught fire, and he and his household were roasted alive.’

‘How many?’ asked Chaloner, his stomach churning.

‘Turner and his wife, their three children and six servants. Lucas was staying with him, so he was caught in the inferno,
too. Still, we should not be surprised. The last time Turner came here, he quarrelled with Fitzgerald, and only a fool does
that.’

‘Are you saying Fitzgerald is responsible?’ Chaloner wondered whether the man had set the blaze himself, or whether he had
hired a minion to do it while he cavorted at the club.

Temperance glanced around in alarm. ‘Not so loud, Tom! I do not want him coming after
me
.’

‘You cannot be afraid of him – he is one of your patrons. You would not admit him if—’

‘I wish I could refuse him entry, but I do not dare. He is a pirate, and you cannot be too careful with those. They are depraved
monsters, who love to kill and maim.’

‘If he did set Turner’s house alight, he will be punished for it. Spymaster Williamson—’

‘Will never get the evidence he needs to make a case. And if you do not believe me, ask Mr Thurloe. That is why
he
never managed to bring Fitzgerald down.’

‘I do not suppose you have heard rumours about Fitzgerald working for someone else, have you?’ asked Chaloner hopefully. ‘That
another man dictates his actions in London?’

Temperance shook her head. ‘But if there is such a fellow, I should not like to meet him. He would have to be very evil and
powerful to control a pirate.’

The food-fight in the parlour was getting out of hand. The ceiling and walls were now heavily splattered, and so were most
of the guests. Chaloner saw Congett pick up a huge pot of brawn, and quickly pulled Temperance out of harm’s way, wincing
when the bowl crashed into the wall behind them and dented the plaster. There was a wild whoop of glee at the resulting mess.

Smiling indulgently, as if she considered these foolish, middle-aged men her unruly children, Temperance led Chaloner to the
small room near the kitchen where she and Maude counted their nightly takings. There were already several full purses on the
table, and their ledger registered more money than Chaloner earned in a month. She flopped into one of the fireside chairs,
removed her wig and reached for a pipe. She was not yet two years and twenty, but the eyes that studied Chaloner through the
haze of smoke were far older.

‘Have you been away, Tom? I do not recall seeing you for a while.’

There was a time when Chaloner would have been
hurt by the fact that she had not noticed an absence of three months, but he had learned to accept that he was no longer
very important to her.

‘Tangier,’ he replied.

‘What were you doing there? Learning Arabic? I know you have a talent for languages, but you should not bother. Every civilised
person speaks English these days. Except that evil Queen.’

‘She is not evil,’ said Chaloner coldly. ‘And she is learning as fast as she can.’

Temperance shot him a sour look. ‘I had forgotten your unfathomable liking for the woman. I cannot imagine why, when the rest
of the country wishes her gone to the devil. She will never give the King an heir, and it is all your Earl’s fault. He deliberately
picked a barren princess.’

‘He could not have known—’

Temperance cut across him. ‘Of course he knew! It is common knowledge in Lisbon that she is infertile. Did you know that she
plans to buy a child, and pass it off as her own?’

Chaloner raised his eyebrows. ‘I imagine even the dim-witted rabble currently destroying your parlour would be suspicious
if she produced a baby without being pregnant first.’

Temperance shrugged. ‘I am only repeating what Count Memphis of America told me.’

‘That is his real name?’ asked Chaloner doubtfully.

‘Or something similar. I rarely pay attention to foreigners. They are not worth my notice.’

Chaloner gazed at her, wondering whether she had purposely set out to shock him. He had come to terms with her smoking, drinking,
shaven head and relationship
with Wiseman, but she had never displayed a streak of xenophobia before. And he did not like it.

She smirked at his response, then changed the subject. ‘Why did you come here tonight? To hear the latest gossip about my
clients so you can repeat it to your horrid Earl?’

‘No,’ said Chaloner, standing abruptly. He was too tired for a spat. ‘I came to see you.’

‘I am sorry, Tom,’ she said quickly. When he hesitated, she reached out to take his hand. ‘Please stay. I am upset about Turner
and Lucas, and it has barbed my tongue. And I will never tell anyone else, but I think Fitzgerald had the atrocity planned
before he came here tonight.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Chaloner, sitting again.

Temperance stared at the embers of the dying fire. ‘Because I heard him tell Harley that Turner would not be a problem for
much longer at about nine o’clock tonight, and Richard told me the fire started at ten – a whole hour later.’

‘Then you must inform Williamson what—’

‘No!’ Temperance looked genuinely frightened. ‘Peter Proby challenged Fitzgerald, and look what happened to him. And you must
not tackle him, either. I would not like to think of
you
smashed into pieces outside St Paul’s Cathedral.’

‘At least someone would not,’ sighed Chaloner.

‘Hannah?’ asked Temperance sympathetically. ‘I could have told you not to marry her.’

‘You could?’ asked Chaloner, taken aback by the turn the discussion had taken.

Temperance nodded. ‘She is a nice lady, but you are ill-matched. I wish you had asked my advice before you
agreed to wed her, because you will make each other very unhappy.’

‘Oh,’ said Chaloner, not sure how else to respond, at least in part because he knew she was right.

‘Will she be attending Cave’s funeral?’ asked Temperance, tactfully changing the subject. ‘It will be the social event of
the month, and everyone at Court plans to be seen there. People have already started to buy new black clothes, as is the fashion.
I imagine it will be next week, because it will take some time to organise such a grand occasion. Richard will go, and I shall
accompany him.’

‘You knew Cave?’

‘He came here on occasion, although I never liked him much – he was never very friendly.’