The Piccadilly Plot (42 page)

‘Well, that cannot be true,’ said Kitty stiffly, ‘because Elliot is dead, too. Joseph Williamson told us so. Elliot was buried
on Friday.’

‘Well, if he has been buried, then he must be dead,’ said Leighton slyly. ‘We are not in the habit of interring people alive
in London. I cannot imagine it would be pleasant. Rats might come.’

Chaloner glanced at him sharply. Was it a random remark or one that carried a greater meaning? But Leighton’s face was impossible
to read, as usual.

‘I am
not
discussing this,’ said Kitty firmly. ‘It is repugnant. Mr Cave was our friend.’

‘You are quite right,’ said O’Brien, taking her arm. ‘Come, we must pay our respects to Buckingham. He is having a dinner
next week, and has intimated that we are to be invited.’

‘I shall put in a good word for you,’ Leighton called after them. ‘And do not forget the Adventurers’ event tomorrow at dusk.
You will not be disappointed with
that
, I assure you.’

When they had gone, Chaloner saw a number of Adventurers had gathered together. Swaddell was with them, dark eyes alert and
reptilian. His companions had been drinking, and their loud, self-congratulatory discussion was generating considerable distaste
among those near enough to hear.

‘Personally, I believe their monopoly on African trade is unpatriotic,’ said Kipps, coming to stand next to Chaloner and
glaring at them. ‘It means that
Dutch
ship-owners are growing fat on Gold Coast slaves, whereas if Africa was open to everyone,
I
could reap some of this profit.’

‘Are you saying you would invest in the slave trade if the Adventurers’ charter did not forbid it?’ Chaloner was shocked,
because he had expected Kipps to be more principled.

‘Of course. Slaves are no different from any other commodity, and I predict they will be more profitable than gold in time.’

Chaloner itched to tell him what he thought of people who dabbled in that particular business, but Kipps’s voice had been
loud, and a number of people were looking at them. They included Adventurers and several members of the Piccadilly Company.
Kitty and O’Brien had also turned, while Leighton was watching the scene unfold with aloof amusement.

‘What about gravel?’ asked Chaloner. It was a reckless question in front of so many people, but he was desperate enough for
clues to take the risk.

‘There is plenty of that in the Thames,’ drawled Leighton, his expression curiously bland. ‘So we have no need to import it
from Africa.’

There was a hoot of mocking laughter from the Adventurers, and a meaningful exchange of glances between members of the Piccadilly
Company.

‘That was an idiotic remark, Chaloner,’ said Kipps, scowling at the still-snickering merchants. ‘Gravel indeed! Have you been
drinking?’

‘I hear many idiotic remarks at White Hall,’ brayed
Margareta Janszoon. Her henchmen exchanged uneasy glances, and Chaloner recalled his promise to Prynne to suggest that she
and her husband refrained from joining discussions they did not understand. ‘I have never heard English spoke with such greasy
charm.’

‘Yes,’ said Janszoon, nodding gravely. That evening, his scar was less pronounced, slathered as it was with fashionable face
pastes. ‘Everyone here is a champion at greasy charm.’

There was an angry murmur from Adventurers and Piccadilly Company members alike.

‘She is praising our command of the English language,’ explained Brodrick quickly. ‘She meant “idiomatic”, and the smooth
way in which we courtiers can—’

‘Actually, I think she intended an insult,’ interrupted O’Brien, troubled. ‘She called us “greasy”.’

‘She did,’ agreed Leighton softly. ‘And I shall be glad when we go to war and defeat the Dutch at sea. They are all arrogant,
impertinent and untrustworthy.’

Neither Janszoon nor Margareta had any trouble understanding that remark, and both paled. Their soldiers closed around them,
hands on the hilts of their swords.

‘You call us names?’ asked Janszoon indignantly. ‘When the English leave much to be desired?’

‘How dare you!’ cried O’Brien, incensed. ‘We are the greatest nation in the world!’

‘Let us see if there is any more wine, O’Brien,’ said Brodrick loudly. He lowered his voice as he hauled his friend away.
‘Easy, man! We do not want the Swedes to think us barbarians.’

The Adventurers were more than happy to avail themselves of liquid refreshment, and followed eagerly, Leighton scuttling among
them. Janszoon opened his
mouth to yell something to their retreating backs, but Thurloe was suddenly in front of him.

‘Your wife has dropped her fan,’ he said, bending to scoop it up. ‘And you are quite pale. Allow me to escort you both to
a place where there is more air.’

‘We do not—’ Margareta began angrily, but there was something in Thurloe’s steely gaze that made her accept the proffered
arm. The guards and Janszoon followed, and so did Chaloner.

‘Your English is very good,’ Thurloe began politely, once they were outside. ‘But there are nuances in our language that are
difficult for foreigners to comprehend. You might be advised to keep quiet until you are sure you understand them.’

‘We understand them,’ began Janszoon, outraged. ‘We are fluent in—’

Thurloe’s baleful eye silenced him abruptly. ‘It might be time to leave London and return home. It cannot be comfortable here
for you, with our two countries on the edge of war.’

‘No,’ agreed Margareta sullenly. ‘We shall go as soon as we find a suitable ship. London is a hateful place, and we will be
glad to leave it.’

‘Where in Amsterdam do you live?’ asked Chaloner in Dutch, more to placate them than for information. ‘I know it well, and—’

‘It is rude to use foreign languages here,’ snapped Margareta in English. She indicated Thurloe. ‘He did not understand what
you said. My mother was right: London is full of unmannerly savages.’

‘Go home,’ said Thurloe shortly. ‘And I do not mean to your lodgings – I mean to Holland. The situation here will only grow
more uneasy as we inch towards a conflict.
You know you are in danger, or you would not have felt the need to hire guards.’

‘It does feel dangerous,’ agreed Janszoon, still nettled. ‘And I grow to hate the English. They are stupid if they think they
can win the war.’

He took Margareta’s arm and led her towards the gate. They held their heads high, but people shot them unfriendly glances
as they passed, and their guards were tense and alert.

‘Prynne was right,’ said Chaloner, watching them. ‘They
are
a danger to peace.’

‘I imagine any Hollander in London is a danger to peace at the moment, regardless of the quality of their English. London
is itching to lynch one.’

Chaloner was bemused. ‘Why do they not learn from their experiences and keep quiet at these courtly gatherings? Or do you
think they are actually clever Dutch spies, sent to needle us into war before we are ready? Shall we follow them, and demand
answers?’

‘Not unless you feel equal to dispatching their guards first – I imagine they will be under orders to prevent such a situation.
No, Tom, we must look to others for our answers.’

‘Fitzgerald?’

‘He has sent his apologies, saying he is unavoidably detained and cannot be here. It is bad news, because it means he is working
on his plans for tomorrow. I only hope we overhear something that will allow us to thwart him, because time is fast running
out.’

The heat and crowded conditions in the Banqueting House had driven many people out into the Great Court, where they congregated
in groups. It was a clear autumn
afternoon, and the sun was shining, so it was pleasantly warm. Thurloe slipped away to eavesdrop on Harley, who was engaged
in urgent conversation with Kipps, so Chaloner aimed for Lydcott in the hope that
he
might have learned something useful. He was intercepted before he could reach him.

‘Today, I decided to arrest Fitzgerald and damn the consequences,’ said Williamson in a low voice. He had attempted to disguise
himself, but was instantly recognisable by his haughty strut. Lester was at his side, resplendent in a fine blue coat that
made him look every inch the successful sea-officer. ‘But he must have had wind of it, because he has disappeared.’

‘He will be busy making arrangements for tomorrow,’ predicted Lester soberly. ‘The threat of incarceration is not responsible
for his flight, because he considers us an irrelevancy.’

Williamson glared at him. ‘But we have made some progress in learning what is to happen. Swaddell overheard a conversation
between Leighton and some of his Adventurers today – they plan to attack and burn
Jane
. Unfortunately, he did not catch where or when.’

‘Queenhithe,’ supplied Chaloner. ‘She will dock there at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, but arson is better managed in
the dark than in daylight, so I imagine they will strike tomorrow night.’

Williamson nodded his thanks for the information. ‘Then at least we shall prevent one crime. Obviously, I do not condone piracy,
but we cannot allow
Jane
’s crew to be roasted alive. Or a conflagration set that might destroy half of London – Queenhithe has wooden warehouses.’

‘I understand you sent Cave to spy in Tangier,’ began Chaloner. ‘And—’

‘I did nothing of the kind,’ interrupted Williamson sharply. ‘I have intelligencers there, of course, but they are soldiers.
What use would a musician be in such a place?’

‘
Who
hired him, then?’ mused Chaloner, more to himself than the others. ‘The Adventurers?’

‘Possibly,’ replied Williamson, although Chaloner had not expected an answer. ‘But here is Swaddell, come to make his report.
We shall ask him.’

Chaloner was horrified. ‘He will tell you his findings here? With half the Court watching? I thought you wanted everyone to
believe that he has broken with you.’

‘I do,’ replied Williamson. ‘But if we do it in full view of everyone – ensuring we look strained and angry – it eliminates
the need for meeting secretly. It is safer for him.’

Chaloner would not have been fooled by such a ruse, and doubted others would, either, but it was too late to say so, because
the assassin was there. He bowed stiffly to Williamson.

‘Nothing,’ he said, pointing as though he was remarking on the Banqueting House’s roof. It was patently transparent, and Chaloner
cringed. ‘All they ever talk about is money. However …’

He paused as several people walked past, and resumed when they had gone. Chaloner winced a second time. He did not like Swaddell,
and thought London would be a better place without him, but the man was risking his life with such reckless amateurism.

‘… they certainly plan to sink
Jane
. Or rather, hired hands will. The Adventurers themselves will be on
Royal Katherine
in Woolwich, so they can later claim ignorance of the affair.’

‘You must have heard something else,’ said Williamson in exasperation. ‘For God’s sake man!’

Swaddell glared at him. ‘I am doing my best. Unfortunately, they still do not trust me.’

‘Have you heard anyone mention gravel?’ asked Chaloner.

Swaddell frowned. ‘Leighton said Teviot had wanted some. I assume it was for the mole. Why?’

‘Do you know whether Cave was spying for the Adventurers?’ asked Williamson.

‘He was not,’ replied Swaddell with conviction. ‘He worked for the Piccadilly Company. I know, because I heard Congett tell
Leighton so. He also said that he was glad Elliot had killed him.’

‘I wish we had known that sooner,’ said Lester with an irritable sigh.

‘I did not think it was important,’ snapped Swaddell. ‘But I should go or they will be suspicious.’

He bowed again and moved away, although Chaloner saw the exchange had been observed by several Adventurers, including Leighton,
all of whom were smirking: they knew perfectly well that Swaddell had been sent to infiltrate them. Chaloner felt a surge
of exasperation that Williamson should have employed such clumsy tactics to tackle a group of powerful and intelligent people.

‘I want your help later, Lester,’ he said, when Swaddell had gone. ‘Meet me by the Great Gate at eight o’clock.’

‘Why?’ asked Lester. ‘To play the duet we missed last night?’

‘No. We are going to solve the riddle of Elliot, Cave and Jacob once and for all.’

*     *     *

Leaving before Williamson could ask questions, Chaloner resumed his walk towards Lydcott. Thurloe’s errant kinsman was half-hidden
behind a fountain, watching Pratt and Oliver. The pair were trying to converse with Meneses, who was pretending not to understand
them.

‘This is hilarious,’ Lydcott whispered gleefully. ‘Fitzgerald has asked Pratt to keep Meneses away from any Adventurers today.
Apparently, he is afraid that Meneses will tell them how successful our glassware venture has become.’

‘Why should that matter?’ asked Chaloner.

‘If they hear how profitable we are, they might decide to do something similar,’ explained Lydcott. ‘And we do not want the
competition.’

Chaloner stared into Lydcott’s wide, guileless eyes, staggered by the man’s credulity. ‘Why should Meneses be a greater risk
than the other members of the Piccadilly Company?’

Lydcott waved an airy hand. ‘Who knows, but I trust Fitzgerald to look after us. Four of the Adventurers – Turner, Lucas,
Proby and Congett – said nasty things about us, and Fitzgerald predicted that God would disapprove of such malice. Sure enough,
within days they were dead. He has an uncanny knack for prophecy.’

‘Very uncanny,’ agreed Chaloner drily. ‘I do not suppose it has occurred to you that he might have killed them himself?’

Lydcott stared at him in distaste. ‘You are just like Thurloe – so twisted by your profession that you cannot see the good
in people. Fitzgerald is a decent gentleman, as I have said before.’

‘Right,’ said Chaloner. ‘Where is he tonight? It is unlike him to miss a glittering occasion.’

‘
Jane
will arrive in London soon, and he has a lot of paperwork to complete. We are all pleased. Her coming means money for us
– another voyage successfully completed.’