The Piccadilly Plot (46 page)

At such close range, Oliver could not miss, and Chaloner braced himself for the shot that would end his life. But he had reckoned
without Hyde. With a screech of passion, the Earl’s son grabbed a sledgehammer that was leaning against a wall, and swung
it with all his
might. It caught Oliver on the back of his head, and Chaloner knew from the sound it made that it had shattered his skull.
The gun went off at the same time, and Chaloner had no idea how it had missed him.

Hyde raised the hammer again, but Chaloner grabbed his arm and pulled him away. The gunshot and Green’s shrieks would have
warned the others that trouble was afoot, and sure enough he heard a distant shout. Grateful that his explorations had familiarised
him with the house’s layout, he hauled Hyde along a corridor towards a chamber where there was a defective window. Hyde was
sobbing hysterically, slowing them both down.

They reached the room and Chaloner forced open the shutter. He shoved Hyde through it, acutely aware of footsteps coming ever
closer. Hyde was clumsy, and took longer than he should have done, so by the time it was Chaloner’s turn to escape, the workmen
were almost at the door. Forced to hurry, he jumped badly, jarring his lame leg as he landed. The resulting limp slowed him
down. Hyde was making good time now, though, sprinting towards the woods as fast as his feet would take him. He was soon invisible
in the fog.

Chaloner was not so fortunate, and his pursuers were so close behind him that he could hear the rasp of their breath. He also
aimed for the woods, in the hope that the trees would prevent them from all attacking at once – he might stand a chance if
he could fight them in twos or threes.

He reached the copse, then whipped around with the scalpel. The fellow at the front of the mob reeled away with a howl of
pain, but others jostled to take his place, and the ferocity of their assault made Chaloner stumble. His lame leg buckled,
and he crashed to the ground.
With grim purpose, Vere stepped forward, a gun in his hand.

Chaloner was not sure what happened next, except that there was a sudden yell and a ragged volley of shots. Then other men
appeared, weapons at the ready, although it was too dark to see their faces. Vicious skirmishing followed, and rough hands
hauled him to his feet.

‘Run! We cannot hold them off for long.’

Chaloner did not need to be told twice. He followed his rescuer through the woods, staggering along twisting paths in the
misty darkness until he was wholly disoriented. Behind him, he heard more shots and the continued clash of steel.

Just when he was beginning to think it was time to stop and demand answers, they reached a row of houses, and he knew they
were on the northern end of the Haymarket, because he could see the distinctive form of the windmill looming out of the fog.
Then he saw his rescuer’s silhouette.

‘Lester!’

‘Pratt saw lights in Clarendon House when all should have been in darkness,’ explained Lester. ‘So he ran to White Hall to
tell Williamson, assuming the brick-thieves were at work. I went with Doines and his men to lay hold of them, and we were
about to pounce when you raced out with that horde on your heels. I thought we had better intervene.’

‘Thank you,’ said Chaloner sincerely.

‘Well, you did save Ruth. I shall always be in your debt for that. Of course, I am not quite so ready to forgive you for abandoning
me in a graveyard with my brother-in-law’s exhumed corpse.’

‘Where is Hyde?’ asked Chaloner, not wanting to dwell on his ill-judged notions about Elliot. He stopped walking abruptly.
‘I will have to go back for him.’

‘He is here, with me,’ came a soft voice from the darkness. Chaloner jumped, disconcerted that Williamson should have been
listening to their conversation. ‘And I think an explanation is in order, but not here. Lead the way to the Gaming House,
Lester. We all need a drink.’

As they walked, Chaloner was aware of Hyde conversing in an urgent hiss to the Spymaster. He could not hear what was being
said, but was disinclined to demean himself by telling his own side of the story. Williamson would believe what he pleased,
and nothing Chaloner could say would make any difference. Doines caught up with them just outside the Gaming House.

‘Most of them got away,’ he reported. ‘But we shot two and caught Vere. He has agreed to give the others up in exchange for
his freedom. Shall we take him up on his offer?’

‘Yes.’ Williamson indicated Hyde. ‘This gentlemen says they tried to kill him, and we cannot have earls’ sons assassinated.
I want them all in my cells by the end of the day. And Vere can join them there once he is no longer of use to us. I dislike
traitors.’

Doines saluted and disappeared, while Chaloner thought that if these orders were followed, Vere would die at his accomplices’
hands, because they would not appreciate traitors, either. He followed Williamson into the Gaming House, where the Spymaster
commandeered a private room and ordered a jug of claret. He sat on a bench and allowed Lester to inspect his shoulder.

‘Just a scratch,’ the captain declared, dabbing at it rather roughly. ‘You were lucky.’

Chaloner accepted the wine Williamson poured him, resisting the urge to swallow the lot in a single gulp. His hands were
unsteady and his stomach churned, mostly a reaction to the thought of being locked in the vault again – being dispatched in
the woods had not been nearly as terrifying a prospect. Meanwhile, Williamson watched Hyde like a cat with a mouse.

‘You have regaled me with quite a story,’ he said. ‘About thieves stealing bricks to build secret passages in your father’s
house, and how you discovered their villainy and confronted them. You had better tell me again, and this time fill in the
details. Such as why you elected to challenge them all by yourself, and how Chaloner came to be involved.’

Hyde had the grace to look sheepish, but it did not prevent him from recounting a tale that put him firmly in the role of
hero. He declared he had always been suspicious of Oliver and Vere, and Chaloner’s conclusions about them being in the pay
of the Earl’s enemies were presented as his own. He even claimed to have saved them both from being locked in the strongroom.

‘Chaloner fainted,’ he said in conclusion. ‘And I was obliged to carry him from the house with one hand, while fighting off
Vere with the other.’

‘Really?’ asked Lester coolly. ‘Because I saw you racing away to save your own skin, leaving him to the mercy of—’

‘You are mistaken,’ interrupted Hyde curtly. He turned to Williamson. ‘My only regret is not forcing Oliver to tell me the
name of the man whose orders he was following.’

‘And now Oliver is dead,’ said Lester flatly. ‘Killed by Chaloner with a sledgehammer. Was that before or after
Chaloner passed out, by the way? Or did he do it while he was insensible?’

‘Unfortunately, Vere and his cronies will be minions,’ said Williamson, while Hyde glowered at Lester. ‘I doubt they have
been trusted with the name of the man who paid their wages, although I shall certainly ask. But what will the Earl do about
it, Hyde? Destroy these spyholes?’

‘They are of no use to his enemies now, because
I
know about them,’ Hyde declared. ‘And as from today, so will he: I shall tell him exactly what happened. But I think the
situation can be turned to his advantage. He can use them to monitor his guests.’

He shot Chaloner a glance that warned him not to reiterate his earlier remarks about the Earl not entertaining the kind of
person who warranted being put under surveillance.

‘Well, he has paid for them by inadvertently providing the necessary materials,’ sighed Williamson. ‘So they are his to deploy
as he sees fit.’

While Lester proceeded to interrogate Hyde, tying the younger man in knots over his lies and inconsistencies, Williamson turned
to Chaloner and spoke in a low voice.

‘I am not a fool, Chaloner – I know who unravelled this mess. So why do you sit back and let Hyde take the credit?’

‘I do not care about him. I am more worried about the plans of Fitzgerald’s master.’

‘Then you had better tell me everything you have learned. Thurloe confided some of it, but there is a great deal I still do
not understand, and we need to work together if we are to thwart these villains. Neither of us can do it alone.’

It was not easy to forget his dislike of the Spymaster and share his findings, but Chaloner knew he had no choice. When he
had finished, Williamson was sombre.

‘There was an accident at White Hall after you left.’ Chaloner regarded him in alarm. ‘What kind of accident?’

‘The fatal kind – Meneses was trampled by a horse. No one knows how it happened, although there is some suggestion that he
may have been borrowing it to go for a ride.’

Chaloner closed his eyes. Who had killed Meneses as he had tried to escape? The Piccadilly Company for his betrayal? Or the
Adventurers, because he was no longer useful?

He dragged his thoughts back to the problems they would face the following day – or rather, that day, because although he
had no idea of the time, he sensed it was long after midnight, and approaching the hour when he was supposed to meet Thurloe.
He had not anticipated that confronting the brick-thieves would transpire to be such a deadly business, or so time-consuming.

‘From the start, I have considered the plot to kill Pratt as a bluff,’ he said. ‘That the real aim was to damage the Queen.
But now I am not so sure. I think someone might actually do it.’

‘I shall arrest Pratt, then,’ said Williamson promptly. ‘They cannot kill him if he is in custody.’

Chaloner nodded approvingly. It was as good a way as any to prevent the architect from being used to harm Her Majesty. ‘Meanwhile,
Jane
will dock at three o’clock in the afternoon, almost certainly carrying a valuable
cargo hidden beneath gravel. The Adventurers have hired men to attack and burn her, and the Piccadilly Company will resist.’

‘They will,’ agreed Williamson. ‘And the resulting mêlée could be very bloody.’

‘And finally, Leighton has arranged for his Adventurers to enjoy some sort of nautical feast aboard
Royal Katherine
at dusk. I have an awful feeling that a large gathering of opponents may be too great a temptation for the Piccadilly Company
…’

Williamson regarded him in horror. ‘You think that is the nature of the atrocity Fitzgerald has planned? But the Adventurers
comprise some of the wealthiest and most influential men in the country – members of the Privy Council, of Parliament, and
of the royal family! If anything were to happen to them en masse … well, there would be chaos!’

‘I do not think the Piccadilly Company will care. They are more interested in the fact that it will leave a massive void in
African trade – one they will be eager to fill.’

Williamson was silent for a moment. ‘Then our duties are obvious. First, we shall confine Pratt until he is no longer in danger.
Second, troops must be sent to Woolwich, to ensure no member of the Piccadilly Company goes anywhere near
Katherine
. And third, someone must prevent
Jane
from docking at Queenhithe: she cannot be attacked if she is not there.’

‘No,’ argued Chaloner. ‘The best way to defend the Adventurers is to cancel their feast. Contact Leighton and tell him to—’

‘Impossible,’ interrupted Williamson shortly. ‘There have been threats against the Court ever since the King reclaimed his
throne, and he refuses to defer to them
– the Adventurers will never postpone their feast. If I suggest it, I will likely be arrested myself.’

Chaloner sighed irritably, but suspected the King was right – he and his government would never get anything done if they
allowed lunatic plots to dictate their actions.

‘How many men do you have?’ he asked.

‘Not enough, especially now Doines has gone after those damned brick-thieves. Still, it cannot be helped. I shall send the
rest to Woolwich, because protecting the Adventurers is paramount. Swaddell can take charge until I arrive.’

‘Why him? What will you be doing?’

‘Locating Pratt. Meanwhile, perhaps you will manage Queenhithe. Go now, though, because ships are notorious for not arriving
on schedule. You will doubtless have a tedious time of it, but so will I – when he came to warn me about the brick-thieves,
Pratt mentioned going out for the night. I have no idea where to start looking for him.’

‘Try the gentleman’s club on Hercules’ Pillars Alley.’

Williamson smiled. ‘Thank you. Perhaps working with you will not be as grim as I feared.’

Chaloner was grudgingly impressed when he saw Williamson swing into action, forced to admit that he was not as incompetent
as he had always imagined. The Spymaster dispatched his men to Woolwich with cool efficiency – half in boats and half in coaches,
lest one form of transport should prove problematic.

When they were safely on their way, ears ringing with impassioned imprecations not to waste a single second, Chaloner started
to walk towards Queenhithe. He had not taken many steps before Hyde grabbed his arm. He
was released abruptly when the expression on his face indicated that while he might have lost most of his weapons and been
shot, he was still not someone to manhandle.

‘Contradict me at your peril,’ Hyde hissed, trying to sound menacing. ‘My father will not appreciate you calling me a liar,
and neither will I.’

‘Is that so?’ said Chaloner shortly.

Seeing intimidation was not going to work, Hyde tried another tack. ‘If you will not consider my feelings, then think of him.
His enemies will use my … my
errors
to harm him, and if he comes to grief, you will be unemployed. It is better for you if you tell the story as I have constructed
it.’

‘Very well,’ said Chaloner. He started to walk away, but Hyde stood in front of him.

‘Do I have your word? Now Oliver is dead, you are the only one who can argue with my version of events – no one will listen
to Vere and his helpmeets.’

‘What about the man who hired them?’ asked Chaloner, thinking him a fool. ‘He will know who designed the devices. And who
helped Oliver steal the necessary materials.’