The Piccadilly Plot (53 page)

‘The next person out will lose his brains,’ he said grimly.

Thurloe cocked his head. ‘Fitzgerald may be in the tunnel, but O’Brien is coming down the stairs. They separated!’

‘Then we will fight them,’ said Chaloner with quiet determination. ‘One each.’

‘We cannot combat bullets with a stone,’ hissed Thurloe. ‘Run! It is our only chance!’

He was right, so Chaloner did as he was told, racing through sculleries, laundries and pantries, sure-footed again now he
was in familiar territory. Suddenly, the basement began to echo with a metallic, grating sound that echoed eerily. Fitzgerald
was humming to himself. Chaloner winced: not all the notes were true.

‘Whoever told him he could sing was lying,’ he whispered, wishing it would stop.

‘He warbles before making a kill,’ muttered Thurloe. ‘He thinks he has defeated us.’

Chaloner looked around desperately, but saw nothing that would help them survive. Then his eye lit on the stairs that led
to the cellar. It was the last place he wanted to go, but he felt a surge of hope as a plan began to form in his mind.

‘The vault,’ he said in a low voice. ‘If we can do to Fitzgerald and O’Brien what we did to Brinkes, we might yet avenge Lester.
This way – run!’

The cellar steps were dark and uninviting, and Chaloner’s chest tightened when he recalled what had happened the last time
he had ventured down them. But there was no time for squeamishness. He descended them quickly and made for the strongroom.
It was locked, but this time he had Wiseman’s scalpel, which proved to be a much better instrument for dealing with the mechanism.

‘Why do they not release Brinkes and his men to hunt for us?’ he asked as he worked, aware that on the floor above, O’Brien
and Fitzgerald were conducting a
systematic search. ‘Or summon their other Piccadilly Company cronies? Pratt, for example.’

‘Arrogance,’ replied Thurloe shortly. ‘They believe they can best us alone.’

‘Then pride will be their downfall,’ muttered Chaloner. ‘Find a lamp and light it. Quickly!’

Thurloe obliged, and it was not long before he was back. ‘I recommend you hurry,’ he said tensely, ‘because I hear footsteps
on the cellar stairs.’

The words were no sooner out of his mouth when the vault’s lock clicked open. Fighting down his nausea, Chaloner tugged open
the door and entered. The chest that had contained the rats was gone, and in its place were two more, both sturdy items with
metal bands. There was no time for finesse, so he smashed the locks on one with the brick he had brought from the kitchen.

‘Tom!’ pleaded Thurloe nervously. ‘Are you sure we have time for this?’

Chaloner lifted the lid to reveal a mass of gold and silver ingots, with a good smattering of jewellery and precious stones.
Thurloe gasped at the sheer volume of it.

‘Is this what came on
Jane
?’ he breathed.

Chaloner nodded. ‘And it is time to put it to good use.’

He grabbed two large gold bars and shoved them into Thurloe’s hands, then took two himself. Leaving the chest open, and the
lantern illuminating it, he dived into the room opposite, flinging the ingots away as soon as he and Thurloe were concealed
in the shadows. He slipped his hand into his pocket, hunting for Wiseman’s scalpel. He could not find it, but his fingers
located something
else. It was the packet of Tangier dust George had given him days ago, which he had all but forgotten.

O’Brien was the first to arrive. He held a gun, and his boyish face was lit by a viciously cruel expression. It showed his
true nature as the pitiless villain who had ordered the deaths of Teviot and his garrison, Proby, Lucas, Turner, Congett,
Meneses and all the others who had died since he had taken exception to the Adventurers’ monopoly on African trade.

His eyes lit on the open chest, and he released a strangled cry of disbelief before running towards it. Fitzgerald arrived
moments later, also armed with a dag. Chaloner tensed, willing him to step inside too, but the pirate only leaned against
the doorframe.

‘The treasure!’ shouted O’Brien furiously. ‘You said it would be safe here – that you stole the only key from Pratt, and no
one else would be able to get at it. But some has been stolen!’

‘Impossible,’ countered Fitzgerald. ‘No one knows it is here except you and me. Unless
you
—’

O’Brien’s eyes blazed as he leapt to his feet. ‘Are you accusing me of cheating you?’

‘It is not an unreasonable assumption,’ Fitzgerald flashed back. There was a tremor of fear in his voice but he held his ground.
‘Our venture was more costly than we anticipated, and the returns so far have been disappointing. Of course you might try
to—’

He took several steps back as O’Brien stalked towards him, and Chaloner knew he had to act now or they would both be out in
the corridor – at which point he and Thurloe would die. He leapt forward, shoving Fitzgerald as hard as he could. The pirate
cannoned into O’Brien, and Chaloner started to close the door.
But Fitzgerald recovered quickly, and hurled himself against it.

Chaloner’s strength was all but spent, and he felt the door begin to open, even when Thurloe raced forward to help – fury
had given the pirate a diabolical might. It was then that he realised he was still holding George’s powder. With nothing to
lose, he flung it in Fitzgerald’s face, hoping the footman had not been lying when he claimed it would render his former master
helpless.

The pirate jerked away in surprise, and for a moment nothing happened. Then he sneezed. He blinked furiously and sneezed again.
And again. Chaloner and Thurloe leaned all their weight on the door, which slammed shut, allowing the lock to click into place.

Suddenly, there was a yell from the stairs. Chaloner and Thurloe exchanged a glance of horrified dismay. Brinkes must have
battered his way free at last. Weaponless, they turned and stood shoulder to shoulder, bracing themselves for the onslaught.

‘There you are!’ said Williamson, skidding to a standstill. ‘When we found Brinkes locked up but no sign of you two, we feared
the worst.’

‘Fitzgerald and his master are safely secured,’ said Thurloe, indicating the strongroom with a nonchalance Chaloner was sure
he could not feel. ‘However, I recommend you leave them there for a while. You may find them less feisty once the air has
grown thin.’ 466

Early November 1664

It was a fine, clear morning when Williamson married Kitty O’Brien in St Margaret’s Church. It was a small ceremony, with
only Swaddell and Doines to act as witnesses. Chaloner slipped into the shadows at the back and watched, thinking that he
had never seen the Spymaster look so pleased with himself, although Kitty’s expression was more difficult to read.

‘Congratulations,’ he said, as the happy couple walked up the aisle together.

Williamson inclined his head. ‘I was shocked to learn that my oldest friend was complicit in that vile affair – especially
as he was already rich and had no need for more money. But before he hanged himself in my cells, he told me to look after
Kitty. Today is the fulfilment of that promise.’

‘I was shocked, too,’ said Kitty, while Chaloner struggled to determine whether Williamson had had a hand in O’Brien’s alleged
suicide. ‘But that is all in the past, and we must look to the future. I shall accept Leighton’s
offer to join the Adventurers tomorrow. My husband … my
first
husband spent too much of our money on his wild schemes, and I must recoup my losses.’

‘But the Adventurers still trade in slaves,’ Chaloner pointed out. ‘That has not changed.’

‘No, it has not,’ said Kitty. She smiled, an expression that did not touch her green eyes. ‘But perhaps I shall be able to
change them from within.’

They walked away, leaving Chaloner staring after them unhappily. Since the events that had culminated at Piccadilly, he had
been in low spirits. He had recurring nightmares about the strongroom, his home life continued to be a trial, and he felt
guilty for abandoning Lester. Thurloe pointed out patiently that any attempt at rescue would have meant his own death, but
that was of scant comfort.

His work for the Earl did nothing to help, either. As there were no mysteries to investigate, he was obliged to pass the time
in routine duties that put him in the company of Dugdale and Edgeman. The Earl had been furious when he had learned they were
Adventurers, and they blamed Chaloner for their exposure: they set out to make his life miserable, and they succeeded.

One morning, as Dugdale railed at him for wearing a grey coat instead of the blue one he had stipulated, Kipps appeared. His
fist shot towards the Chief Usher’s face and there was a dull smack as the two connected. Chaloner stared at the Seal Bearer
in astonishment.

‘What did you do that for?’ howled Dugdale, hand to his nose. ‘Are you insane?’

‘A maid called Susan was just here, asking after you,’ replied Kipps, eyeing him with dislike. ‘She told me you paid her to
spy on Chaloner. In his own home.’

Dugdale swallowed uneasily. ‘I did it to protect the Earl. And I would not have had to do it at all if Chaloner had been
cooperative. I asked him for progress reports, but he fobbed me off with half-answers and lies. What else was I to do?’

‘Why were you so desperate to know what I—’ began Chaloner.

‘Because he is jealous of the Earl’s faith in your abilities,’ snapped Kipps. ‘But that does not excuse him from corrupting
a silly girl to spy on a colleague. It is not the act of a gentleman, and I shall ensure all White Hall knows it. Moreover,
if I catch him doing anything like it again, I shall hit him even harder. That goes for you, too, Edgeman. I know you were
in it together.’

‘You do not care about Chaloner,’ sneered Edgeman, although he took refuge behind Dugdale as he spoke, unwilling to suffer
a similar fate. ‘The reason you punched Dugdale is because he told Leighton not to let you join the Adventurers. You have
always resented that.’

‘I would never enrol in that band of scoundrels,’ declared Kipps, although the flash of anger in his eyes said Edgeman was
right. ‘I do not approve of monopolies. However, if he recommends against me joining anything else, a bloody nose will be
the least of his problems.’

‘I am not sure that was wise,’ said Chaloner, when Edgeman had helped Dugdale away. ‘The Earl does not approve of his retainers
thumping each other. Why do you think I have never hit the man myself? It is not because of my superior self-control, I assure
you.’

‘What is he going to do about it?’ shrugged Kipps. ‘Tell the Earl? If he does, he will be sorry. But they have learned their
lesson. They will not bother you again.’

Chaloner suspected they would just be more subtle in
their hounding of him, and doubted Kipps’s intervention had done him any favours. But the punch had been a declaration of
allegiance and he was heartened by it – it meant he was no longer alone and that there was someone he could call a friend
in the unsettled, unpredictable world that was White Hall. Kipps’s next words promptly reversed any improvement in his mood,
though.

‘Have you heard the news? Governor Bridge has been dismissed and a new man hired to rule Tangier in his place. Fitzgerald
the pirate has been honoured with the post.’

Chaloner stared at him. ‘Fitzgerald? But he is in the Tower, charged with the attempted murder of most of the Adventurers
and half of Queenhithe.’

‘That was ages ago,’ said Kipps. ‘It has all been forgotten now, especially as Fitzgerald has offered to bring another chest
of treasure to London later in the year.’

‘So yet again the wicked prosper,’ muttered Chaloner. ‘Is there
never
justice in this rotten city?’

‘Fitzgerald will travel to his new domain on
Royal Katherine
,’ said Kipps, straining to hear what Chaloner was mumbling. ‘The damage has been repaired and she looks as good as new again.
She sails from Queenhithe on the afternoon tide.’

Chaloner went home, but the news of Fitzgerald’s freedom troubled him, and he was restless and angry. Bemused by his sullen
mood, and exasperated when he declined to discuss it, Hannah sent him out for a walk, no doubt afraid that he might use his
viol to settle his mind if he were allowed to stay. She need not have worried: Chaloner had not played since the events at
Clarendon House, and felt no desire to do so.

‘Take George with you,’ she said. ‘I dislike being in the kitchen when he is there, and I feel like baking a cake. It will
be ready on your return.’

Even more dejected, because he would be expected to eat it, Chaloner walked to Queenhithe to see for himself whether Kipps
was right about Fitzgerald. George trailed at his heels.

When he arrived, he found scant evidence of the chaos that had ensued after it had almost been blown into oblivion. The warehouses
that had been burned were already rebuilt, and the wharf was its usual hive of activity. Boats rocked gently as they were
tugged by the ebbing tide, and
Katherine
stood tall and proud among them, like a graceful swan amid a flock of ducks.

Suddenly, there was a clatter of wheels on cobbles, and a convoy arrived. Chaloner clenched his fists in impotent fury when
Fitzgerald alighted. Even from a distance, he could hear the high-pitched voice, laughing jovially. It seemed to be mocking
him, but, short of darting forward and plunging a dagger into the man, there was nothing Chaloner could do.

‘I would not mind a berth on that ship,’ said George.

Chaloner jumped. They were the first words the footman had spoken since leaving Tothill Street. ‘You want to return to Fitzgerald’s
service?’ he asked, bemused.

‘I meant as a sailor. Work my passage to Tangier.’

‘Then go,’ said Chaloner.

George stared at him. ‘I am your servant. I cannot leap on a ship.’

‘You can if I tell you to,’ said Chaloner, wondering whether he would be spared the ordeal of Hannah’s cake if he went home
with the news that he had solved the problem George had become.