The Piccadilly Plot (7 page)

‘How may I help?’ asked Chaloner, thinking that a ‘most dreadful plot’ and saving someone’s life sounded a lot more interesting
than watching piles of bricks.

‘There is a plan afoot to murder my architect,’ breathed the Earl. ‘Roger Pratt.’

There was silence after the Earl had made his announcement, as he, Hyde, Brodrick and Frances waited for Chaloner to react.
The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and a ticking clock. It was an expensive one from France, but although it was
baroque art at its finest, it was two hours fast, suggesting its makers considered an elaborate case more important than functional
innards.

Chaloner stared at the Earl’s family, assuming they had misread whatever intelligence had come their way. Regardless, dispatching
an architect was not his idea of a ‘most dreadful plot’.

‘Why would anyone harm Pratt?’ he asked eventually. ‘Is it because people think Clarendon House too grand, and murdering its
designer might make you reconsider—’

‘No!’ snapped the Earl angrily. ‘That is
not
why. If it were, the villains would have struck while it was being raised. It has walls and a roof now, and most of the remaining
work is internal.’

‘We told Pratt about the threat, and once he had recovered from the shock, he agreed with us,’ added Hyde. ‘It cannot be an
attack on his creation, or it would have happened months ago.’

‘I believe the
real
plot is an attempt to inconvenience me,’ the Earl went on. ‘My enemies see the house nearing completion, and they want to
delay me moving in. For spite. Or jealousy.’

‘You may think it is extreme,’ said Frances, apparently reading the doubt in Chaloner’s face, ‘but you do not
need us to tell you that there are some very unpleasant people at Court.’

‘How did you hear about it?’ asked Chaloner, making an effort to take their concerns seriously. ‘Was there a rumour?’

‘We found a letter,’ explained the Earl. He looked at his wife, then at his son, and then at his cousin, before bringing troubled
eyes back to Chaloner. ‘In the Queen’s personal correspondence.’

Chaloner was bemused. ‘How did it get there?’

‘Because
she
is the one who has commissioned the murder,’ stated Hyde baldly.

Chaloner gaped at him. Of all the people in London, Queen Katherine was the last to engage in murky business. She was a shy,
convent-raised Portuguese princess who had still not come to terms with the fact that she had married into one of the most
sybaritic courts in the world. Chaloner liked her, but she was unpopular with almost everyone else for several reasons: she
was Catholic, she spoke poor English, and she had so far failed to provide an heir for the throne.

‘She would never involve herself in such a matter,’ he said, finally regaining his voice. ‘First, I doubt she has ever met
Pratt. Second, she is not the kind of lady to kill people. And third, even if she were, she is still a virtual stranger here,
and would not know how to go about it.’

‘So you say,’ snapped Hyde. ‘But, as you know, I am her Private Secretary. I found this letter.’

As it happened, Chaloner did not know that Hyde worked for the Queen, and was ashamed of himself for it, because it was the
sort of detail spies should know about their employers’ families.

‘May I see it?’ he asked, still sure there had been a mistake.

Hyde looked set to refuse, but the Earl indicated he should hand it over. He did so reluctantly, and Chaloner read what had
been written:

Your Majestye is truthfull in her clayme that Clarendone House is an abomination before our most Holie and Catholick God.
I will kill Pratt on the Feast Day of St Frideswide, as you ordered. I remayne youre humble and obedient servant in Christ
and the Virgin Marye.

‘Well?’ demanded the Earl. ‘How will you prevent this outrage?’

‘There will be no outrage, sir,’ said Chaloner, wondering what had possessed them to take such a patent piece of lunacy seriously.
‘It is hardly Her Majesty’s fault that some madman has elected to send her an insane letter.’

‘Hah!’ exclaimed Brodrick in satisfaction. ‘That is exactly what I said.’

‘Then you are both wrong,’ said Hyde, scowling. ‘The threat is genuine.’

‘It is not,’ argued Chaloner. ‘This letter is a transparent and laughable effort to implicate the Queen in something of which
she is innocent. I would have thought the clumsy references to her Catholicism would have made that apparent.’

‘That is a valid point,’ agreed Frances. ‘And her English is still poor …’

‘It has improved,’ said Hyde stiffly. ‘She is not fluent, but she could certainly comprehend what is written here. And she
has a motive for harming you, father: she is hurt that you do not visit her as often as you once did.’

‘Because I have no choice,’ objected the Earl defensively. ‘I chose her as a bride for the King, but it was a terrible mistake,
because she is barren. If I do not distance myself, my enemies will use her to destroy me. Surely she understands that?’

Poor Katherine, thought Chaloner. Now even those who had been friends were abandoning her.

‘And she wants revenge,’ Hyde finished. ‘She knows how important Clarendon House is to you, so she means to strike at you
through Pratt.’

‘No,’ said Chaloner with considerable force. The Earl’s eyes widened at the tone of his voice, and Hyde bristled, but Chaloner
did not care. ‘She would never do such things.’

‘The evidence is there,’ snarled Hyde, pointing at the letter. ‘Thank God I intercepted it.’

‘Do you really think a co-conspirator would send such a thing?’ demanded Chaloner, feeling his dislike of Hyde mount. Surely
the man owed his mistress some shred of loyalty? ‘Even the most inept of assassins would know not to leave written evidence
of his plans.’

‘He doubtless assumed the Queen would destroy it after digesting its contents,’ snapped Hyde. ‘It was only luck that allowed
me to find it before she could do either.’

‘Do you not see what is happening?’ Chaloner was becoming exasperated. ‘Someone left it for you to find, with the specific
intention of harming her. Only instead of throwing it away, like any rational man, you have played directly into this lunatic’s
hands by taking it seriously.’

Hyde glowered. ‘If that were the case, there would have been other messages of a similar nature. And this is the only one.’

‘The only one you have found,’ corrected Chaloner. ‘Or perhaps this is the first, and more will follow.’

‘No!’ barked Hyde. ‘The explanation is obvious: she should have burned it, but she is a novice in such matters, and she was
careless. She left it lying on a desk, where I happened across it.’

‘How very convenient,’ said Chaloner acidly. ‘The instigator of this nasty piece of poison must be delighted that you are
making his task so easy.’

‘Watch yourself, Chaloner,’ breathed Brodrick, shocked. ‘Or you will be in trouble.’

‘He
is
in trouble,’ snarled Hyde. He turned to his father. ‘I want him dismissed. He has made no headway with catching the villain
who steals our bricks, and now he does not believe the threat against Pratt. I will explore both matters, and you can save
yourself the cost of employing him.’

‘You cannot, Henry,’ said Frances reasonably. ‘You do not have the necessary expertise. Besides, you do not believe the theft
of our bricks amounts to anything – you tell us to ignore it. How will you investigate something you do not consider to be
serious?’

‘Because I know about architecture,’ replied Hyde loftily. ‘I have always been interested in the subject, and Christopher
Wren told me only last week that he considers me talented. I know far more about building supplies than Chaloner ever will.’

‘But not about theft and murder,’ argued Frances quietly. ‘And those are the issues here.’

Hyde scowled, and it was clear he resented his mother’s interference. Chaloner appreciated it, though, and suspected she might
have just saved him from unemployment, because the Earl’s eyes had glittered
thoughtfully when the prospect of saving money had been raised.

‘So what will you do, Chaloner?’ asked Brodrick. ‘How will you begin?’

‘By finding out who sent the message,’ answered Chaloner, not bothering to reiterate his belief that the architect was in
no danger, but that the Queen might well be. ‘And—’

‘A waste of time,’ interrupted Hyde. ‘I have already questioned Her Majesty’s household, but no one saw this missive delivered.
And I doubt
she
will appreciate being interrogated by you.’

Chaloner suppressed a sigh. Hyde’s precipitate actions would have told the sender that the letter had been discovered, thus
making the matter that much more difficult to explore.

‘Perhaps we should send Pratt away until the would-be assassin is under lock and key,’ suggested Frances. ‘I shall never forgive
myself if he is murdered while working on our new home.’

‘The letter says Pratt will not die until the Feast of St Frideswide.’ Chaloner calculated quickly. ‘That is a week next Wednesday
– nine days from now.’

‘How do you know?’ asked the Earl in astonishment. ‘We had to consult an almanac. I sincerely hope you are not a papist. I
would not countenance one of those in my household.’

‘It is general knowledge, sir.’ Chaloner did not feel strongly enough about religion to affiliate himself with any sect, although
he suspected that the Earl would dismiss him if he knew that his intelligencer was married to a Catholic – Hannah had converted
when she had first been appointed to serve the Queen.

‘We shall hire Sergeant Wright to protect Pratt,’ determined Brodrick. ‘To put Frances’s mind at rest.’

It would be a waste of money on two counts, thought Chaloner. By paying guards to mind a man who did not need them, and by
employing Wright, who would not know how to repel an assassin if his life depended on it. But before he could say so, there
was a knock on the door and Dugdale entered. The Chief Usher looked around carefully, as if trying to gauge what had been
discussed in his absence. He shot Chaloner a malevolent glance, but masked the expression quickly when he addressed the Earl,
unwilling for their master to see the extent of his dislike.

‘I have just received a note from Pratt, sir. Apparently, twenty planks of best oak were stolen last night. How extraordinary
that Chaloner did not notice.’

Fortunately for Chaloner, Kipps arrived shortly after Dugdale’s announcement, to inform Hyde and Brodrick that their presence
was required at the Adventurers’ meeting immediately. Neither man could ignore a summons from the King, and they disappeared
without another word. Chaloner was grateful, suspecting that Hyde would have used the missing wood to resume his campaign
to have him dismissed – and he might have succeeded, because the Earl was clearly livid about their loss. Lady Clarendon frowned.

‘I do not like Henry mixing with Adventurers,’ she said, once everyone had gone, and only she, the Earl and Chaloner remained.
‘He is easily led, and I have not heard good things about Secretary Leighton. The other members leave much to be desired,
too. Henry told me only yesterday that they transported more than three
thousand slaves to Barbados last year. Slaves! How
can
he associate with such vileness?’

The Earl sighed unhappily. ‘We cannot dictate his behaviour for ever – he is twenty-six years old. But we should not discuss
this now. I am more interested in my planks.’ He glared at Chaloner.

‘I watched your supplies all night, sir,’ said Chaloner tiredly. ‘And I checked them before I left. They were all there then.’

‘But this particular wood was stored
inside
the house,’ explained the Earl shortly. ‘And I know for a fact that every door is secured at dusk, so no one should have
been able to get in.’

‘No one did, sir. So these planks must have been stolen after I left this morning, when the doors were unlocked for the workmen.’

‘Without anyone seeing?’ asked the Earl archly.

‘Without anyone raising the alarm,’ corrected Chaloner. ‘As I have said before, I suspect the thieves have accomplices among
the workforce.’

‘Nonsense! My labourers are above reproach.’ The Earl held up his hand when Chaloner started to point out that such a large
body of men, none of whom were very well paid, was likely to contain at least one rotten apple, and probably a lot more. ‘You
let your attention wander, and these cunning dogs seized the opportunity to climb through a window. They cannot have gone
through a door, because my locks are tamper-proof.’

‘Are they now?’ murmured Chaloner. He had not met a lock yet that could keep him out.

‘They are the best money can buy.’ The Earl’s eyes shone, as they always did when he was boasting about his new home. ‘And
one key opens them all.’

Chaloner had never heard of such a thing. ‘Really?’

The Earl rummaged in his clothing and produced a key that hung on a cord around his neck. ‘There are only two copies in existence.
I have one, and Pratt has the other – his will eventually go to Frances. It means we shall be able to lock whichever rooms
we like without having to sort through vast mountains of keys.’

‘I see,’ said Chaloner, resisting the urge to ask what would happen if one was mislaid.

‘The only door it cannot open is the one to the vault.’ The Earl grinned. ‘And that is clever, too – it is designed to be
airless, so if ever there is a fire, my papers and other valuables will be safe.’

‘Airless?’ asked Chaloner uneasily. ‘But what if someone is shut inside?’

The Earl looked smug. ‘That will never happen to an innocent person, and thieves deserve to be suffocated. Pratt is a genius
for inventing such clever measures. My new home is impregnable.’

‘Except for the fact that someone broke in and stole your planks,’ Chaloner pointed out.

The Earl scowled. ‘That was
your
fault. You failed to ensure all the windows were closed, and then you were asleep when the burglars arrived to take advantage.
And it obviously happened during the night, because thieves never operate in broad daylight.’