Murder on High Holborn (40 page)

He tried to decipher what had been written, but could make no sense of it – the Latin and Greek were garbled, while the mathematical symbols were meaningless as far as he could tell. Several words were Dutch, but they meant nothing either, and he suspected Lambe had just scribbled down whatever rubbish had entered his head.

A number of wealthy and influential courtiers stood around in excited anticipation, although not as many as Chaloner would have expected, and he could only suppose that some were still stuck on the Prittlewell road. All were close friends of the Duke, which meant they were the Earl’s sworn enemies, and Chaloner felt acutely uncomfortable as he moved among them. Fortunately, his ‘dismissal’ meant he was now tolerated, and although he would never be part of their circle, at least no one was overtly hostile.

‘You should be hunting Fifth Monarchists,’ hissed an angry voice. ‘And where have you been these last few days? Clarendon says you have not reported to him in an age.’

Chaloner was startled to see Rupert there, given the antagonism between him and the host. And the Prince was not the only surprise guest: Admiral Lawson had been invited, too, and was already flushed with drink.

‘I have some answers,’ replied Chaloner carefully. ‘But—’

Rupert stretched out an imperious hand. ‘Good. Now give me the register of members you were charged to compile. And tell me their precise plans so I can catch them red-handed.’

‘Midnight,’ said Chaloner, declining to reveal that he had not prepared a list and was not going to. ‘I will know their precise plans at midnight.’

Rupert scowled. ‘Then I shall expect you to come and tell me immediately.’

He turned on his heel and stalked away. Chaloner watched him go, thinking it was no surprise that the Prince was unpopular, even among courtiers, who were generally an unpleasant crowd. Turning, he saw Buckingham talking to the silly Lady Muskerry near the window, and supposed it was as good a time as any to warn him of the threat to his life.

‘You are in danger,’ he said bluntly, but as the Duke was unlikely to believe that Lambe was the culprit, he settled for, ‘Unscrupulous fraudsters are predicting the deaths of certain people, and killing them to “prove” it. You will be their next victim.’

Buckingham regarded him with dislike. ‘You think
I
will fall prey to swindlers? That I am so stupid I cannot see through such schemes?’

‘It does not matter what I think.’ Chaloner struggled for patience: he had better things to do than argue with Buckingham. ‘But it
does
matter that you might be hurt. Hannah would never forgive me if I did not warn you.’

Buckingham smiled smugly. ‘I can look after myself, thank you.’

Lady Muskerry simpered adoringly at him. ‘So bold! So brave!’

‘Lambe has explained how to avoid the misfortune he prophesised, and I have followed his advice to the letter,’ Buckingham went on. ‘I am quite safe. However,
you
will not be if you spoil my party with foolish alarms.’

He strutted away, all imperious disdain, and Chaloner was tempted to leave him to his fate, feeling the country would be well shot of him, but he had spoken the truth when he had said that Hannah would never forgive him if something happened that could have been prevented. More importantly, neither would Thurloe.

He stood in the shadows by a window, and listened to anyone who spoke within earshot. Most talk revolved around the fact that the journey to Prittlewell had been a waste of good carousing time, but there was also a lot of laughter about the fact that everyone now called Clarendon’s mansion Dunkirk House – Lambe’s ‘prediction’ had come true. A few people worried about the city’s resentment over the coal tax, but far more were interested in the possibility that Buckingham might unveil the Philosopher’s Stone that evening.

‘The Philosopher’s Stone!’ sneered Lawson. ‘It is a lot of nonsense if you ask me.’

‘But no one
has
asked you,’ said Buckingham. His eyes gleamed with spiteful triumph, and Chaloner was suddenly suspicious. Why had Lawson and Rupert – and Chaloner himself for that matter – been invited to the soirée when the host so obviously detested them? He determined to stay alert for trouble and keep well away from any experiments. He eased farther into the shadows, lest Lawson tried to shoot him again.

‘Why did
you
grace us with your presence tonight?’ asked Rupert, regarding the Admiral with aloof disdain. ‘Do you not have common sailors to gossip with?’

Lawson eyed him with equal contempt. ‘There is a rumour that Buckingham will die today, and I should hate to miss that.’

He and Buckingham began a sniping argument, peppered with caustic asides from Rupert that did nothing to soothe ragged tempers, and the longer Chaloner watched, the more he was certain that something sly had indeed been arranged. The Duke was taut with barely suppressed excitement, and Chaloner became increasingly convinced that if someone did meet an unfortunate end that night, it would not be Buckingham, but one of his guests.

For a long time, the soirée was just like any other that Chaloner had attended over the years. There was plenty of wine, too few snacks, and the conversation was spiteful and shallow. Eventually, there was a low, eerie moan that caused an instant hush. It was followed by a clash of cymbals that made everyone jump, and Buckingham smirked when Lawson spilled claret over himself. Suddenly, there was a puff of red smoke, and Lambe appeared, wearing a garish gown covered in crescent moons. It was cheap and theatrical, and the spectators were unimpressed.

‘I have seen better from penny actors on High Holborn,’ brayed Lawson.

‘We would not know,’ drawled Buckingham. ‘
We
do not frequent such places.’

Lambe ignored them both, and began to perform a series of old but clever tricks. Astutely, he involved his audience, and soon won them around with a combination of sleight of hand and sharp humour. Chaloner declined to be seduced, though, and so did Lawson. The Admiral yawned artificially to convey his boredom, then left the observatory and walked down the stairs to an antechamber, where more drinks had been set out. Chaloner followed.

‘You again!’ exclaimed Lawson, reaching for the dag in his belt.

Chaloner showed him the knife he held. ‘It will be in your heart long before you can draw,’ he said softly. ‘I strongly advise you not to try.’

Lawson glowered, but let his hand drop to his side. They were alone, because the servants had abandoned their stations to watch Lambe, and were in a spellbound semicircle around the door at the top of the stairs. No one could see what was happening below.

‘You would not be threatening me if my pistol had behaved yesterday,’ Lawson growled. Slowly and with deliberate contempt, he turned away and poured himself a cup of wine.

‘No,’ acknowledged Chaloner. ‘Why did you react so violently to such a simple question?’

‘None of your damn business. And you may as well sheath your blade, because we both know you will not kill God’s beloved, especially in front of witnesses.’

‘What witnesses? No one is looking this way, and a knife is silent. Unlike you, I have more sense than to blast at my victims with firearms.’

‘It is not a mistake I shall make again,’ vowed Lawson. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘The truth about your visit to Rupert’s gun factory on Tuesday night. I know you bribed Browne to sell you powder and cannon. What will you do? Sell them to the Dutch?’

Lawson whipped around to gape at him, astonishment taking the place of angry defiance. ‘Sell them to the Dutch? What do you take me for?’

‘A man whose flagship was blown up after two heavy chests were taken aboard,’ replied Chaloner coldly. ‘Chests containing “metal viols”. However, we both know they held nothing of the kind, and that your hapless crew paid the price.’

The blood drained from Lawson’s face. ‘Christ God! Is that what you think? That I would harm my own men? I do not know what happened to my ship, but I swear on my soul that when I find out who was responsible, I will rip the bastard to pieces with my bare hands.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Chaloner, although the Admiral’s conviction made him wonder whether the conclusions he had drawn were correct. ‘Yet it is curious that your family survived while—’

‘They survived because of where they were standing and because they could swim,’ snarled Lawson. ‘We have already been through this. Who are you, anyway?’

‘Someone who has quite a tale to report to Williamson,’ replied Chaloner tartly.

Relief flooded the Admiral’s blunt face. ‘You are one of his agents? Thank God! I thought you were another bloody fanatic. Or worse, one of those conniving courtiers. By all means report our discussion to the Spymaster. It is time he knew what is happening on his watch.’

‘By “what is happening” do you refer to the Last Millennium, which is apparently scheduled for Sunday? You Fifth Monarchists think nothing will matter after that, and you doubtless believe that your three hundred mariners will rise from their graves to stand with—’

‘Stuff and nonsense! And I am
not
a Fifth Monarchist. An officer of mine – who joined the sect after losing an arm at the Battle of Marston Moor – said they would tell me about Rupert’s guns if I pledged myself to their Cause. And as Rupert refused to oblige, I had no choice. There will be a Last Millennium, of course, but I doubt it will be on Sunday.’

‘Not Henry Tucker?’ asked Chaloner, thinking of the one-handed sailor on the Sanhedrin.

Lawson nodded. ‘A decent fellow who wants a society bound by God’s laws, not ones invented by the bloody fools on the Privy Council. A noble dream, if an impractical one. He introduced me to Jones and Quelch. Do you know them?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘They procrastinated for so long that I thought I was going to have to find another way to get the secret, but then they appeared at Temperance’s club one evening and offered to open negotiations.’

‘The night Ferine was killed?’ asked Chaloner pointedly.

‘No, no – a month before that. On the night of the murder, they came to ask if I was interested in helping them install the Kingdom of Christ. I told them I was too busy.’

‘So you paid them for Rupert’s secret?’

‘Do you think me witless? Of course not! I strung the bastards along until I learned that
they
intended to purchase it from a pair of villains named Manning and Scott, thus making a profit for themselves. So I cut out the middlemen and applied directly to the masters.’

‘You bought it from Manning and Scott?’

‘No. They are scum, and I would never trust them to provide me with accurate technical information. What I bought from them – or rather from Scott, as Manning was unwell on the day, apparently – was the location of Rupert’s factory. I visited it and reached an arrangement with John Browne. He sold me two guns and some powder, which I intended to test at sea.’

‘And that was what was delivered to HMS
London
in the two chests?’ asked Chaloner, not surprised to learn that Scott had cheated Manning.

‘Yes. Unfortunately, they were lost before I could so much as look at them, so I was obliged to visit Temple Mills on Tuesday to buy replacements. Was it you we chased into the river?’

Chaloner ignored the question. ‘If Browne did what you claim, then he is no better than Sherwin – whom he dismissed for revealing secrets while in his cups. He is a hypocrite.’

‘Every man has his price.’ Lawson drank the wine and poured himself some more.

Chaloner was confused. ‘Why go to such trouble? I thought you despised iron guns.’

‘I do, but Rupert claims he has overcome their failings, and we need every advantage we can get if we are to win this Dutch war – it is my duty to find out whether his boast is true. But he refused to show them to me, because he wants to patent the invention and make himself lots of money. Patriotism comes second to personal gain with that rogue, you see.’

‘He is not the only one,’ muttered Chaloner, thinking of Browne, Manning, Scott and Sherwin. ‘Why did you come here tonight? You cannot enjoy this sort of company.’

‘Too damn right! However, I take every opportunity I can to be in Rupert’s company – to needle him, in the hope that he will let something slip.’ Lawson blanched suddenly as a thought occurred to him. ‘Bloody hell! Do you think he or the Fifth Monarchists learned that I had circumvented them, and they destroyed my flagship in revenge?’

‘Not Rupert, but Jones and his cronies. Browne probably told them. You had no difficulty in suborning him, which means others will not either.’

Lawson’s face was grey. ‘So
London
’s fate was my fault? Christ God! I knew something odd had happened on her, given my family’s descriptions of the disaster and Captain Dare’s insistence that the powder magazine was secure…’

‘Is that why you ordered her weighed?’ Chaloner put his knife away. ‘Not to raise her from the riverbed, which as a sailor you know is impossible, but to allow your engineers to dive down to her hull and find the truth? Let me guess what they discovered: a cannonball hole in her side. I assume the shot hit the chest holding the powder?’

‘They could not tell.’ Lawson was still coming to terms with what they had reasoned, and the brash confidence had gone from him. ‘But it may have been a contributing factor to her loss.’

‘A
contributing
factor? What do you mean?’

‘I mean she would not have foundered if those thieving, corrupt bastards at the shipyard had not skimped on repairs, disguising rotten timbers with lead sheathing. The ball punched right through her to the larboard powder magazine, where the resulting explosion ripped out her bottom.’ Lawson’s expression was bleak. ‘Did the missile come from one of Rupert’s guns?’

‘I believe so. A wrecked boat was used as a makeshift shore-battery. I saw it and the body of the man whose expertise was used to fire it.’

Lawson’s eyebrows flew up. ‘It killed its operator? The design is flawed?’

‘He was shot by his accomplices.’ Chaloner stared at the Admiral, and made up his mind. He needed help if he was to bring Jones and his helpmeets to justice, and he could tell that Lawson’s shock at the revelations was genuine – they were on the same side. Briefly, he told him all he had learned at Prittlewell and Chatham.