The Piccadilly Plot (47 page)

Hyde smiled coldly. ‘Yes, but he is hardly in a position to say anything, is he? By exposing me, he reveals his own role in
the affair, and that is something he will never do.’

Chaloner tried to pass Hyde a third time, and was irritated when he was stopped yet again.

‘I mean it, Chaloner,’ said Hyde, confidence returning as he felt himself to be gaining the upper hand. ‘You will do as I
say, because you do not want powerful enemies.’

Chaloner’s patience snapped. ‘No, I do not. I am more than happy for you to have them instead.’

Hyde regarded him uneasily. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that Oliver’s employer probably
won’t
contradict you publicly. However, there are other ways to express his displeasure. You are wealthy and can hire guards to
protect yourself, whereas I cannot. You are right: it
is
better this way. Thank you.’

Chaloner was rewarded with the satisfaction of seeing alarm fill Hyde’s face.

‘He would not dare harm me!’ Hyde swallowed hard. ‘Would he?’

Chaloner regarded him dispassionately. ‘At least I know now why you have been so keen for your father to dismiss me. You were
afraid I would stumble across the truth at Clarendon House.’

‘I wanted you gone because I abhor your dubious skills,’ countered Hyde, although he would not meet Chaloner’s eyes. ‘Dugdale
is right: they are unseemly in a gentleman.’

‘They prevented you from being murdered tonight.’

‘Rubbish! I would have extricated myself, given time.’

Chaloner did not dignify that claim with a response. He changed the subject. ‘You are an Adventurer, are you not?’

‘What of it?’ snapped Hyde. ‘Or do you want me to inveigle you an invitation to join? I suppose it can be arranged, if that
is the price of your silence.’

‘No, thank you,’ said Chaloner in distaste. ‘But tell me what you know about the event that is to be held in Woolwich tomorrow
at dusk. Why did Leighton organise it?’

‘Today,’ corrected Hyde. ‘It is already well past
midnight and so …’ He faltered when he saw Chaloner’s steely glare, and hastened to answer the question. ‘Because arranging
interesting treats for us is the way he keeps our favour.’

‘Is he unpopular, then? He needs to bribe you to be allowed to continue as secretary?’

‘Not exactly, but our members are wary of him. There are rumours that he made himself rich by criminal means, you see, although
he denies it, of course. And you are wrong, by the way – the event will not be in Woolwich. We all said it was too far to
travel, so Leighton changed it.’

‘Changed it to where?’ asked Chaloner uneasily.

‘Oh, still on
Royal Katherine
, but she will be moored at Queenhithe instead.’

Chaloner stared at him in horror. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course – he lives in Queenhithe, and has friends who will help with the arrangements. It will not be at dusk, either.
We were all disappointed by the Swedish ambassador’s reception, because too many common folk had been invited and there was
not enough food. So Leighton brought our event forward. He says there is nothing so memorable as breakfast on a ship at dawn—’

‘Dawn?’ echoed Chaloner in disbelief. ‘No one will attend a function at that hour of the day!’

‘Of course they will. Most of the Court will not have been to bed, and they will be perfectly happy to round off the evening
at Queenhithe. Lady Castlemaine hosts breakfasts all the time.’

Chaloner was appalled. ‘But how can Leighton change everything at such short notice? His staff will not be ready!’

‘They would not dare fail him,’ said Hyde grimly. ‘But what is the problem with—’

‘Do not go,’ said Chaloner urgently.

Hyde regarded him with dislike. ‘I most certainly shall! It will be fun.’

‘There are rumours that something terrible will befall the Adventurers on St Frideswide’s Day. And then there is
Jane
. Queenhithe will not be safe—’

‘I know about our plan to destroy
Jane
,’ said Hyde casually, as though looting and burning a ship was nothing special. ‘But she is not due to arrive until three
o’clock in the afternoon. Queenhithe will be perfectly safe for hours yet.’

But Chaloner’s churning stomach told him that the change of time and venue were significant. Had Williamson’s decision to
issue an arrest warrant for Fitzgerald driven the Piccadilly Company to act sooner than it had planned? And what of Leighton’s
role in the affair? Was he, like Meneses, playing one side against the other, and his allegiance was actually to the Adventurers’
rivals? Chaloner thought about the man’s sly smiles and unreadable expressions – he had been an enigma from the start.

‘Stay well away,’ he urged. ‘Better still, cancel it. Tell your colleagues not to go.’

Hyde scowled. ‘Is this how things will be from now on? You will use my little indiscretion to bend me to your will?’

‘No! I am trying to save your life. And those of your friends.’

Hyde relented. ‘Unfortunately, you overestimate my influence,’ he said, although it clearly pained him to admit it. ‘I could
scream warnings all night, but no one would take any notice.’

‘Well, try,’ Chaloner snapped. ‘And now I need to find Williamson.’

As the Spymaster had used every available carriage to transport his men to Woolwich, he had been reduced to walking to Hercules’
Pillars Alley. Chaloner caught up with him on Fleet Street. Lester was with him. Gasping for breath – he had run as hard as
he could – Chaloner told them what Hyde had said. The blood drained from Williamson’s face.

‘But I have dispatched all my officers down the river, and Doines is off God knows where rounding up thieves! There is no
one left to go to Queenhithe and protect Adventurers!’

‘Perhaps they no longer need protecting,’ said Lester hopefully. ‘Fitzgerald may even now be standing at Woolwich, scratching
his head at an empty berth.’

‘No!’ whispered Williamson, shocked. ‘Chaloner is right. The plot is swinging into operation early, and we shall be found
lacking.’

‘Then tell Leighton to cancel his dawn feast,’ said Lester practically. ‘It is a stupid time for a soirée anyway. At sea,
we would never—’

‘We have already been through this!’ snapped Williamson. ‘It cannot be done.’

‘Then perhaps they deserve whatever is coming to them,’ muttered Lester. ‘If they are unwilling to forgo entertainment in
the interests of their own safety, then they are too stupid to—’

‘Pratt will have to fend for himself,’ determined Williamson, regaining his composure as he began to make decisions. ‘Because
the death of a conceited architect pales into insignificance when compared to the murder
of fifty nobles and their wives. Lester, hunt down a hackney and send a message after the other carriages, ordering them
back immediately. I will do the same for the boats.’

‘If you say so,’ said Lester doubtfully. ‘Although it seems to me—’

‘There is no time for debate,’ the Spymaster snapped. ‘Chaloner, go directly to Queenhithe. Lester and I will join you there
as soon as we can. Wait! You are going in the wrong direction!’

‘We need all the help we can get,’ called Chaloner over his shoulder. ‘I am fetching Thurloe.’

Williamson seemed relieved. ‘Yes – he is a good man to have at one’s side in a crisis. But we must hurry. Lives depend on
our actions tonight, and so does the future stability of our country.’

‘No pressure, then,’ mumbled Lester.

When Chaloner arrived at Lincoln’s Inn, panting hard from what had been another furious dash, it was to find Thurloe with
company. Lydcott was lounging by the fire.

‘You are late,’ said Thurloe curtly. ‘It is almost four o’clock, and I have been worried.’

‘I told you he could look after himself,’ drawled Lydcott, standing and stretching lazily.

Chaloner limped to the cupboard where Thurloe kept his weapons. He grabbed a sword and a knife, struggling to outline all
that had happened while still catching his breath. Never a man to waste time with needless questions, Thurloe armed himself,
too, then led the way down the stairs at a brisk trot. Lydcott followed uninvited, his face a mask of confusion, although
every time he attempted to ask a question, Thurloe waved him to silence.

‘There are no hackneys,’ said Thurloe tersely, when they reached Chancery Lane. ‘We shall have to go on foot.’

‘Go where?’ demanded Lydcott, running after them. ‘Stop! Wait! I do not understand!’

‘So Elliot did die in the swordfight,’ concluded Thurloe, ignoring his kinsman as he set a cracking pace through the dark
streets. ‘Which means Cave’s brother really did bury him early in order to save money. And you have caught the brick-thief,
although you will never be able to tell Clarendon the truth.’

‘Pratt knew nothing about it,’ gasped Chaloner. His lame leg ached, his shoulder throbbed, and he was not sure how much longer
he could continue to race all over the city. ‘Of course, that does not exonerate him – as Clarendon House’s architect, he
should have noticed there was something amiss with the place’s proportions, especially as he was so proud of them.’

‘Do you think the threat to murder Pratt came from Oliver?’ asked Thurloe, also beginning to pant. ‘So he could have Pratt’s
duties and his handsome wage?’

‘No – Oliver had no reason to want the Queen implicated in a plot that will shatter diplomatic relations between us and Portugal.
That is the Piccadilly Company’s doing.’

‘You are wrong,’ declared Lydcott, snatching at Thurloe’s arm to make him slow down. Thurloe shook him off impatiently. ‘Listen
to me – I shall explain! Fitzgerald told me and Pratt to be at St Paul’s at dawn. He said he has a surprise for us.’

Thurloe skidded to a standstill at this remark. So did Chaloner, and although he chafed at the wasted seconds, he was grateful
for the respite.

‘He must be planning to kill Pratt there, then,’ said Thurloe worriedly. ‘Another accident that will be impossible to place
at his door. And he plans to dispatch you at the same time, Robert, because you have outlived your usefulness to him. Like
Meneses.’

‘No,’ argued Lydcott, exasperated. ‘Fitzgerald is
not
a villain. How many more times must I say it? He has changed since he opposed you during the Commonwealth. He is a different
man now.’

‘Go to my rooms and stay there,’ ordered Thurloe, not bothering to address the claim. ‘We shall send word of this to Williamson,
and he can detail a few henchmen to rescue Pratt.’

‘He does not have any left,’ said Chaloner tiredly. ‘He is trying to recall the ones he sent to Woolwich, but I doubt he will
succeed – he ordered them to go there as fast as they could travel.’

‘Then
I
will save Pratt,’ declared Lydcott. ‘You are wrong about this, but I shall go anyway.’

‘You will do as I say and return to Lincoln’s Inn,’ ordered Thurloe. ‘Ann would never forgive me if anything were to happen
to you.’

‘And she would never forgive
me
if I sat by your fire while a man was murdered,’ countered Lydcott. ‘If you are wrong – which I know you are – then no harm
will have been done. But if you are right, I shall be a hero.’

‘You will be a dead hero if you do not take proper care,’ warned Thurloe.

‘I shall be perfectly all right,’ said Lydcott, although there was a flippancy in the reply that said he still did not accept
the seriousness of the situation.

‘Pratt will die if you do not reach him first,’ said Chaloner, speaking forcefully to make him understand
the danger he was courting. ‘It is not just your life that will be forfeit if you blunder.’

‘Then I had better hurry,’ said Lydcott, giving a jaunty wave before trotting away to where the cathedral was almost invisible
against the black night sky.

Chaloner and Thurloe reached Queenhithe, both breathing hard from what had been a desperate sprint. Thurloe had stumbled in
a pothole and was limping, while Chaloner felt every step was draining resources he did not have.

The fog grew denser as they neared the river. It caught the feeble glow of the lamps that had been left to illuminate the
pier, softening the edges of the ramshackle warehouses that lined it. Two ships were moored there, bobbing gently on the ebbing
tide, and transformed by the mist into a ghostly lace of spars and rigging. The smell of the Thames was strong – mud, seaweed
and wet wood. The quay appeared to be deserted.

Chaloner edged towards the ships, noting that they were tethered so close together that the stern of one overhung the other.
One was
Royal
Katherine
, tall, proud and elegant, while the other was a smaller, shabbier affair, with a wide beam, stubby masts and crooked bowsprit.
There were lights and movement aplenty aboard
Katherine
, but the other vessel was dark and still.

‘Oh, no!’ he breathed in horror. ‘
Jane
! She has arrived early.’

‘How do you know?’ Thurloe whispered back. ‘Her name is too weathered to read.’

‘The bowsprit – Lester said it was strangely curved. She must have sailed in on the midnight tide. She looks
abandoned, but I imagine crewmen will appear if we try to board.’

He was about to add something else when he saw a flash of light in the window of the nearest warehouse. He tensed, imagining
it to be one of the Piccadilly Company, but then he recognised Lester’s distinctive silhouette. Wondering how the captain
had completed his errand to recall Williamson’s carriages so quickly, he crept towards it, indicating Thurloe was to follow.

The door to the building had been forced, presumably so Lester could monitor the ships without being seen – although lighting
a candle was hardly the best way to go about it. Thurloe apparently thought so, too, and regarded the sea-officer with open
suspicion, which Lester appeared not to notice. Hastily, Chaloner indicated the light was to be doused.

‘There you are at last,’ came Williamson’s uneasy voice from the resulting gloom. ‘I was beginning to think you had deserted
me. Lester found a hackney in record time, although I doubt it will catch up with my men before they reach Woolwich – and
neither will the boat I dispatched. We are on our own, gentlemen.’