‘Lord!’ exclaimed Brodrick, appalled. ‘Now that is potentially dangerous. I must warn him immediately. The Lady will be furious, and he needs to be prepared.’
When Brodrick had gone, Scot gripped Chaloner’s shoulder and hauled him into a small room that was used to store harnesses for the royal carriage. He slammed the door shut, and Chaloner was astonished to see the anger in his face.
‘Where have you been these last two days? You have not been home, and I was assailed with a terrible fear that May or Behn had dispatched you. I consigned myself to a dreadful evening in their company, desperately trying to catch one of them out in some inadvertent admission.’
Chaloner was startled to learn Scot should have been concerned, especially over something as ephemeral as a bad feeling. ‘I looked for you, too, at the Chequer Inn.’
‘The landlord did not mention it.’ Scot sounded tired. ‘Well, I am relieved to see you safe. The faces of friends lost to spying keep haunting me, and I was afraid yours was about to join them.’
‘Why would you think that?’
Scot scrubbed at his eyes, hard enough to disturb his disguise. It was unlike him to be careless, and Chaloner saw he was deeply unsettled. ‘Because White Hall is a dangerous place and you have chosen the wrong side – Clarendon’s overbearing pomposity makes him deeply unpopular, whereas Bristol is generally liked. And I was horrified when Behn bested you in that tussle. If you cannot defend yourself against him, then how will you fare against May?’
Chaloner thought he was overreacting. ‘Behn did not “best” me, I lost my balance.’
Scot glared out of the window, then forced a smile. ‘I am fussing like I did when you were a green youth on his first assignment. You must forgive me.’
‘Is something wrong? Has something happened to make you more than usually uneasy?’
‘Temperance and Maude, for a start. They are both worthy ladies, I am sure, but Maude is apt to be indiscreet. Has she repeated her clients’ chatter to you? Yes? Then how do you know she is not repeating yours to someone else? I am not saying there is malice in her, but betrayal is betrayal, nonetheless. Then there is your friend Leybourn. Did you know he and May were acquainted well enough to enjoy a drink in a tavern together?’
Chaloner shook his head uneasily. ‘But he owns a bookshop – he deals with a lot of people.’
‘Yes, you are no doubt right.’ Scot sounded relieved – it was never easy to warn colleagues that those they considered friends might be nothing of the kind, and it was clear he was glad it was over without an awkward confrontation. ‘Bear it in mind for the future, though.’
‘I will. Thank you.’
‘I heard you were you looking for me on Sunday night.’ Chaloner had his own questions to ask about the truthfulness of friends. ‘I do not suppose it had anything to do with the name Peter Terrell being on a list of men accused of murdering Webb, did it?’
Scot’s smile turned wry. ‘That was one subject I wanted to air, yes. I am afraid I misled you. My alias was on Bristol’s letter, and I neglected to tell you so when you raised the subject at the ball.’
Chaloner was taken aback by the blunt admission. ‘Why?’
‘It is second nature for men like us to keep secrets, so when you started to talk about the letter, I followed my instincts to procrastinate without conscious thought. Barely an hour had passed before I realised there was no need to be furtive with you – and that withholding information might even put you in danger – so I rushed to your rooms to make amends. But you are never there; you do not even sleep there, it seems. I waited for hours – on Saturday night and Sunday.’
‘What were you going to tell me, exactly?’
‘That my alias was on that poisonous document, but that although I knew of Webb, I had never spoken to the man – I was astonished when soldiers came and demanded that I accompany them to Newgate for questioning about his death. Fortunately, I was able to escape, and Eaffrey sent word to Williamson, who made my name “disappear” from the legal proceedings.’
‘Not very effectively – a number of people know about you.’
‘Yes and no. Williamson fabricated another Peter Terrell, and most people think a dishonest fishmonger is involved in the Webb case, not my Irish scholar. It means I am stuck with this disguise for a while, though, because to vanish now will arouse suspicion.’
‘What about the four who were pardoned – Clarke, Fitz-Gerrard, Burne, Willys? Do you know them?’
‘Yes – they are all intelligence agents. Clarke and Fitz-Gerrard were not even in England when Webb was murdered, so God alone knows why their names were picked for this wretched list. You know Burne, because that is May’s alias. And Willys is Bristol’s creature.’
‘Was Fitz-Simons a spy, too? He and you were the two who “disappeared”.’
‘He is what we call an “occasional informer”, which means he is basically Williamson’s eyes and ears at the Company of Barber-Surgeons. He happened to be out when the soldiers called at his house, and he went on the run. I have no idea where he is now.’
‘Dead – he is the beggar May killed at Westminster Abbey.’
Scot stared at him in horror. ‘Are you sure? May had a bag wrapped around the head when I tried to inspect the corpse. Now I see why! That damned lunatic did not want anyone to see he had shot one of his colleagues. Does Williamson know?’
‘I have no idea. Did you ever meet Fitz-Simons in Ireland? He was seen boarding a Dublin-bound ship in February, and he had detailed plans of the castle.’
‘No, and I would be surprised if Williamson had used him there – he was an informer, not a spy, and he lacked the requisite skills for deep-cover work. However, that said, the Castle Plot was a serious attempt to destabilise the government, so perhaps Williamson did employ every resource at his fingertips to ensure it failed, even men at the very bottom of his command.’
‘Do you think Fitz-Simons’s shooting had anything to do with the Castle Plot?’ asked Chaloner, deciding not to mention his suspicions about the surgeon’s ‘demise’ until he was more certain.
‘Of course it might, if you say he was in Ireland! Poor Fitz-Simons was sadly inept, so perhaps inexperience led him to reveal himself to the wrong person when he was at his Dublin duties.’
‘His name was on Bristol’s list, so someone thought he was worth exposing, incompetent or not.’
‘True. However, do not overlook the possibility that one of his colleagues objected to him reporting Company secrets to the government. It might have been a barber-surgeon who added his name to the letter.’
‘Which one? Wiseman? Johnson? Master Lisle?’
‘I do not trust Wiseman,’ said Scot. ‘It would not surprise me at all to learn he has a murderous streak in him. But to return to the letter, five of the nine named were Williamson’s men, and one was Bristol’s. The selection was odd, though; we six did not work together, and no one should have been able to link us. I can only assume it was an attempt to undermine the entire intelligence network.’
‘How?’
‘Because applying for pardons made these men visible. Now it will be difficult for them to become anonymous again, which will reduce their value.’
‘What about the remaining three – Dillon, Fanning and Sarsfeild?’