‘What did Jacob look like?’ asked Chaloner, staring down at it.
‘He wore decent clothes and an oddly black wig, but there was something of the lout about him. However, he said and did nothing that made me suspect he was trying to avoid paying for a grand funeral. I assumed he just wanted his brother buried quickly because he was busy.’
Chaloner supposed he would have to visit the charnel house, to see whether Kersey knew where Cave’s brother lived — Jacob would have had to supply an address when he had collected the corpse. He started to walk there but then changed his mind and aimed for Lincoln’s Inn instead. He listened outside Chamber XIII for a moment, where the scratch of a pen on paper told him his friend was alone, then tapped softly and entered.
Thurloe was still in his nightclothes, his hair flowing from beneath a cap that might have looked comical on a man with less natural dignity.
‘I am writing to my wife about Robert,’ the ex-Spymaster said tiredly. ‘The man is a fool.’
Chaloner nodded. ‘But a wealthy one. He lodges in the Mews on Charing Cross, which is sufficiently grand that Pratt likes to stay with him when his own rooms in the Crown are too noisy. Fitzgerald seems to have made him very rich.’
Thurloe looked pained. ‘I am tempted to order him away from London for his own good. Unfortunately, I doubt he would go.’
Chaloner hesitated. ‘Are you fond of him?’
‘He is family — fondness is immaterial. Why?’
‘Because if you do not mind placing him in danger by “turning” him, he could be useful to us. For a start, he could tell us what Piccadilly Company meetings entail, and why they take place at odd times. Like early this morning.’
Thurloe sighed. ‘I interrogated him for hours last night — for so long that I overslept this morning, which is why I am still in my nightclothes.’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘Nothing, because he is entrusted with nothing. He believes his business is legal, and there was no persuading him otherwise. He is being used — his glass-exporting venture provides a legitimate front for something else. They do not invite him to all their meetings, and he is sent to prepare refreshments when anything significant is discussed at the ones he is permitted to attend.’
Chaloner was sorry that Thurloe was distressed, and disappointed to learn that even knowing a member of the Piccadilly Company was going to be of no use to them.
‘It is a pity,’ Thurloe went on. ‘Robert is a superb horseman and could have used that talent to earn a respectable living. Instead he prefers to dabble in silly commercial ventures that always fail.’
‘This one is not failing,’ Chaloner pointed out.
Thurloe sighed. ‘I imagine it is — or the legal side of it is, at least. But never mind Robert: he is my problem, not yours. Tell me what has happened to you. It was something unpleasant, because you have the look of a man who did not sleep well, and your hand has been injured.’
Chaloner told him about Clarendon House, unfolding the piece of paper that had been left on the chest. ‘The trap may not have been meant for me, though, because these words mean nothing.’
‘On the contrary — they mention death, darkness and small jaws, which neatly sums up the fate you were meant to suffer. I suspect it is Fitzgerald’s work, because he has always enjoyed inventing unusual ways to dispatch his victims. And if you do not believe me, then look at what happened to Proby, Turner, Lucas and Congett.’
‘Wiseman told me about Congett. He suggested shock as a cause of death, but I imagine it was poison. The rat probably bit him after his body was left on the banks of the Thames.’
Thurloe nodded slowly. ‘But it was a kinder end than the one devised for you.’
Chaloner did not want to dwell about his time in the strongroom, and changed the subject. ‘Have you heard from Wallis about Reyner’s cipher yet? We need those names — enemies of the Piccadilly Company may be friends to us. But even if not, we should warn them. We might have been able to save Congett, and perhaps Turner and Lucas, too, had we been able to translate it.’
‘I disagree. If they have pitted themselves against Fitzgerald, they will need no advice from us to be on their guard. They will know it already.’
‘We cannot take that chance. However, as all four victims were Adventurers, perhaps we should assume that Fitzgerald considers all Adventurers to be his enemies, and warn the lot of them.’
‘That would entail notifying the King, the Queen and other members of the royal family, and I doubt they have decided to challenge a viciously ruthless pirate. Fitzgerald’s adversaries will not be the Adventurers as a whole, but a particular section.’
‘But-’
Thurloe held up his hand. ‘The only way to be certain is to decode that list. Wallis is working as fast as he can, but that particular cipher is fiendishly difficult to break. How are you managing with the other one?’
‘Not well.’
‘Send me a copy. We shall both study it in our free moments.’
Chaloner told Thurloe about his failures that morning — losing the thieves, accusing Pratt, and entering Brilliana’s lair but gaining nothing except the sense that she had tried to poison him.
‘And it is barely ten o’clock,’ he concluded morosely. ‘I suppose I should visit Kersey next. Then I should ask Lester whether Elliot might still be alive — and if he is, track him down and ask whether he encouraged Jacob to bury his brother with such indecent haste.’
Thurloe winced at the mention of a man he did not trust. ‘If Elliot did survive Cave’s attack, then Lester will be complicit in a hoax. I doubt Lester will admit to lying.’
‘I was not planning to ask if he lied,’ said Chaloner, a little irritably. ‘Just whether he might have been mistaken. It is not always easy to tell the living from the dead.’
Thurloe nodded, but his expression said he thought Chaloner was wasting his time. ‘What will you do about Teviot? How will you persuade Harley and Newell to break their silence and talk?’
‘I will visit Revered Addison today and ask what he knows about the matter.’
Thurloe nodded approvingly. ‘However, if you do decide to tackle the scouts directly again, you might mention Jane. She may loosen their tongues.’
‘Who is she?’
‘Jane is a ship that traded in Tangier when Teviot was governor. I was reliably informed last night that Harley and Newell were hired to guard her when she docked there. My spies were unable to ascertain the precise nature of the cargo, but they heard some of the crew talking. Yet what they overheard makes no sense, so perhaps we should not take it into account.’
‘What did they hear?’
‘That Jane was carrying gravel.’
By the time Chaloner reached the charnel house, Kersey was busy with the morning’s trade. Several corpses were awaiting his attention, and the chambers at the front of his premises were full of mourners. Chaloner was impressed to note that he afforded the same gentle sympathy to the poor as to the rich, offering medicinal wine to those in genuine distress, served in exquisite crystal goblets.
‘Jacob came here on Monday night and asked for his brother’s body,’ the charnel-house keeper reported angrily, taking Chaloner’s arm and pulling him towards the mortuary so they would not be overheard. ‘I assumed he was taking it home, so that friends and acquaintances could pay their last respects. But then I heard the day before yesterday that Cave was shoved in St Margaret’s churchyard with an appalling lack of ceremony. I am livid, because it reflects badly on me.’
‘How?’ asked Chaloner, puzzled. ‘You are not responsible for the arrangements.’
‘Cave was in my care, and I always take it upon myself to act as adviser to my clients’ kin,’ explained Kersey shortly. ‘People might think I recommended this unseemly course of action.’