Chapter 8
By the time they arrived at their destination, Chaloner was dizzy and disoriented. He was aware of being carried, but did not have the strength to resist. He heard a swirl of voices as the sack was hauled off, but kept his eyes closed, to see what might be learned about his captors by feigning unconsciousness. The ropes were removed, and he was dragged forward.
‘What have you done to him?’ Chaloner’s heart sank when he recognised Williamson’s voice. ‘I specifically told you to invite him nicely.’
‘We did,’ came Doines’s aggrieved reply. ‘But he started to fight, and injured five of us. You cannot blame us for taking him down before he could do any more damage.’
‘I can and I do,’ snapped Williamson. ‘I need his help, and he is hardly going to agree to work with me now you have knocked him senseless, is he!’
‘I told you to let me fetch him,’ came another voice. It was Lester, and he sounded angry. ‘You should have listened.’
Chaloner felt himself laid gently on a bench. Then a cloth began to wipe his face. He opened his eyes a fraction and saw the ministering angel was Lester, his ruddy face full of concern.
‘He would not have obliged you,’ argued Williamson. ‘I asked him to come here several times, and even sent a polite note with his wife. All were ignored. He does not like me, although I cannot imagine why. I have graciously overlooked all manner of injustices, insults and violations in the past — ones I would have killed another man for committing against me.’
‘This is not my fault,’ said Doines sullenly. ‘You said not to mention that it was you who wanted to see him, but he got suspicious when we refused to answer. It was-’
‘Leave,’ snapped Williamson. ‘Before I decline to pay you.’
Footsteps crossed the floor, then a door opened and closed. Chaloner opened his eyes a little more, and saw he was in Williamson’s Westminster office. Lester was still looming over him, but the Spymaster had gone to sit at his desk. As far as he could tell there was no one else in the room, but in order to get free he would have to incapacitate both, and make an escape from a building that was full of Williamson’s clerks, spies and ruffians. Could he do it?
‘Perhaps we should summon a surgeon,’ said Lester worriedly. ‘Wiseman is the best. He is expensive, but I will bear the cost. This should not have happened.’
Chaloner knew then that it was time to pretend to regain his wits, because Wiseman would not be fooled by his act. He sat up.
‘Thank God!’ exclaimed Lester. ‘I thought they had done you serious harm.’
‘He is awake?’ asked Williamson, coming to stand over them. ‘Good. Can he speak?’
‘Give him a moment to recover,’ snapped Lester. Then his voice softened. ‘Sit quietly for as long as you like, Chaloner. We shall talk only when you are ready.’
‘I am ready now,’ said Chaloner, unwilling to prolong the experience. ‘What do you want?’
‘I am sorry violence was used to bring you here,’ said Williamson stiffly. ‘But a situation has arisen that means we must put aside our differences and work together. As we did in June.’
‘What situation?’ asked Chaloner, hoping he was not about to be given another mystery to unravel. He was struggling with the ones he had already.
‘One involving powerful men,’ replied Williamson soberly. ‘Members of government, wealthy merchants, and several less salubrious characters. Such as Fitzgerald the pirate. Do you know him?’
‘Not personally.’
‘He is an extremely dangerous individual,’ Williamson went on. ‘And I have reason to believe that he is behind the tragic deaths of Sir Edward Turner and Lord Lucas.’
‘Then arrest him,’ suggested Chaloner.
‘I cannot — I do not have evidence that will secure a conviction in a court of law.’
‘That has never stopped you before.’
Williamson had cells for people whose trials would not win a verdict that he deemed to be in the public interest, and assassins available should he decide on a more permanent solution.
‘He is too prominent and well connected,’ explained Williamson. ‘And if you do not believe me, then ask your friend Thurloe. He was as wily a spymaster as ever lived, but even he could not defeat Fitzgerald. The man is not a normal criminal.’
‘I overheard him talking,’ said Chaloner. He spoke hesitantly, because it went against the grain to share information with someone he distrusted. ‘He said he has a master who gives him orders.’
‘Who is it?’ demanded Williamson, clearly horrified.
‘I do not know. Another member of the Piccadilly Company, perhaps.’
‘And there are plenty in that sinister organisation to choose from,’ interposed Lester grimly. ‘Brilliana and her brother Harley, Newell, Meneses, Margareta and Cornelis Janszoon, Jones, Pratt the architect. And those are just the ones we have identified. Most of them wear disguises to their gatherings.’
Chaloner was about to point out that ‘Jones’ was stupid, rather than sinister, but there was always the possibility that Williamson did not know he was Thurloe’s brother-in-law, and there was no need to highlight the connection unnecessarily.
‘Newell is dead,’ he said instead.
Williamson’s eyes opened wide. ‘How do you know?’
‘I have just seen his body. He was shot while showing off with a gun — an accident, apparently. It was witnessed by several people, including Leighton, Hyde, and your friend O’Brien and his wife.’
‘Kitty?’ Williamson was stricken. ‘I must go to her at once. To comfort her!’
‘What about O’Brien?’ asked Chaloner archly. ‘Does he not warrant comfort, too?’
Williamson glanced at him sharply, and Chaloner wished he had held his tongue. Alluding to the Spymaster’s dalliance with his old friend’s wife had been unwarranted and reckless. He tried to think of a way to mitigate the damage, but Lester was already talking.
‘Far too many people connected to this matter have died,’ he said unhappily. ‘Turner, Lucas, Proby, Congett, Reyner and his mother, Elliot, Cave, and now Newell.’
‘What matter?’ asked Chaloner. ‘Precisely?’
Williamson looked pained. ‘That is the problem: we are not sure. However, we suspect that two organisations are at loggerheads: the Piccadilly Company and the Adventurers. Deaths have occurred in both.’
Chaloner played devil’s advocate. ‘The Adventurers cannot be involved in anything untoward. The King is a member, and so is the Queen and half the Privy Council.’
‘I doubt whatever is underway involves the entire corporation,’ explained Williamson shortly. ‘However, there are rumours that something terrible will unfold next Wednesday-’
‘St Frideswide’s Day,’ put in Lester helpfully.
‘-and it must be stopped,’ Williamson finished. ‘Unfortunately, we cannot do it with the resources currently at our disposal.’
‘Doines is Williamson’s best man, and you saw what he is like,’ elaborated Lester, oblivious to the Spymaster’s irritated grimace. ‘So if we are to thwart it, we shall need other help. Yours.’
‘No,’ said Chaloner, standing abruptly and wondering whether he would be allowed to walk out. As he did so, his eye fell on a pile of letters on a table, and he recognised the signature of the one on top. It raised another question, but it was not one he would be able to ponder until he was alone again.
‘Please wait,’ said Williamson softly, and Chaloner suddenly became aware of the lines of strain in his face. ‘I could use your family to coerce you, as I have done in the past — and as I am currently doing to Lester — but I would rather you helped me willingly.’