‘Then it is coincidence,’ said Lester firmly. ‘Because Elliot is buried himself. I saw him laid to rest in St Giles-in-the-Fields yesterday.’
‘That was Friday,’ said Chaloner. ‘But Cave was collected from the charnel house on Monday night, and buried on Tuesday. Elliot could have done it.’
‘He died on Monday,’ said Lester shortly. ‘Besides, he had no reason to tamper with Cave’s funeral arrangements. What a terrible accusation to make!’
‘His reason for tampering would be the same as the one that led him to fight Cave in the first place,’ replied Chaloner. ‘Brilliana.’
‘Well, he is innocent,’ stated Lester uncompromisingly. ‘I am sure of it.’
‘I understand why Cave’s brother acted as he did,’ said Williamson quietly. ‘The Chapel Royal choristers were organising a wildly expensive affair, and Cave was not wealthy. Payment would ultimately have fallen on Jacob, and I do not blame him for declining to be beggared.’
Lester nodded agreement, but Chaloner thought he would reserve judgement until he had visited ‘Jacob’ in Covent Garden and heard the tale from his own lips.
Unsettled and confused by the connections that were emerging, Chaloner followed Williamson and Lester out of the coffee house, hearing the bells of Westminster strike three. The day was passing, and he still had much to do. He took a deep breath. The air reeked of soot and blocked drains, but its coolness was refreshing after the fug of the shop.
‘So, to summarise,’ he said, ‘you believe there is a plot underway to discredit the Queen by implicating her in the murder of a prominent architect. The result will be a diplomatic crisis, resulting in the loss of Tangier, untold money and trading rights. Meanwhile, the Piccadilly Company and the Adventurers are at each other’s throats, and members of both are dead.’
‘Some Adventurers are involved,’ stressed Williamson. ‘Not all of them.’
‘The Piccadilly Company includes Fitzgerald, Meneses, Brilliana, Harley, the Janszoons and Pratt,’ Chaloner went on. ‘And Brinkes is their henchman.’
‘Among others,’ acknowledged Williamson. ‘It also includes a number of upstanding merchants, and several knights. They are not all sinister, and some may very well think their sole aim is to export fine glassware to New England and bring gravel back.’
‘Meanwhile, the Adventurers also boast dozens of rich and influential people,’ Chaloner continued. ‘Leighton, the Duke of Buckingham, the King-
‘And four members of your employer’s household,’ interjected Williamson pointedly. ‘Brodrick and Hyde are open about their association; Dugdale and Edgeman keep it quiet.’
‘Kipps is not a member, though,’ said Lester. ‘I cannot imagine why, because he is exactly their kind of fellow — rich, brash and interested in extravagant parties.’
‘He was rejected, although I have been unable to ascertain why,’ said Williamson. ‘I would say it is because he works for Clarendon, whom most Adventurers hate, but if that were true, then Hyde, Brodrick, Edgeman and Dugdale would not have been accepted, either.’
Chaloner addressed his next question to Lester. ‘Have you heard of a ship called Jane?’
Lester nodded. ‘She is a privateer trading out of Tangier. A smuggler, in essence. I remember her well, because she has a peculiarly curved bowsprit. Why?’
Chaloner hesitated, but was acutely aware that he and Thurloe could not thwart what was happening alone, and the Queen was in danger. ‘Harley may have a connection to Jane. It has been suggested that I use it to blackmail him for answers.’
‘Then do it: smuggling is a hanging offence, and the threat may loosen his tongue.’ Williamson smiled, although it was not a pleasant expression. ‘Does this reluctant sharing of information mean you have decided to work with us?’
‘I will think about it,’ said Chaloner, reluctant to capitulate too readily.
‘Very well,’ said Williamson stiffly. ‘You know where to find me.’
The discussion over, Lester accompanied Chaloner along King Street, while Williamson returned to his offices. Chaloner glanced at the sky as they went, and saw it was too late to question Addison, Jacob, Harley or the witnesses to Newell’s death before visiting the Queen. And he dared not be late lest Hannah took umbrage and declined to let him in. Irritably, he supposed he would have to postpone his other enquiries until afterwards.
‘I really am sorry about the way you were brought to us,’ said Lester, seeing his annoyed grimace and misunderstanding the reason. ‘Doines is a lout.’
Chaloner glanced at him. ‘Are you happy working with Williamson?’
‘Not at all! However, I shall continue to do so until this crisis is resolved — it is my duty as a sea-officer. Yet I cannot rid myself of the notion that he might incarcerate Ruth in Bedlam anyway, just for spite. And she does not belong there. She may be fey-witted, but she is not insane.’
‘Was she fey-witted when she married Elliot?’
Lester shrugged uncomfortably. ‘She has always been a little … unworldly. I did not want her to wed him, but she was in love, and I did not have the heart to withhold permission. I wish I had, though, because he did not make her happy.’
‘My wife tells me you play the flute.’ Chaloner would have liked to express his sympathy, but was unsure what to say, so he changed the subject to one he thought Lester might prefer instead.
Lester smiled. ‘Williamson was waxing lyrical about your skill on the viol today, so perhaps we should try a duet. We shall do it after we have saved England from that damned pirate Fitzgerald. It will give me something to look forward to.’
Chaloner met Kipps when he arrived at White Hall, but the Seal Bearer looked him up and down in horror when he heard he was bound for the Queen’s quarters — the scuffle with Doines had taken its toll on his finery. There was also a coffee stain on his cuff, although he could not recall spilling any. Kipps whisked him into his office, and set about polishing his shoes and brushing the muck from his coat. He also lent him a clean shirt and a pair of white stockings.
‘I have been hearing about the Adventurers today,’ said Chaloner while he changed, intending to find out what Kipps knew about them. ‘I understand they-’
‘Thieves and scoundrels,’ declared Kipps uncompromisingly, scrubbing so vigorously at a sleeve that Chaloner feared he might make a hole. ‘What gives them the right to sequester an entire continent for themselves, forbidding anyone else to trade there?’
‘Presumably the fact that the King is a member, and he can do what he likes.’
‘I thought that was why we had Parliament,’ snapped Kipps, uncharacteristically revolutionary. ‘So monarchs cannot make decisions based on brazen self-interest. What have you been doing to get yourself into such a mess? Surely a conversation about the Adventurers was not the cause?’
‘Commerce is a dirty subject,’ replied Chaloner wryly.
‘It is where the Adventurers are concerned,’ agreed Kipps. ‘I am glad they rejected my application to join, because they are treasure-hunting aristocrats, not businessmen, and their venture will founder from lack of fiscal acumen.’
‘What about the Piccadilly Company?’ probed Chaloner. ‘Would you join that?’
‘Never heard of it,’ replied Kipps briskly. ‘You have one stocking inside out, by the way. God’s blood, Chaloner! No wonder Dugdale considers you slovenly. And if you will not wear a wig, then at least remove the blades of grass from your hair.’
He fussed until he was satisfied, unwilling for the spy to leave in anything less than pristine condition. Aware that the process had taken some time, Chaloner set off across the Great Court at a run, but was obliged to skid to a halt when he heard someone calling his name.
It was Hyde, the Earl puffing along in his wake with Frances on his arm. Dugdale was behind them, nose in the air and looking more regal than his master. From the other side of the courtyard, Buckingham aped the Earl’s portly waddle, and his rakish companions burst into peals of laughter. Hyde glowered, but it was Frances’s admonishing look that shamed them into silence.