‘What will such an inquiry entail?’ asked Newell, when the silence following Chaloner’s announcement had extended to the point where it was uncomfortable.
Chaloner shrugged. ‘It will be conducted by lawyers from the Inns of Court, so you can be certain it will leave no stone unturned.’
Reyner groaned, then winced when Newell kicked him a second time.
‘We have nothing to fear,’ said Newell, more to Reyner than to Chaloner. ‘Jews Hill was clear of Barbary corsairs when we surveyed it, but everyone knows how fast they can move. They waited until we left, and then they crept forward. What happened to Teviot was not our fault.’
‘Impossible,’ said Chaloner immediately. ‘Jews Hill is surrounded by miles of open countryside, and ten thousand men could never lurk there without being seen. Ergo, they were in the woods when you said they were not, and anyone looking at a map will know it. The inquiry will want to know why you lied — why you killed Teviot and half his garrison.’
Harley’s eyes flashed, and his hand went to the hilt of his sword. ‘You play a dangerous game, accusing us of wilful murder.’
Chaloner smiled lazily. ‘I have powerful friends at the Inns of Court — men who owe me favours. I may be able to influence the outcome of the inquiry. Would you like me to try?’
‘In return for what?’ asked Reyner, thus reinforcing Chaloner’s suspicion that they had indeed given the hapless Teviot a deliberately misleading report.
‘I will need to know the whole truth,’ he went on, ignoring the question. ‘Clearly, you had a reason for doing what you did. Explain it to me, and I will advise you how to-’
‘We asked what you want in return,’ interrupted Harley. His hand was still on his sword, but the knife that Chaloner always carried in his sleeve was at the ready, and it would be in the colonel’s heart before his weapon was halfway out of its scabbard. Of course, he would be in trouble if the other two attacked at the same time.
‘Information,’ he replied, more to keep them talking than because it was true. ‘Specifically the names of the thieves who are stealing Clarendon House’s supplies. The culprits must use a cart, so the chances are that you have seen them passing.’
‘We have not,’ declared Reyner, before the others could speak. ‘All Piccadilly is talking about those burglaries, but none of us have seen anything. It is a mystery. The villains must travel down St James’s Street, because they certainly do not come this way.’
Newell sneered. ‘I would not tell you even if we did know their names, because I cannot abide that fat, greedy old Clarendon, and his palace is an abomination. Besides, we have nothing to fear from the Teviot affair, because Fitzgerald said-’
This time it was Harley doing the kicking under the table, and Chaloner frowned. He had assumed that the curious happenings in the Crown were unrelated to the Teviot massacre, but Newell’s remark made him reconsider. Fitzgerald was a pirate, and they operated by the dozen around Tangier, so perhaps there was a connection.
‘If you cannot give me information, I will settle for an introduction instead,’ he said, improvising wildly. ‘To Fitzgerald. He may be interested in a certain business proposition I have to offer.’
‘He will not,’ stated Harley firmly. ‘And you would be well advised to keep your mouth shut about Tangier, because you know nothing about it. If you start spreading rumours, all I can say is that you will regret it most bitterly.’
Chaloner could think of no way to prolong the discussion further, so was forced to take his leave. He went back to the Gaming House and stood in its doorway, hidden in the shadows. It was not long before the three scouts emerged from the Feathers. They were arguing, Harley and Newell muttering in fierce whispers at Reyner, who kept shaking his head. Eventually, they parted: Harley and Newell turned north, while Reyner began to walk towards the city alone.
Chaloner followed Reyner and caught up with him near Charing Cross, hauling him into a narrow alley that ran between two tall houses. Reyner scowled when he saw who had ambushed him, but the sly, calculating expression in his eyes said he was not particularly surprised to have been waylaid.
‘Who are you really?’ he asked. ‘Newell thinks you work for Spymaster Williamson, while Harley says you are just a greedy opportunist out for his own ends. But I suspect you are from the Tangier Committee, and that you have been charged to learn the truth about Teviot.’
‘Then you had better be honest,’ said Chaloner, deciding to let him assume what he liked. ‘The murder of five hundred soldiers is a serious matter. A hanging matter.’
‘Four hundred and seventy-two,’ countered Reyner, as if it made a difference. ‘But why does the Tangier Committee care? Everyone knows that Teviot was a corrupt fool who should never have been made governor, and all the men have been replaced. Besides, it happened months ago.’
Chaloner regarded him with contempt. ‘They can never be “replaced”. Nor did they deserve to be hacked to pieces.’
Reyner looked away. ‘It was not our fault that Teviot allowed himself to be ambushed.’
‘Of course it was your fault! He relied on you to provide him with accurate information, and you betrayed that trust by feeding him lies. What I cannot understand is why — why did you arrange the slaughter of your own countrymen?’
Reyner had the decency to wince. ‘It is complicated, and will take a long time to explain.’
‘Then you had better make a start.’
‘I cannot — at least, not now. Harley will be suspicious if I am gone too long.’
‘I do not care whether he is suspicious or not.’
‘Well, I do,’ snapped Reyner, regaining some of his composure. ‘So meet me in the Gaming House gardens at ten o’clock tonight. I will tell you everything then. But in return I want a written pardon from the government — someone from the Tangier Committee should be able to organise it — and two hundred pounds in gold coins.’
Chaloner raised his eyebrows. ‘Anything else?’
Reyner glowered. ‘Do not judge me, Chaloner. I will not be safe once I tell my story — I shall be a marked man, and a lot of powerful people will want me dead. I need that money to disappear.’
‘Why should-’
‘I will explain everything tonight. But bring the pardon and the money, or I am not telling you anything. And for Christ’s sake, make sure you are not followed.’
Chaloner drew his dagger. ‘I do not like this plan. You will tell me your story now.’
Reyner’s gaze was defiant. ‘What will you do? Kill me? Then you will never have the truth. And I am not doing this for myself, anyway — my mother is old and I need to protect her, which I cannot do without funds. Now let me go before you put both our lives in danger.’
He shoved Chaloner away and marched towards the end of the alley. He looked carefully in both directions before slipping out and resuming his journey towards the city.
Chaloner was thoughtful as he walked down King Street, trying to imagine what plan could have required the murder of so many men. Newell’s slip in the Feathers said Fitzgerald was involved, which in turn said the Piccadilly Company warranted further investigation. But what could its members be doing? How had the deaths of Teviot and his garrison benefited them? No answers came, and he supposed he would have to wait until he met Reyner later.
He turned his mind to the Queen’s letter, and went directly to her apartments. He was pleasantly surprised when he was refused entry — security was so lax at White Hall that he was under the impression that anyone could gain access to anywhere he fancied.
‘Her Majesty is vulnerable,’ explained the captain. His name was Appleby, a grizzled veteran with a beard. ‘People do not like her because she is Catholic and barren, but the King will be vexed if she is harmed, so we cannot let anyone inside unless he has an appointment.’
‘How do I make an appointment?’ asked Chaloner.