‘I doubt there is quicksilver in this. Indeed, it imparts a wonderful sense of well-being, and I feel as though I could raise mountains after my daily dose.’
‘Then do not do it in Lincoln’s Inn. Your fellow benchers would not approve.’
Thurloe gave one of his rare smiles. ‘It is good to see you, Tom. Is this a social call, or have you come to ask what I know about certain happenings in Piccadilly?’
Chaloner gaped at him. Thurloe had inspired deep loyalty among his intelligencers, and many continued to supply him with information, even though he was no longer active in espionage — fortunately, as it happened, because it was what allowed him to stay one step ahead of those who still itched to execute him for the role he had played in the Commonwealth. But even so, Chaloner was startled that the ex-Spymaster should know what he was currently investigating.
Thurloe smiled again. ‘It was a guess, Tom, based on logic. It is obvious that the Earl would order you to find out about his missing bricks, while he cannot be happy with what is happening in the Crown, a place that is virtually his neighbour.’
‘What do you know about the Crown?’ asked Chaloner.
‘Very little, other than that it rents rooms to a group that calls itself the Piccadilly Company. Word is that Spymaster Williamson is trying to probe their business, but with no success. Perhaps his failure is because Swaddell is no longer with him — he has gone to work for the Adventurers.’
‘The Adventurers?’ asked Chaloner, startled. ‘You mean the wealthy but inept aristocrats who have declared a trading monopoly on Africa? Why would they need an assassin?’
‘I do not know. However, it is not they who meet in the Crown, and whose gatherings are so carefully guarded that no one can eavesdrop. The Piccadilly Company worries me.’
‘I searched their parlour last night and found this.’ Chaloner handed him the singed paper.
Thurloe took it. ‘It looks like a substitution code. You should be able to break it yourself. It will not be difficult, merely time-consuming.’
‘Apparently, the Piccadilly Company has some deadly enemies. These are their names.’ Chaloner passed him Mrs Reyner’s list. ‘They are written in Vigenère’s cipher.’
Thurloe frowned. ‘This represents more of a challenge, so I suggest I tackle it, while you work on the document from the Crown. It will take me too long to do both, and I am busy with an errant kinsman at the moment — one of my wife’s brothers, who has always been recklessly wild.’
‘Do you need help?’
‘I can manage, thank you. Besides, you will have enough to do if you plan to break through the secrecy surrounding the Piccadilly Company.’
‘I think they might have something to do with what happened to Teviot in Tangier.’ Briefly, Chaloner outlined all he had learned and reasoned, including about Reyner’s murder.
‘It sounds as though you are right to make a connection between the massacre and the Piccadilly Company,’ mused Thurloe when he had finished. ‘But I cannot imagine what it might be.’
‘Do you know anything about them? Rumours about their plans? The identities of their members? I know some of them — for example, the three scouts and Harley’s sister Brilliana. But “Mr Jones” is probably an alias, and I suspect the same is true of “Margareta and Cornelis Janszoon”. They are the Dutch couple who attended a meeting in the Crown yesterday.’
‘Why would you think they are using false names?’ asked Thurloe, puzzled.
‘Because they are the Dutch equivalent of John and Mary Smith. They might be genuine, but I seriously doubt it. Fitzgerald is not an alias, though. He is-’
‘Fitzgerald?’ asked Thurloe in horror. ‘Not John Fitzgerald the pirate?’
‘He prefers the term privateer, apparently. Do you know him? He has a ridiculous orange beard, one eye and an extremely peculiar voice.’
Thurloe’s expression was suddenly haunted. ‘Of all the enemies I faced as Spymaster, he was the one I most wish I had bested. His flagship sank recently. I had hoped he was on it.’
‘Why?’ asked Chaloner in alarm. Thurloe did not usually wish death on his opponents, and the reaction was deeply unsettling. ‘What did he do?’
‘He destroyed a number of Commonwealth vessels and butchered their crews. You must take more than your usual care if he is involved. In fact, you will stay away from him. Do you promise?’
‘No.’ Chaloner did not want his hands to be so tied. ‘He cannot be-’
‘If you tackle him alone, he will kill you. And if you take reinforcements, but lack the evidence to destroy him, he will wriggle free of the charges — and then he will kill you. You must hold back until we understand exactly what he is doing. Do you understand?’
‘But I need to question him-’
‘Please, Tom,’ said Thurloe quietly. ‘I ask you for very little, and I would be grateful if you would oblige me in this. Will you swear to stay away from him? On your mother’s soul?’
Chaloner tried to think of a way to avoid making the promise, but nothing came to mind. ‘I will,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘But-’
‘Good,’ said Thurloe, cutting across him before conditions could be attached. ‘I think I must emerge from retirement if he has returned. We shall work together on this case.’
‘No, we will not.’ Chaloner was even more alarmed. ‘He is not your only enemy — others will attack you if you start meddling with-’
‘I shall meddle where I please, Thomas,’ said Thurloe, rather dangerously. ‘Moreover, I fail to understand your persistent conviction that I need protecting. I do not. Have you forgotten that I was once Spymaster General?’
‘Spymaster, not spy,’ countered Chaloner. ‘There is a world of difference. You organised missions and interpreted information gathered by others. You did not go out and do it yourself.’
Thurloe was silent for a moment. ‘Perhaps you are right. So I shall act as a spymaster again, deciphering what you bring me and collating it with snippets I shall commission from others. Will that satisfy you, or shall we work separately and less efficiently to bring Fitzgerald to task?’
‘We can try to work together,’ agreed Chaloner cautiously. ‘And see how we fare.’
Thurloe wasted no time, and immediately set about writing to old contacts, to see what shreds of information might be gleaned about the Piccadilly Company. Chaloner was detailed to return to the Crown, and engage Landlord Marshall in conversation again.
‘The man loves to gossip,’ Thurloe said. ‘Which means he probably watches the Company very closely. See what else he can tell us.’
It was raining outside, which surprised Chaloner, because the sun had been shining earlier. He was hungry, so he stopped at an ‘ordinary’ — an eating house that sold meals at set prices — on Fleet Street, and ate a venison pastry that was well past its best, although the baker assured him that the meat had spent the previous night in the ground, a popular cure for game that had been allowed to over-ripen. Afterwards, feeling slightly queasy, he took a hackney to Piccadilly.
‘Do you know William Reyner — one of the Piccadilly Company members?’ Marshall asked excitedly when he saw Chaloner, positively bursting with the need to talk. ‘Well, he was murdered last night. Harley and Newell are livid about it — they have vowed to catch the culprit and kill him.’
‘Do they have any suspects?’
‘Not that they told me,’ said Marshall ruefully. ‘But that is not my only news. Reyner’s mother is dead, too. She was found not an hour ago.’
Chaloner stared at him. ‘How did she die?’
‘Throat cut, same as her son,’ replied Marshall with ghoulish glee. ‘Perhaps Reyner told her some secret, and she was dispatched to ensure she never revealed it to anyone else — she drank, you see, so was not discreet. Or perhaps Harley or Newell killed her for not being much of a mother to their friend — he doted on her, but she was indifferent towards him.’
‘You are not safe here.’ Chaloner’s stomach churned, and he had the sickening sense that he had sealed Mrs Reyner’s fate just by visiting her. ‘Dangerous people meet in your tavern, and-’