The Body in the Thames (41 page)

‘No!’ whispered Edwards, glancing towards the offending items in horror. ‘I cannot …’

‘Then you will die, too,’ said Chaloner harshly. ‘If not today, then later, when Falcon will avenge himself on you for what
you have done to thwart him already.’

‘I will stop him,’ declared Edwards unconvincingly. ‘It is why we came together in the first place. Compton overheard him
plotting, and he told three men he trusted – Molins, White and me. And we included Hanse, because of what Falcon did.’

‘He circulated rumours to impede the peace talks,’ said Chaloner, watching surprise light Edwards’s face that he should know.
‘You needed Hanse to repair the damage from the Dutch side.’

‘Our strategy was working! Then Compton had a brilliant idea: to tell Williamson that Falcon planned to steal the crown jewels.
Falcon could not play his evil games in prison. But he escaped …’

‘Are you saying Falcon is innocent of plotting to steal the regalia?’

‘Oh, no! He intended to have it sure enough. He was outraged when Williamson ordered his capture, and he cursed Compton …
but you know all this.’

Chaloner was struggling to understand. ‘Did you tell Williamson that Falcon was doing a lot more than plotting to make off
with a few baubles?’

Edwards was ill enough to overlook the slight to the treasure in his care. ‘We did not dare! It would have unleashed even
more suspicion and mistrust than ever.’

‘He is the Spymaster,’ said Chaloner, disgusted. ‘He is paid to handle this kind of business.’

‘But his intelligencers are next to worthless,’ whispered Edwards in despair. ‘They are corrupt, too – anyone can
buy them for a few pounds. And this is too sensitive a matter to be left to chance. We decided it was better to tackle it
ourselves.’

‘Your arrogance has allowed Falcon to inflict all manner of damage on the negotiations.’

‘I suppose he
has
proved too wily for us,’ admitted Edwards tearfully. ‘When he was arrested, he accused Swan and Swallow of giving him up,
although they did nothing of the kind …’

‘What a moment,’ said Chaloner uneasily. ‘You let Williamson incarcerate Swan and Swallow in the same cell as a man who thought
they had betrayed him?’

Edwards closed his eyes. ‘I know we bear some responsibility for their fate, but it was necessary – as long as he blamed Swan
and Swallow, he would not think others were working to foil him. The means really did justify the end, and Swan and Swallow
were hardly angels.’

Chaloner was appalled. ‘But Newgate only held him for a day, and he learned the truth as soon as he escaped. Hanse, Molins,
Compton and White have paid the price for trying to thwart him.’

Edwards opened his eyes, and spark of defiance flashed in them. ‘But I still live, and the real Sinon Plot has not come to
fruition yet. I can still stop him.’

‘How?’ demanded Chaloner. ‘And what
is
the real Sinon Plot?’

Edwards swallowed hard and muttered a prayer. For a moment, Chaloner thought he was going to refuse to break the oath he had
sworn, but he began to speak after a moment.

‘The peacemakers have one thread of hope left: the convention at the Savoy this evening. If that fails, Heer van Goch will
go home.’

‘Falcon intends to sabotage it?’

Edwards nodded. ‘But we have not been able to discover how. He might have hired assassins, planted a bomb or even prepared
documents …’

‘What kind of documents?’

‘Neither government has been entirely scrupulous in its dealings with the other, and it is possible that Falcon has obtained
written evidence of it. If he has, making it public will destroy friendly relations between our two countries for ever.’

Chaloner was exasperated. ‘I do not see why you and your friends went to such pains to keep this a secret. Williamson is perfectly
capable of—’

‘Because of Falcon himself,’ whispered Edwards. ‘He is
not
just the impostor-vicar from Cheapside. He is also someone powerful and wealthy – a high-ranking diplomat or politician,
probably one who thinks anarchy will make him rich. Williamson is
not
capable of handling a traitor of such magnitude.’

Chaloner still did not understand, but there was no time for more explanations. ‘Who is he?’

‘We never managed to find out, although we have our suspects: Ruyven, Zas, the conveniently missing Secretary Kun—’

‘I had better visit the Savoy, then,’ said Chaloner, turning towards the door.

‘Wait! They are not the only ones. Why does Charles Bates spend so much time in the Spares Gallery, and can we be
sure
he left London yesterday? Then there is Kicke, who stole from White Hall using some very good disguises. And finally, Griffith’s
manservant is sinister, and I distrust him intensely, although Compton never shared my suspicions.’

‘You said you were going to stop Falcon today,’ said Chaloner, supposing it was down to him to put the plan into action. ‘How?’

Edwards swallowed hard. ‘I shall go to the conference and look for him.’

Chaloner was bemused. ‘But you have just listed six suspects, most of whom will have a legitimate reason for being there.
How will you know which one to challenge? Moreover, Falcon is a master of disguise, and might decide to be someone else today.
You may not recognise him.’ Especially, he thought, as Edwards was as blind as a bat.

‘Well, what
would
you have me do?’ cried Edwards, distraught. ‘I dare not go to Williamson or the Privy Council, lest one of
them
transpires to be the villain.’

‘Can you walk?’ asked Chaloner. The plan was feeble, but he could not think of a better one.

Unfortunately, Edwards fell back on the bed when he tried to stand, moaning and clutching his middle. Chaloner was on his
own.

‘Rest now,’ he said, wishing five amateurs had not meddled in matters best left to professionals. ‘And when Wiseman arrives,
tell him everything. Perhaps he can devise a plan to—’

‘No,’ sobbed Edwards. ‘I will not bring Wiseman into Falcon’s sights. You are already doomed, but I will not damn anyone else.’

Once outside the Tower, Chaloner hesitated, not sure what to do first, but acutely aware that time was passing. He pretended
to be inspecting fruit on a barrow when two rough villains strode past, and fumed at the wasted moments. How could he concentrate
on foiling Falcon
when he could not move about the city without fear of being apprehended? Or should he give himself up, and use his capture
as an opportunity to tell Williamson all he had learned?

But then he thought about Edwards’s contention that Falcon was a high-ranking politician or diplomat.
Williamson
might be Falcon, and marching into his lair might see him executed on the spot. And then no one would be left to stop him.
So whom could he trust?

The only person who came to mind was van Goch, who had worked so hard for peace. Chaloner brightened as he thought it through.
But how was he to reach him? He could hardly walk into the Savoy and demand an interview when the entire delegation thought
he was a spy. Mulling the problem over, he hailed a hackney and ordered it to The Strand as quickly as possible.

Once there, he hid in the alley opposite, reflecting on how best to get in. Ruyven had not been exaggerating when he said
he had improved security – especially on the day when the place would be flooded by high-ranking men from both nations – and
the grounds and the front of the hospital complex were thick with soldiers. He could not sneak past them in broad daylight,
so he needed to gain access another way.

He hurried to Covent Garden, where it did not take him long to find what he was looking for – a cart piled high with vegetables
from the country. He experienced a pang of guilt when he punched the owner and shoved him into a convenient coal shed, but
his conscience did not prick him for long. Within minutes, he was driving down Bow Street, all his attention on the task in
hand. He crossed The Strand and steered the pony towards the Savoy.

‘What is this?’ demanded Ruyven, on duty at the gate. ‘We did not order these.’

He spoke Dutch, so Chaloner pretended not to understand, keeping his head down and hoping Ruyven would not see through his
disguise. Fortunately, a much larger wagon laden with firewood arrived at the same time, and Ruyven decided that represented
more of a threat. Chaloner’s little vehicle was waved through impatiently. He abandoned it near the kitchens, and made his
way towards Jacoba’s quarters. She would help him reach van Goch.

The Savoy was busier than he had ever seen it. Its courtyard had been swept and carpets set down, so visiting dignitaries
would not soil their shoes in the mud produced by drizzle and dust. Retainers were everywhere, pinning up banners, carrying
platters of food and jugs of wine, and giving windows and doors a last-minute polish. Zas and Taacken stood near the State
Room, heads together as they discussed some urgent point of business. Taacken looked tense and unhappy, although Zas was full
of fierce good humour, his foxy eyes everywhere.

Chaloner listened outside Jacoba’s door for a moment, to ensure she was alone, then entered. She was sitting in the window,
reading. She turned sharply, and opened her mouth to scream.

‘It is me,’ he said urgently, raising his hands to show he meant her no harm. ‘Tom.’

She peered at him fearfully. ‘Things are being said about you, and now you arrive in disguise!’

He closed the distance between them quickly, and knelt at her side. ‘I am not a spy, but there
is
one at large – a very dangerous one. His name is Falcon.’

Jacoba swallowed hard. ‘Falcon? There is no one here called Falcon.’

‘It is an alias,’ explained Chaloner tiredly. ‘He might be anyone – Kun, Zas …’ He did not mention Ruyven, but she read it
in his mind anyway.

‘It will not be Ruyven,’ she said, shaking her head firmly. ‘He is … not that kind of man.’

‘You think you know him because he was your lover,’ said Chaloner bluntly. There was no time to mince words. ‘Hanse found
out about your relationship, which led me to wonder whether Ruyven had killed him. But it was Falcon.’

‘We never meant to hurt Willem,’ said Jacoba in a small voice. ‘But he walked in on us one evening. When you offered to find
out who had murdered him, I repeated what he had said about Ruyven being a bad enemy in the hope that it would keep you and
Ruyven apart.’

‘To protect me?’ asked Chaloner, a little coolly. ‘Or him?’

‘Both.
And
my reputation. Ruyven is not clever, and I knew you could trick him into a confession. But how
did
you find out? We were very careful, and no one else knows.’

It was a sordid business, and Chaloner was sorry that Hanse had spent the last few weeks of his life distressed by it. But
Jacoba’s infidelity was not relevant to his duties that day.

‘Has Kun been found yet?’ he asked.

‘No.’ Jacoba gazed at him with huge eyes. ‘But I fear he may be dead – poisoned and drowned, like Willem. And it is horrible
here without them to calm ragged tempers. Downing’s accusations have the whole place in an uproar, especially the ones about
you.’

Chaloner was beginning to feel overwhelmed. ‘Downing is playing right into Falcon’s hands,’ he said
bitterly. ‘As long as attention is focused on me, Falcon is free to do as he pleases.’

‘How do you know
Downing
is not Falcon?’ asked Jacoba. ‘You mention Kun and Zas as suspects, but there is nothing to say this evil is the work of
a Dutchman.’

‘No, there is not. But regardless of who he is, we
must
stop him before he damages both our countries. Will you take me to Heer van Goch?’

‘No!’ Jacoba was appalled. ‘You will be arrested and shot before you can explain yourself.’

‘Please, Jacoba. I would not ask if it were not important.’

She put her head in her hands. ‘I do not know what to think! You are no spy – Aletta would not have married one of those –
but Ruyven says you are dangerous, and so does Downing.’

‘Then I will find my own way to the ambassador. All I ask is that you do not raise the alarm until I have had a chance to
talk to him.’

Jacoba shot him an anguished look, but rummaged in a chest to emerge with a voluminous gown and a feminine wig. She helped
him don them, and told him to wash the first disguise from his face. Then she led him along a series of corridors. She was
obviously frightened, and her behaviour when she met friends was suspicious, to say the least. Chaloner braced himself for
capture, but although there were raised eyebrows at her uncharacteristically curt salutations, no one challenged them.

‘We made it,’ she murmured eventually, heaving an unsteady sigh as she stopped outside a heavy door. ‘But I still think you
are insane. Leave, before you are caught.’

‘Go back to your rooms,’ instructed Chaloner. ‘If I
am … if matters do not go according to plan, I will not tell anyone you helped me, so do not admit it.’

When he was sure she had gone, he opened the door and stepped inside. He found himself in an antechamber, where visitors waited
for private audiences with the ambassador. It was empty, so he aimed for the door at its far end. This opened into a handsome
parlour, and a third door led to a bedchamber. It was closed, suggesting van Goch was resting within, rallying his energies
for the looming convention. The middle room contained only one occupant.

‘Kun!’ exclaimed Chaloner. ‘Where have you been?’

Kun’s jaw dropped when Chaloner flung off the wig and gown. The secretary was pale, unshaven, and his eyes were hollow. He
shot an agonised glance towards the bedchamber, then beckoned Chaloner out of van Goch’s quarters, to an adjoining set of
rooms. From the teetering piles of legal papers that filled them, Chaloner assumed they were Kun’s own.

‘You are accused of espionage!’ the secretary hissed, checking the corridor carefully before closing the door. ‘Are you insane,
to come here so brazenly?’

‘You are hardly the man to talk,’ retorted Chaloner. ‘You, who totes stolen Privy Council papers around London in cheeses,
and leaves them behind in hackney carriages.’