The King's Return: (Thomas Hill 3) (Thomas Hill Novels)

by Andrew Swanston

  ‘I did, and took it straight to Henry. I thought that best.’ He sounded apologetic.

  ‘Why did you think the seal might have been tampered with?’

  ‘There was a small mark on it which could have been made by a knife. Perhaps someone changed his mind, or thought he was being observed.’

  ‘Lemuel, who could that have been?’ asked Thomas.

  Squire clasped his hands over his stomach and took a moment to answer. ‘Morland would have had the opportunity and so would Roger Willow, my chief clerk.’

  ‘Do you suspect either of them?’

  Another long pause. ‘Willow is a loyal colleague.’

  ‘And Morland?’ asked Joseph.

  Squire held up his hands. ‘I have said enough, gentlemen. I should return to my work.’

  ‘Of course. Our thanks for your cooperation. Can you spare Willow for a few minutes? We’ve seen Morland.’

  ‘I will send him in. We must dine together again soon, Thomas.’

  ‘I shall look forward to it,’ replied Thomas with a smile. He could not help liking this overfed, overdressed gargoyle.

  Since Thomas had last seen him, Roger Willow looked to have shrivelled. His face was even thinner, his shoulders more hunched and he peered at them over his spectacles with eyes the colour of claret. ‘We have some questions, Willow,’ said Joseph. ‘Nothing to be concerned about.’

  Willow scratched his ear nervously. ‘Is it about the letter addressed to A. Silver in Aldersgate?’

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘We heard Mr Squire and Sir Samuel arguing about it and the clerks are saying that it must be something unusual and important. Also, Sir Samuel has been particularly ill-tempered since Mr Squire returned from his sickness. He berated me for not showing the letter to him. He knows my instructions are to pass letters to be opened to Mr Squire and no one else, but still he insisted that I should have given it to him. The episode has made me quite unwell.’ The words came out in a rush.

  ‘The letter had come from Holland and the address was unknown to you, so perhaps you should have given it to Sir Samuel, or even Mr Bishop.’

  ‘Mr Bishop dislikes the opening of correspondence. He would have told me to put it on Mr Squire’s desk.’

  ‘Mr Squire thinks that the letter might have been tampered with. There was a mark on the seal,’ said Thomas.

  Willow looked up sharply. ‘Mr Squire has said nothing about this to me. What sort of mark?’

  ‘One possibly made by the point of a knife.’

  ‘Impossible. Anyone taking a knife to a letter would be observed. And the letter was brought over from Love Lane and given directly to me.’ The blood rose to Willow’s face. A slur on his clerks was a slur on him. Thomas and Joseph exchanged a look. If Willow was dissembling he was a fine actor. ‘I must say, Mr Williamson, that I resent any accusation that I or one of my clerks acted improperly. As always, I carried out my duty exactly as expected of me.’

  Williamson stood up. ‘Very well, Willow. For now the matter is closed. But we might have more questions in due course. Good day to you.’

  Willow’s face was set. ‘Good day, gentlemen.’

  When he had left them, Joseph shook his head and said, ‘Well, I do not think we learned much from that.’

  ‘Only confirmation that Morland is uncouth, Squire is a popinjay and Willow looks on the sorting office clerks as his children. Nothing about Madeleine,’ replied Thomas.

  ‘Morland’s fury at not being given the letter is hard to understand. Willow acted quite properly.’

  ‘Perhaps Morland’s self-regard is such that it can affect his judgement. You saw what he was like when you gave me the letter to decrypt. He was apoplectic.’

  ‘But if there is an enemy in our midst we’re no closer to finding him. We must redouble our efforts to find Madeleine.’

  CHAPTER 17

  THOMAS WAS DOZING when Mary woke him the next morning. ‘A messenger has just come from Joseph. He wants you to meet him in an hour.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the coroner’s house.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Thomas was wide awake instantly and pulling on his shirt. The coroner’s house could mean only one thing.

  ‘Charles will come with you, Thomas. He wants to.’

  ‘If he wishes.’

  ‘And you must eat. The cook is preparing something to take with you. Eat it in the carriage.’

  On the way to Manners’ house, neither Charles nor Thomas spoke. Thomas managed to wash down a hunk of bread and cheese with sips of warm milk while Charles sat staring silently out of the window. When the coach drew up outside Manners’ house, they were out before the coachman could jump down to open the door. Charles knocked loudly on the coroner’s door, which was opened by the ancient clerk Thomas remembered from his previous visit.

  Williamson was waiting for them inside. ‘There you are, Thomas, and Charles too. Good. Manners knows I’m here and I’ve told him not to keep us waiting this time.’

  ‘What do you know, Joseph?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Only that the body of a woman of about Madeleine’s age was found under London Bridge this morning. I do not have a description.’ Williamson began pacing the room. ‘Where is that damnable man?’

  A woman of Madeleine’s age. Thomas’s throat tightened and his legs buckled. He struggled to breathe and grabbed Charles’s arm to steady himself. Charles put an arm around his shoulders and helped him to a chair, where he sat head down and in silence. Not Madeleine, surely not Madeleine.

  When, after a few minutes, Manners entered through a door at the back of the room, Williamson shouted at him. ‘For the love of God, Manners, you’re holding a body which might be my cousin and we’ve been kept waiting again. We will see the body at once.’

  What passed across Manners’ face was very like a smirk. ‘I have been busy, Mr Williamson. A coroner has many important tasks to perform.’

  Williamson grunted. ‘I daresay. Well, come on, man, take us to her.’

  But Manners was not to be hurried. ‘Before I do, gentlemen, you should know that the face of the dead woman has been cut with a sharp instrument. A knife, possibly. And there are other matters. Identifying her will not be straightforward.’

  Thomas stood up and sat down quickly. ‘Would you prefer that Joseph and I see her?’ asked Charles gently.

  For a moment Thomas was tempted to say yes. An image of Madeleine lying dead and disfigured on the coroner’s table would stay with him for ever; it might be wiser to leave it to the others. But he had to see her. It would be a betrayal not to.

  ‘No, I’ll come.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Manners pompously, ‘but you have been warned. Follow me.’ He led them through the house to the room in which Thomas and Joseph had inspected the body of Henry Copestick.

  Unlike that of Copestick, this body was covered by a black sheet. Manners strode up to the table and drew back the sheet to reveal the woman’s face. Thomas’s hand went straight to his mouth and he turned his head away. Again he felt Charles’s arm around his shoulders.

  For perhaps thirty seconds the room was silent. Joseph was the first to speak. ‘Where and when exactly was she found, Manners?’ he whispered.

  ‘Under London Bridge at about ten o’clock this morning.’

  ‘Who found her?’

  ‘A wherryman. He sent for me immediately.’

  ‘And she was as we see her now?’

  ‘Naturally.’ Manners sounded affronted.

  Thomas forced himself to look again at the horribly disfigured face. It was covered in cuts and congealed blood from forehead to chin and across both cheeks, the eye sockets were empty and all hair had been cut off. Manners was right. Identification from the face was impossible. ‘Is she clothed?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘She is.’ Manners pulled the sheet down so that they could see the body. As far as it was possible to tell, she had been about the same height and age as Madeleine. She wore neith
er rings nor jewellery, as Madeleine did not, and before being submerged in the river, her dress had been a shade of blue that would have matched Madeleine’s eyes. ‘Do you recognize this woman, Mr Williamson?’ he asked.

  Joseph shook his head. ‘It is hard to say. Thomas, do you recognize her?’

  Thomas was conscious of being watched by Manners. He spoke slowly. ‘Kindly pull down her dress, Mr Manners, so that I may see her chest.’

  ‘Really, sir, is that necessary? If she cannot be identified from her face, what will you learn from her chest?’

  ‘Just do it, man,’ barked Charles.

  With a show of disapproval, Manners unfastened her dress and pulled it down to her waist. ‘Will that be far enough?’ he sneered.

  Thomas felt a weight lift from the pit of his stomach. This unfortunate woman had been tortured and murdered, but she did not carry a scar from her throat to her stomach. He turned to Charles and Joseph. ‘It is not Madeleine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Joseph.

  ‘Quite sure.’

  Joseph spoke to Manners, the relief in his voice clearly audible. ‘I fear we cannot be of assistance, Manners, but I am sure you will pursue this poor wretch’s killer with your customary zeal.’

  Disappointment was written all over Manners’ face. The repulsive little man had wanted the body to be that of Madeleine Stewart, Joseph Williamson’s cousin. He shrugged and led them from the room. As they were leaving, he said, ‘Should you be mistaken, gentlemen, I shall of course have to refer the matter to a magistrate. Impeding a coroner in the pursuit of his duties is a serious business.’

  ‘Hold your tongue, Manners,’ thundered Williamson, ‘or you’ll be getting a visit from Sir Edward Nicholas’s men.’

  The three of them stormed out of the house and into the waiting coach. ‘To Chancery Lane first, coachman,’ Joseph shouted, ‘then to Piccadilly. And make haste.’

  ‘Thank God,’ said Thomas, when they were on their way. ‘I suppose one should pity the girl but my only feeling is one of relief.’

  ‘Quite understandable, my dear fellow,’ said Charles. ‘What we have to do now is find Madeleine and be quick about it. Let’s hope Joseph’s men have discovered something.’

  Joseph said nothing. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.

  Outside his house, he alighted from the coach and waited for the coachman to carry on. He had not spoken during the journey and Thomas had not thought to ask him about his meeting with Morland. The coachman raised his whip and was on the point of setting off when Joseph’s steward emerged from the house waving a letter.

  ‘This was delivered by hand a few minutes ago, Mr Williamson,’ he said. ‘I thought you would want to see it immediately.’

  Williamson took the letter and examined it. ‘Did you see who delivered it?’

  ‘No, sir. It was pushed under the door.’

  He signalled to the coachman to wait and carefully broke the seal on the letter. He opened and read it, then passed it through the coach window to Thomas. Thomas read it and passed it to Charles, who read it aloud.

  Madeleine Stewart is in a safe place. If there are further attempts to find her, she will die. We require payment of £10,000 for her safe return. Confirm receipt of this letter by placing a notice in Thorpe’s newsbook.

  Await further instructions.

  ‘Any idea who it’s from?’ asked Charles.

  Joseph exchanged a look with Thomas and said, ‘You’d better both come in.’

  Thomas closed his eyes and sighed. She must be alive. Ten thousand pounds was a great deal of money, but for Madeleine Stewart, a bargain.

  The three men sat in Joseph’s library, the letter on a low table between them. Thomas was the first to speak. ‘It looks genuine. We know they need money.’

  ‘You two gentlemen have the advantage of me. Who exactly are “they” and how do we know they need money?’ From his tone and the look of irritation on his face, Charles did not care for being in the dark.

  Joseph cleared his throat. ‘You will have to know. A short while ago, we intercepted an encrypted letter which confirmed my suspicion that there is a spy ring operating at a high level in London and that the Post Office might have been penetrated by one of its members. Madeleine’s abduction confirms that fear.’

  ‘Do you know who is behind it?’

  ‘It appears that the French and the Dutch are plotting against us. We have feared just such an alliance since the end of the Protectorate. It suits both of them – the French want a Catholic king on our throne and the Dutch want our trade.’

  ‘We believe that the murders of Matthew Smith, John Winter and Henry Copestick were connected to the ring. They were killed for what they suspected or were about to find out,’ added Thomas.

  ‘Do you have any idea who the spy in the Post Office is, Joseph?’ asked Charles. ‘You must have your suspicions.’

  Joseph hesitated before answering. ‘I have no evidence.’

  ‘What about a little artful persuasion?’

  ‘If you mean what I think you mean, I would need the permission of the king and that I am not prepared to seek.’

  ‘A pity. In Barbados we wouldn’t hesitate if we thought our safety was at risk.’

  ‘Quite. But Barbados has been colonized for little more than thirty years. England is an ancient and, one hopes, civilized nation.’

  Charles grunted his disapproval. ‘With bits of bodies on display all over London? Hardly. And what about Madeleine?’

  Joseph frowned. ‘Madeleine is my cousin and I love her dearly, but I cannot allow this country to be held to ransom by our enemies.’

  ‘Joseph, we must put Madeleine first. If she’s alive, that is,’ said Charles.

  Thomas’s heart went to his boots. The letter could be a bluff. Madeleine might already be dead. ‘We need proof that she’s alive and unharmed.’

  ‘And if she is, what then? Ten thousand pounds is a great deal of money.’ Joseph sounded doubtful.

  ‘Indeed it is. But I will find it if necessary.’

  ‘Could you find it?’

  ‘I could.’

  ‘I could help if we sell our interest in Chandle’s venture,’ offered Charles.

  Joseph picked up the letter and read it again. ‘I really ought to take this to the king. He would expect to be informed of such a development.’

  ‘And if you do, Joseph, what will he do?’ asked Charles.

  ‘He will take the matter out of my hands on the grounds that my position is compromised by my relationship to Madeleine. Beyond that, I don’t know.’

  ‘Could you justify keeping it from the king until we have proof that Madeleine is alive?’ asked Thomas. ‘What if we put a notice in the newsbook requiring such proof? They’re bound to see it.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ replied Joseph, scratching his chin. He walked over to a writing desk in one corner, picked up a quill and wrote on a sheet of paper. He sprinkled sand on it and gave it to Thomas. ‘What do you think of that?’

  Thomas read it to Charles.

  Your letter received and noted. Your request granted. The amount is agreed on condition proof is provided that the subject is not damaged in any way. JW

  They argued over whether Williamson’s name should be added, and eventually agreed that JW would ensure that the notice would be recognized for what it was, without alerting anyone else.

  Armed with a fair copy and the price of a personal notice, Joseph’s steward was despatched to Thorpe’s printing house in Fleet Street. ‘If you have any difficulty, use my name,’ he told the man. ‘I know Thorpe. He’s a sound fellow.’ It was the business of the head of the king’s security to know the publishers of all the London newsbooks.

  When the steward had left, Charles returned to Piccadilly to give Mary the news. She would be enraged that this had happened to Madeleine and even more enraged that Thomas had been involved. Reassurances about the ransom being paid would help but little. He advised Thomas to take his time returning. />
  ‘Will you really call in your men?’ asked Thomas when Charles had gone.

  ‘Except for Mottershead, yes. I trust him not to stir the pot but I will tell him to be doubly careful.’

  ‘Is there still nothing on the murders?’

  ‘Only the disfigured foreigner. Nothing else.’

  ‘And what about the Post Office?’

  ‘We have interviewed every clerk. Bishop is still complaining about lack of staff and Squire is suspicious of Morland, although there’s nothing new in that. Morland is still being obnoxious and demanding more money.’

  ‘The man’s insufferable.’

  ‘Indeed he is. But also well connected. The more I think about it, the more I believe he’s involved. That is partly why I did not give him the encrypted letter and why I have not told him that you were right about it. He is clever enough to have evaded dis covery, but I dare not take action without good reason. He would go straight to the king. Then it will be me who finds himself in the Tower, or worse.’

  The notice appeared in Thorpe’s newsbook the next day. Mr Thorpe had obligingly printed it in a box at the bottom of the front page, where it would not be missed. Thomas read it to Charles and Mary. She had spent the two days venting her fury on Thomas for becoming involved and for putting Madeleine in danger, had told him to pack his bags and go home, only to rescind the order when she saw the misery on his face, and had forbidden him from having anything more to do with the matter.

  ‘You’ve done enough damage, Thomas,’ she shouted at him. ‘Leave Joseph to find her. And leave him to deal with his problems at the Post Office himself.’ Thomas had nodded meekly and wished the door would open for Madeleine miraculously to walk in.

  Joseph’s reply to the ransom demand calmed Mary a little. Thomas could only sit alone in his room, staring at the wall and seeing nothing but Madeleine on the rack, Madeleine on the wheel, Madeleine in the scold’s bridle. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, only for the images to return more sharply. He tried reading and he tried writing. Both were useless. Sleep was out of the question, food and drink unwanted intrusions. Any thought other than a thought of Madeleine was shameful. He must concentrate everything on her.