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

by Andrew Swanston

  On the third day after their reply appeared in the newsbook, Josiah arrived. Mary showed him up to Thomas’s room and left them to it. Thomas needed only to see his face to know that there had been no news. ‘Nothing, Josiah?’ he asked, without even rising from his chair.

  ‘Nothing, sir. Mr Williamson told me to be careful but I’d ’ave wagered ten guineas we’d ’ave ’eard something by now. If anyone knows anything, they’re not saying. Devilish queer, it is.’

  ‘How do you account for it, Josiah?’

  ‘Must be powerful forces at work, sir. The men who took Miss Stewart are no ordinary kidnappers.’

  ‘Let’s hope the notice in Thorpe’s newsbook gets us somewhere. Is there anything else we can do?’

  ‘We need a stroke of luck, sir. ’Enrietta’s been making enquiries. I’m off to see ’er this morning.’

  ‘I shall accompany you, Josiah.’

  ‘Shall you, sir? What about Mrs Carrington?’

  ‘She will not be informed.’

  Josiah looked worried. Of enemies armed with muskets, swords and pistols, he was not afraid. Of a woman’s wrath, especially Mary Carrington’s, he certainly was. ‘I do ’ope you know what you’re doing, sir. My life’ll be as good as over if I bring you back injured.’

  ‘Then you had best keep me safe.’ The thought of actually doing something had lifted Thomas’s spirits.

  ‘I shall wait here, Josiah, while you go quietly down the stairs to check if Mrs Carrington is in her sitting room. Try not to be seen. If she’s engaged, we’ll slip out through the kitchen door. Off you go.’

  Josiah was soon back. ‘All clear, sir. Mrs Carrington’s in ’er sitting room talking to a lady visitor.’

  Thomas managed the stairs without a sound. Then they were through the kitchen and into the street behind the house. They circled around back into Piccadilly and found a coach to take them to Drury Lane. If the coachman was surprised at their destination, he did not show it. The lane attracted gentlemen from every part of London.

  When they arrived in Wild Street, Thomas paid the fare, and just as he had before, Josiah knocked three times. The panel in the door was pulled back and the same pair of black eyes inspected them. The door was opened by Oliver and they were shown to Henrietta’s room.

  As far as Thomas could tell, Henrietta had not moved since his last visit. She sat in her chair, glass of port in one hand and clay pipe in the other, watching her customers enjoying themselves in the courtyard. She wore the same orange wig and the same black patches on her face. Rupert stood beside her.

  ‘Good day, Josiah. Brought your cousin with you, I see. Washed his hands, has he? And found his tongue yet?’

  The time for dissembling was over. ‘I have found my tongue, madam,’ replied Thomas, ‘and I apologize for the deception when last we met. I am Thomas Hill.’

  ‘I know. Josiah’s told me. Not that I was fooled. Men pretend to be all manner of things in this house. I see through them all, don’t I, Josiah?’

  ‘That you do, ’Enrietta. ’Ave you ’eard anything?’

  ‘There’s no rush. Sit down and have a drink with me. Glass of port, Thomas?’

  ‘Thank you. Just the thing,’ replied Thomas. This lady would not respond well to being pushed or rushed. He took a glass and handed another to Josiah. ‘Your excellent health, madam.’

  ‘And yours, gentlemen.’ Henrietta took a gulp of port, belched loudly and lit her pipe. When it was drawing to her satisfaction, she turned her attention to her guests. ‘I’ve done as you asked, Josiah. There’s a good few who owes me favours and I’ve been calling them in. Wouldn’t do it for anyone else, you know. Can’t imagine why I’ve got a soft spot for you but I have. Makes no sense to me.’ Josiah blushed but said nothing. ‘The strange thing is, there’s no word of it. No one knows about any lady being attacked or carried off. Not a whisper.’

  Thomas’s heart sank. Not a word, not a whisper. ‘Why might that be, do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s two possibilities. Either she’s dead and the fish are having her for their dinner or she’s not in London.’

  The first possibility made his stomach heave, the second had not occurred to him. He had simply assumed that she was being held in the city. But she could as easily be elsewhere. ‘If you were holding her, Henrietta, where would you hide her if not in London?’

  ‘Well now, if I didn’t want to be too far away I’d take her somewhere where no one lives. Epping Forest, perhaps, or the marshes. Very lonely in the marshes. Not many go there. Easy to guard and unlikely to be heard or seen.’

  ‘Which marshes?’

  ‘That’s the problem. There’s marshes north and south and east. Essex, Lambeth, Kent. Could be any of them. No point in searching. You’d never find her. Better to keep asking around. Want me to carry on, Josiah?’

  ‘Yes please, ’Enrietta. Send word if you ’ear anything, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will, for you. And drop by if you want another chat. Or anything else. And bring Thomas. The Moroccan girl has proved very popular. Looks like he could do with some entertainment.’

  ‘There is one other thing, Henrietta, if I may,’ said Thomas. ‘It is not connected to Madeleine, or at least I do not think so.’

  Henrietta peered at him over her glass. ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘When we were last here I happened to notice a young man in the courtyard. Arthur Phillips. Can you tell me anything about him?’

  Henrietta’s enormous bosom heaved with laughter. ‘Arthur? I can tell you a lot about him. Such a pretty boy, the girls love him. Very regular customer, Arthur is. Plenty of money and unusual tastes.’

  ‘Unusual tastes?’

  ‘Takes more than one girl to make Arthur happy, and the younger the better. Trouble is, he spoils them for anyone else. Can be a bit rough, can Arthur. I only allow it because he pays well. Is that what you wanted to know?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Henrietta,’ replied Thomas, although it was the last thing he wanted to know. It was worse than he thought. Arthur Phillips led two lives. Charming young gentleman one day, dissolute rake the next. Thank God he wasn’t a traitor as well. Mind you, with plenty of money and a post in the Navy Office . . . Heaven forfend. He had enough to worry about without that. He would just have to hope that Lucy came quickly to her senses and went home.

  Little was said on the way back to Piccadilly. Josiah was too tactful to ask about Arthur Phillips, and Henrietta’s news, or rather the lack of it, about Madeleine had been a blow. Not a word. Might be in the marshes. Any marshes. Might not be. Might be dead. No further forward and time passing. What now?

  A familiar carriage stood outside the Carringtons’ house. Not bothering to enter as they had left, they let themselves in the front door and found Joseph in the sitting room with Mary and Charles. Mary was furious. ‘Thomas, what foolishness is it this time? Where have you been now?’

  ‘My apologies, my dear. It was selfish of me, I know. But I had to do something.’ He tried a smile. ‘And I needed the exercise.’

  ‘Absurd. I should have sent you home.’ Mary peered at him. ‘Sit down at once. You look half dead.’ Realizing that he felt half dead, Thomas sat. Mary turned to Josiah. ‘Why did you permit this, Mottershead? It was insane.’

  Josiah’s face crumpled like a dead leaf and Thomas thought he was about to burst into tears. ‘Don’t blame the poor man, Mary. I gave him no choice.’

  Mary raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s always a choice. You haven’t heard the last of this, either of you.’

  ‘We have had a reply,’ said Joseph, holding it up. ‘Like the first letter, it was pushed under the front door of my house. Whoever delivered it ran off without being seen. It’s from Madeleine.’

  He read it out.

  Dear Joseph, all my thoughts are with you, rest assured that I am well, try not to worry for me, fear not for my safety, or for my good health, remember me in your prayers, dear cousin may God bless you. Your cousin Mad
eleine

  ‘It is her hand,’ Williamson assured them, ‘and I suppose it proves she is alive and well. Or does it?’

  Thomas examined the letter. ‘The hand shows evidence of her being under strain, which is not surprising. The paper is good quality. Is Madeleine in the habit of running her sentences together like this, Joseph? She uses commas rather than full stops.’

  ‘I think not. She’s careful with her correspondence. Could that also be the strain?’

  ‘Probably,’ replied Thomas thoughtfully. ‘However, may I make a copy? I should like to study it more.’

  ‘Certainly. Do you think it’s trying to tell us something?’

  ‘It’s possible. The form is odd. I’ll know by the morning.’

  ‘Meanwhile,’ asked Mary, ‘what should we do now?’

  ‘Nothing, I think,’ replied Joseph. ‘We await further instructions, as they directed. Send word if you discover anything, Thomas.’

  When Williamson had left, Thomas took the copy he had made to his bedroom and put it on the writing table. The choice of words and the lack of proper punctuation suggested something hidden which he must find. As far as he knew, Madeleine did not have a knowledge of codes and ciphers and, anyway, she would not have had time to use one. The letter was in plain text. What might she have done to conceal a message in it? What would he himself have done? And what would she try to tell them?

  For an hour, Thomas sat and stared at the letter, seeing nothing. Then Montaigne spoke. A wise man sees as much as he ought, not as much as he can. Thomas turned the letter over and closed his eyes. Among the letters and words, what ought he to see? He ought to see a message, disguised well enough to avoid being noticed by her captors, yet simple enough to reveal itself to him. She would have guessed that he would look for a message; he was a cryptographer.

  Then it struck him. The lack of full stops and capital letters had a purpose. It was hiding something. He took a clean sheet of paper and wrote out the message with proper punctuation.

  Dear Joseph,

  All my thoughts are with you. Rest assured that I am well. Try not to worry for me. Fear not for my safety, or for my good health. Remember me in your prayers. Dear cousin, may God bless you. Your cousin Madeleine

  The capital letters leapt off the paper. You clod, Thomas, he said out loud. There it is. Ignoring the words Joseph, I and God, the capitals spelt out the word DARTFRD and with the inclusion of the o of or, DARTFORD. Madeleine had cleverly avoided capital letters, which might have revealed the word to her captors, and she had told Joseph the thing he most wanted to know – that she was being held in Dartford.

  Thomas knew little of Dartford except that the town had suffered during the war and from regular outbreaks of plague, and that it was noted for the marshes which stretched for miles along the river and were easily big enough to hide a cottage or a hut from searching eyes. Henrietta was right. They would find her in the marshes.

  Taking the original message and his version of it, he ran down the stairs and burst into the sitting room, where Mary and Charles were sitting in front of an unlit fire. ‘I have it. The clever girl has told us where she’s being held. Look at the capital letters.’ He handed Mary the messages. She read them and handed them to Charles.

  ‘How ingenious of her,’ she said. ‘Dartford. An unpleasant place, I believe, surrounded by heathland and marshes and full of plague. A good hiding place.’

  ‘If she’s in the marshes, she’ll be hard to find,’ said Charles, ‘and even harder to rescue. It’ll be an easy place to guard and defend, even against a troop of militia.’

  ‘We’d better send word to Joseph. He did ask us to,’ said Mary.

  ‘Mary,’ asked Thomas, ‘in the circumstances, would it not be wiser to find her ourselves? Joseph is under pressure from the king and, to be frank, he might not respond as rationally as we might wish. His men all over the place would alert them at once and that would be bad for Madeleine.’ Master Phillips would have to wait.

  Mary looked shocked. ‘Thomas, surely you must speak to Joseph first.’

  ‘If we ask him to wait until we find her, he’ll either refuse or agree. He’ll send them in or give us time to look. We might just as well start looking.’

  ‘Joseph will be furious when he finds out.’

  ‘Indeed he will. But if we find Madeleine alive he will forgive us.’

  Charles agreed. ‘Mottershead’s the man we need. We’ll go to his house first thing in the morning.’

  ‘I know where he lives. Why not now?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘It’s getting dark. He won’t be able to do anything until tomorrow.’

  ‘I know, but I can’t sit here and do nothing.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll come with you. Mary will stay here in case there is any more news.’

  Mary was far from persuaded. ‘Charles, why can’t you leave it to Joseph?’

  ‘Thomas has explained that, my dear. This is a job for a small platoon, not a regiment.’

  ‘And what shall I tell Joseph if he calls again?’

  ‘Tell him Thomas is studying the message and that we’ve gone out for refreshment. We’ll be back by midnight.’ Charles’s voice had taken on a different tone in the expectation of action. Thomas half expected him to announce that he would bring his swords. ‘Come on, Thomas, no time to lose. We’ll find a carriage.’

  Josiah Mottershead lived in a tiny house near the north end of the bridge. Their coach took them along Fleet Street and through Blackfriars. Near the bridge, Thomas told the coachman to stop and to wait for them.

  They walked down Swan Lane to where it was joined by a nameless alley, leading nowhere and with just a few rough dwellings on either side. It was a mean place, dark and dank, and reeking of the muck that was thrown every day into the river. They stopped at the last door before the alley petered out into a patch of ground used for dumping waste. Thomas reached for his lavender handkerchief.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Charles. ‘Let’s hope he’s at home.’

  Josiah opened the door to Charles’s knock. He looked at them in astonishment. ‘Good gracious, sirs, what are you doing down ’ere at night?’

  ‘Let us in, Josiah, and you shall soon know,’ replied Thomas.

  Josiah waved them in and locked the door with a key and a heavy chain. ‘Can’t be too careful around ’ere. Come in, gentlemen, and find a seat.’

  They found a plain wooden chair each and sat at Josiah’s table. The room must have served for everything except sleeping and cooking. There was no other furniture and no decoration except a makeshift curtain at the window. Thomas could see through a low door to the kitchen, where he guessed Josiah also slept. At least it would be warmer there. There were no other rooms.

  ‘Pardon me, gentlemen, Mottershead’s forgetting ’is manners. Would you care for a glass of something?’

  They would certainly care for a glass, or even two, of something, but neither knew what might be available and did not want to embarrass the little man. ‘Are you having a drink, Josiah?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘To be sure, sir. Daresay I’ll need it by the look of you. I’ll open a bottle of German. Got a dozen as payment for a job I did. Been looking for a chance to drink it.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Charles quickly, ‘in that case we’ll join you. No point in going thirsty.’

  Josiah disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two bottles and three glasses. They ignored the state of the glasses, which showed signs of having recently held some other liquid, and took a sip. The wine was excellent.

  ‘Fine wine, Josiah,’ said Charles. ‘You must have done a good job.’

  Josiah tapped his nose. ‘Always do my best, sir. Now what brings you to my palace? ’As there been a reply to the notice?’

  ‘Indeed there has,’ said Thomas with a grin, ‘and Miss Stewart managed to hide a message in it telling us where she is being held. She’s in Dartford.’

  ‘Dartford, eh? And well, I ’ope?’

 
‘It would seem so.’

  ‘Thank the Lord for that. But Dartford’s an ’orrid place. Beggars and thieves, very poor folk, plague and pox, and wild country all around. Do we know where in Dartford she is?’

  ‘We don’t, but we think Henrietta might have been right about the marshes. That’s where we’ll look first.’

  ‘They’re big, the Dartford marshes. Go on for ever along the river. Won’t be easy to find Miss Stewart in there. No one much lives there except a few cottars.’

  ‘Do you know the area, Josiah?’

  ‘A little, sir. Did a job there five years ago. Evil spot, it is.’

  ‘Then that’s where she’ll be. A place where few people go.’

  Josiah nodded. ‘Daresay you’re right, sir. What’s your plan?’

  ‘We haven’t told Mr Williamson yet, in case he feels the militia should be sent in,’ said Charles. ‘We’d rather spy out the land ourselves. Then we’ll tell him if we need to.’

  ‘You and Mr ’Ill, sir?’

  ‘And you, Josiah, if you’re willing.’

  ‘Willing or not, sir, you’ll need me. Mr ’Ill gets ’imself into trouble when I’m not there.’

  ‘So I do,’ replied Thomas, remembering the old hag in the alley. ‘Good man, Josiah. This is what we propose. Mr Carrington and I will return now to Piccadilly to tell Mrs Carrington. Best she knows in case of problems. We’ll make our way to Dartford tomorrow morning and meet you there at midday. Is there a place we can safely meet?’

  Josiah pursed his lips. ‘There’s a little church at the west end of the village. Can’t remember its name, but you’ll find it easy enough.’

  ‘The church at midday it is. And Josiah, not a word to Mr Williamson, mind.’

  ‘No, sir. I know you’ll speak for me if need be.’

  ‘Of course I shall. We’ll be off then. Until tomorrow.’

  ‘She won’t be happy,’ remarked Thomas on the way back. ‘She’ll say I’m an irresponsible fool.’

  ‘And she’ll say I’m too old to be wading about in marshes. Leave it to me, Thomas. I’ll put my celebrated diplomatic skills to good use.’ Charles grinned. Thomas raised his eyebrows and said nothing.