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

by Andrew Swanston

  As for Madeleine, if she really had turned her face against him, what could he do? A letter asking for forgiveness and declaring undying love? Roses instead of tulips? A solitary vigil on her doorstep until she agreed to see him? No, Thomas, none of those. If the lady had a mind to forgive, she would do it in her own way and in her own time. He might as well return to Romsey and wait there. She would find him if she wanted to. As soon as he had news that Charles and Mary had left Southampton for Barbados, he would pack up and go home. If they were apprehended . . . well, that bridge would be crossed if he came to it.

  When Joseph next called at Piccadilly, however, he brought with him the news that Thomas was dreading. ‘The Carringtons are being held on board their ship in Southampton harbour. It will not be permitted to sail without my authority.’

  It was the worst possible outcome, worse even than the pain of Madeleine’s rejection. Joseph must have seen the distress on Thomas’s face. He went on, ‘Thomas, they are my friends too and it grieves me to have to do this, but think of my position. I must act as Sir Edward Nicholas would have acted. Charles and Mary are suspected of murdering Chandle Stoner, who was a prisoner in my charge. I really should have had them brought straight back to London.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  Joseph opened his hands in a gesture of ignorance. ‘I am not certain. Perhaps I am hoping that something will come to light which proves their innocence and I can allow their ship to leave.’

  ‘Stoner was a fraudster and a traitor. He did not deserve to live.’

  ‘I agree. However, I live in a world of opportunity and expediency. I had intended to turn Stoner into an agent of my own and the king knows it. How do I explain to His Majesty that I have allowed his murderers to go free? I shall be in trouble enough when Morland tells the king that I imprisoned him in the Tower without a shred of real evidence against him.’

  Espionage, treachery, expediency, opportunism – it was high time Thomas went home. But in addition to the unwelcome news, Joseph had brought something else. From his pocket he took a silver box which he handed to Thomas.

  ‘My men have almost torn Squire’s house down. Every floorboard has been lifted and every piece of furniture searched for secret drawers. They found nothing until, quite by chance, this came to light.’

  ‘A box for snuff. I remember Squire taking snuff from a gold box. How does this help?’

  ‘Turn it over, Thomas, and tell me what you see.’

  Thomas did so. At first he saw nothing except a few marks of the sort one might expect to find on a well-used object. But when he looked more closely, the marks began to take shape. They were very small and their patterns were regular. He held the box close to his eyes. ‘I think they are numbers. I can make out forty-six and ninety-nine.’

  ‘Try this,’ said Joseph, handing him a bone-handled magnifying glass. When Thomas held the glass over the box, the numbers jumped out.

  ‘Now I can read them easily. How did you find this?’

  ‘It was on a shelf. Josiah took it down and dropped it. It landed upside down and when he picked it up his sharp eyes noticed the scratches. A fortunate accident, you might say.’

  ‘I will fetch my notes. If it is the same cipher, it won’t take a minute.’ Thomas ran up to his bedroom, retrieved the paper on which he had recorded the numerical substitutions for each letter and returned to the sitting room.

  ‘You read them out, Joseph, and I will write them down. Ignore spaces. It’s just the numbers and stops we want.’

  Holding the glass with both hands to keep it steady, Joseph read out the numbers.

  ‘That is all, Thomas. I do not think I have missed any.’

  Thomas laid the paper on which he had written the numbers on the table beside his decryption note and started converting the numbers into letters.

  In less than a minute, he said, ‘The letters in the first line are NFLAMELRMOUFFPA.’ And after another minute, ‘The second line is JGLAUBERKALVERAM.’ He handed the paper to Joseph, who sat studying the letters.

  Joseph shrugged. ‘I can see nothing here, although there must be something. What would Squire have kept an encrypted note of?’

  ‘A contact name? An address? But why write them down at all? There are only two lines.’

  ‘Names and addresses change. He might have had previous names recorded elsewhere. Or there might be dozens of them.’

  Thomas returned to the letters and tried setting out the first line with different spaces.

  It leapt at him. Nicolas Flamel was a celebrated French alchemist of the fourteenth century. ‘The Alchemist, Joseph. Nicolas Flamel was an alchemist.’

  ‘I have heard of him. What about RMOUFFPA?’

  ‘Could PA be Paris?’

  ‘Indeed it is. Rue Mouffetard is in the oldest part of Paris.’ It was almost a shout.

  That made the second line easy. Johann Glauber was also an alchemist, a Dutch one, and Kalverstraat was a street in Amsterdam. There had once been a cattle market there.

  These addresses were where Squire sent his letters. N. FLAMEL, RUE MOUFFETARD, PARIS and J. GLAUBER, KALVERSTRAAT, AMSTERDAM. He would have slipped his letters into the Dover mail and they would have been collected from a local sorting office by an agent of the Alchemist. Or Alchemists. Two addresses in two countries suggested two alchemists working together. Two men, one code name. Thomas did not remember having come across this before, but it was possible. Indeed, it implied a very close connection between the two of them.

  Now Thomas knew why he had instinctively taken the seal from Squire’s house. ‘This might give us a way of luring the Alchemist to London. And unless you intend to despatch assassins to Amsterdam and Paris, that is the only way you are going to eliminate him.’

  Joseph looked doubtful. ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘That we compose a letter, ostensibly from Squire and encrypted with the numerical cipher, which gives him an irresistible reason to come here. I can copy Squire’s hand and I have his seal. And now we have an address.’

  Joseph did not ask how Thomas came to have the seal. ‘Two addresses. But what if Squire or Stoner had already alerted the man to our having broken the cipher?’

  ‘I doubt either of them had the time or the means – remember Squire’s unfinished letter – but if they did, we shall lose nothing.’

  For a long time Joseph sat and pondered. Thomas could almost see the arguments for and against battling it out in his head. At last he said, ‘Very well, we will do as you suggest. But Charles and Mary will have to stay on the ship in Southampton while the plan is carried out and Morland must stay in the Tower. I do not want unwelcome distractions.’

  Thomas was on his feet. ‘I will fetch what we need.’

  To have a chance of luring the Alchemist into a trap, the bait would have to be uncommonly juicy. The fox would not leave the safety of his den without the promise of a feast.

  Eventually they agreed to send only one letter – to Amsterdam – on the grounds that if there were a second man in Paris, he would be alerted by his counterpart. They also agreed that the message should be brief, saying no more than was necessary. The trap itself would be set if and when they received a reply.

  After numerous false starts, they settled on:

  Senior govt officer approached. Wishes to help. Your presence here essential. Aurum

  The message contained neither Q nor Z, for which Thomas did not have a number. He fetched Squire’s seal and his invitation to the Post Office from which to copy his hand, and encrypted the letter as:

  With Joseph’s help he checked his work and sealed the letter securely. They decided to write the sender’s name above the seal, as most correspondents did, to reassure the Alchemist that a reply via the Post Office would be secure and to give him a return address. In Squire’s hand, Thomas wrote A. Knight, Golden Lane, London, which had the look of a name and address Squire might have used. It would go by special messenger to Dover, where Joseph’s man would ensure it wa
s delivered to the Amsterdam sorting office for collection on behalf of the addressee, J. Glauber.

  ‘I will have a Bishop Mark stamped on it and send it on its way today,’ said Joseph. ‘Then we can only wait and pray.’

  They had agreed that if there was to be a reply it would probably arrive within ten days. That was quite enough time for the letter to reach Amsterdam and for the reply to reach London, and if the plan worked the Alchemist would not delay.

  At first the thrill of anticipation made the waiting bearable. The Alchemist would fall into their trap, the king would be delighted and Thomas would carry Madeleine off to Romsey to spend the rest of their lives together.

  As the days passed, however, anticipation gave way to melancholy. What exactly was he waiting for? The Alchemist would have been alerted to the deaths of Stoner and Squire and would know at once that the letter was a trap. He would laugh at such a feeble attempt to deceive him. Or the Amsterdam address was the wrong one and the letter would never reach him. Or the names on the snuff box were nothing to do with the Alchemist.

  Then he caught himself. Don’t give up, Thomas, of course the names were the Alchemist. Nicolas Flamel and Johann Glauber were celebrated alchemists. Be patient. The plan might yet work. There was no point in sitting alone in the house in Piccadilly wondering and worrying. He must go out and exercise the mind and body on something else.

  Something else or someone else? Should he call again on Madeleine and risk another rebuff? Or should he be distant and aloof, forcing the lady to come to him? Not enough experience, Thomas, he told himself. Most men of forty-seven would know what to do, but here you are behaving like a love-struck youth. Take a hold on yourself and stop being dreary. You have much to be thankful for – two nieces whom you love dearly, a fine house, friends and more money than you will ever need.

  But not Madeleine Stewart.

  On the ninth day, Thomas set off on a morning walk. From Piccadilly he made his way northwards to Holborn, then down Shoe Lane and up Ludgate to St Paul’s. Although he avoided Old Bailey, a light breeze that day blew the stench from Newgate towards him. He held his handkerchief to his nose and thought of the wretches locked up inside its walls, most with nothing to look forward to but death from gaol fever or at the end of a rope. Thieves, murderers, dissenters, republicans, men, women, children – Newgate made room for all. And its malignancy spread. In the alleys and lanes nearby, whores, pickpockets and beggars plied their trade. It was as if they had gravitated there to await their turn to go inside.

  He had chosen this route for his walk, rather than a stroll in St James’s Park or along the river, to take his mind off Madeleine. If the horrors of Newgate could not divert him, nothing could. He wandered around St Paul’s Churchyard, stopping from time to time to read the inscription on an ancient gravestone, then walked back down Ludgate Hill to Fleet Street.

  What nonsense. Newgate had nothing to do with it. This route took him past the end of the narrow lane in which Madeleine lived. That was why he had chosen it.

  The temptation was too great. He turned into the lane and stood outside her door. After a minute, he knocked loudly. There was no reply. He knocked again. Still no reply. Madeleine Stewart was not at home and nor was Agnes. At least that spared him another humiliation. He turned to go. As he did so, his eye registered a tiny movement inside the window by the door. There was someone there and it must be Madeleine. Agnes on her own would have answered the door. Madeleine had seen him outside and left him there. Now he knew where he stood.

  Damn the woman and damn London. Smythe had started packing up the house, tomorrow would be the tenth day since the letter had been sent to Amsterdam and he had been in London far too long. He should have gone home weeks ago. This time he really would go home, Alchemist or no Alchemist. Lucy had left, he would not be tempted to call on Madeleine again and he would not be persuaded by Joseph to stay longer. Back in his room he threw his clothes and books into his travelling bag and went to tell Smythe that he would be leaving the next morning.

  But when at six o’clock that evening there was a knock on the door, he leapt up from his chair and rushed to open it. He knew it was Madeleine come to forgive him.

  It was not. A carriage stood on the street and Joseph at the door, holding in his hand a rolled letter.

  ‘It’s come, Thomas. A reply.’ Without waiting to be invited, Joseph strode in and handed the letter to Thomas. It was short.

  Thomas retrieved his papers from his bag, found the key and decrypted it. 98, for which he did not have a letter, was easy enough to guess. He read it out.

  ‘CHEAPSIDE N JUNE MIDNIGHT ALCHEMIST’

  ‘What does N June mean?’ asked Joseph.

  Thomas laughed. ‘It doesn’t. 30 is not N, it is 30. The thirtieth of June. Two days’ time.’ So much for going home tomorrow. The capricious fates were playing their games again.

  ‘Of course. And Cheapside can only mean Stoner’s house. Two days gives us time to prepare. Come on, Thomas, we’ll discuss our plan at my house. I have sent for Mottershead. He should be there by now.’ Joseph was in no mood for conversation. He strode out as quickly as he had strode in. Thomas hastily gathered up his papers and followed.

  Josiah had already arrived at Chancery Lane so they sat in Joseph’s library and thrashed out a plan. It was simple enough and would involve no more than four well-armed men and themselves.

  Afterwards, Josiah enquired after Thomas’s health and apologized for not calling on him. ‘Mr Williamson’s been keeping me busy,’ he explained, ‘and when I’m not working, I’m running to the market and doing jobs for Agnes.’

  Thomas did his best not to ask after Madeleine. ‘Is Agnes well?’

  ‘She is, thank you, sir.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’ It was no good. ‘And Miss Stewart?’

  ‘A little out of sorts, sir. Not eating properly, Agnes says.’

  ‘A chill perhaps. Offer her my good wishes please, Josiah.’

  ‘You could do that yourself, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps. First, however, let us finally get this business over with.’

  CHAPTER 24

  THE NIGHT OF 30 June was warm and lit by a half-moon in a clear sky. By ten o’clock the trap had been set. Inside Stoner’s house on Cheapside a single candle had been lit and placed in the window to tell his visitors that they were expected. Thomas and Joseph sat by Stoner’s unlit fire and in the kitchen four armed guards were ready and waiting. Outside, Josiah stood unseen in the shadow of a doorway opposite. If the Alchemist kept this rendezvous, it would be his last.

  It had been agreed that Thomas, dressed as a servant in a plain white shirt and black breeches, would answer the door and let the visitor in. Once he was safely inside, the door would be locked and at Joseph’s signal the guards would burst from the kitchen and arrest him. Josiah’s task was to keep watch until the arrest had been made.

  The two hours to midnight dragged by. In the kitchen four nervous men wished they were enjoying themselves in an inn or tucked up in their beds. Joseph and Thomas sat in silence, wondering if the fox really would leave his den. There was no need for Thomas to be there. Anyone could have played the part of the servant. It was just that he did not want to miss the final act of the play. Now that the moment was approaching, he wished it over. Come, Alchemist, and reveal yourself.

  The clock of the church of St Mary-le-Bow struck twelve. Joseph took out his pocket watch and checked it. They had agreed that they would wait for half an hour past midnight. If the Alchemist had not arrived by then, he was not coming.

  At ten minutes after midnight there was a quiet knock on the door. Thomas looked at Joseph, who nodded and went to the kitchen door. ‘Be ready,’ he whispered through it and Thomas heard the muffled sounds of the guards preparing themselves. Joseph stood in front of the hearth, ready to greet their visitor face to face. Thomas walked to the front door and opened it.

  On the doorstep stood not one but two hooded figures, their heads lower
ed and their faces partially covered. Both wore long cloaks to their ankles. One was Thomas’s height, the other several inches shorter. He opened the door wider and made a gesture of welcome. When he did so, light from the single candle in the window shone weakly on his face. The smaller of the two figures looked up and for no more than a moment stared at him. Behind the hood, Thomas could see only a pair of pale eyes. So quickly did the figure turn and run that Thomas had not moved before the other one set off behind him. Taken entirely by surprise, he stood and stared. By the time he shouted an alarm and gave chase, the smaller figure was halfway down Cheapside.

  At that time of the night, the streets were deserted and there was just enough moonlight for him to make out the running figures. They were heading for Stocks Market at the junction of Poultry and Cornhill. If they reached Leadenhall, they would disappear into the warren of lanes and alleys around Lime Street. Thomas accelerated and by the time he reached Old Jewry, the taller figure had caught up with the shorter one and they were no more than twenty yards ahead of him. At that moment the shorter one stopped and turned. There was a shot and the pistol ball which grazed Thomas’s cheek drew a trace of blood and stopped him in his tracks. He wiped it away, realized the wound was superficial and set off again. Both quarries, however, were now out of sight and he feared that he had lost them when two tall runners hurtled past him. Assuming they were Joseph’s men and a great deal younger and fleeter of foot than him, he gave up the chase and left them to it.

  He was standing with his hands on his knees, trying to recover his breath, when a puffing Josiah arrived. ‘Did the boys come past, sir?’ asked the little man in between gulps of air.