Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

His belly full and his spirits a little restored, Thomas decided to risk another stroll before returning to his room. He walked down High Street and into Magpie Lane. The crowds had thinned and it was a route he knew well. It would take him past Merton and over Merton Field, from where he would turn towards Christ Church and into St Aldate’s. Ignoring the beggars and whores and the black smoke of coal fires, he reached Merton Street. He was about to cross the street to join the path leading to the field, when a sudden scream from his right stopped him. Turning sharply, he saw a woman in a yellow gown and a short black cape beating fiercely at an attacker with her hand. With the other hand she was trying to wrest her purse from him. Despite the scream, she looked unhurt. Indeed, her assailant, who could not have been more than twelve years old, seemed to be losing the battle. His shoulders hunched, he was trying vainly to cover his head with his arms.

‘You there,’ shouted Thomas, hastening to help. ‘Thief!’

The thief let go of the purse and ran.

Thomas shouted after him, ‘Stop, thief. Thief! Stop that boy.’ But the few people in the street ignored him, and the thief disappeared around a corner.

‘So much for Oxford,’ said a soft voice behind him. ‘Home to king, queen, army, exchequer and mint, but apparently not to gentlemen.’

Turning, Thomas saw a lady of about his own age, black curls to her shoulders, cheeks flushed and a little smile playing on her lips. Slim of face and figure, and dressed in a cream silk gown embroidered with tiny red and white flowers, she was not a lady whom one might have expected to find unaccompanied in the town, especially this town. Thomas tried not to stare, and failed miserably.

‘Except for you, sir, naturally. I thank you for your assistance, although the wretch would soon have surrendered.’

‘I don’t doubt it, madam. Are you hurt?’

‘Quite unhurt, thank you. It was my own fault. I seldom venture out alone, but I needed air. The college can be so restricting.’

‘Why did no one stop the boy?’ asked Thomas.

‘Alas, sir, the people of Oxford do not all welcome us here. They look out for their own.’

‘Then it’s fortunate that I too am a visitor. Thomas Hill, madam, newly arrived from Romsey, and visiting my old tutor at Pembroke College.’ The deception had been agreed with Abraham.

‘A dangerous time to be visiting Oxford, Master Hill.’

‘Indeed, madam. He’s an old man, and nearly blind. Another year and I might have been too late.’

‘I’m sorry. My name is Jane Romilly. I attend Queen Henrietta Maria at Merton.’

‘Allow me to escort you there, madam.’

Jane Romilly smiled. It was an inviting smile, hard not to respond to. ‘Thank you, Master Hill. It’s very close, but I should be glad of company.’

At the entrance to Merton, she held out a hand. ‘My thanks again, sir. Perhaps we shall meet another time.’ Thomas took the hand, bowed and brushed his lips against it.

‘I hope so, madam.’ He watched her safely into the college before making his way back to Pembroke. Jane Romilly. An unusual lady, he thought, and an elegant one. Striking looks and an easy manner. Certain to be married. I wonder in what way she attends the queen? And there was something arresting about her face. He tried to picture it, but could not.

Later, he lay on his bed and thought of the day. Pembroke a soldiers’ quarters, blind Abraham, that filthy lane, the poxed whore, Jane Romilly. It came to him just before he fell asleep. Jane Romilly’s eyes were different colours. The right was brown, the left blue. Extraordinary.

The prospect of meeting the man to whom Parliament had presented a list of two hundred and four grievances and demands did not fill Thomas with joy. Charles’s supporters claimed that he had done much to rid the court of the debauchery of his father’s day, and to cleanse the administration of corruption and incompetence. His critics, however, and there were many of them, trusted neither his honesty nor his judgement. Either way, he was a king who had divided his country and brought it to this parlous state. That was something that Thomas could not condone. War could and should have been avoided. Still, Charles was the king, and must be treated accordingly. And Thomas, after all, had come to Oxford at his request, and to work in his service. He would behave himself and carry out his duties as best he could. Then he would go home. He washed and shaved, dressed carefully and set off to collect Abraham.

On the other side of the courtyard, a tall soldier was lounging against the wall, with a woman hanging on to his arm. As Thomas approached, he could see that she was the sort of woman who might spend a good deal of time hanging on to men’s arms. Her cheeks were powdered and her lips painted the colour of a radish. The soldier was the loud dice-player Thomas had seen in the Crown the previous evening. Still dressed in clothes more suited to a ball than a battlefield, he was not difficult to recognize. When he noticed Thomas, he pushed the woman away and pointed a finger at him. ‘You there, who are you and what are you doing here?’ It was the same haughty voice, loud and demanding. Thomas stopped and looked at the man. He was perhaps six feet tall, his fair hair long and curled and his dark eyes hooded. A handsome man, despite his manners.

‘My name is Thomas Hill and I am here on private business. And who, may I ask, are you?’

‘I thought as much. Not that it’s any concern of yours, Hill, but I am Captain Francis Fayne of Colonel Thomas Pinchbeck’s Regiment of Foot. The officer whose room you have stolen. And I wish to have it back. Immediately.’

‘I fear that will not be possible.’

Fayne stepped forward and stood in Thomas’s path. ‘Do you now? Is that what you fear? Well, you’ve got something else to fear now, Hill. Me. I do not take kindly to being thrown out of my room on the orders of Tobias Rush, and I intend to have it back.’

Thomas took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. ‘I daresay you shall have it back, captain, as soon as my business in Oxford is completed.’

‘And what business is that? You don’t look much like a fighting man.’

‘I am not. I’m a bookseller.’

Fayne guffawed. ‘A bookseller? Since when did the king’s army need booksellers?’ He peered at Thomas. ‘Or are you one of her majesty’s household? She likes puppies.’

Thomas ignored the question and made to continue on his way. The captain, however, had not finished. ‘I don’t like having to share a room with a snoring oaf, Hill. It’s inconvenient.’ He put his arm round the woman and squeezed her backside hard enough to make her squeal. ‘Isn’t it, my lovely? So get out, man, or I’ll put you out.’

Thomas stepped to the side, bowed politely and walked on. ‘Good day, Captain Fayne. Good day, madam.’

Good God, Thomas, he thought to himself as he climbed the stairs to Abraham’s room, why do you persist in discomposing these men? Captain Brooke and his dragoons, Pym’s thieves and now Francis Fayne? Do try and take more care. By nature or by training, soldiers are soldiers. Keep away from them. He had never held a high opinion of tall, good-looking, fair-haired men, and Fayne had done nothing to change his mind.

Abraham was dressed and ready when Thomas knocked on the door. To attend the king, he wore a long black jacket and carried a broad black hat in his hand. ‘Take this,’ he said, holding out another hat, ‘I’m quite sure you don’t have one.’

Thomas put it on and took the old man’s arm. ‘It’s no distance to Christ Church. We’ll walk slowly. I want to ask you something.’ Thomas led Abraham through a side gate to avoid the risk of another confrontation with Captain Fayne, and, once outside the college, told him about the attempted robbery of Jane Romilly. ‘No one even tried to arrest the boy, never mind help the lady. I couldn’t believe it.’