Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

‘Why would he choose to ignore what is obvious to us?’ asked Thomas.

‘Indolence. Plain indolence. If he suspects a crime he has to investigate it. That means work. Manners hates work. It interferes with his drinking and whoring. That’s why, if he can get away with it, he reports every suspicious death as an accident. The man’s a dangerous idiot.’ Williamson’s lazy eye had come to life and was fixed on Thomas. ‘I cannot get rid of Manners, nor can I force him to investigate Copestick’s death. Three of my agents have been murdered and he has not a single clue as to who murdered them. We shall have to make our own enquiries.’

‘We?’

Williamson ignored the question. ‘Mottershead, redouble your efforts. Visit every alehouse and brothel in London. Discreetly, of course, but fast. I want the culprit caught and questioned.’

‘Count on me, sir.’

‘Thomas, will you also keep your eyes and ears open? Visit coffee shops and barbers’ shops. They’re the places for gossip. See if you can find out anything.’

‘Mr Williamson, I agreed to act as cryptographer for you while Dr Wallis is away. I did not agree to anything more, yet now I find myself inspecting bodies and being asked to stand in for a murdered man. With respect, you’re not being entirely fair. You have agents all over London. Could you not find someone else for this?’

Williamson looked put out. ‘Of course, if you’re not of a mind to assist I cannot force you to. A man must live with his own conscience. I shall find someone else. He will not be as suitable as you, as few have your perception and experience, and his face will be better known than yours. He might even be a traitor. Still, if you would prefer not to serve at this sensitive time, that’s an end to it. Will you be good enough at least to carry on with the intercepted correspondence? And please call me Joseph.’

Thomas was trapped. Agree to Williamson’s – Joseph’s – request or be made to feel disloyal. Shame and flattery. Twin blades in the hands of a very capable swordsman. He gave up. ‘Very well, Joseph, if you put the matter like that I will do as you ask. No more, mind. I will simply watch and listen and report anything I learn to you. Nothing more.’

‘Excellent. Whoever murdered Matthew Smith, John Winter and Henry Copestick knew or guessed that they were agents of mine and has managed to leave not a clue as to his identity or the source of his intelligence. Between the three of us we must find him.’

‘There is something else,’ said Thomas. ‘My instinct is still that Montford Babb’s murder was connected to those of the others. I would like to find out.’

‘I disagree, but in the circumstances I can hardly refuse you. My cousin Madeleine is acquainted with Lady Babb. I will ask her to arrange for you to meet her. Would that be a good start?’

I can think of none better, thought Thomas. ‘Thank you. That will do well enough.’

That evening Thomas faced Mary’s ire. ‘How could you, Thomas?’ she demanded. ‘You promised me it would be no more than some simple work on codes, yet now you tell me that you have inspected the body of another murdered man and are to act as intelligencer for Joseph Williamson. What in the name of heaven are you thinking of?’

‘I could hardly refuse,’ replied Thomas. ‘Joseph made it plain that in his eyes to do so would make me little better than a traitor.’

‘And in my eyes, Thomas, you are little better than a fool. Why not go home to Romsey and carry on just as you were before?’

‘Surely you are being a little over-dramatic, Mary? I am not being asked to take up a sword and slay a dragon, merely to gather information for Joseph.’

‘You have a habit, Thomas, of putting yourself at risk. Oxford, Barbados and now London. I despair of you. Just don’t come to me with a bloody nose and broken bones, even if you did save my life.’

‘Mary, I assure you that there will be neither bloody noses nor broken bones. May I continue to stay here while I am carrying out the work?’

Mary shook her head and for a moment Thomas thought she was going to refuse. ‘Very well. Stay here and keep out of trouble. I do not wish to see you hurt.’

‘Thank you. I shall take care.’

THREE DAYS LATER, Thomas was tucking into his breakfast when Smythe handed him two letters. The first was from Madeleine Stewart, requesting that Thomas call for her at ten o’clock the following morning when she would escort him to meet the recently widowed Lady Babb.

The second was from Lemuel Squire, inviting him to the Post Office to see the new copying machine in action. Squire mentioned that Sir Samuel Morland was away and suggested that an early visit would thus be wise. Thomas had planned a walk to Cornhill to take a cup or two of Turkish coffee at one of the coffee houses there. It would be his first effort at intelligence gathering. Armed with Squire’s invitation, he would go to Cloak Lane on his way back.

The coffee house he chose this time was on the corner of Cornhill and Finch Lane. Two large windows on either side of the door allowed passers-by to see into a panelled room with one long table in the middle and several smaller ones around the walls. Chairs had been set at each one. In mid-morning it was very busy and he had to wait until a table became free. He did not want to sit at the long ‘common table’ for fear of having to answer questions about himself. From where he sat he could read a news-sheet, observe the room and hear much of what was said. He did not expect to learn much, if anything at all, but at least he was doing as he had been asked. He ordered a small dish of coffee from the dame de comptoir , a fearsome lady in an enormous wig and a flowing green gown, and looked about. A dozen well-dressed men sat around the common table, some talking business, others declaiming about the state of the country. News-sheet readers occupied the smaller tables. All were drinking coffee and many were smoking long clay pipes.

Their conversations were hardly the stuff of spies and traitors – complaints about the state of the roads and the price of corn, and gossip about friends and enemies. Thomas heard a young man talking about the problems of finding adequate stabling for his horses and an older one expressing the hope that he would never again be called upon to sit on one. He picked up a few remarks about the new king. His youth was a concern to some, his mistresses to others. But that was it. Gossip and banter only. Not a treasonable word.

Thomas was about to leave when Chandle Stoner arrived. When he saw Thomas he came over immediately to greet him. Stoner was in excellent spirits.

‘Why, Thomas Hill if I’m not mistaken. And what brings a scholar to this place of vulgar commerce and common merchants?’

Thomas rose to shake Stoner’s hand. ‘I thought merely to sample the pleasures I have heard about. “Coffee, conversation and comfort” is how Charles Carrington described these new houses.’

Stoner laughed. ‘Did he now? An admirable fellow, Carrington, and the lovely Mary, of course. Now, may I buy you another cup? I don’t care for the common table today.’

‘That would be most agreeable.’

Stoner ordered the coffee and took a seat at Thomas’s table. ‘And how have you been occupying yourself in London, Thomas, since we last met? Are you fond of the theatre?’

‘I am fond of Shakespeare’s plays, especially the comedies.’

‘Ah yes, The Merry Wives, Twelfth Night – I do enjoy them. Thank goodness the theatres are open again and the players can earn an honest living. I gather many of the poor wretches were forced to take to crime during Cromwell’s rule. The Lord Protector, indeed. The Lord Destroyer would have been more apt. While you are in London, you must accompany me as my guest to a performance.’