Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

He jumped at the sound of every footstep in the lane, expecting a knock on the door and the return of Josiah or the arrival of a messenger from Joseph. But none came and when dawn broke and Agnes emerged from the kitchen she found Thomas, red-eyed and haggard, sitting and staring at the empty hearth.

‘Mottershead’ll be back soon, sir,’ she said, doing her best to sound cheerful. ‘I’ll make some breakfast for you both.’

Before long, roused by the sounds and smells of cooking, Thomas shook his head free of the long night, stood up and stretched his legs and back. There was a knock on the door and when he opened it, Josiah came straight in. Thomas knew at once that he had learned nothing. There was not a hint of a smile on the little man’s face and, accustomed as he doubtless was to sleepless nights spent in the course of duty, he looked exhausted.

Josiah shook his head. ‘Not a squeak, sir. Nothing. If anyone knows what ’appened to Miss Stewart they’re not saying, and I don’t think they do know. I’d ’ave spotted it if they did.’ Thomas did not know whether to be relieved or dismayed. Neither sight nor sound, but no rumours of a robbery either. And, thank God, no body in the river.

Nothing, it seemed, interfered with Josiah’s appetite and he was soon demolishing more of Agnes’s pie. Thomas, as he had the previous evening, ate little. They listened as Josiah told them where he had been and to whom he had spoken. He had persevered all night, despite hearing not a word about a lady being robbed or attacked in the street.

‘I’ll go to Mr Williamson,’ he said, wiping his plate with a crust of bread. ‘’E’s expecting me and there will ’ave been other men out last night. Perhaps one of them ’eard something.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ replied Thomas, standing up from the table. ‘Let’s be off,’ he said, adding, ‘Unless you need to rest a while, Josiah,’ when he saw the look which passed between him and Agnes.

‘No, sir, rest can wait. Thank you for the food, Agnes. I shall be back later.’

‘I’ll be here,’ she replied, ‘and praying for better news.’

JOSEPH WILLIAMSON HAD also been up all night. His shirt and coat were crumpled and his eyes were red. The lid of his left eye drooped over the pupil, giving him the look of a drunk, unable to focus. He led them into his library and invited them to sit. ‘What news, Mottershead?’ he asked without preamble.

‘None, sir, I fear,’ replied Josiah nervously. ‘Not a sound. I don’t understand it.’

‘No more do I.’ Joseph was tired and short-tempered. ‘How can a lady disappear in the middle of the day in a perfectly respectable part of London without anyone apparently having seen or heard anything at all? It beggars belief.’

‘So there’s been no word from anywhere?’ asked Thomas.

‘None. I sent four others out as well as Josiah. Not a glimmer from any of them. Three of my men dead and now Madeleine… we’ve lost control of our own city. Whoever these traitors are – Aurum and Argentum and their murdering friends – they must be as cunning as the devil. And I’ve heard nothing from that drunken sot Manners. I’ve told him to let me know at once if he has any suspicions.’

‘Are you convinced that Madeleine’s disappearance is connected to the murders?’ asked Thomas.

‘I am now. Anything else and we would have heard something. Don’t you agree, Mottershead?’

‘I do, sir.’

Williamson turned to Thomas. ‘Mottershead knows about the letter and the spy ring. I thought it best to tell him in case he picked up a murmur about the names. I do wish we had not said anything to Madeleine, however. Stupid fool that I am, this did not occur to me. It should have.’

‘If there’s nothing else, sir,’ said Mottershead, ‘I’ll be off. I’ve still a few places to visit.’

‘Of course, Mottershead. Report back this evening, please, or the moment you hear a word.’

‘I will, sir. Goodbye, Mr ’Ill. And don’t worry, we’ll find ’er safe and well. I can feel it in the Mottershead bones.’

Thomas managed a weak smile. ‘Do your best, Josiah. If anyone can find Madeleine, you can.’

When Mottershead had gone, Joseph pulled off his long wig and scratched the top of his head. ‘God’s wounds, but I hope he’s right. I’d never forgive myself if Madeleine were to come to any harm on my account.’

‘Nor I,’ agreed Thomas. ‘Is there no more intelligence?’

‘None. If it wasn’t so serious, it would be comic.’ Williamson rubbed his eyes. ‘I have never seen the king so angry. “Our entire intelligence service with no intelligence,” he said. “Murders, abductions and a Franco-Dutch plot about which we know next to nothing. Get to the bottom of this without delay, Mr Williamson, or we will find someone else to do so.” I am going to Cloak Lane to speak to Morland and Squire again, Thomas. Will you accompany me?’

‘If you wish it. And if Squire thinks the letter might have been tampered with, perhaps we should also speak to his chief clerk.’

At the Post Office, Henry Bishop was less than pleased to see them. He berated them for yet another intrusion into the daily workings of his Post Office and complained about his lack of staff, Morland’s ungracious behaviour and Squire’s frequent absences. Joseph and Thomas sat silently until the outburst was over. Then Joseph asked quietly if Morland might be fetched. Without another word, Bishop stormed out.

If anything, Sir Samuel Morland was even less pleased to see them than Henry Bishop. ‘I assume you have come to inform me that this man has failed to decode the intercepted letter?’ he barked, glaring at Williamson. ‘If you now wish me to do so, you will be disappointed. I am much too busy.’

Joseph ignored the bait. ‘That is not our purpose. We simply wish to confirm some facts.’

‘What facts?’

‘That you did not see the original letter, only the copy made by Mr Squire.’

‘I have said so. Why do you ask again?’

‘So you cannot comment on Squire’s view that the seal might have been tampered with?’

‘If anyone tampered with the seal it must have been one of the clerks. Or Squire himself.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘That is for you to establish.’

Williamson leaned forward in his chair. ‘Be sure that we shall, Sir Samuel.’ He paused. ‘And why did you suppose that you alone could break the numerical code?’

The look that Morland shot at Thomas was so venomous that Thomas felt himself recoil. ‘Because I am the most accomplished cryptographer in England. I do not believe that this man has the skill to do it. And it seems that I am right.’ Thomas bit his tongue. Much as he wanted to humiliate this hateful man, they had agreed to keep his decryption secret.

‘Very well, Sir Samuel,’ said Williamson. ‘Now please be good enough to ask Mr Squire to join us.’ With another look of pure poison, Morland left.

Thomas exhaled. ‘That man should hang, guilty or not.’

Williamson laughed. ‘You are not alone in that opinion. Let us hope Squire is in a more helpful frame of mind.’

When Squire bustled in, Thomas only just stopped himself from laughing. Even by Lemuel’s standards, his outfit that day was bizarre. His ample stomach was encased in a short green jacket with a high collar, over a cream shirt with huge mutton-chop sleeves and a long red skirt. On his feet he wore blue heeled shoes with silver buckles. The whole ensemble was finished with abundant ribbons of assorted colours. In certain circles such an outfit was the very height of fashion. On the rotund Squire it was merely comical.