Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

‘Under London Bridge at about ten o’clock this morning.’

‘Who found her?’

‘A wherryman. He sent for me immediately.’

‘And she was as we see her now?’

‘Naturally.’ Manners sounded affronted.

Thomas forced himself to look again at the horribly disfigured face. It was covered in cuts and congealed blood from forehead to chin and across both cheeks, the eye sockets were empty and all hair had been cut off. Manners was right. Identification from the face was impossible. ‘Is she clothed?’ he asked quietly.

‘She is.’ Manners pulled the sheet down so that they could see the body. As far as it was possible to tell, she had been about the same height and age as Madeleine. She wore neither rings nor jewellery, as Madeleine did not, and before being submerged in the river, her dress had been a shade of blue that would have matched Madeleine’s eyes. ‘Do you recognize this woman, Mr Williamson?’ he asked.

Joseph shook his head. ‘It is hard to say. Thomas, do you recognize her?’

Thomas was conscious of being watched by Manners. He spoke slowly. ‘Kindly pull down her dress, Mr Manners, so that I may see her chest.’

‘Really, sir, is that necessary? If she cannot be identified from her face, what will you learn from her chest?’

‘Just do it, man,’ barked Charles.

With a show of disapproval, Manners unfastened her dress and pulled it down to her waist. ‘Will that be far enough?’ he sneered.

Thomas felt a weight lift from the pit of his stomach. This unfortunate woman had been tortured and murdered, but she did not carry a scar from her throat to her stomach. He turned to Charles and Joseph. ‘It is not Madeleine.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Joseph.

‘Quite sure.’

Joseph spoke to Manners, the relief in his voice clearly audible. ‘I fear we cannot be of assistance, Manners, but I am sure you will pursue this poor wretch’s killer with your customary zeal.’

Disappointment was written all over Manners’ face. The repulsive little man had wanted the body to be that of Madeleine Stewart, Joseph Williamson’s cousin. He shrugged and led them from the room. As they were leaving, he said, ‘Should you be mistaken, gentlemen, I shall of course have to refer the matter to a magistrate. Impeding a coroner in the pursuit of his duties is a serious business.’

‘Hold your tongue, Manners,’ thundered Williamson, ‘or you’ll be getting a visit from Sir Edward Nicholas’s men.’

The three of them stormed out of the house and into the waiting coach. ‘To Chancery Lane first, coachman,’ Joseph shouted, ‘then to Piccadilly. And make haste.’

‘Thank God,’ said Thomas, when they were on their way. ‘I suppose one should pity the girl but my only feeling is one of relief.’

‘Quite understandable, my dear fellow,’ said Charles. ‘What we have to do now is find Madeleine and be quick about it. Let’s hope Joseph’s men have discovered something.’

Joseph said nothing. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.

Outside his house, he alighted from the coach and waited for the coachman to carry on. He had not spoken during the journey and Thomas had not thought to ask him about his meeting with Morland. The coachman raised his whip and was on the point of setting off when Joseph’s steward emerged from the house waving a letter.

‘This was delivered by hand a few minutes ago, Mr Williamson,’ he said. ‘I thought you would want to see it immediately.’

Williamson took the letter and examined it. ‘Did you see who delivered it?’

‘No, sir. It was pushed under the door.’

He signalled to the coachman to wait and carefully broke the seal on the letter. He opened and read it, then passed it through the coach window to Thomas. Thomas read it and passed it to Charles, who read it aloud.

Madeleine Stewart is in a safe place. If there are further attempts to find her, she will die. We require payment of £10,000 for her safe return. Confirm receipt of this letter by placing a notice in Thorpe’s newsbook.

Await further instructions.

‘Any idea who it’s from?’ asked Charles.

Joseph exchanged a look with Thomas and said, ‘You’d better both come in.’

Thomas closed his eyes and sighed. She must be alive. Ten thousand pounds was a great deal of money, but for Madeleine Stewart, a bargain.

The three men sat in Joseph’s library, the letter on a low table between them. Thomas was the first to speak. ‘It looks genuine. We know they need money.’

‘You two gentlemen have the advantage of me. Who exactly are “they” and how do we know they need money?’ From his tone and the look of irritation on his face, Charles did not care for being in the dark.

Joseph cleared his throat. ‘You will have to know. A short while ago, we intercepted an encrypted letter which confirmed my suspicion that there is a spy ring operating at a high level in London and that the Post Office might have been penetrated by one of its members. Madeleine’s abduction confirms that fear.’

‘Do you know who is behind it?’

‘It appears that the French and the Dutch are plotting against us. We have feared just such an alliance since the end of the Protectorate. It suits both of them – the French want a Catholic king on our throne and the Dutch want our trade.’

‘We believe that the murders of Matthew Smith, John Winter and Henry Copestick were connected to the ring. They were killed for what they suspected or were about to find out,’ added Thomas.

‘Do you have any idea who the spy in the Post Office is, Joseph?’ asked Charles. ‘You must have your suspicions.’

Joseph hesitated before answering. ‘I have no evidence.’

‘What about a little artful persuasion?’

‘If you mean what I think you mean, I would need the permission of the king and that I am not prepared to seek.’

‘A pity. In Barbados we wouldn’t hesitate if we thought our safety was at risk.’

‘Quite. But Barbados has been colonized for little more than thirty years. England is an ancient and, one hopes, civilized nation.’

Charles grunted his disapproval. ‘With bits of bodies on display all over London? Hardly. And what about Madeleine?’

Joseph frowned. ‘Madeleine is my cousin and I love her dearly, but I cannot allow this country to be held to ransom by our enemies.’

‘Joseph, we must put Madeleine first. If she’s alive, that is,’ said Charles.

Thomas’s heart went to his boots. The letter could be a bluff. Madeleine might already be dead. ‘We need proof that she’s alive and unharmed.’

‘And if she is, what then? Ten thousand pounds is a great deal of money.’ Joseph sounded doubtful.

‘Indeed it is. But I will find it if necessary.’

‘Could you find it?’

‘I could.’

‘I could help if we sell our interest in Chandle’s venture,’ offered Charles.

Joseph picked up the letter and read it again. ‘I really ought to take this to the king. He would expect to be informed of such a development.’

‘And if you do, Joseph, what will he do?’ asked Charles.

‘He will take the matter out of my hands on the grounds that my position is compromised by my relationship to Madeleine. Beyond that, I don’t know.’

‘Could you justify keeping it from the king until we have proof that Madeleine is alive?’ asked Thomas. ‘What if we put a notice in the newsbook requiring such proof? They’re bound to see it.’

‘Perhaps,’ replied Joseph, scratching his chin. He walked over to a writing desk in one corner, picked up a quill and wrote on a sheet of paper. He sprinkled sand on it and gave it to Thomas. ‘What do you think of that?’

Thomas read it to Charles.