Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

She shook her head. ‘Stay here with me, please, Thomas. The water can wait.’ She rested her head on his shoulder. It was not long before Josiah and Charles appeared. Charles was leading their horses, saddled and ready to go, and Josiah was perched on a flat cart drawn by an ancient pony. He looked unhappy.

‘Never did like ’orses,’ he grumbled, ‘and this one’s as old as I am. Still, ’e’ll ’ave to do. Put Miss Stewart on the cart, sir, and we’ll be off.’

They used their coats to make Madeleine as comfortable as they could on the cart and set off on the direct road to Greenwich, riding slowly and stopping often for her sake. The route was criss-crossed with streams and brooks, and whenever they stopped Thomas found clear water to cool Madeleine’s fever. But each time he felt her forehead it was hotter and by the time they reached the edge of the town, she was barely conscious. Her skin could have been made of paper and her eyes were red and rheumy. Despite the coats, she was shivering. She coughed painfully. Apart from the fever, Thomas could find no evidence of plague – no lumps, no infected sores – but if it was plague, she would not survive the night. The disease killed within days, if not hours. And even if it was not plague, Madeleine was still very sick – burning, shivering, vomiting, unable to speak. Josiah, too, was in pain. Holding the reins in one hand, he held the other to his back and stifled a groan every time the cart hit a hole in the road. Several times he spat out blood and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

They left the horses and the pony and cart at a stable in Greenwich and hired a carriage to take them to Piccadilly. The carriage driver, alarmed at the sight of an ailing woman, had to be persuaded with an enormous bribe. All the way there – from Greenwich to Southwark, over the bridge and westwards down the Strand and Fleet Street, Thomas sat with his arm around Madeleine, from time to time wiping her face with his handkerchief. Charles and Josiah sat opposite. Not a word was spoken until they arrived in Piccadilly.

When the carriage pulled up outside the Carringtons’ house, Charles jumped out and reached in to take Madeleine in his arms. He carried her to the door, which was opened by Mary, and, at her instruction, up the stairs to a bedroom. Thomas and Josiah followed behind and went into the sitting room. Charles soon returned. ‘Does Mary think it’s plague?’ asked Thomas.

‘No. If it were, she’d be dead by now. It’s probably one of the agues that infest the foul air of the marshes. There will be many there, as there are in Barbados.’

‘How does she look?’

‘A little stronger, I’d say.’ It was a lie.

‘Thank you, Josiah, for what you’ve done,’ said Thomas, extending his hand. ‘We could not have managed without you. Are you recovered?’

Josiah tried to smile. ‘Good as new, sir. I’ll go to Chancery Lane now. Mr Williamson must be told about Miss Stewart.’

‘Of course. Tell him she’s in good hands.’

Josiah nodded and left, still clutching his side.

Mary soon appeared. ‘She’s very sick,’ she told them. ‘Feverish and shivering. I’ll stay with her tonight. Pray that the fever breaks. Now tell me what happened.’

Between them, they recounted the story of their journey to Dartford, the search for Madeleine and her rescue. Thomas told her about the disfigured murderer. ‘He told us nothing about a spy ring or a plot. We still don’t know who Aurum and Argentum are. Has Joseph called?’

‘A messenger came yesterday, asking you to call at his house. I sent a reply that you were unavailable but would call when you could.’

‘He won’t have liked that.’

‘He will like the real story even less. You’ll have to explain why you didn’t tell him about the message and why you sneaked off to Dartford, putting Madeleine’s life at risk.’

‘We’ll do it together,’ Charles assured Thomas. ‘Strength in numbers, don’t you think?’

‘Quite so. Thank God Madeleine is alive. And we’ll need to speak for Josiah.’

‘What are you going to do now?’

‘Now I’m going to look in on Madeleine and then I’m going to my bed.’

‘No, I meant are you going to stay in London or go home?’

‘I shall stay until Madeleine is recovered. Then I shall make a decision. As long as you’re willing to have me, that is.’

‘Stay as long as you want, Thomas,’ said Mary. ‘Madeleine will need you.’

When Thomas looked in on Madeleine, she was asleep. She was very hot, but breathing easily. It was impossible to say which way the fever would go. Mary would alert him if there was any change. He left quietly and went to his own room.

THE NEXT MORNING, the fever was worse. Madeleine’s forehead was on fire, her breathing had deteriorated and, worst of all, an abscess had appeared on her neck. Having sat with her all night, Mary was exhausted. When Thomas went in, her anger had returned.

‘Thomas, how could you have been so stupid as to get involved in all that business? I knew it would lead to trouble. Look at poor Madeleine. She’s dying. Dying, Thomas, and all because you couldn’t leave well alone.’ She was crying.

Thomas waited for her to compose herself before speaking. ‘If I could undo what has been done, I would. I wouldn’t have gone to the Post Office, I wouldn’t have decrypted the letter and I wouldn’t have done Joseph’s bidding. I’d have gone home. As I shall the moment Madeleine is better.’

‘Thomas, did you not hear what I said? She’s dying. The fever is worse and she has an abscess on her neck.’

‘You and I will nurse her, and she will recover.’

Madeleine opened her eyes and groaned. Thomas took her hand while Mary wiped her face. She was trying to say something. Thomas bent over her.

‘I am not dying.’ It was the faintest whisper. She had heard everything. He squeezed her hand gently.

‘Of course you aren’t. Now sleep. One of us will be here all the time.’ He turned to Mary. ‘I’ll stay with her. You go and rest.’ He pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. If anyone could survive this, Madeleine Stewart could.

He was still sitting by the bed an hour later when there was an urgent knocking on the front door and the sound of voices raised in anger. He heard footsteps on the stairs and Charles burst in.

‘Joseph’s here, in a fury and demanding to see Madeleine. You’d better come down. I’ll wake Mary.’

Joseph was indeed in a fury. He shook his fist at them. ‘I must see her at once. Damned foolish thing to do, taking the matter into your own hands. God knows what might have happened to Madeleine. Damned foolish.’

Charles spoke quietly. ‘Sit down, Joseph, and take a glass of wine. Shouting and cursing won’t help. We’ll take you up to Madeleine when you’re calm.’

Williamson ignored him. ‘I’d have come last night, but I was with the king. Mottershead only found me this morning. I’ve a good mind to send the wretch packing. He had no business acting without my authority.’

‘No blame attaches to Mottershead,’ said Thomas. ‘We persuaded him to join us, although he knew he would be in trouble for doing so. He meant well and we would not have succeeded in rescuing Madeleine without him. Mottershead’s a good man, Joseph.’

Williamson turned his disobedient eye on Thomas and squinted at him. ‘I daresay he is. But I am under extreme pressure from the king and it’s my head that’ll come off if I fail to find the ringleaders of this plot. I should have been informed of your intentions and that’s an end to it.’ He took a sip of claret and looked at the glass in surprise. Charles had produced his very best bottle.