Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

ANIMALS IN CAGES reminded Thomas of his own imprisonments in Oxford Castle and on the island of Barbados, so the king’s menagerie, even his giraffe, did not hold his interest for long. He soon left the park and wandered off in the direction of Westminster Abbey.

Unlike on his last visit to the Abbey, there was no scaffolding and there were no crowds. Thomas walked slowly around the building, wondering at the skill and faith of the men who had given their lives to creating and improving it over the centuries. It had been fortunate to escape destruction when King Henry had been plundering monasteries all over the country. Perhaps the thought of all his predecessors buried there had stayed the royal hand. Oliver Cromwell had enjoyed only a brief rest in the Abbey. He had been buried in great ceremony, only to be disinterred less than three years later, tried and hanged – an act of astonishing stupidity and barbarity.

Kings and queens had been crowned there for six hundred years. How many more would follow King Charles II? Would any more suffer the fate of his father? Would England ever again be without a monarch? Would the country ever again plunge itself into the anguish and bloodshed of a civil war?

Thomas shuddered at the thought. Never mind all that, Thomas Hill, you have more immediate matters to deal with and there are questions to be answered. Is Stoner Argentum? Who is Aurum? Was it he who alerted the enemy to the interception of the letter, or had they noticed that its seal had been broken and repaired? Who ordered the Dutchman to murder Babb, Winter, Smith and Copestick? Who is the Alchemist? And what exactly are the Dutch and French planning? More important still, what are you going to do about Madeleine Stewart?

Thomas strolled twice around the Abbey before walking back to Piccadilly. The sitting room was deserted and the house quiet. Thomas smiled. If he knew Charles, by now Mary knew about Stoner and was being consoled in their bedroom. He looked in on Madeleine, who was asleep, and went to his own room.

After an hour reading, Thomas’s eyes closed, and he was asleep in his chair when Smythe knocked on his door and called through it, ‘Mr Hill, Josiah Mottershead and Agnes Cakebread are here to see Miss Stewart. Should I show them up?’

Thomas roused himself and opened the door. ‘I will come down, John,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Where are Mr and Mrs Carrington?’

‘They are in their bedroom, sir. I did not like to disturb them.’

‘Very wise.’

Josiah and Agnes were in the sitting room, looking uncomfortable. Agnes was wearing a green bonnet and a thin shawl over her working dress. She held in her hand a wooden box tied with pink ribbon. Josiah hopped from foot to foot and rubbed his hands together nervously. He had placed his stick by the door. ‘Good afternoon, Mr ’Ill,’ he said. ‘We wondered ’ow Miss Stewart is and Agnes ’as baked ’er a fruit cake. It’s ’er favourite.’

Thomas spoke gently. ‘Miss Stewart is very weak, but the worst is over. Agnes’s fruit cake is just what she needs. How are you, Josiah? Recovered?’

‘Thank you, sir, quite recovered. Takes more than a poke in the back to do for Mottershead.’

‘Good. Why don’t we take the cake up to her?’

Madeleine was awake and sitting up. ‘How kind of you both to come. I am feeling much better, and if that is a fruit cake in your hand, Agnes, I shall be better still.’

‘It is, Miss Stewart,’ said Agnes with something very like a curtsy. ‘Mottershead told me to bring it.’

‘Thank you, Josiah. And thank you also for rescuing me and getting me out of those terrible marshes.’

‘It was no trouble, miss, and Mr Carrington and Mr ’Ill did most of the rescuing.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Madeleine, reaching out to put her hand on Josiah’s arm, ‘Thomas has told me exactly what happened. Thank you, Josiah.’

How anyone with a face the colour of Josiah’s could blush, Thomas did not know, but blush he did. Thomas almost felt sorry for him. ‘Shall we leave Agnes and Miss Stewart to gossip, Josiah? Let us go down to the sitting room.’

The moment they were alone, Thomas asked if Stoner had been arrested. ‘Afraid not, sir. When we went to ’is ’ouse, ’e ’ad gone,’ replied Josiah.

‘Hell and damnation. He must have taken fright when he learned that we had found Miss Stewart.’

‘Bloody Dutchman. Should never ’ave let him escape.’

‘Too late now, Josiah. Did you search Stoner’s house?’

‘We did, sir. Top to bottom. Not a sign of where ’e’s gone.’

‘What is Mr Williamson going to do?’

‘I’m to find the man, sir. And if the thieving traitor’s in London, find ’im I shall. Got everyone I can think of looking for ’im.’

Thomas did not doubt it. But Stoner might very well not be in London. He might not be in England. He might have taken a boat across the Channel and be counting his money in comfort in Amsterdam or Paris. The devil’s balls. Why had he not seen through Stoner long ago? The man was too glib and too plausible. Now he might have escaped.

When Agnes came down, Thomas showed them out. At the door he said quietly, ‘If anyone can find him, Josiah, you can. Please keep me informed.’

Thomas spent the next two days with Madeleine or walking the streets of the city. He imagined himself finding Stoner lurking in an alley, overpowering him and dragging him off to Newgate. A delicious idea, an absurd thought. Yet if justice was to be done, Stoner would have to be found. He had swindled Charles and Mary and probably been involved in four murders and Madeleine’s abduction. The man must hang. Thomas replayed his conversations with him, hoping to remember something that might help – a place, a name, an idle remark. There was nothing.

Madeleine’s recovery, meanwhile, continued well and on the third day she left her bed and came down to join them in the sitting room. There had still been no word from Josiah. Since learning from Thomas that Stoner had disappeared, Charles had worked himself up into a rare stew. He paced the room, cursing the man for his treachery and deceit and cursing himself for his foolishness.

‘For the love of God, sit down, Charles,’ said Mary. ‘Acting like a cuckolded husband won’t do anyone any good.’ Reluctantly, Charles sat. ‘Now, Thomas, what are your plans?’

‘I had intended to return to Romsey when Madeleine was out of danger, but now I feel I must stay until Stoner is caught and all the spies exposed. If I go home now, I shall find myself pacing about like Charles.’ He stole a look at Madeleine. Her face told him nothing.

‘If that is what you want, Thomas, of course you shall stay here as long as you wish. And Madeleine will stay until she is fully recovered, won’t you, my dear?’

‘Thank you, Mary, although I’m sure I shall be ready to go home very soon. I shall have Agnes to look after me.’

There was a knock on the door and in came Smythe. ‘Mr Mottershead is here, sir.’

Charles jumped to his feet. ‘Show him in at once.’

Josiah came in, hat in one hand, stick in the other. Thomas had never seen him without his stick and wondered if he slept with it. Charles had no time for pleasantries. ‘What news, Josiah? Have you got him?’

Josiah shook his head. ‘Not yet, sir. We’re still searching. I just came to see ’ow Miss Stewart is.’

‘As you can see, Josiah, I am much improved,’ said Madeleine. ‘And how is Agnes?’

‘I’ve been too busy to call, madam. Out all day and all night. She knows where to find me, though, if she needs me.’