Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

After an eel and oyster pie and an enormous shoulder of mutton, the diners talked of rising levels of crime in the city. Despite a general mood of relief at the end of the dreary republic, the news-sheets were full of reports of robberies, housebreakings and assaults. And the brutal murders of Matthew Smith and Sir Montford Babb, both respectable gentlemen, had caused widespread alarm in coffee shops and salons all over town.

‘I know Lady Babb,’ said Madeleine. ‘Montford was such a kind man. It was a dreadful thing.’

‘It certainly was, my dear,’ agreed Mary. ‘An elderly gentleman attacked, robbed and killed in the street, and all for the contents of his purse. Let us pray it is not a sign of things to come or we shall be wishing for Cromwell to return from his grave to restore order.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Charles, ‘though that part of the city, so I’m told, is singularly nasty. I can’t imagine what either of the victims was doing there.’ He looked around the table. ‘Did you know them, Joseph?’

‘I knew Smith.’

‘I knew Sir Montford,’ said Thomas. ‘The Babbs once lived near Winchester. The murders were foul affairs, by the sound of them. What about you, Chandle?’

Stoner stroked his beard. ‘I may have met them. It’s hard to be sure. One meets so many people in the course of business. In any event, I don’t remember them. The crimes were robberies, weren’t they?’

‘The coroner thinks so,’ replied Williamson, ‘although the man’s about as much use as a piss-pot with a hole in it, so I doubt we’ll ever know.’

Mary pretended to be shocked. ‘Really, Joseph, it’s not like you to say such a thing. Can he be that bad?’

‘He can. Seymour Manners has always been incompetent. Now he’s a hopeless drunk as well.’

‘Don’t you think they were robberies, Joseph?’ asked Charles.

‘I daresay they were, and by the same man. Both found in Pudding Lane and both with their throats cut. But if there was some other motive for either of them, the murderer would still have taken his victim’s purse, just to make it look like a robbery. That wouldn’t have occurred to Manners.’

Thomas heard something in Williamson’s voice that hinted at more than he was saying. He was searching for the right words to enquire further without giving offence, when Stoner chimed in.

‘Oh, come now, sir, Manners cannot be that bad, and in Pudding Lane after dark what motive could there be other than robbery? Why Smith or Babb was there I could not begin to guess, but robbery it most certainly was.’

They were about to tackle a large cheesecake and an even larger bowl of fruit when Smythe came in carrying a letter on a silver tray. He looked embarrassed. ‘Excuse me, Mr Carrington, this letter has just arrived for Mr Williamson. I was reluctant to interrupt you but the messenger said it was most urgent.’

‘Then you had better give it to Mr Williamson,’ replied Charles with a frown.

Williamson broke the seal and unrolled the letter. ‘My apologies, Mary. I always let the duty clerk know where I am in case of some emergency. He would not have sent this unless it was important.’

‘We quite understand,’ she replied, with the tiniest hint of disapproval.

He read the letter quickly. ‘You must forgive me. There has been another murder. A man named John Winter who worked for me. I must go at once.’

All four men were on their feet. Charles spoke first. ‘Smythe will fetch your carriage to the front door, Joseph.’

‘I am so sorry,’ said Madeleine. ‘Another murder. And of one of your own men. How dreadful.’

Thomas and Charles accompanied Williamson to his carriage. ‘John Winter was a good man,’ he said quietly. His voice trembled and he was clearly shaken.

In the dining room Chandle Stoner was gallantly offering comfort to the ladies, none of whom needed much comfort. Indeed, Louise d’Entrevaux looked positively uninterested.

‘I have never seen Joseph so flustered,’ said Charles. ‘Do stay, though. There’s no point in letting this cheesecake go to waste.’

‘Yes, do stay,’ agreed Mary. ‘The cake was made with rosewater. I’m sure you’ll like it.’

Charles cut thin slices for the ladies and thicker ones for the gentlemen. ‘There you are. Eat up and then we’ll share a bottle of brandy. A new consignment arrived yesterday from France. I am keen to try it.’

An hour later they were sitting around the fire with the brandy bottle to hand. Thomas had learned much about Chandle Stoner, nothing about his sister and very little about Madeleine Stewart. Other than that she was unmarried and lived with her housekeeper in a small house near Fleet Street, he was none the wiser. He made one last try. ‘Have you relatives in London, Miss Stewart?’

‘Only Joseph.’

‘Perhaps I shall have the pleasure of meeting you again while I am in London.’ This, at least, produced a smile.

‘I expect so. London may be large but we all move in such small circles that I daresay we shall run into each other again.’ Madeleine turned to Mary. ‘I think I should be getting home now, Mary.’

‘Would you like one of the gentlemen to escort you?’

Thomas opened his mouth to speak. He was too late.

‘We will escort you back with pleasure,’ said Stoner. ‘Why not travel in our carriage? Yours can follow behind and we will go on after seeing you home.’

‘Thank you, Chandle. That would be kind. These murders have made me quite nervous.’ Thomas bit his tongue. Beaten to it by Stoner. Damned irritating.

‘Well,’ said Mary, when they had left, ‘a day that starts with a coronation and ends with a murder does not come along all that often. It has quite exhausted me and I shall leave you gentlemen to the brandy.’

When she had retired, Thomas asked Charles about his fellow guests.

‘Madeleine Stewart is a dear friend of Mary,’ said Charles. ‘She must be about thirty-five, despite looking twenty, and no one can understand why she has never married. She has never said a word about it. Chandle Stoner is a sound fellow. A little pompous, I grant you, but very astute in business. He’s done well for us. His dull sister I can tell you nothing about. I wonder he asked to bring her. Joseph Williamson is much more important than he chooses to admit. The king holds him in high regard. What did you make of him?’

‘An intelligent man. He seemed most interested in my work with codes. I thought Madeleine Stewart delightful. You should tell Mary, however, that if the lady has resisted all approaches so far she’s unlikely to take much notice of one from me.’

Charles laughed. ‘You’re right, my friend. Why would she be interested in an ageing cryptographer who’s been imprisoned twice and deported once?’

‘Why indeed?’

THOMAS AND MARY arrived at the Salisbury Court Theatre a few minutes before the performance was due to begin. They hurried past the press of beggars, cutpurses and urchins who had gathered to take their chances with the theatre-goers, to the theatre entrance, where a plaque on the wall informed them that it had been known previously as the Whitefriars Theatre and before that had been the site of a Carmelite monastery. Thomas grinned at the thought. Players for prayers – a sign of the times.

He produced the money to pay for their seats – while most of the audience would stand, a few would pay the extra cost of a seat – and Mary took his arm. They wriggled and elbowed their way through the crowd to their places in the middle of a row of raised chairs at the back.