Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

‘My word, sir, it was a close shave. I ’ad to get a pint of brandy down ’er before she passed out and I could slip away.’

‘Agnes will have been relieved. She was very worried about you.’

‘Yes, sir, she was. And very pleased to see Mottershead, as you might say.’

‘Chandle Stoner is dead.’

‘Yes, sir, I ’eard. Odd business by all accounts.’

Thomas knew his efforts had been in vain when Agnes returned with the tulips. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Miss Stewart won’t take them. She said to give them back and to tell you to go home.’

‘Is she really that angry, Agnes?’

‘She is, sir. You should have heard her when I told her where you and Mottershead had gone. I had to cover my ears.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

Agnes frowned. ‘Not yet, sir. Give the lady time. If there’s any change, I’ll send Mottershead with a message. Will you be at the house in Piccadilly?’

‘Not for much longer. Now the Carringtons have left and Miss Stewart is not speaking to me, I shall go home in a day or two.’

‘Leave it to me, sir. I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Thank you, Agnes.’

In Fleet Street Thomas gave the tulips back to the flower girl. Perhaps they would bring another hopeful suitor good luck. A coach stood outside the house in Piccadilly, apparently waiting for someone. Thomas ignored it and went inside. He was met by Smythe. ‘Your niece is here, sir. She wishes to see you.’

Ah well, no time like the present. Thomas braced himself and opened the door of the sitting room. Lucy immediately threw herself into his arms. She was sobbing. Thomas did his best to comfort her although he feared that worse was to come. He sat her on a chair and took her hands in his. When she had sufficient control of herself, he asked gently, ‘Now, now, my dear, what has brought this on?’

Lucy sniffed and wiped her eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘It’s Arthur. He’s gone.’

Thomas suppressed an urge to cheer. Josiah had not mentioned it. ‘I am sorry to hear it. Where has he gone?’

It took Lucy a while to answer. ‘He’s gone to Bristol. Urgent business, he said.’

‘Did he say when he would return?’

Another sob. ‘No. He said he might be away for a long time and I should forget him.’

Did he now? thought Thomas. Well done, Josiah. He tried to sound avuncular and concerned. ‘Lucy, my dear, such things happen. You will soon meet another young man.’ Lucy’s sob was more of a wail. Thomas retreated. ‘I understand your feelings. We have all felt the pain of rejection.’ Lucy nodded. ‘What are you planning to do?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘In that case, I suggest that we arrange for you to return immediately to Romsey.’ Another nod. ‘Good. Then that is settled. I will send a letter to Lady Richmond telling her that you are needed at home and ask Smythe to book a seat on tomorrow’s coach for you. How would that be?’

‘Very well, Uncle Thomas.’

‘Good. Now take the coach back to Lady Richmond’s house and pack your things. I will write the letter and Smythe will bring it round.’

Thomas led Lucy to the coach and kissed her cheek. ‘I shall be home soon. Try to forget him.’ He knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment the words were out of his mouth. Lucy’s wail could have been that of a grieving widow. Thomas hastily waved the coachman away and returned inside. Not much of an effort at comforting the poor child, he thought. Perhaps a little too anxious to send her home. But I have my own problems. Madeleine Stewart for one and Joseph Williamson for another.

For the first time in years, Thomas found himself reverting to his old habit of counting things. He thought it must be the waiting. Waiting for word from Joseph or Madeleine. He counted twenty steps in the staircase, one hundred and six bricks around the fireplace and three hundred and ten words on one page of Montaigne’s Essais .

When he was not counting, he was worrying. Charles and Mary were determined and fearless, but capable of cold-blooded murder? He doubted it. With luck, their ship would depart for Barbados before Joseph’s messenger arrived. At least then they would be on their way home. Surely Joseph would not send a frigate to intercept them and bring them back to be interrogated. Or would they reach the island only to be apprehended there? He could well imagine Charles’s reaction to that. Two swords at the very least and woe betide any man who tried to prise him or his beloved wife from their home.

As for Madeleine, if she really had turned her face against him, what could he do? A letter asking for forgiveness and declaring undying love? Roses instead of tulips? A solitary vigil on her doorstep until she agreed to see him? No, Thomas, none of those. If the lady had a mind to forgive, she would do it in her own way and in her own time. He might as well return to Romsey and wait there. She would find him if she wanted to. As soon as he had news that Charles and Mary had left Southampton for Barbados, he would pack up and go home. If they were apprehended… well, that bridge would be crossed if he came to it.

When Joseph next called at Piccadilly, however, he brought with him the news that Thomas was dreading. ‘The Carringtons are being held on board their ship in Southampton harbour. It will not be permitted to sail without my authority.’

It was the worst possible outcome, worse even than the pain of Madeleine’s rejection. Joseph must have seen the distress on Thomas’s face. He went on, ‘Thomas, they are my friends too and it grieves me to have to do this, but think of my position. I must act as Sir Edward Nicholas would have acted. Charles and Mary are suspected of murdering Chandle Stoner, who was a prisoner in my charge. I really should have had them brought straight back to London.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

Joseph opened his hands in a gesture of ignorance. ‘I am not certain. Perhaps I am hoping that something will come to light which proves their innocence and I can allow their ship to leave.’

‘Stoner was a fraudster and a traitor. He did not deserve to live.’

‘I agree. However, I live in a world of opportunity and expediency. I had intended to turn Stoner into an agent of my own and the king knows it. How do I explain to His Majesty that I have allowed his murderers to go free? I shall be in trouble enough when Morland tells the king that I imprisoned him in the Tower without a shred of real evidence against him.’

Espionage, treachery, expediency, opportunism – it was high time Thomas went home. But in addition to the unwelcome news, Joseph had brought something else. From his pocket he took a silver box which he handed to Thomas.

‘My men have almost torn Squire’s house down. Every floorboard has been lifted and every piece of furniture searched for secret drawers. They found nothing until, quite by chance, this came to light.’

‘A box for snuff. I remember Squire taking snuff from a gold box. How does this help?’

‘Turn it over, Thomas, and tell me what you see.’

Thomas did so. At first he saw nothing except a few marks of the sort one might expect to find on a well-used object. But when he looked more closely, the marks began to take shape. They were very small and their patterns were regular. He held the box close to his eyes. ‘I think they are numbers. I can make out forty-six and ninety-nine.’

‘Try this,’ said Joseph, handing him a bone-handled magnifying glass. When Thomas held the glass over the box, the numbers jumped out.

‘Now I can read them easily. How did you find this?’

‘It was on a shelf. Josiah took it down and dropped it. It landed upside down and when he picked it up his sharp eyes noticed the scratches. A fortunate accident, you might say.’