Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

He had chosen this route for his walk, rather than a stroll in St James’s Park or along the river, to take his mind off Madeleine. If the horrors of Newgate could not divert him, nothing could. He wandered around St Paul’s Churchyard, stopping from time to time to read the inscription on an ancient gravestone, then walked back down Ludgate Hill to Fleet Street.

What nonsense. Newgate had nothing to do with it. This route took him past the end of the narrow lane in which Madeleine lived. That was why he had chosen it.

The temptation was too great. He turned into the lane and stood outside her door. After a minute, he knocked loudly. There was no reply. He knocked again. Still no reply. Madeleine Stewart was not at home and nor was Agnes. At least that spared him another humiliation. He turned to go. As he did so, his eye registered a tiny movement inside the window by the door. There was someone there and it must be Madeleine. Agnes on her own would have answered the door. Madeleine had seen him outside and left him there. Now he knew where he stood.

Damn the woman and damn London. Smythe had started packing up the house, tomorrow would be the tenth day since the letter had been sent to Amsterdam and he had been in London far too long. He should have gone home weeks ago. This time he really would go home, Alchemist or no Alchemist. Lucy had left, he would not be tempted to call on Madeleine again and he would not be persuaded by Joseph to stay longer. Back in his room he threw his clothes and books into his travelling bag and went to tell Smythe that he would be leaving the next morning.

But when at six o’clock that evening there was a knock on the door, he leapt up from his chair and rushed to open it. He knew it was Madeleine come to forgive him.

It was not. A carriage stood on the street and Joseph at the door, holding in his hand a rolled letter.

‘It’s come, Thomas. A reply.’ Without waiting to be invited, Joseph strode in and handed the letter to Thomas. It was short.

Thomas retrieved his papers from his bag, found the key and decrypted it. 98, for which he did not have a letter, was easy enough to guess. He read it out.

‘CHEAPSIDE N JUNE MIDNIGHT ALCHEMIST’

‘What does N June mean?’ asked Joseph.

Thomas laughed. ‘It doesn’t. 30 is not N, it is 30. The thirtieth of June. Two days’ time.’ So much for going home tomorrow. The capricious fates were playing their games again.

‘Of course. And Cheapside can only mean Stoner’s house. Two days gives us time to prepare. Come on, Thomas, we’ll discuss our plan at my house. I have sent for Mottershead. He should be there by now.’ Joseph was in no mood for conversation. He strode out as quickly as he had strode in. Thomas hastily gathered up his papers and followed.

Josiah had already arrived at Chancery Lane so they sat in Joseph’s library and thrashed out a plan. It was simple enough and would involve no more than four well-armed men and themselves.

Afterwards, Josiah enquired after Thomas’s health and apologized for not calling on him. ‘Mr Williamson’s been keeping me busy,’ he explained, ‘and when I’m not working, I’m running to the market and doing jobs for Agnes.’

Thomas did his best not to ask after Madeleine. ‘Is Agnes well?’

‘She is, thank you, sir.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’ It was no good. ‘And Miss Stewart?’

‘A little out of sorts, sir. Not eating properly, Agnes says.’

‘A chill perhaps. Offer her my good wishes please, Josiah.’

‘You could do that yourself, sir.’

‘Perhaps. First, however, let us finally get this business over with.’

THE NIGHT OF 30 June was warm and lit by a half-moon in a clear sky. By ten o’clock the trap had been set. Inside Stoner’s house on Cheapside a single candle had been lit and placed in the window to tell his visitors that they were expected. Thomas and Joseph sat by Stoner’s unlit fire and in the kitchen four armed guards were ready and waiting. Outside, Josiah stood unseen in the shadow of a doorway opposite. If the Alchemist kept this rendezvous, it would be his last.

It had been agreed that Thomas, dressed as a servant in a plain white shirt and black breeches, would answer the door and let the visitor in. Once he was safely inside, the door would be locked and at Joseph’s signal the guards would burst from the kitchen and arrest him. Josiah’s task was to keep watch until the arrest had been made.

The two hours to midnight dragged by. In the kitchen four nervous men wished they were enjoying themselves in an inn or tucked up in their beds. Joseph and Thomas sat in silence, wondering if the fox really would leave his den. There was no need for Thomas to be there. Anyone could have played the part of the servant. It was just that he did not want to miss the final act of the play. Now that the moment was approaching, he wished it over. Come, Alchemist, and reveal yourself.

The clock of the church of St Mary-le-Bow struck twelve. Joseph took out his pocket watch and checked it. They had agreed that they would wait for half an hour past midnight. If the Alchemist had not arrived by then, he was not coming.

At ten minutes after midnight there was a quiet knock on the door. Thomas looked at Joseph, who nodded and went to the kitchen door. ‘Be ready,’ he whispered through it and Thomas heard the muffled sounds of the guards preparing themselves. Joseph stood in front of the hearth, ready to greet their visitor face to face. Thomas walked to the front door and opened it.

On the doorstep stood not one but two hooded figures, their heads lowered and their faces partially covered. Both wore long cloaks to their ankles. One was Thomas’s height, the other several inches shorter. He opened the door wider and made a gesture of welcome. When he did so, light from the single candle in the window shone weakly on his face. The smaller of the two figures looked up and for no more than a moment stared at him. Behind the hood, Thomas could see only a pair of pale eyes. So quickly did the figure turn and run that Thomas had not moved before the other one set off behind him. Taken entirely by surprise, he stood and stared. By the time he shouted an alarm and gave chase, the smaller figure was halfway down Cheapside.

At that time of the night, the streets were deserted and there was just enough moonlight for him to make out the running figures. They were heading for Stocks Market at the junction of Poultry and Cornhill. If they reached Leadenhall, they would disappear into the warren of lanes and alleys around Lime Street. Thomas accelerated and by the time he reached Old Jewry, the taller figure had caught up with the shorter one and they were no more than twenty yards ahead of him. At that moment the shorter one stopped and turned. There was a shot and the pistol ball which grazed Thomas’s cheek drew a trace of blood and stopped him in his tracks. He wiped it away, realized the wound was superficial and set off again. Both quarries, however, were now out of sight and he feared that he had lost them when two tall runners hurtled past him. Assuming they were Joseph’s men and a great deal younger and fleeter of foot than him, he gave up the chase and left them to it.

He was standing with his hands on his knees, trying to recover his breath, when a puffing Josiah arrived. ‘Did the boys come past, sir?’ asked the little man in between gulps of air.

‘If you mean two men running like stags, yes they did. Who were they?’