Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

‘Our situation has been made worse by the re-emergence of some of the more extreme groups of dissenters. The Fifth Monarchists I believe we have finally dealt with by executing their leader, Thomas Venner, but there are still Levellers and Quakers, not to mention the so-called Diggers and Ranters, who are capable of the Lord only knows what. Unholy alliances are being forged under our very noses.’

Williamson went on. ‘Not only that, but the king’s arbitrary extensions to the list of those excepted from the Act of Oblivion do not sit well with the people.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Some of us wish His Majesty had stuck to his promise and executed only those who signed his father’s death warrant. As the king himself said, he could not pardon them. But I believe it is unwise of him to hunt down others who did not sign the warrant and to deal with them as traitors. And if they must be punished, hanging would be enough. Quartering and disembowelling are unnecessary. And the digging up of bodies so that they could appear in court and be found guilty of treason before being displayed in public was, to be candid, absurd. Some of those put to death – Colonel Harrison, for instance – showed great courage and spoke with passion on the scaffold. Their words have had an effect. In my opinion, the king was badly advised to act as he did and we are now having to face the consequences.’

‘Why has the king done this, I wonder?’

Williamson cleared his throat. ‘The king’s mind is subtle. I believe that he imagined that, without some reassurance, all those upon whom he wished to take revenge would disappear to Italy or Switzerland, or even the American colonies, as indeed some have. So he promised clemency to any surrendering themselves within two weeks, only to renege on the promise once he had them safely locked up. By such actions His Majesty is fuelling the flames. If the king can do this, the people ask, what else might he do? My informers are reporting growing unease and there have been unexplained disturbances.’

‘Mary Carrington and I experienced just such a disturbance at the theatre.’

Williamson looked up in surprise. ‘Were you at the Salisbury Court?’

‘We were. It was most odd. A simple scuffle turned into a panicking bolt for the door. Which was locked.’

‘So I understand. It was fortunate no one was badly hurt, although I notice you did not escape entirely unmarked.’

‘Was it the work of dissidents?’ asked Thomas.

‘Probably. It fits the pattern of some other incidents without obvious purpose except to spread alarm. We are investigating the troupe of players. Now, my purpose in asking you here. Do you know of Dr John Wallis?’

Thomas knew the name well enough. Wallis had served Pym and Cromwell as a cryptographer and was highly regarded for his work. He nodded.

‘Dr Wallis is yet another Oxford mathematician – we do seem to be rather a multitude – and until recently was a senior member of staff at the General Letter Office, the department of the Post Office which deals with the good ordering of public correspondence. As he has just been appointed chaplain to His Majesty and therefore has other duties to detain him at present, I must find a competent replacement. I had rather despaired of doing so until we chanced to meet at the Carringtons’ dinner. Your name appears on none of my lists.’

‘Possibly, sir, because it is eighteen years since I served the king’s father at Oxford and I have taken no part in politics or society since. There must be many better qualified to serve than I.’

‘I doubt it. Having made certain enquiries, not least of the king himself, I am satisfied that you are as well qualified as anyone to undertake the work I have in mind.’

‘And what might that work be?’

Williamson cleared his throat. ‘Before we speak of that, sir, have I your word that this discussion will remain confidential?’

Thomas raised an eyebrow. ‘If that is your wish.’

‘Very well. From the General Letter Office, which was restored four years ago, we despatch correspondence to our agents overseas. Much of this has to be encrypted and their incoming correspondence decrypted. We also look out for anything which might help us to identify threats to our own security. It is an embarrassment that our enemies use our Post Office for their own ends, believing it safer than a common carrier or special courier, either of whom might be arrested and searched when entering the country. Dr Wallis has been in charge of the decryption of intercepted correspondence.’

‘And you would like me to take his place while the king requires his services as chaplain.’

‘Exactly. You are a skilful cryptographer and your loyalty and discretion can be counted upon. You would be rendering a valuable service to your country.’

‘I am obliged, sir, but I have not decrypted anything for years. Is there really no one better suited to the task? And I am not at home in London. The New Forest is more my natural habitat. I plan to return there within the week.’

‘I quite understand. I have often thought of returning to Bridekirk, where I was born. The hills and the lakes are lovely. Somehow, though, I have just stayed put. It’s the importance of the work we do and the challenges it presents.’

Thomas said nothing. He had half guessed that Williamson might come up with something like this. At dinner his interest in Thomas’s experience with codes and ciphers had been more than mere courtesy. He was flattered, of course, but did he really want to stay in London and devote himself to this sort of work? Wouldn’t forest oaks, fields of wheat and barley and brown trout from the river be more agreeable?

‘I cannot force you to accept,’ said Williamson, reading the doubt in Thomas’s face, ‘and I’m sure you can think of a hundred reasons not to. Bear in mind though that, as I have said, for all the gaiety and rejoicing, there are those in London who seek to overthrow our new king and replace him either with a new republic or with an interloper from across the Channel. I myself served Cromwell, as did many of my colleagues, but the last thing England needs now is to be thrown into another bloody war.’

‘Do you believe that this could happen?’

Williamson nodded. ‘I do. And there is more. John Winter and Matthew Smith were two of my intelligencers. I had hoped that Smith’s murder was no more than a matter of his being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and when Montford Babb was murdered that seemed likely. Babb had no connection with our service. It looked like a vicious thief at work. With Winter’s death, however, that has changed. Two of my men murdered, albeit in different places and by different methods, does not look like a coincidence.’

‘How was John Winter murdered, if I may ask?’

‘He was found strangled under a bush in the graveyard of St Olave’s Church.’

‘And Sir Montford Babb?’

‘I do not know. Mistaken identity perhaps or plain misfortune.’

‘Are there many like Winter and Smith?’

‘Many, both here and overseas. They are essential to our security.’

‘So you believe that the deaths of Smith and Winter were connected to their work?’

‘I fear so. Both were sober and reliable. I would not have expected either of them to be in such mean places after dark. The best explanation is that they were lured there. On what pretext, I do not know.’

‘Would Winter not have taken greater care in view of Smith’s murder?’

‘He did not know that Smith also worked for me. My agents operate independently of each other.’

‘And after Smith’s death, you did not tell him?’

‘I did not.’

‘And you see no connection with the murder of Sir Montford Babb.’