The King's Return: (Thomas Hill 3) (Thomas Hill Novels)

by Andrew Swanston

  ‘I am fond of Shakespeare’s plays, especially the comedies.’

  ‘Ah yes, The Merry Wives, Twelfth Night – I do enjoy them. Thank goodness the theatres are open again and the players can earn an honest living. I gather many of the poor wretches were forced to take to crime during Cromwell’s rule. The Lord Protector, indeed. The Lord Destroyer would have been more apt. While you are in London, you must accompany me as my guest to a performance.’

  ‘That is most generous of you,’ replied Thomas politely, thinking that after his recent experience he would prefer to stay clear of theatres for the moment.

  Stoner enquired about Thomas’s family and mentioned that his own family came from a small village in Yorkshire. Thomas thought it best not to ask about his late wife, and when he asked about his sister, Stoner said simply that she had returned to Paris. Then he asked whether Thomas had any interest in business affairs.

  ‘Very little. I am fortunate enough to be adequately provided for and I have never sought wealth.’

  ‘Fortunate indeed, sir. Most of us have to work hard to earn our daily crust. I myself am always trying to find profitable i nvestments for myself and my friends. All very discreet, of course, and I choose my clients with care. Good opportunities are best kept confidential. If you should be interested, Thomas, of course I would be happy to advise a friend of the Carringtons.’

  ‘Thank you. I do not wish to give offence, but I find that while it is sometimes wise to entrust another man with one’s health, it is wiser not to do so with one’s wealth.’ He knew Stoner was being modest about his circumstances. Mary had told him that the Stoners were considerable landowners in Yorkshire.

  Stoner laughed. ‘As well not everyone agrees with you or I should be hard put to find a single client. And if you should change your mind, be sure to contact me. I have one especially promising venture in which I have myself invested and which I expect to produce an unusually high return. Do bear it in mind, won’t you?’ He looked at his watch. ‘Now I must be away. Business calls. Good day, Thomas. And remember what I said.’

  ‘I certainly shall,’ replied Thomas. ‘Good day.’ A decent enough man, charming even. Land in Yorkshire and business in London. Clever, too.

  At the Post Office, Lemuel Squire’s welcome was effusive. Resplendent in sky-blue satin and silver-buckled shoes, he bustled out to greet his visitor.

  ‘Thomas, my dear fellow, this is indeed an unexpected surprise. I had not thought you would call so soon.’ He grasped Thomas’s hand with both of his and shook it vigorously enough to dislodge his curled wig, which slipped over his eyes. Unabashed, he pushed it back on to his round head. ‘Have you come from Piccadilly?’

  ‘No, I’ve been sampling the delights of a coffee house in Cornhill. I thought I would return by way of Cloak Lane.’

  ‘Splendid. What was the name of the coffee house?’

  Thomas scratched his head. ‘I fear I have quite forgotten. They are all so alike.’

  ‘Was it comfortable?’ asked Squire.

  ‘Comfortable enough, and I happened to meet Chandle Stoner there. Do you know him?’

  Squire took a small gold box from his pocket and made a show of opening it and taking a pinch of snuff before answering. He sneezed loudly and offered the box to Thomas, who declined it. ‘Stoner? Chandle Stoner, you say? An unusual name. No, I don’t believe I know him.’

  ‘He’s a friend of Charles and Mary Carrington. A man of business.’

  ‘Ah, business,’ sighed Squire. ‘Quite beyond me, I’m afraid. Words I can manage, numbers remain a mystery. Now, let me show you the wonderful workings of our Post Office. Come and I shall lead.’ Thomas followed him through the door by which he had entered and down a corridor with doors on either side. He stopped outside the last door on the right and with a theatrical sweep of the hand ushered Thomas inside.

  It was a large square room, with a long counter down one wall and neat rows of wooden boxes lining two others. The counter was marked with each letter of the alphabet. Six clerks were busy taking letters and packets from the boxes, checking their addresses and that they had been stamped and putting them into leather bags or on to the counter. No one spoke or interrupted their work when Thomas and Lemuel came in. The atmosphere was one of hushed concentration and efficiency.

  A bespectacled little man with a thin, pale face sat at a desk by the window on the far side of the room. He took a letter from the small pile on his desk, peered at it and put it to one side. When he glanced up and saw the visitors, he jumped to his feet and scurried over to greet them. ‘Mr Squire, good morning, sir. Is all well?’ The little man sounded nervous and Thomas noticed that his hands shook.

  ‘Quite well, thank you, Roger. This is Mr Thomas Hill, who is deputizing for Dr Wallis.’ He turned to Thomas. ‘Thomas, this is our chief clerk, Roger Willow, who makes the Post Office run smoothly.’

  Willow extended a limp hand. ‘Welcome to our little world, Mr Hill. Mr Squire of course exaggerates. I merely oil the wheels, as it were.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Willow,’ replied Thomas with a grin. ‘Have you time to explain briefly how the wheels work?’

  Roger Willow beamed. ‘Certainly, sir.’ He pointed to the counter. ‘These letters are marked to be collected from here rather than delivered. As you can see, we sort them alphabetically. The clerks are putting outgoing correspondence into bags, which will be checked and labelled by a clerk of the road and sent on their way in a mail safe. Each bag carries a brass label with the name of the town to which it will be delivered. There are now over one hundred and fifty such towns along the post roads. The service grows every week.’

  ‘I understood that the clerks work at night, Mr Willow. Yet here they are hard at it in broad daylight.’

  Willow looked sheepish. ‘When the volume of post is such that we find ourselves a little behind, we do also work by day. I fear this is such a time.’

  ‘And suspicious letters?’

  Willow removed his spectacles and wiped them on the sleeve of his coat. ‘These are handed to me by one of the clerks or brought over from Love Lane. I take them to Mr Squire, who performs his mysterious arts on them, and then we send them on resealed.’

  ‘You make it sound easy, Mr Willow, but mistakes must surely be made.’

  ‘Alas, sir, they are. But we select our clerks most carefully and train them fully before allowing them to work unsupervised. A clerk who did not know where Wisbech is, for example, might put a letter addressed there in the Bristol bag.’

  Thomas laughed. ‘And that wouldn’t do at all.’ Throughout Roger Willow’s descriptions, Lemuel Squire had said nothing and the clerks had taken no notice of them. Their work clearly demanded total concentration. ‘Well, I am grateful, Mr Willow. My eyes have been opened and I am most impressed by your operation.’ It seemed the right thing to say to a man who evidently took such pride in his work.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Willow. ‘Do call again if there is anything else.’ And with that, he inclined his head and went back to his desk.

  Outside the sorting office, Lemuel put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and asked, ‘What did you make of it, Thomas?’

  ‘A swift and efficient business. And in Roger Willow you seem to have a most capable chief clerk.’

  ‘Willow. Yes indeed. Most capable.’ Thomas glanced at him. Had there been something strange in Lemuel’s voice? ‘Now let us examine the copying machine. Morland, as I said, is away this morning, so we shall not be disturbed. If he could, I fancy he would refuse ever to let anyone else near it. A brilliant man, but he can be most disagreeable.’

  ‘So I’ve heard. And once a formidable supporter of Cromwell. Not a man to be taken lightly.’

  Squire led him down a narrow corridor lined with doors. At the end, he took two keys from his pocket and opened two locks on the last one. ‘Here we are now,’ he announced grandly. ‘Morland’s copying machine.’

  Thomas followed Squire into the room, which was empty but fo
r a single table on which the machine stood, together with two piles of paper, a linen cloth and a small bowl of water. He walked round the table, examining it.

  ‘Now, Thomas, allow me to demonstrate.’ Squire patted the machine as if it were a favourite child. ‘Bear in mind, however, that it is not yet perfected. Morland is working on an improved version. Still, this will give you a good idea of what we can do.’

  He carefully laid a sheet of paper half covered in a closely written script face up on a metal plate which formed the lower half of the machine. Then he took another sheet from the other pile and held it up. ‘This is tissue paper, made from good rag pulp.’

  He laid the tissue paper on top of the first sheet, dipped the cloth in water and very gently pressed it on the papers until the top sheet was damp. Then he closed the top half of the machine by means of a handle at the side so that the two halves were held firmly together with the papers between them. After perhaps ten seconds, Squire raised the top half to reveal the papers. So carefully that Thomas found himself holding his breath, he lifted the top sheet to reveal that it had absorbed a mirror image of the writing on the bottom sheet. He replaced the original with the damp sheet and put a clean sheet from the first pile on top of it. He closed the lid again and waited another ten seconds. Then he reopened the lid, removed the upper sheet and, with a flourish, turned it over for Thomas to see.

  ‘Now what do you make of that, sir?’ enquired Squire. ‘Ingenious, is it not?’

  Thomas examined the paper and held it against the original. The mirror image had been reversed and it was clear and easy to read. ‘Indeed it is, Lemuel. And how many copies can you make of one original?’

  ‘As long as we keep changing the tissue paper, an unlimited number. One paper, however, will begin to mark an original after about six copies. Happily, we seldom need more than one immediately. We can always make more copies later from the first copy if we need to. And Morland is working on improvements.’

  ‘So you can unseal a letter, make a copy, reseal it and send it on its way without any noticeable delay.’

  ‘Exactly. You’ve put your finger on the matter. Those with access to this room can be sure of copying intercepted corres pondence undetected. Now that we have Bishop’s Mark, if the post is delayed there are complaints and questions are asked.’

  ‘And who has access to this room?’

  ‘At present only Morland and I. And Bishop himself, of course.’

  The door to the copying room was thrown open and Sir Samuel Morland, his face a mask of furious disbelief, stood in the doorway. For a long moment all three men stared at each other. It was Morland who broke the silence. He pointed at Thomas.

  ‘And what, may I ask, is the meaning of this? Who has given permission for this man to be here?’

  ‘Now, now, Samuel, calm yourself,’ replied Squire, taking a step towards him. ‘We did not expect you to return so soon. I merely thought to show Thomas how your excellent copying machine works.’

  Morland was not placated. ‘To what end, pray? So that he can steal my invention or so that he can inform our enemies of it?’ His voice had risen to a bellow.

  ‘That is absurd, Samuel, and you know it. Thomas has been appointed by Mr Williamson to assist us in the absence of Dr Wallis. He is not a thief and he is as loyal to the crown as you or I.’

  ‘He has no business being in this room. It is bad enough that I have been forced to relinquish my duties as cryptographer to an inferior man. That such a man who is not even an officer of the state should also be privy to our unique method of copying is intolerable. I shall inform Williamson at once and will lodge the strongest possible protest. No doubt he will reconsider Hill’s position.’

  Thomas spoke quietly. ‘Your opinion of my competence as a cryptographer is your affair, Sir Samuel, although I would point out that it was I who broke the Vigenère cipher. However, your insinuation that I am anything other than loyal to the king is insupportable. I demand that you retract it at once.’

  ‘And if I do not? Will you go whining to Williamson or will you challenge me to a duel?’

  ‘Neither. I shall simply mark you as a ridiculous bag of wind whose feeble mind cannot grasp a simple fact and whose own loyalty is questionable. You did, after all, serve John Thurloe, Cromwell’s head of security.’

  Morland balled his hands into fists and took half a step into the room. Thomas thought that Morland was about to strike him.

  Squire stepped between them. ‘Gentlemen, please. Enough of this. Let us put our differences aside and repair to the Queen’s Head.’

  ‘Hold your tongue, Squire. This ignorant intruder needs to be taught some simple facts himself.’ Morland rounded on Thomas, head thrust forward and eyes blazing. ‘For your information, Hill, it was I who was sent to Breda to meet the king and I who helped pave the way for his return. I was warmly welcomed by His Majesty, who graciously conferred a baronetcy upon me for my services to him. Those are the facts and it is you, not I, who should withdraw your allegation.’

  Thomas was on the point of asking why Morland had changed his allegiance from Commonwealth to Crown when Henry Bishop arrived.

  ‘For the love of God, what is all this noise about? They can hear you in the post room.’

  Squire held up his hands. ‘It is nothing, Henry, just a minor altercation. We were about to visit the Queen’s Head. Would you care to join us?’

  Bishop looked incredulous. ‘It sounded like rather more than a minor altercation. What have you to say, Samuel?’

  To Thomas’s relief, Morland had decided that this was not the moment to pursue the matter. ‘It was nothing. I shall return to my work.’ And with that, he was gone.

  ‘I do not believe you, Lemuel,’ said Bishop, ‘but I shall let it pass. In future, however, be so good as to see that no further oppor tunities for such a disturbance arise. As far as is possible, Thomas and Samuel are to be kept apart. That is why he has a room at my house in which to carry out his work. Lemuel, I look to you in this.’

  ‘You may depend upon me, Henry. Now, will you accompany us to the Queen’s Head?’

  ‘I think not, thank you. Good morning, gentlemen.’

  While devoting his attention to the finest the Queen’s Head had to offer, Squire said very little. He even looked rather miserable, perhaps regretting having invited Thomas to Cloak Lane. Thomas watched him swallow cutlets of lamb, half a chicken and a thick slab of bread, all washed down with a pint of claret, and wondered that the sky-blue satins could take the strain.

  Eventually, adequately refuelled, the little round man sat back and belched loudly. ‘Far better out than in,’ he announced with an angelic smile. ‘Have you had sufficient, Thomas?’

  ‘Quite sufficient, Lemuel, thank you,’ replied Thomas, who had done no more than pick at a chicken leg.

  ‘Splendid. Thomas, I do apologize for Morland’s behaviour. Really, the man can be quite insufferable.’

  ‘Think no more of it. You said that Morland is working on improvements to the copying machine. What might they be, if I may ask?’

  ‘Certainly you may ask, my dear fellow. Some inks resist our method of copying. A letter written in such an ink must first be copied using a different ink. That, of course, rather defeats the object of the exercise. Morland is experimenting with crêped papers which will absorb any ink.’

  ‘For all his temper and ill manners, Sir Samuel is an extraordinary man.’

  Squire tapped the side of his nose. ‘Extraordinary, yes. But cave artem, as my dear father was fond of saying.’

  Thomas looked quizzical. ‘What do you mean, Lemuel? Is Morland’s loyalty really in doubt?’

  ‘Good Lord, no. Dear me, no. Heaven forfend such a thing.’ Squire mopped his brow with a large red handkerchief. ‘It is merely the odd story about his change of allegiance which I have always found hard to believe.’

  ‘And what story is that?’

  ‘Morland claims that he overheard Richard Cromwell and John Thurlo
e plotting to lure the king from France to England – Sussex, I think it was – and to assassinate him there. He did not wish to be party to such an act and began sending intelligence to the king. It sounds unlikely to me.’

  ‘Then why would he have changed sides?’

  ‘Money, I expect. Morland’s always complaining of not having enough. Perhaps he was paid.’

  If Morland could be bought once, he could be bought twice. Thomas would have to take care. ‘And you, Lemuel, what dark secrets do you have?’

  Squire chuckled. ‘None, alas, my friend. You see all of me before you.’

  ‘But you cannot always have worked at the Post Office.’

  ‘Ah, no. I was an actor, you know. A member of a travelling company of players until the theatres were closed. That is what convinced me that Cromwell was mad. Banning dancing and closing theatres, for the love of God. What on earth for?’

  ‘Some misguided Puritan nonsense, I suppose. A man may not make up his own mind about what he believes in and how he conducts his life. He must be told.’

  ‘Quite so. Absurd. Thank God all that is behind us now and the country can move forward. It was a dreary time.’

  ‘Indeed it was.’

  ‘And how goes the decrypting?’

  ‘It’s been easy enough so far. I would wish for something more demanding.’

  ‘That’s not very loyal, is it, Thomas? Wishing our enemies had better weapons, the more to test us? What would the king say?’

  Thomas changed the subject. ‘How well did you know Henry Copestick?’

  ‘Copestick? Oh, not very well. Distant colleagues, you might say. He seemed a very correct sort of person to me. Not at all the man to be near the river after dark. I can’t think why on earth he was there. None of us can.’

  ‘What about the other murders?’

  ‘The coroner thought they were robberies and I daresay he was right. All too common, I’m afraid. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Idle curiosity. Just the devious mind of an ageing cryptographer at work. I’ll stick to my codes.’

  ‘Very prudent. It doesn’t do to wander too far from home, if you take my meaning. The wise man sleeps in his own bed.’