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

by Andrew Swanston

  When Thomas appeared, Mary and Charles were at breakfast. ‘Ah, Thomas, come and sit down,’ said Mary with her customary warmth, ‘and tell us what you’ve been doing. We’ve seen so little of you.’ There was no hint of disapproval. Mary must have forgiven him.

  ‘Thank you, my dear. I fear that I’ve been a poor guest.’ Thomas took a chair beside her and helped himself from the dishes on the table.

  ‘Yes, you have,’ agreed Charles, ‘very poor. Hardly a morsel of gossip from you, no hint of a scandal, no maids knocking on the door weeping tears of unrequited love, no cuckolded husbands demanding satisfaction, and just one little, ahem, accident. Mary was so sure you’d get caught up in something unpleasant. Really, we’ve been most disappointed, haven’t we, my dear?’ By Charles’s standards, it was a long speech.

  ‘We have not, Charles. And don’t speak with your mouth full of bread. The crumbs go everywhere.’ She turned to Thomas. ‘I am glad to see that your face has healed, Thomas, and that you have suffered no more accidents. I only wish that we had seen more of you. How is the work going?’

  ‘That is what I want to tell you both. My work is finished and I plan to leave with my niece for Romsey tomorrow.’

  ‘This is bad news indeed.’ Charles scattered more crumbs over the table.

  ‘Have you informed Madeleine Stewart of your plans?’ asked Mary. ‘I’m sure she would like to know.’

  ‘I have not had the opportunity,’ replied Thomas stiffly, ‘and I doubt if Miss Stewart would be interested in the matter.’

  ‘Ah, lovers’ tiff, eh?’ exclaimed Charles with evident enjoyment. ‘Excellent. Gives a man the chance to show the lady his chivalrous side. Down on one knee, abject apology, her hand in his, kiss, bedroom, everything back to normal. Never fails.’

  Despite himself, Thomas smiled. ‘Alas, Charles, Madeleine and I are not married. I doubt if the approach would work.’

  Charles looked disappointed. ‘Shame. It’s what I’d do. Still, if you’re too frightened . . .’

  ‘It’s not a matter of frightened, Charles,’ said Mary. ‘Thomas is the best judge of what to say to Madeleine. You will go and see her, Thomas, won’t you?’

  ‘I had not intended to – unless you think I should.’

  ‘Of course you should. It would be most rude not to. Madeleine would be furious.’

  ‘I must also speak to my niece. I have little time, but I will call on Madeleine if I can.’

  Mary looked stern. ‘Be sure that you do, Thomas Hill, or I shall never speak to you again.’

  ‘In that case, I shall make every effort.’

  ‘Good,’ said Charles, ‘and don’t forget to go down on one knee. Essential.’

  Thomas had no intention of calling on Madeleine Stewart even after the Carringtons’ entreaties. Much better to slip away quietly. If he had to explain himself to his hosts, he would say that when he called the lady was not at home. Breakfast over, he returned to his bedroom intending to begin packing his bags, but before he had started Smythe arrived with a letter.

  ‘This has just arrived for you, sir,’ he said, holding out the silver tray. Thomas took the letter and knew the hand at once. Her previous letter had been an invitation to visit Lady Babb. He sat on the bed and read it.

  My dear Thomas

  I hope you will find time to call upon me again soon. Our last meeting has left me unhappy.

  Your respectful friend

  Madeleine Stewart

  No words wasted there, thought Thomas. And I have no time to waste if I am to make a start to Romsey. I must call on Lucy at Lady Richmond’s house and tell her we shall be departing to morrow. Then his old friend whispered in his ear. It is desire and hope that push us on towards the future. Desire and hope? Desire and hope for what, monsieur? For another rebuff? For a long journey home with three days to do little but regret even more foolishness? Come now, may I not be left in peace? He would take Lucy home and put Miss Stewart from his mind.

  Lady Richmond’s door was opened by a footman, who showed Thomas into a small reception room and went to inform Miss Taylor that her uncle had called to see her. Thomas did not have long to wait. Lucy came skipping into the room like a small child and almost threw herself at him. ‘Uncle Thomas, this is a fine surprise. I did not know you were coming.’ Her eyes were shining.

  ‘Nor did I, my dear, until yesterday. Er, may I sit down?’

  ‘Of course. Sit there,’ she pointed to a tall library chair, ‘and I shall sit opposite you.’ They made themselves comfortable. ‘There. Now, how are you and how are you enjoying London? Have you been to the theatre?’

  Thomas cleared his throat. Best get it over with. ‘That is why I have called, Lucy. I shall be returning to Romsey tomorrow and I wish you to accompany me.’

  ‘But why? Lady Richmond is happy for me to be here as long as I wish and I am enjoying London. Romsey is so dull in comparison. Why must I go home?’ The shining eyes were flashing. Thomas knew his niece’s temper well enough.

  ‘I would not be happy if you were here without me.’

  ‘Uncle Thomas, that is absurd. I was here without you before the coronation.’

  ‘I know, but it is time we went home.’

  ‘Why? I am quite safe and Lady Richmond always insists that I am chaperoned.’

  ‘Always?’

  ‘Of course, always. Well, almost always. She allows me to walk alone with Arthur, because she knows he will take good care of me. He’s such a fine young man, Uncle Thomas. I do hope you will get to know him better.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I have been making some enquiries about Arthur Phillips. Are you quite sure he is a suitable companion for you?’

  ‘Uncle Thomas! Whatever do you mean and why have you been making enquiries about Arthur? He comes from a good family and works in the Navy Office. He is a most suitable companion for me and I like him very much.’

  ‘He is certainly charming. I merely wonder if you are a trifle carried away by his charm?’

  Lucy stood up. ‘I do not know why you have taken against Arthur, Uncle Thomas, but I can assure you that he is decent and honourable. I will not return with you to Romsey tomorrow and if you try to make me I shall disappear into the streets of London where you will never find me.’

  Thomas also stood. ‘Don’t be silly, Lucy. I only—’ It was too late. Lucy flounced out of the room and ran up the stairs. Thomas shook his head. Well done, uncle, a fine performance.

  Four murders, the murderer still at large, an unholy pact between the Dutch and the French, encouraged then rejected by Miss Stewart, and now Lucy attended on by a young man who visits brothels and refusing to go home. Why had he not stayed in Romsey?

  CHAPTER 13

  THE VOICE WOULD not be silenced. It badgered and cajoled and wheedled and eventually Thomas surrendered. He would call briefly on Miss Stewart. Then he would return to Lady Richmond’s house and, if necessary, bundle Lucy, kicking and screaming, into a carriage.

  The front door of the little house off Fleet Street was opened by Agnes, who showed him into the room he knew. He amused himself by studying the paintings until Madeleine appeared. This morning, her brown hair had been teased into ringlets, she wore a shade of blue that matched her eyes and she carried about her the fragrance of lavender. When he saw her, Thomas caught his breath. It was as if she had expected him. Or expected someone.

  ‘Miss Stewart,’ he began, ‘your letter arrived yesterday and as I’m about to leave for Romsey it was necessary to answer your request immediately.’

  ‘Then it is fortunate that it did so. I would have been disappointed if you had departed without word.’ She smiled. ‘Do sit down, Thomas.’

  ‘I would prefer to stand.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Madeleine, taking a seat.

  ‘May I know why you asked me to call?’

  ‘Thomas, as I wrote in my letter, I have been unhappy since we last met. I feel you deserve an explanation.’

  ‘An explanation,
madam? I recall nothing that requires explaining.’

  Madeleine almost leapt out of her chair. Her eyes were blazing and her voice harsh. ‘Thomas, how much of this have I to put up with? You know perfectly well why I have asked you here. Kindly make it no more difficult than it already is.’

  Thomas inclined his head. ‘Very well. I shall listen to whatever you have to say.’ Apparently satisfied, Madeleine sat down again. Thomas did the same.

  She sat with her hands in her lap, back straight, looking directly into his eyes. ‘I have told you that I came to London from Hertfordshire, where my father was a parson. That is true. I have also told you that I once rejected a proposal of marriage and have never received another. That is partly true.’ Thomas raised an eyebrow. ‘The whole truth is that I have never had a suitor at all.’

  ‘That I find hard to believe,’ interrupted Thomas.

  ‘Let me finish, Thomas, please. Then believe what you wish and judge me as you see fit.’ Thomas nodded, and she went on, ‘In the autumn of 1643 a troop of the king’s guards arrived in our village on their way from Newbury to Oxford. I was eighteen, unmarried and largely innocent of the ways of the world.’

  She saw his look. ‘I know. Eighteen, the country at war, young men fighting and dying and taking their pleasures when and where they could. I find it hard to believe myself. But remember I had no mother and my father was a village parson, unworldly and protective of his only daughter.’

  For a minute she was silent, as if preparing herself for the rest of the story. When it came, it came in a torrent. ‘I was on my way home from a walk in the fields when the soldiers saw me. There were six of them. Their blue jackets and broad hats are fixed for ever in my mind’s eye. Their leader rode a fine chestnut mare. They surrounded me on their horses and taunted me with insults and threats. I couldn’t escape. I was terrified and started screaming. That’s when they dismounted. One of them held me down while the others took it in turns to rape me. When they rode off they were laughing. I lay on the ground, curled up like a baby, bleeding heavily and whimpering with pain. I must have been there for hours. Eventually I was found by a farmer who took me home.’

  With a lace handkerchief she wiped away the tears running down her cheeks. ‘It was weeks before I could walk without pain and a year before I ventured out alone. And I was told that I would never have children. That is why there have been no suitors and why I left the village as soon as my father died. Everyone in the village knew what had happened. Some were unkind to us. Others tried to help, but who wants a barren wife?’ Again, she dabbed at the tears. ‘There was no handsome soldier, no proposal, no rejection.’

  Thomas sat quietly searching for the right words. Eventually he said, ‘Madeleine, you have suffered in a way few have suffered. To have survived and to be able to recount your terrible experience is testimony to your courage.’ Madeleine dabbed at her eyes and smiled weakly. Thomas went on, ‘Every war brings tragedy and every tragedy is personal. I was at Newbury. It was an unspeakable affair. Thousands dead and maimed – each death a tragedy for someone – and for nothing. Not a thing.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me you were a soldier.’

  ‘I wasn’t. I was acting as the king’s cryptographer. Sending out encoded orders, that sort of thing. I was never in real danger, but I saw some of the battle. It was bloody and futile. The men who raped you would have been part of it. Violence breeds violence and soldiers are violent.’

  ‘When you kissed me, I thought that, at last, I had recovered. Then my courage deserted me. No wonder you were angry. Am I forgiven?’

  ‘No forgiveness is necessary. It is I who behaved badly.’

  ‘I was dreading telling you my story, Thomas. Now that I have, I feel purged of a terrible secret.’ She hesitated. ‘Would you care to try behaving badly again or are you determined to board a coach?’

  ‘The thought of our behaving badly together is certainly more appealing than an uncomfortable coach, Madeleine, but only if you’re sure your courage has returned.’

  Madeleine’s reply was to lead him by the hand to her bedroom. She locked the door and turned to face him. ‘There is one more thing. The scars are not only in my mind. I want you to see this first.’

  Her fingers went to the ribbon at her throat. When she untied it, her dress fell away to expose her breasts. She pulled the dress down to her hips. A long, jagged scar ran from her breastbone to her abdomen. ‘They said I’d get another each time I screamed. I didn’t scream again.’

  Thomas moved towards her and held her tightly, his mouth at her ear. ‘It is nothing,’ he whispered. ‘Can the bad behaviour begin now?’

  By midday, Thomas was in two minds as to whether to board the coach that afternoon; by two o’clock he had decided that there was much to be said for staying a little longer in London, and by four o’clock he could see no reason at all to hurry home. Propped up on one elbow, he traced the outline of Madeleine’s face with a finger. ‘I shall not enquire how you come to speak French when making love, Madeleine Stewart, but for a lady who professes to be innocent of the world you have remarkable skill. And I’m not talking about your painting, fine though that is.’

  ‘It takes two to dance and two to make love, Mr Hill. And, despite being a novice, I find myself in the hands of an expert. Would you care for another carole?’

  It was dark by the time Thomas forced himself out of bed and into his clothes. He had left his bags packed for the journey at the Carringtons’, and Mary would be wondering where on earth he had got to. ‘I must go now, Madeleine,’ he said, stooping to kiss her as she lay on the bed watching him. ‘I shall call tomorrow. Would two in the afternoon be convenient?’

  ‘It would. Almost as convenient as one. And don’t be late. I do not care to be kept waiting.’

  ‘So I’ve been told. Until tomorrow.’

  Agnes had tactfully disappeared, so Thomas let himself out. He walked swiftly down Fleet Street and into the Strand, thinking of the beautiful lady he had just left and would see again the next day. Suddenly, life had taken on a new aspect for Thomas Hill and the future held a good deal more promise than it had at breakfast. Romsey could wait.

  CHAPTER 14

  A WOOLLEN SCARF covered the Dutchman’s face from the eyes down. It was better that passers-by should think that he was trying not to inhale the city’s coal smoke or that he feared an infection than that it should be seen. He was not often on the streets in daylight and he did not want his face to be noted.

  He had been watching the house in Piccadilly and had followed Thomas from there to the lane. He had waited patiently on the corner of Fleet Street for him to emerge from the house. If he did not emerge, the plan might be in jeopardy. Hopefully, the woman would soon turn him out as she had last time and all would be well.

  But she did not turn him out and it was a long wait. By the time Hill stepped out of the house and into the lane it was dark. The Dutchman knew the name of this mark. He had been told to remember it for the future. It would have been easy to dispose of him there and then, but he had no instructions to do so. That time would no doubt come.

  He followed Hill back to Piccadilly, waited outside the Carringtons’ house long enough to be sure that he would not be returning to Fleet Street and then made his way back to Wapping. Tomorrow he would visit the inn in Bishopsgate and put his report behind the loose brick.

  Then he would await further instructions.

  CHAPTER 15

  WHEN THOMAS RETURNED, Mary asked him if he had visited Madeleine. ‘I have,’ replied Thomas, ‘and if you will have me, I would like to stay in London a while longer.’

  Charles roared with laughter, spilling his claret in the process. ‘I told you it would work. Down on one knee was it? Humble apology, bedroom, all’s well again? Never fails.’

  ‘Something like that,’ replied Thomas, unable to hide a sheepish grin.

  Mary, too, was delighted. ‘Of course we’ll have you, Thomas, and perhaps we’ll see more of you an
d Madeleine now that you’ve made up and your work is finished. We must go to the theatre again. And that reminds me that we haven’t given our own little performance yet. We must find an occasion for it. You’d like to see it, Thomas, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Is that the one you performed on the ship, in which you play Charles’s miscreant son?’

  ‘It is. I’m sure you’d enjoy it, and Madeleine would too.’

  ‘I’m sure we would.’ There was a knock on the door and Smythe came in to announce the arrival of a visitor.

  ‘Mr Stoner is here, madam,’ he said.

  ‘Show him in at once,’ said Charles, jumping up. ‘More good news, I fancy. It’s a day for good news.’

  Chandle Stoner was immaculately turned out and looking as if he had just been given the crown jewels.

  ‘Chandle, my friend, come in, sit down and share a glass.’ Charles was effusive. ‘It’s good to see you. What news do you bring?’

  ‘Good evening Mary,’ replied Stoner, taking a glass from Smythe. ‘Good evening, Thomas. I trust I find you both well.’ He turned to Charles. ‘Excellent news, I’m pleased to say. A ship arrived last week with a letter from my agent in Jamaica. He reports that the new mine is showing great promise and is confident that it will prove to be our best yet. A hundred ounces of silver have already been extracted.’

  Charles raised his glass to Stoner. ‘Your health, Chandle, and our gratitude for introducing us to this venture. It sounds as if we shall soon be able to retire in ease and comfort. None too soon, mind, sugar planting is not an occupation for old men. Eh, Mary, my dear?’