CHAPTER 18
HAVING AGREED TO set off at four the next morning, Thomas left Charles to exercise his skills and went to his bed. If they were to travel to Dartford and spend hours or even days searching the marshes, he would need some sleep. He had had almost none for three days.
Sleep, however, proved elusive. Thoughts of Madeleine and the anticipation of finding her kept his mind busy long after it should have closed down. Eventually he gave up, lit a candle and tried to read. Well before dawn, Thomas and Charles walked the short distance from the house to the stairs at Whitehall, from where they took a wherry across the river to Lambeth. Charles assured Thomas with a wink that his powers of persuasion had been well up to the task and that Mary was sleeping peacefully. He had buckled on two swords, and Thomas knew from experience that he was equally adept with either hand or both at once.
At that time of the morning the streets and the river were quiet. Even the night-soil men were not yet up and about. The wherryman told them of an inn with stables where horses might be found at a reasonable price and, looking pointedly at Charles’s swords, wished them luck with whatever they were planning to do.
The innkeeper was woken and offered a good price for two sound animals, both rested and capable of a hard morning’s ride. The normal route from Lambeth would be along the river path past Greenwich and Woolwich and south to Dartford when they reached the river Darent. However, Thomas reckoned that the direct route across country from Greenwich would save a good five miles as long as the road was in reasonable repair. They decided to risk it and set off at a steady trot.
At Greenwich they stopped at an inn to give the horses water and to take breakfast, and from there took the road across country to Dartford. It led them through woodland and over heathland and past three tiny hamlets. The road was rough but dry and they made good progress. They spoke little, each content with his own thoughts.
Outside the church, Josiah was waiting for them. He greeted them cheerily. ‘Good morning, gentlemen. How was your journey?’
‘Uneventful, thank you, Josiah. And yours? You’ve made good time.’
Josiah looked sheepish. ‘Mottershead and ’orses don’t get on very well, Mr ’Ill. I like to keep my feet on the ground, so I set out last night and walked. Easy enough along the river.’ He showed no sign of fatigue, despite having walked twenty miles without sleep. ‘I’ve found an inn with decent stables. Best leave the ’orses there if we’re going into the marshes.’
Josiah showed them to the inn where they agreed an exorbitant price for fodder and stabling, before setting off on foot towards the marshes to the north of the town. Despite being well situated on the London-to-Dover road, Dartford was much as Josiah had described it. Poor, rough and ravaged by war and disease.
Suspicious eyes watched them go by, the shabby cottages were little more than hovels and there were beggars on the streets and dung heaps on the street corners. A miserable place. Thomas wondered what on earth the king had made of it when he had ridden through it a year earlier. It was a relief to leave the town and enter the marshes.
They took a path between the reeds, running northwards and just wide enough for them to walk in line abreast. Within five minutes they were out of sight of the town. Here and there they saw sheep grazing where the reeds had been cut and grass had grown, but otherwise they had only curlews and gulls for company.
‘You were right, Josiah,’ said Thomas, ‘it’s a bleak place.’ He shivered. ‘And it’s much colder here. Have you noticed?’
‘Bleak it is, sir. The sooner we find Miss Stewart the better. What exactly are we looking for?’
‘Any sign of life,’ replied Charles. ‘Cottars, habitations, travellers. We know there are cottages on the marsh. One of them may hold Madeleine. We just have to find it. Keep looking around. These reeds could hide a dozen cottages and a hundred men with ease.’
‘We may be seen first,’ pointed out Thomas.
‘Indeed we may. It’s a risk we’ll have to take.’
They saw nothing until they came to a fork in the path. There Josiah spotted a crust of bread which had been tossed to the side of the path leading to their right. He picked it up and broke it in half. ‘Stale, but not mouldy. A day or two, I should think.’
‘Right. We’ll follow the man who didn’t want his breakfast.’ Charles was clearly relieved to have found a sign of life, even an old crust, and led them off at a brisk pace.
About four hundred yards further on, he dropped to his knees and signalled to them to do the same. ‘A cottage ahead,’ he whispered. ‘Keep down and I’ll take a look.’
They did as they were told while Charles crept forward. He was soon out of sight around a bend in the path and below the tops of the reeds. When he returned he was upright again. ‘Just a deserted hovel. No sign of life. Let’s go on.’
During the afternoon they came upon three more empty cottages, their owners out on the marshes, and saw a number of cottars with their sheep in the distance. Only once did anyone come close, when Josiah’s sharp ears picked up the sounds of approaching voices before their owners came into view. They dropped quickly into the reed bed and watched a party of travellers go past. It was impossible to tell who they were or where they had come from, but theirs were Kentish voices and they were probably harmless.
‘Better safe than sorry,’ said Josiah, as they emerged wet and muddy from the marsh.
Thomas made a feeble effort to brush mud off his trousers. ‘Better dry than dirty. Unless we’re going to spend the night out here, we’d better turn back now. We’ll stay at the inn and try again tomorrow.’
‘It grieves me, but I fear you’re right,’ agreed Charles. ‘We won’t find anything in the dark except watery graves.’
Still Josiah showed not a hint of fatigue and led them unerringly back to the town at a fast pace. So fast that by the time they reached the inn, even Charles, whose swords were weighing heavily, needed food and rest. Thomas simply wanted to wash the mud off himself and his clothes and to sit quietly with a bottle of something for company.
At the inn, Josiah went to make sure the horses had hay and water while Thomas and Charles enquired about beds. There was just one – large enough for two but not for three. Josiah would be on the floor. They agreed another outrageous price with the landlord – a sharp-faced little man with the look and charm of one who has spent much of his life in gaol – and ordered the best he could offer for their dinner. If Josiah was put out by the news that he would be sleeping on the floor, he did not show it. A night without sleep and twenty-five miles or more on foot had dented his good humour not a scrap.
While they waited for their dinner, the weaselly landlord eyed them suspiciously. Thomas doubted if he had ever had three men like them in his inn. His usual customers would be local drinkers and travellers on their way from Dover. They had come from London on two horses. One of them wore two swords and another was as broad as he was tall and carried a stout stick. They must seem an odd little group.
Before long, the man’s curiosity got the better of him. ‘And what might you gentlemen be doing in these parts?’
Josiah answered without hesitation, as if he had been expecting the question. ‘Important business. Important and private.’
‘Business, eh? And what sort of business would that be?’
‘Private, I said. Now go and attend to our dinner.’
‘And bring another bottle of this miserable stuff,’ said Charles, holding up an empty bottle.
When dinner eventually came, it looked filthy. Three plates of what might once have been parts of an underfed sheep, accompanied by a green mess of turnip and cabbage, all swimming in a brown liquid. It tasted as filthy as it looked and had to be forced down with liberal doses of thin claret.
‘Ye gods,’ said Charles, belching loudly, ‘that was as revolting as anything I’ve ever been served, even by you, Thomas.’
‘I didn’t know you was a cook, sir,’ said Josiah.
‘I am
not, Josiah. Mr Carrington is being unkind.’
‘I see, sir. Don’t forget you’re sharing a bed with him tonight.’
‘Would you like to change places, Josiah? I could sleep on the floor.’
‘No thank you, sir. I’m used to floors.’
Their room was as mean as their dinner. The bed – no more than a dirty blanket and a thin straw mattress on a wooden pallet – Thomas and Charles shared with an army of biting insects. Had they not been too exhausted to care, they would have slept little. Josiah simply curled up under his coat on the floor and in no time was snoring peacefully.
They were awake at dawn and, after a sluice down with rainwater from a butt behind the inn, found the landlord in the kitchen.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. Slept well, did we? More important business today?’
They ignored the questions. ‘Get us some breakfast, man, and we’ll be off. We’ll be back for the horses later,’ ordered Charles.
‘And make sure they get hay and water,’ added Josiah. ‘I’ll know if they haven’t been fed.’
Thomas examined his hands, which were covered in red bites. ‘I know the lice have been fed. Let’s be away before they are hungry again.’ Within a few minutes, they had washed down slabs of cold mutton pie with watery ale and were making for the marshes.
They took the same path as far as the fork, where this time they turned left. Early morning mist was rising off the marshes and twice they put up flights of ducks. As the mist cleared they saw smoke from a fire and soon heard voices. Crouching low, they approached as close as they dared and peered through the reeds. Two cottars were cooking their breakfast on an open fire before setting out for their day’s work in the marshes. As men hiding Madeleine would not be lighting fires and talking loudly about sheep, they circled the cottage and continued on.
This side of the marsh was more populated than the other and they came across three more cottages, all inhabited by cottars. They avoided these, and after an hour sat down on the path to rest. Already Thomas’s spirits were low. He could have been wrong about Dartford. Perhaps it had been no more than coincidence that the letters spelt out the word. Perhaps it was just that he’d been so desperate to find something that he had invented a message. Or Henrietta might have been wrong. Even if Dartford, perhaps not in the marshes. The town itself, or the heathland to the south? Quite possible. This creeping about in the reeds was beginning to look foolish.
Aurum and Argentum – gold and silver. The Alchemist. Three murders. Four if Babb was included. A disfigured man. Bishop, Morland, Squire. A spy ring. A Franco-Dutch plot. Madeleine’s abduction. The ransom note. Jumbled thoughts in a jumbled mind. Take stock, Thomas, find the connections and you’ll find the murderers and traitors. He got up. ‘Two more hours, gentlemen, and then if we’ve found nothing we’ll go back and think again.’
The next cottage sprang out of the reeds before they had a chance to take cover. As soon as they rounded a bend in the path, they were on top of it. It was bigger than the others and better constructed. Stone walls and a roof newly thatched with reeds instead of wattle and straw. They must have been seen by the occupants. There was nothing for it but to brazen it out.
Thomas strode up to the door and knocked loudly. Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. He pushed on the door, which opened smoothly. Well fitted and unlocked. Yet this cottage was surely too sound to have been abandoned. He stepped inside leaving Josiah to keep watch. Charles was close behind.
The room they entered was square, with rough stone walls and an earth floor. There was a hearth on the left and doors leading off both the other walls. A plain table and four chairs stood in the middle of the room. Thomas carefully felt the ashes in the grate. They were warm.
The door opposite led to a kitchen. There they found the remains of a meal on an upturned barrel and a crate of unopened wine bottles in a corner. A back door was open. Behind the cottage was a small yard, from which a path led off through the reeds. In the third room were a narrow straw bed and a low chair set below a tiny window. This cottage had only recently been abandoned.
Thomas sat on the bed and tried to imagine Madeleine there. Had she been held in this room, and if so, why had she been moved? He picked up a rusty nail lying by the bed and turned it in his fingers. He concentrated on the room, trying to envisage Madeleine there. Were you here, Madeleine? Did you lie on this bed? If you were here, where are you now?
As if reading Thomas’s thoughts, Charles said quietly, ‘Even if she was here, she’s not here any more.’
Before Thomas could reply, Josiah stuck his head around the door. ‘Men coming, gentlemen. I ’eard ’em.’
‘Best make ourselves scarce,’ said Thomas. ‘The back door, Josiah, and quick.’
They were out of the back door and into the reeds within seconds. Josiah was right. They heard voices and then the sounds of men in the cottage. Thomas peeked out and through the door caught a glimpse of men in the kitchen. They were talking loudly. He heard one swear and the other laugh. He imagined them picking up the crate of wine left in the kitchen and manhandling it to the front door. Signalling to Charles and Josiah to follow, he crept around the cottage. Two men were making their way back up the path with the crate between them. They were finding it awkward to carry and were making slow progress. He waited until they had disappeared around the bend in the path before whispering, ‘Our guides, gentlemen, I fancy. Where they lead, we follow.’
Keeping well behind the two men and following them as much by sound as by sight, they retraced their steps up the path for about half a mile. There Josiah spotted a gap in the reeds to their right. It was so well hidden that they had missed it earlier. They followed the sounds of the wine-carriers down a narrow path. It was no more than three minutes before they heard other voices and the sound of the crate being dropped on the ground. A rough voice cursed the men for their clumsiness and ordered them to bring the wine inside. They crept forward along the path until they saw another cottage – this one smaller and shabbier – with two men outside it. They dropped into the reeds and watched. The two men were dressed, like the others, in leather trousers and leather jerkins, and wore high boots and narrow-banded hats. They carried pistols and knives stuck into their belts. In the still air the guards’ voices carried clearly to where they were hiding.
‘How long will we have to guard the woman?’ grumbled one.
‘You’ll have to ask the Dutchman,’ replied the other.
‘I don’t know why we don’t just kill her and be off. I’m sick of this place, it’s cursed.’
‘She’s sick too. Likely to die and save us the trouble.’
Thomas and Charles exchanged a look. She was sick, but they had found her. ‘Four,’ whispered Charles. ‘Any more, do you think?’
‘Four to guard one lady is surely enough.’
‘It might be a changeover of the guards,’ said Josiah. ‘Good time to get the wine. We could wait and see if any of them leave.’
‘Or we could rush them now and be done with it.’ Charles had his hands on the handles of his swords.
Thomas placed his hand on one of Charles’s. ‘That would be dangerous for Madeleine. We need a plan.’
After two days in the marshes and a night in a filthy inn, Charles was not in the mood to wait. ‘I have a plan, Thomas. Attack the swine, kill the lot and rescue Madeleine.’
‘A fine plan, Mr Carrington,’ whispered Josiah. ‘And it would be even better if one of us went around the back to cut off their retreat.’
‘Can we manage four, Charles?’
‘Shouldn’t present a problem.’
‘Right. We’ll give Josiah time to get to the back, then you and I will march straight in and wreak havoc. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’
‘Good. Off you go, Josiah. No escapers, please.’
Josiah grinned. ‘Not a one, sir.’
They gave the little man two minutes, then ran up to the door, flung it open and ran inside. Thr
ee of the guards were sitting at a table, drinking. Two of them never saw the slashes from Charles’s swords that severed their windpipes and sent them crashing to the floor. The third had time to rise and draw a pistol from his belt, but not to fire it. Before he could, Thomas brought the flat of his sword down on the man’s arm and heard the bone snap. Charles thrust at his throat and he, too, was dead before he hit the floor.
Like the other cottage, there were two doors off the main room. Thomas followed Charles into the kitchen. The fourth guard, who was struggling to open a bottle and had not had time to move, took one look at the tall man with two swords who burst in, and ran out through the back door. There he was met by the end of a stout stick jammed into his face by a pair of long arms. He collapsed in a fountain of blood from his nose and mouth, rolled over on the ground, convulsed briefly and died.
Josiah stepped into the kitchen in search of another victim, saw only Charles and Thomas and followed them back into the main room where three bloody bodies lay on the floor. While Josiah checked that they were dead, Charles made straight for the other door, opened it and stopped.
Thomas peered over Charles’s shoulder. Madeleine sat on a low chair, a long knife at her throat. The man who held it had half a nose and a lip that had once been viciously sliced by a sword or a dagger. The disfigured Dutchman. He spoke quietly, with a guttural accent. ‘So, gentlemen. Mr Hill and Mr Carrington, I assume. Unexpected visitors, to say the least.’
Ignoring the knife, Madeleine screamed, ‘Kill him, Thomas.’ The point pressed into her throat and drew blood. ‘Kill him.’ Her voice rasped in her throat and sweat ran from her brow.
‘If you try, she will be the first to die. You have my word on it. Now sit down, both of you. Mr Hill and Mr Carrington – it is Mr Carrington, is it not? – you will put your weapons on the floor and kick them towards me.’ Charles did not move. More blood trickled from Madeleine’s neck.
‘At once, or she dies.’ The quiet voice would not be denied. Charles slid his swords across the floor and sat down. Thomas did likewise.
The King's Return: (Thomas Hill 3) (Thomas Hill Novels) Page 18