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

by Andrew Swanston

  Thomas’s eyes were drawn to the body. He wriggled as far away from it as he could and sat with his back to the wall. On the opposite wall were splattered Squire’s brains, blown to pieces by the pistol shot. He turned away. Hell and damnation. A few seconds more and Josiah would have been through the low door and up the ladder. Now they were locked up with a dead body for company.

  ‘You in one piece, sir?’ whispered Josiah.

  ‘I think so. Just a kick in the ribs. And you?’

  ‘Took a fist in the throat, sir.’ Josiah was clearly hurting.

  ‘Sounds painful. Best leave the talking to me.’ Thomas moved closer to Josiah so that he could see him more clearly. ‘Just nod or shake your head, Josiah.

  ‘Does Agnes know where we were going?’ A nod. ‘Will she go to Mr Williamson? No? Charles Carrington? No? Who then?’

  ‘’Enrietta.’ It was barely audible and Thomas thought he had misheard.

  ‘Henrietta?’ A nod. ‘What can Henrietta do, Josiah?’

  Josiah was trying to force out his answer when the door was unlocked and in strode a tall man with a shaven head and a scarred face. He was holding Josiah’s stick. Two men stood guard at the door.

  ‘Well, Josiah Mottershead, you lied to me. You told me you had a message for a friend. I didn’t believe you and it seems I was right. Odd sort of friend who ends up with ’is head blown to pieces by ’is visitors. What ’ave you to say for yourself?’ From his voice, Thomas knew it was Finn.

  Josiah said nothing. ‘He was hit in the throat,’ said Thomas. ‘He can’t speak.’

  ‘Then you’ll ’ave to speak for him. And you can start by telling me who you really are and why you’ve come ’ere.’

  ‘My name is Thomas Hill. I am a friend of Josiah. He asked me to come with him to find this man.’ Thomas waved a hand in the direction of Squire’s body.

  ‘And ’ow did you know ’e was ’ere?’

  ‘He was seen entering the alley.’

  ‘Seen by who?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ It was Thomas’s first lie and Finn knew it.

  ‘Yes you do, but I’ll let it go for now. Who is ’e?’

  ‘His name was Lemuel Squire.’

  ‘Why did you kill ’im?’

  ‘We didn’t. He shot himself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He was a traitor and a murderer. He only had one bullet so he couldn’t kill both of us.’

  Finn laughed and thrust the end of Josiah’s stick at Thomas’s face. ‘I’ve only got one stick, but I could easily kill both of you and I will if I find you’re lying again. I don’t like being lied to.’

  Josiah tried to say something, but managed only a rasping cough.

  ‘You should know me better than to take me for a fool, Josiah Mottershead. Now ’and over your purse, Mr ’Ill, and both of you take off your boots.’

  They did as they were ordered. One of the guards took their boots and Finn put Thomas’s purse in a pocket.

  ‘You’ll stay ’ere with your dead friend while I decide what to do with you.’ Finn turned on his heel and left. The door was locked behind him and they were in semi-darkness again.

  Talking was plainly so painful for Josiah that Thomas could not bear to tempt him into it. He closed his eyes and tried to think clearly. Josiah must have had a reason for telling Agnes to go to Henrietta if they had not returned for their dinner. Perhaps Henrietta had influence with Finn. Josiah evidently thought she had a better chance than Joseph Williamson’s men. Meanwhile, without boots or Josiah’s stick they would not be overpowering their guards and making a run for it, so they had better sit quietly, gather their strength and hope Henrietta could think of something. If not, they were in the hands of Finn. Not a happy prospect.

  Mind you, facing the wrath of Miss Stewart was not a happy prospect either. What would she think when she woke up to find that Thomas had sneaked off with Josiah to one of the most dangerous areas of London, leaving poor Agnes to raise the alarm if they did not return. If she washed her hands of him for being stupid and irresponsible, he would have only himself to blame. You clod, Thomas, you should have sent Josiah packing and gone back to bed. He sat miserably and tried not to look at the horribly dead body a few feet away.

  When night fell, the little light there was in the room disappeared altogether. The door had remained locked since Finn had left and Josiah had not spoken. Thomas reached out and touched his leg. ‘How is your throat, Josiah?’

  Josiah answered in a slow, hoarse whisper. ‘A little better, sir. Wouldn’t mind some ale, though.’

  ‘I doubt if Finn’s serving ale today. We’ll just have to wait for Henrietta to bring us something. Do you think she’ll be able to help?’

  ‘’Ope so, sir. Otherwise we’re in a bit of an ’ole. Finn’s a mean bugger when ’e wants to be.’

  ‘What will he do?’

  ‘’E’ll try to get money for us. If ’e can’t, ’e’ll drop us in the river.’

  ‘Then let’s hope someone somewhere is willing to pay for us.’

  CHAPTER 23

  THE NIGHT WAS long and foul. Thomas shivered and shook and listened to rats scrabbling about behind the wall. It would not be long before they caught the scent of the corpse and came to investigate. Thomas and Josiah exchanged a few words to keep their spirits up, but otherwise sat in silence with their own thoughts. The longer they were there, the worse their chances of getting out alive. Cold, starvation, thirst, their throats cut, a blow to the head and a watery grave – it would only take one to finish them off.

  As they had not returned for their dinner, Agnes would have called on Henrietta. Thomas hoped Josiah had told her to expect two tall men in yellow satins and a large woman in an orange wig drinking port and smoking a pipe. If not, poor Agnes might have taken fright and run. Not that he had any idea what Henrietta would do. He imagined her, Boudica-like, fearlessly leading her girls into the alley, overcoming Finn and his men and rescuing the two prisoners. Molly would certainly be capable of scratching out some eyes. Would she carry them off to Wild Street, there to put them to work as her servants or, worse, have her wicked way with them before putting them out on the street? Thomas shuddered. They would be better off at the mercy of Finn.

  He caught himself. Don’t be absurd, man. Your mind always plays tricks at times like these, especially when you are hungry. If Josiah trusted Henrietta, he had good reason to do so. With perfect timing, his stomach rumbled in complaint. To take his mind off it, he got up and tried the door. Locked fast. He felt his way around the stone walls. Not a chink or a wobble. He thought about the heap of bloody blankets on which Squire’s body lay, decided he could not bear to touch them and made do with jumping up and down. Even in midsummer this dank little cell was cold at night.

  Some time during the night, Josiah was racked by a fit of coughing. It was a raw, rough, grating croak, and it hurt Thomas just to listen to it. The coughing went on for several minutes, each spasm making Thomas grit his teeth and screw his eyes closed. Eventually it ended, leaving Josiah wheezing and panting and Thomas drained. He put his hand out to comfort the little man and found that he was grasping his throat as if to stop it bursting through his neck.

  ‘Josiah, you must be in a lot of pain. Can I do anything?’ Josiah shook his head and tried to say something. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t try to talk. Just keep as still as you can.’

  Thomas went back to the door, hammered on it with his fist and shouted as loudly as he could. ‘Water, we need water. Water. Now.’ There was no response. He tried again. ‘Bring water, damn you. Bring it now.’ Still no response. He thumped on the door and screeched curses, using words he had not heard for years. He gave up only when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Josiah took his arm and gently led him away from the door and back to his place on the floor. There the two of them sat until a little weak light began to find its way into their cell.

  When at last the door was opened, it was Finn who came in. He put a pail of water on the floor and
glanced at the dead body. ‘Rats been at ’im yet? Won’t be long before they do, so look sharp if you’re ’ungry. Word’s out that you’re staying with us so we’ll keep you alive for a day or two. After that, you’d better ’ope you’ve got a friend with the money.’ He pointed at the body and snorted. ‘Otherwise you’ll be joining ’im.’

  As soon as Finn had left, Thomas put the pail in front of Josiah, who scooped handfuls of water into his mouth. Then Thomas did the same. The water was dirty and smelt of rotting fish and he had to force himself to swallow it, but it did help. Josiah managed a lopsided grin. ‘You should ’ave asked for ale, sir.’

  ‘How is the throat, Josiah?’

  ‘I’ll live, sir. Never was much good at talking.’

  There was no knowing whether the pail would be refilled, so as the day went on they drank sparingly. The cell gradually warmed up and Thomas found himself sleeping in snatches. While he was awake he thought about what had brought him to such a place. Ciphers and spies and murderers. Traitors and plots and greed. At least Aurum was dead and Argentum in the Tower. And if Joseph could find the Alchemist . . .

  He thought about Charles and Mary and Joseph, and he thought about Madeleine. What could she have thought when she awoke to find Thomas had sneaked off with Josiah? And what would she be thinking now that they had not returned? That Thomas Hill was an irresponsible old fool with whom she would have nothing further to do? That he deserved whatever he got? That he was dead and good riddance? The chances were that he would never know. And he thought about Lucy. Master Phillips was a frequenter of brothels and admirer of young girls. If she found out, she would be devastated, and that would be his fault. He should have dealt with the matter sooner and better.

  The first rats appeared that evening. As it grew darker they came sniffing out of their holes and made for the blood and gore on the blankets and the walls. Josiah broke the legs off the table and chair and threw them at the creatures. The one he hit was immediately set upon and devoured by the others. By the time it was too dark to see, the body was covered in rats. They armed themselves with a chair leg each and hoped the creatures would be satisfied with Squire.

  It was pitch dark when they heard voices raised and the clatter of metal on stone. The sounds echoed through the alleys and reached them through the hole in the wall leading to the inn. Thomas could not tell from which direction they were coming. Wide awake at once, they concentrated on listening. They heard oaths and curses and a woman shrieking. ‘Intruders,’ growled Josiah, struggling to his feet. ‘If it’s the trained men, we’re done for. Finn will ’ide us where we can’t be found.’

  Thomas also stood up and strained to make out the voices. He heard a man shout, ‘Get out,’ and a cry of pain. Was it his imagination or were they getting closer? They heard the door being unlocked. It was thrown open and two of Finn’s men entered the room. They both held knives. ‘Move,’ ordered one, ‘and be quick. Follow me and don’t try nothing.’

  The other man got behind them and prodded them out of the room and through the hole in the wall. They turned left, away from the voices and towards the steps. Josiah was right. Unwelcome visitors were in the alleys and the prisoners were being moved to a safer place.

  With one guard in front and the other behind, they were led down the alley to the top of the steps. There the first guard stopped and turned to face them. Keeping his knife pointed at them, he took a key from his pocket and opened a narrow door in the wall.

  The two tall men in long black cloaks who came out of the shadows and up the steps were so fast and so silent that neither guard saw or heard them until it was too late. Their windpipes severed by wickedly curved daggers, both guards subsided soundlessly to the ground. Thomas caught a glimpse of yellow satin under a cloak.

  ‘Mr Mottershead and Mr Hill,’ said Oliver in his educated voice, ‘Miss Henrietta awaits you.’

  They could hear men approaching. ‘And we must make haste,’ added Rupert.

  They ran down the steps and reached the low door, which was open. Thomas was pushed through, followed by Josiah. Their rescuers wriggled through the door on their stomachs after them. ‘Up you go, gentlemen. We shall follow,’ said Oliver.

  Thomas needed no urging. He shot up the ladder like a squirrel up a tree and pushed open the trapdoor he found at the top. A bright half-moon lit the night. He clambered out to find himself between a pile of cabbages and a heap of manure. Josiah soon emerged, then Rupert.

  ‘Covent Garden,’ said Josiah, looking around.

  There was a howl of pain and Oliver, a huge grin on his face, popped his head through the opening. ‘He was a foolish fellow to hold on to my leg,’ he laughed, jumping out. He closed the trapdoor with a bang and stood on it.

  There was a screech from behind Thomas, loud enough to make him jump. ‘I might ’ave guessed you’d be down some stinking drain, Mottershead.’

  ‘’Allo, Molly. Missed me, ’ave you?’ Josiah’s voice was not much more than a croak.

  ‘No I ’aven’t. Just came to see if you found the big arse.’

  ‘We found it and now it’s dead.’

  ‘And what ’ave you done with your boots, you little bugger?’

  ‘Stolen, same as my stick. You’ll ’ave to buy me a new one.’

  ‘Fuck off. I’ve ’ad an ’ard night and now I’m off to my bed.’

  By this time a small crowd had emerged from the corners of the market and gathered around them. ‘Let us be away, gentlemen,’ said Oliver. ‘We do not want to attract any more attention.’

  They walked quickly to Wild Street and let themselves into Henrietta’s house. ‘Miss Henrietta asked to see you both immediately. I will escort you.’ Rupert had already removed his cloak and was brushing down his yellow satin with the back of his hand. Oliver was doing the same.

  Despite the hour, Henrietta was in her chair with a glass at her side and her pipe in her mouth. Candles lit the room and the little courtyard outside. She motioned for them to sit and took her time inspecting them. At last she took the pipe from her mouth. ‘Caused me a lot of trouble, you two gentlemen have. I had to find twenty brave enough to go into those alleys to divert attention, and send my boys in the back way to find you. They could have been hurt, or worse.’

  ‘Thank you, ’Enrietta,’ croaked Josiah, ‘I knew you’d ’elp out.’

  ‘Did you now, Josiah Mottershead? And what gave you that idea?’

  ‘Your kind ’eart and the thought of a few sovereigns.’

  Henrietta’s laugh gurgled up from her enormous belly, erupted through her orange lips and ended in a hacking cough into the bowl at her feet. ‘You know me too well, Josiah. Too generous for my own good. And it looks like I shall have to buy you a new pair of boots. Now you just sit there and when Thomas has gone home we’ll discuss my reward.’ The colour drained from Josiah’s face. The thought of rewarding Henrietta clearly terrified him.

  ‘I too thank you, madam,’ said Thomas, getting to his feet. ‘You have done us a great service. Josiah has been injured in the throat. I daresay a glass of brandy would help.’

  Henrietta leered at Josiah. ‘It’s not his voice I want.’

  ‘Indeed, madam. Now, with your permission I shall return to Fleet Street where a certain lady is doubtless waiting for me.’

  ‘She’s a lucky lady,’ said Henrietta, licking her lips. ‘Be sure to tell her so from me. And take a pair of boots from the rack on your way out. We always have spare pairs left by gentlemen in a hurry.’

  ‘I certainly shall,’ replied Thomas, with a bow. He departed with a grin at Josiah, leaving the poor man to his fate.

  By the time Thomas knocked on Madeleine’s door, dawn had broken. He was let in by Agnes and found Madeleine in her sitting room. ‘Good morning, my dear,’ he greeted her, trying to plant a kiss on her cheek. ‘Here I am and quite unharmed.’

  Madeleine pushed him away. ‘I have no wish to speak to you, Thomas. Kindly leave this house at once.’

  ‘Madel
eine, do you not want to know what happened?’

  ‘Go, Thomas. Now. You are not welcome here.’ Her voice was icy. There was nothing to be done. Thomas turned and left.

  Agnes was standing by the front door. ‘Thank you for your help, Agnes. Josiah is perfectly well. I expect he’ll be back soon.’ His voice was shaky.

  ‘Where is he, Mr Hill?’

  Thomas hesitated. He did not want to upset Agnes but she would know if he lied. ‘He is at Henrietta’s house. I believe she expects a reward for her part in our rescue.’

  Agnes stared at him and a tear came to her eye. ‘Oh God. She could kill him. Mottershead’s only little. I must go there at once.’

  ‘No, no, Agnes, I wouldn’t do that. Josiah will be fine. Cook him a good breakfast for when he returns.’

  Agnes dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. ‘If you say so, Mr Hill. But I do hope she’s gentle with him.’

  Thomas wandered slowly and unhappily back to Piccadilly. He was tired, hungry and miserable. He had escaped physical injury but he had been a fool and was being punished. He only hoped that the punishment would not be permanent. If it was he would just have to pack his bags, bid farewell to Charles and Mary, rescue Lucy and creep back to Romsey.

  He was let in by Smythe, who looked unusually miserable. ‘You look as wretched as me, John. Is something wrong?’

  ‘I’m not sure, sir. Mr and Mrs Carrington have left. They instructed me to inform the servants and to close the house after you’ve gone. I’m to take care of it until it’s sold. They said they wouldn’t be needing it any more.’

  ‘When did they leave?’

  ‘Two days ago.’

  ‘How strange. I thought they weren’t leaving until next week. Did something happen to change their minds?’

  ‘Not as far as I know, sir. Mrs Carrington has left a letter for you. It’s in the sitting room.’