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

by Andrew Swanston

  Joseph peered at him. ‘I shall endeavour to do so. The king, however, might not listen, just as his father did not listen when he would have been well advised to do so.’ His voice softened. ‘Be prepared, Thomas, that is all I am saying. The carriage will be here before ten tomorrow. Oh, I nearly forgot. We have another body.’

  ‘Dear God, not another. Who?’

  ‘Roger Willow.’

  ‘Was he murdered?’

  ‘Impossible to say. Been in the river too long.’ Thomas screwed up his eyes and tried not to picture the bloated corpse of the chief clerk. Squire’s accomplice or slighted servant of the Crown? Now they would never know.

  How does an innocent man prepare for an audience with the king, at which he is to be falsely accused of he knows not what? Does he devise defences against every possible attack or does he trust to his wits and wait until he can see from which direction the attack is coming? He does neither. He eats a good dinner, drinks a bottle of excellent claret and a glass of brandy and goes to sleep for an hour or two. It was a good plan and Thomas carried it out without difficulty.

  When he awoke, however, he had dreamed that Madeleine was a witch who had publicly accused him of betraying her and had demanded his head on a platter. Unlike most dreams, it did not vanish with sleep but stayed with him for the rest of the day. Even while he stretched his legs and cleared his head in St James’s Park he saw Madeleine’s face, fierce and unforgiving, and her long, sharp finger outstretched and pointing at his heart. He heard her grating voice and stared into her unblinking eyes.

  Yet when he returned to the house he half expected Josiah to be waiting for him with news. And each time he heard footsteps in the street he listened in vain for a knock on the door. Smythe brought him a light supper, which he ignored. He sat in silence, from time to time rising to pace up and down the room. The Essais remained unopened at his side. That night he did not sleep. He did not even close his eyes.

  Morning came eventually. Smythe brushed down Thomas’s coronation outfit – long sky-blue coat over a white ruffled shirt, satin breeches tied with ribbons at the knee and black shoes with silver buckles – and Thomas scraped his face with a razor and risked a look in Mary’s hand mirror. ‘You’ll have to do, Thomas,’ he said to his reflection. ‘Let’s hope this king is more agreeable than his father.’

  At twenty minutes before ten there was a knock on the door. Thomas put on his coat and answered it. A young captain stood outside. ‘If you are ready, sir, the king’s carriage awaits you. My orders are to escort you to Whitehall Palace.’

  Thomas followed the captain to the carriage. An armed guard opened the door for him, then the captain climbed in beside him and shouted at the driver to be off. ‘Have you ever been inside Whitehall Palace, sir?’ he asked, as they reached Charing Cross.

  ‘I have not. I hear it’s possible to get lost in it.’

  ‘So they say. Lost souls and wandering ghosts, some of the servants believe. Alas, I’ve never seen one.’ Thomas heard no clue about his fate in the captain’s voice. He might be going to a royal feast or to his own execution.

  The carriage made its way along Whitehall to the Palace Gate, where it turned into a long courtyard. ‘This is the Court,’ said the captain, ‘and in front of us is the Great Hall.’ The carriage stopped outside the Hall and the captain jumped out. ‘Follow me, sir. There are more than fifteen hundred rooms in the palace and I would not want you going into the wrong one.’ Nor would I, thought Thomas, not with many of them occupied by one or other of the king’s mistresses.

  The captain led him past the Hall, and through a maze of paths and lanes to an entrance guarded by two soldiers. Thomas noticed a walled garden on their left. They went through the entrance and into a room on their right. ‘This is one of His Majesty’s chambers,’ the captain told him. ‘He likes to hold private audiences here. He will enter from the royal apartments through that door.’ He pointed to a door at the far end of the room. ‘He will be accompanied by six courtiers. When His Majesty enters, you should bow from the waist and wait for him to address you. If he offers you his hand, take it lightly. I shall be standing at the door we entered by and will escort you to your destination when your audience is over.’

  His destination? The Tower? Newgate? Tyburn? ‘Thank you, captain. The last time I met a king it was in Oxford. Had either of us but known it, the country had seven years of war to look forward to.’

  The room was bare but for heavy Flemish tapestries on the walls and a large chair upholstered in red velvet with gold braid and tassels in one corner. The high ceiling was vaulted with oak beams and the floor polished to bring out the grain of its timbers. It was a room to impose and impress.

  The door to the royal apartments was opened by a servant and the king, followed by his courtiers, swept in. His Majesty wore a sumptuous red silk cloak over a snowy-white shirt with mutton-chop sleeves, and blue velvet breeches tied with gold ribbon at the knee. On his feet were shiny black leather shoes with thick soles and huge silver buckles. He planted himself on the chair with his courtiers arranged on either side and fixed the royal stare on Thomas, who bowed as instructed.

  ‘Thomas Hill,’ boomed the king, ‘I should not have recognized you.’

  Thomas was taken aback. Where had he met this king before? ‘My humble apologies, Your Majesty. I do not recall having previously had the honour.’

  ‘You served my late father in Oxford when I was a boy. I used to hide behind a screen in the Great Hall of Christ Church and listen to what went on. I learned a great deal by doing so. And I remember your decrypting the message that revealed Tobias Rush to be a traitor. He died under interrogation, I recall.’

  Tobias Rush had not died under interrogation. He was buried in an old privy in Barbados. But Thomas let it pass.

  The king’s voice became stern. ‘Now, Mr Hill, on the one hand, the man responsible for the security of our realm during Sir Edward Nicholas’s absence advises me that you have served us with courage and skill. On the other hand, however, Sir Samuel Morland, who is well known at this court, has accused you of treachery and deceit and complained about your part in his unjust confinement in the Tower. What is more, Sir Edward has returned from York and advises me to take Sir Samuel’s part in the matter. Consequently, I find myself in something of a dilemma.’

  Thomas remained silent and kept his head bowed. Joseph was right. Morland had wasted no time in enlisting the support of Sir Edward Nicholas, who as Secretary of State would carry more weight with the king. He might now be in more danger than he had been in Drury Lane or Dartford. If Nicholas had demanded Thomas’s head, no doubt he would get it.

  ‘I have heard what Sir Samuel and Mr Williamson have to say. Before deciding what action to take, however, I wish to hear your version of events. Kindly oblige me with your account.’

  At least the accused was being given the chance to speak. Thomas squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. For the second time in his life he would have to persuade the king of England that he had acted in good faith and was innocent of any wrongdoing.

  Throughout Thomas’s account the king’s gaze never wavered from him and not once did he interrupt. He listened without comment or expression to Thomas’s explanation of his decryption of the letter revealing a plot involving Aurum, Argentum and the Alchemist, and to his description of the events leading to the deaths of Stoner and Squire and to the capture of Henri and Louise d’Entrevaux. Thomas explained how the fragment found in Stoner’s house had led them to suspect Morland, but he did not attempt to excuse their mistake.

  When Thomas had finished the king said, ‘Thank you, Mr Hill. Your account is consistent with that of Mr Williamson, although I note that you did not see fit to mention the abduction and rescue of his cousin. Why was that?’

  Because it had not occurred to him, that was why. ‘It did not seem relevant, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I daresay it was relevant to her.’ The king paused. ‘I must decide what to do on the basi
s of the information and advice I have received. Before I do so, have you anything you wish to add?’

  ‘Only this, Your Majesty. I served your father because I wanted to bring an end to war, and I have served you because I do not want to see England at war again.’

  ‘A pretty speech, Mr Hill, and your sentiments do you credit. There is, however, the serious matter of Sir Samuel’s false imprison ment. Sir Samuel is a trusted friend and an able man whose talents are valued highly by us. I cannot dismiss his complaint without proper consideration.’

  The king paused. The royal expression told Thomas nothing. He held the king’s gaze and tried to look confident. When the king spoke his voice was grave. ‘Thomas Hill, I hold you in part responsible for the unjust imprisonment of our loyal servant Sir Samuel Morland.’ The king leaned forward in his chair. ‘My policy is to reward loyalty and to punish those who act against those who are loyal to me.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘In this case, however, there are circumstances that demand clemency. You will not be punished, but you are rebuked. Joseph Williamson has been similarly rebuked.’

  A royal rebuke. Thomas wondered if he should thank the king for his kindness, swear his undying loyalty to the Crown, or keep quiet. He kept quiet.

  The king went on, ‘These are dangerous times. Our enemies at home and overseas would like to see England and its king weakened and defeated. By your actions, you have helped remove a serious threat to our safety. For that, you have our grateful thanks.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’

  ‘And what now for you, Mr Hill?’

  ‘I shall return to my home in Romsey, and hope to spend whatever years I have left in peace with my family and my books.’

  ‘We hope your wish will be granted, Mr Hill. Now there is one thing more before you go.’ The king signalled to a courtier, who produced a low stool from behind the king’s chair and placed it in front of Thomas. A second courtier handed the king a gleaming sword.

  ‘Please kneel for His Majesty,’ ordered the first courtier.

  With the odd sensation that he was watching someone else, Thomas did as he was instructed. He barely felt the sword touch his shoulders or heard the king say, ‘Arise, Sir Thomas.’ He managed to stand when told to, and took the oustretched hand lightly.

  ‘Is there a Lady Hill, Sir Thomas?’ asked the king with a grin.

  ‘Not yet, Your Majesty, but I am hopeful.’ Thomas had not recovered his wits and the words came out in a rush.

  ‘Then we wish you well and may God bless you.’ The king and his courtiers turned and were gone.

  ‘Sir Thomas,’ said the captain, ‘if you are ready, I will escort you home.’

  ‘Thank you, Captain. Did that really happen or was I dreaming?’

  The captain smiled. ‘That is a most common reaction. It’s over so quickly, you want it to be done again just to be sure. Take my word, Sir Thomas, it happened.’

  In the carriage, Thomas asked the captain to take him not to Piccadilly but along Fleet Street. At the junction with the narrow lane, the carriage stopped and Thomas alighted. ‘Good luck, Sir Thomas,’ said the young man.

  ‘Thank you, Captain. I shall need it.’

  The door was opened by Agnes. ‘Why, Mr Hill, this is a surprise. Shall I enquire if Miss Stewart will see you?’

  ‘Thank you, no, Agnes. I will see her.’

  Agnes stepped aside to let him in. ‘As you wish, sir. If you would wait in the sitting room, I’ll tell her you are here.’

  There was no point in procrastinating. When Madeleine entered the room, blue eyes flashing, Thomas took two steps forward, put his arms around her, held on tightly and kissed her firmly on the lips. Then he released her and knelt in front of her. ‘Madeleine Stewart, please will you come to Romsey and marry me there?’

  He stood and Madeleine took his hands in hers. ‘Of course I will, Thomas. But was the kneeling necessary?’

  ‘Charles Carrington advised it.’

  ‘Did he now? And what else did he advise?’

  ‘That I swear undying love and take you to bed.’

  ‘Excellent advice.’

  ‘I thought so too, but first there is something I must tell you.’

  Madeleine’s face fell. ‘Thomas, if there’s another—’

  He put his finger to her lips. ‘Ssh. I have come directly from Whitehall. Would you care to know why?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I have been knighted.’

  ‘I do not believe you.’

  ‘It is true.’

  Madeleine threw her arms around him. ‘So you are Sir Thomas Hill.’

  ‘I am. And you will be Lady Hill. So if Agnes would bring a bottle, we will drink a toast to long life and happiness as Sir Thomas and Lady Hill.’

  Madeleine fetched Agnes and, with her, a bottle of excellent claret and Josiah, who had been tucking into his dinner in the kitchen. When told the news, Agnes curtsied and a beaming Josiah shook his hand. ‘Just as well I took good care of you, Sir Thomas,’ said the little man.

  ‘Just as well, Josiah, and I trust the future Lady Hill will do the same.’ The elbow in his ribs did not hurt all that much.

  Some time later, Madeleine propped herself up on a pillow and ran her finger along the graze on Thomas’s cheek. She had not asked how he had come by it. ‘Such a pity the king did not see fit to make you an earl.’

  ‘Madeleine! Is the wife of a knight not good enough for you?’

  ‘I’m not thinking of myself. Our son would have inherited an earldom.’

  ‘Our son?’

  ‘I suspected it after the first time. Now I’m sure.’

  Thomas sat up and took her face in his hands. ‘But I thought . . .’

  ‘It seems they were wrong.’

  ‘And your sickness . . .’

  ‘He must be strong.’

  ‘Is it not too soon to be sure?’

  ‘No, Thomas. I am sure.’

  Thomas kissed her. ‘What shall we call him?’

  ‘My father’s name was Edward.’

  ‘Then he will be Edward Hill.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  As always, I thank my wife Susan for her patient support. Michael and Tom Swanston offered valuable advice and suggestions for which I am grateful.

  Thanks also to my wonderful editor, Emma Buckley, and her colleagues at Transworld. It is a great pleasure to work with them.

  And a final thank-you to Penny McMahon at the British Postal Museum and Archive in London.

  SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

  Iris Brooke, English Costume of the Seventeenth Century, A. & C. Black, 1934

  Tim Harris, Restoration, Penguin, 2005

  Christopher Hill, The World Turned Upside Down, Penguin, 1972

  Alan Marshall, Intelligence and Espionage in the Reign of Charles II, 1660–1685, Cambridge University Press, 1994

  Stephen Pincock, Codebreaker: The History of Codes and Ciphers, Walker & Co., 2006

  Simon Singh, The Code Book, Fourth Estate, 1999

  Jenny Uglow, A Gambling Man, Faber and Faber, 2009

  and, of course, Samuel Pepys, The Shorter Pepys, Penguin, 1985

  About the Author

  After reading Law at Cambridge, Andrew Swanston held various positions in the book trade, including being a director of Waterstones and chairman of Methvens PLC, before turning to full-time writing. Inspired by a lifelong interest in seventeenth-century history, his Thomas Hill novels are set during the English Civil War and the early period of the Restoration. He lives with his wife in Surrey.

  Also by Andrew Swanston

  The King’s Spy

  The King’s Exile

  TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

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  First published in Great Britain

  in 2014 by Bantam Press

  an imprint of Transworld Publishers


  Copyright © Andrew Swanston 2014

  Andrew Swanston has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446487297

  ISBN 9780593068908

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