The King's Exile (Thomas Hill Trilogy 2) (40 page)

‘Really, Uncle Thomas,’ exclaimed Polly, ‘after four years without you, weeks cooped up like chickens on ships and the strain of looking after our mother, why do you imagine a night or two in an inn would inconvenience us?’

‘Thank you, Polly,’ replied Margaret tartly, ‘we will do as Uncle Thomas wishes.’

When the carriage reached Romsey, it turned left off the Southampton road into the street known as the Hundred, then right into Love Lane. It passed the baker’s shop where Thomas often stopped on his way back from the Romsey Arms to savour the aroma of new-baked bread and drew up outside the bookshop. The town seemed quiet and Love Lane was deserted. As Margaret had told him, the shop was boarded up, with stout planks nailed across the door and windows. Thomas jumped down and stood outside his shop. He wanted to see his books, feel their weight in his hands and inhale their leathery smells. Planks or no planks, they would find a way in.

With the help of the coachman, they managed to drag the chests off the carriage. Thomas promised him another guinea and sent him off to find four strong men to lever the planks off the door, force open the lock and carry the chests inside. He had not suffered, starved and killed, only to have the gold stolen from under his nose in Love Lane. He and Lucy sat on one chest, Margaret and Polly on the other.

The coachman was back within half an hour with four drinkers from the Romsey Arms, happy to earn a shilling each for a few minutes’ work. One of them, who carried an iron crowbar,
looked familiar. When he saw Thomas he stopped and stared. ‘God’s wounds, Master ’ill,’ he exclaimed, ‘is that you? We all thought you was long gone.’

Thomas could not remember the man’s name. ‘It certainly is, my friend, alive and, I’m glad to say, home again. Now would you and your friends oblige us by opening up my shop and helping us get our baggage inside? I fear the chests are a trifle heavy.’

‘Certainly we will, sir,’ replied the man, ‘and it’s good to see you again.’ He tipped his hat to Margaret. ‘And you, of course, madam.’

It did not take long for the planks to come off and the door was barely open before Thomas was inside. He stood and stared. The dirt and dust he barely noticed – they were to be expected. What he had not expected were empty shelves. There was not a single book in the place. Not one. He shook his head in disbelief. Rush’s final act of revenge had been to steal his books. Not that he would have expected Thomas ever to know it; he must have planned to show the empty shop to Margaret.

There was no point in staring at bare shelves. Thomas asked the men to drag the chests inside and then remove the boards from all the windows. When they had done so, he handed over four shillings and they returned happily to the Romsey Arms. Thomas and Margaret dragged the chests through the shop to the stairs which led up to their bedrooms. They opened the chests to take out the few clothes they had crammed in with the gold, then Thomas pulled back the first three steps to reveal the place where the girls had once hidden from a pair of looting soldiers of Parliament, and they pushed the chests inside. The gold would be as safe there as anywhere.

The kitchen was intact and their beds were still in the
bedrooms. There were even blankets and pillows. But the light now shining through the windows revealed a layer of dust on every surface and the house smelled damp. ‘Are we really going to stay here, Uncle Thomas?’ asked Lucy.

‘Of course we are,’ he replied. ‘We’ll soon have the house cleaned up. We’ll light the fire in the kitchen, sweep the floors and shake out the bedding. Then you and your mother will go and buy our dinner while I guard the house and fix a bar on the door. I’ll use timbers from the windows.’ Catching his tone, the girls did not try arguing. Their uncle was just as stubborn now as he had been four years earlier.

After several hours of sweeping and scrubbing Margaret took the girls to the market, while Thomas found suitable timbers and fashioned an adequate bar across the door. They returned with bread, cheese, onions, a chicken and a copy of
Mercurius Politicus
, a new weekly government newsbook. Thomas sat down at his old table to read it.

Among a number of articles extolling the virtues of the ‘Lord Protector’ was one calling, in the name of true godliness, for a law against Ranters. The Ranters Thomas had seen were a harmless lot, if alarmingly eager to dance about naked, and he could think of a good many other people he would rather have a law against, including intolerant politicians and religious fanatics. In fact a law like the Barbados ‘turkey and shoat’ law which had prohibited the use of the words ‘Cavalier’ and ‘Roundhead’, but prohibiting instead the use of the words ‘Puritan’ and ‘Catholic’, might be a good idea. Perhaps he would suggest it.

There was also an article on the cowardice of Charles Stuart, presently skulking in France with his mother, Henrietta Maria. Thomas remembered ‘The Generalissima’ well – a formidable
lady, fond of spaniels and dwarves and devoted to her late husband. And an article on the back page of the newsbook contemplated the threat of war with the Dutch, following the recent ordinance which banned foreign vessels from transporting goods from European ports to England. Thomas smiled when he read it and could not help thinking of Adam and Charles, who had joined with the other planters in ignoring all attempted restrictions to their trade and happily sold their sugar to the Dutch merchants who had helped them with finance and advice. It was another foolish law, unenforceable and short-sighted. Perhaps there should also be a law against using the words ‘restriction’ and ‘navigation’.

Much as he would have liked to walk down to the Romsey Arms, Thomas dared not leave the girls and the gold unattended, so after they had eaten, his first evening on English soil for more than four years was spent quietly at home.

Before they went to their old beds, Margaret asked, ‘Are you still set on the idea, Thomas?’

‘I am,’ he replied, ‘and I shall go to Winchester tomorrow morning.’

The coach which carried Thomas, two armed guards and his two heavy chests to Winchester the next morning had been arranged by Margaret, who had found the coach and the guards at the Romsey Arms. They made good time to Winchester and Thomas was in the house of Jacob Rose, goldsmith, before noon.

It took Mr Rose three hours to count the coins and a little longer for them to agree values for the guilders and louis d’or. When they had done so, Thomas deposited with Mr Rose all the coins he had brought – one small bag of coins he had left under
the stairs – and a letter of instruction, in exchange for a promissory note and a statement of the interest he would receive on his deposit. While the coachman and the guards refreshed themselves, Thomas went next to the office of Henry Cole, lawyer, where he handed over another letter of instruction, showed Mr Cole Lord Willoughby’s letter confirming the death of Tobias Rush and made a payment in advance against Mr Cole’s fee. His final visit was to a draper’s shop near the cathedral, where he ordered twenty yards of silk to be delivered to Romsey. His business completed, he collected the coachman and guards and was back in Romsey before dark. ‘It’s done,’ he told Margaret. ‘Tomorrow we will make our inspection.’

The four of them left the house soon after dawn the next morning and walked together down Love Lane, through the square and past the old abbey. At the edge of the town, they stopped outside a grand house, set apart and surrounded on three sides by its own land. It was three storeys high, built of red brick, with a red-tiled roof, tall chimneys and large latticed windows. The oak door, too, was large and looked strong enough to withstand any amount of battering. If he had not known better, Thomas would have guessed the house to belong to a successful wool merchant.

‘There are fifteen rooms,’ Margaret told him, ‘all well proportioned. There are stables and a well at the back.’

‘It looks perfect,’ said Thomas, smiling. ‘Quite large enough and plenty of land upon which to build. I can see why Rush bought it. It would have been a wise investment if he had lived to enjoy it.’

‘Thank God he didn’t. The world does not need monsters like Tobias Rush.’

‘Indeed not. But let us hope that in death his money serves a useful purpose.’

‘We’re not going to live here, are we?’ asked Lucy.

Thomas laughed and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘No, my dear, we are not going to live here but we are going to buy it. Your mother and I have plans for it.’

They walked around the house, peering into the windows and trying the doors. All were locked. An internal inspection would have to wait until Mr Cole had done his work. They were about to leave when a troop of soldiers appeared from the direction of the town and marched up to the house. Polly and Lucy immediately hid behind Thomas and Margaret, who stood to face them. The captain and his six men wore the red coats of Parliamentary infantrymen, their twelve ‘apostles’ containing powder and ball in loops on their bandoliers, iron helmets and tall leather boots. They carried muskets and swords. Even to Thomas’s untutored eye they looked better equipped and more disciplined than the men whom Rush had sent to arrest him on that cold March morning.

‘We are looking for Tobias Rush,’ announced the captain.

Thomas grinned. ‘I fear you will not find him here, captain,’ he replied.

‘Is that so? And where might we find him?’

‘Tobias Rush is dead and was buried on the island of Barbados. I have a letter from the governor, Lord Willoughby, to prove it.’

‘And who are you, sir?’

‘My name is Thomas Hill. I own a bookshop in Love Lane. My family and I have a mind to buy this house and we’re inspecting it.’

The captain looked suspicious. ‘Were you now? Or were you planning to break in and steal what’s inside?’

‘Certainly not, captain. As I have told you, Rush is dead. The house will be sold and we intend to buy it.’

The captain turned to his troop and spoke quietly to them. Thomas could not hear what was being said but he did see the glances in his direction. God in heaven, not again. If these men had orders to find Rush, they would not want to return with only the word of a stranger that he was dead. It would be more sensible for them to escort Thomas to whomever had sent them and let him tell the story himself. Even with the letter he would have to do more explaining than he would like – he had, after all, helped defend Barbados against Ayscue’s Parliamentary fleet. He put his arm around Margaret and braced himself.

The captain turned back to face him. ‘Master Hill, we have decided to believe you. We did not like Tobias Rush and we are not unhappy to hear that he is dead. However, if he should come to life again you will have some awkward questions to answer. In that case, you may expect a visit from us at your shop in Love Lane.’

Thomas let out a quiet sigh of relief. Rush had returned from the dead once. He would not be doing so again. ‘That is understood, captain. And if you do see Tobias Rush, be sure that you will be looking at a ghost.’ The captain did not reply but gave his soldiers the order to turn and off they marched.

‘I did not enjoy that,’ said Margaret. ‘I did not think they would believe you.’

‘Nor did I. Another spell in Winchester gaol looked horribly likely. Still, the war’s over and a man’s word may be worth something again. Let’s hope so.’

The next six months were spent in trips to Winchester to visit Mr Rose and Mr Cole, meetings with the mayor and aldermen of Romsey, and weekly conferences with builders, carpenters and stonemasons. Thomas watched impatiently as the work progressed, until, at last, just before Christmas Day, it was finished. The house that had once belonged to Tobias Rush had been transformed and a new house, perfect for a well-to-do family of four, had been built in its grounds.

On the first day of January 1653, Thomas Hill, accompanied by his sister and nieces, all three dressed in new bonnets and new gowns made from the silk he had bought in Winchester, attended the official opening. The mayor spoke warmly of the man who had conceived the idea, paid for the work and endowed the establishment with a capital sum sufficient for its needs for many years to come. Then he announced that the new Romsey School was now open. It would start with eight pupils, all of whom had lost their fathers during the war, including Polly and Lucy Taylor. Until a schoolteacher was appointed the children would be taught mathematics, Latin and English by the benefactor himself.

After the ceremony the party repaired to the Romsey Arms. He had survived, he had prospered and he had made good use of the Gibbes’s gold. The celebrations were long and merry and when eventually they were over, he set off unsteadily up Love Lane. Only when he reached the baker’s shop did he remember that he no longer lived above the old bookshop. With an embarrassed grin, he retraced his steps down the lane, past the inn and the abbey, to his new house beside Romsey School.

For an island of only 166 square miles and a population, white and black, of fewer than forty thousand, Barbados played an important role in the English Civil Wars, especially after the execution of Charles I. This was all the more extraordinary for the fact that the brothers John and Henry Powell, the first planter colonists, had only arrived there in 1627. When the Royalist and Parliamentarian forces met at Edgehill, the Barbados planter community was no more than fifteen years old.

Thomas’s experience was not uncommon because the success of the sugar industry had one terrible drawback – its insatiable demand for cheap labour. This demand was met not only by slaves from Africa and South America but also by prisoners, convicts and Royalist supporters, who found themselves ‘Barbadosed’. Some were well treated; many, like Thomas, were brutally exploited and abused. Very few returned home.

Among the events in
The King’s Exile
which really did take place were Humphrey Walrond’s coup to gain the governorship,
the appointment of Lord Willoughby to replace him, the false intelligence carried by the Dutch ship, the blockade by Sir George Ayscue’s fleet, the arrival of the fleet from Virginia, the battle on the ridge above Oistins that was ‘rained off’, the signing of the Charter of Barbados in ‘Ye Mermaid Inn’.