With the help of the two slaves who had disposed of Gibbes’s body, Thomas buried Patrick within the hour. There had been no funeral and there was nothing to mark the grave. Those would come later. He stood alone, thinking of the man who had thought nothing of being born a slave, had nursed Thomas back to health and had given his life for Mary. He found that he could not weep. It would take time.
When Adam arrived back from Bridgetown that afternoon, he had worked himself up into a rare fury. To have been summoned from an important meeting to discuss the crisis was not only most inconvenient but also, judging by what the messenger had told him, deeply alarming. Face the colour of a red pepper and shirt drenched in sweat, he leapt from his exhausted horse and stormed into the house. He found Mary sitting quietly with Charles and Thomas. Charles’s arm was in a sling.
‘What the devil’s been going on here?’ he demanded. ‘I leave my sister in the care of Thomas and Patrick and now I gather there’s been an intruder and Patrick’s dead. What have you to say for yourself, Thomas?’
‘Good afternoon, brother,’ said Mary. ‘My face is a little bruised, but I’m otherwise unharmed, thank you.’
‘I can see that and am much relieved for it, but why was an intruder allowed into the house? What happened? And what about Patrick? Is it true he’s dead?’
‘Calm yourself, my friend,’ said Charles, rising to greet him. ‘Alas, Patrick is dead. He died protecting Mary and so, nearly, did Thomas. No blame attaches to either. Now sit down and you shall hear the story.’
An hour later, the story had been told and Adam had calmed down. ‘John Gibbes. I would never have left you if I’d known that creature was on the loose,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me what they’ve done with his body. I don’t want to know, just as long as he’s dead.’
‘He’s quite dead,’ Thomas assured him, ‘and I much regret not having done what I did long ago. I find, to my surprise, that taking a life in such circumstances troubles me not at all. In fact, I’m pleased to have done it.’
‘Patrick has been buried and we will have a proper funeral for him when I feel stronger,’ said Mary. ‘I wish to grieve properly and I am not yet ready to do so.’
‘Nor I,’ agreed Thomas.
Charles broke the silence. ‘Now, Adam, as you are here, tell us how matters stand in the south.’
‘There has been no further action since Alleyne’s landing. Willoughby still believes that Ayscue cannot hope to win while he is so clearly outnumbered and at the disadvantage of having been at sea for so long, but as long as his fleet is there we are blockaded and in some danger. However, there has been one development.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A message has been intercepted. The messenger came ashore alone; he was seen by sentries and shot. He died before he could be questioned.’
‘What did the message say?’
‘We don’t know. It’s a cipher. Willoughby’s man hasn’t been able to break it.’
‘What sort of cipher is it?’ asked Thomas.
‘God knows. It looked like nonsense to me.’
‘Would Lord Willoughby like me to take a look at it, do you think?’
‘You, Thomas?’ Adam threw up his hands. ‘My God, of course. I’d quite forgotten. You broke the cipher at Oxford. You must indeed look at it. We’ll return to Bridgetown tomorrow.’
Chapter 26
LORD WILLOUGHBY OF Parham prided himself on never being less than immaculately attired, even in the heat of Barbados. His custom was to take breakfast before performing his ablutions and dressing meticulously. If the Assembly were sitting or if he had other official business, he would invariably select a satin jacket over a white ruffled shirt, silk breeches – blue or burgundy – and white silk stockings. He disliked long boots, preferring one of the dozen pairs of black leather shoes with silver or gold buckles made for him by the village cobbler in Parham. His lordship did not care to be rushed when preparing himself for the day ahead and was seldom ready before ten o’clock.
Since the blockading fleet had arrived, he had dressed formally every day. It was a point of principle. When his elderly secretary bustled in with the news that Adam Lyte had returned and was asking to see him, he was still casting a critical eye over himself in a long mirror. ‘Well,’ he said, carefully adjusting his cuffs, ‘it must be something urgent to bring Adam back so soon. Ask him to come straight in.’
When the secretary returned with Adam, Willoughby was quite composed and ready to greet him. ‘Adam, good morning. To what do I owe the pleasure at this time of the day?’
‘Your lordship, I have with me Thomas Hill who is presently a guest at our estate,’ replied Adam breathlessly. ‘He’s a cryptographer who was at Oxford with the king. He broke an enemy cipher which revealed a plot to capture the queen.’
‘Did he now? And how does he come to be your guest?’
‘Better I let him tell you that himself, your lordship. May I ask him to come in?’
‘Please do. I shall be pleased to meet such a clever man. Show him to the library.’
Scrubbed up and finely turned out, Thomas was waiting nervously in an antechamber. A man who has met a king should not be nervous of a mere lord, he thought. As usual, he turned for support to Montaigne. ‘Au plus eslevé throne du monde, si ne sommes assis que sus nostre cul’ – ‘Upon the highest throne in the world, we are seated, still, upon our arse.’ He would try to keep it in mind if his lordship summoned him. And when Adam, beaming broadly, came striding out of his lordship’s room, he knew that he had done so.
They were shown by the secretary into the library. There Lord Willoughby was seated on his cul in a big library chair, a decanter of claret and three glasses on a small table beside him. He did not rise, but smiled amiably and invited them to sit. The secretary poured the wine and left.
‘Now, Master Hill,’ began Willoughby, ‘Adam tells me that you are something of a cryptographer, that you are his guest and that you served our late king at Oxford. What else is there that I should know about you?’
Twenty minutes later, Lord Willoughby knew a great deal about Thomas Hill. He knew that he had studied mathematics and philosophy at Oxford, that he owned a bookshop in Romsey, that the king had summoned him to Oxford and that he had broken the Vigenère cipher. He knew about Tobias Rush and about Margaret and her daughters. To his astonishment, he also knew about Thomas’s arrest and indenture to the Gibbes brothers. He listened to the story without interrupting and when Thomas finished, his only comment was that Barbados was certainly a better place for being rid of such men as the Gibbes.
‘Very well, Master Hill,’ said Willoughby, ‘let us see what you can do. This message has defeated my advisers and may defeat you. But you shall try. Is there anything I can tell you that might help?’
‘Context is always helpful, my lord. And possible names, although military messages seldom carry names, as you will know. Could you tell me what the message might be about? That would help.’
‘The names Modyford or Hawley might appear. It might contain dates and place names. There again, it might not. Is there anything you will need to help you?’
‘Just paper, quills and ink, my lord. Plenty of them, if you please.’
Willoughby summoned the secretary and told him to provide Master Hill with a quiet room in which to work, all the materials he needed, whatever refreshments he requested and the intercepted message. ‘Have you any idea how long this will take?’ he asked Thomas.
‘None, your lordship. It will depend upon the nature of the cipher. I may not be able to decipher it at all. I will be able to say more when I have seen it.’