‘We’ll see if you’re still saying that in November, Thomas,’ replied Margaret, knowing how much her brother hated the cold. ‘I assume we’re going to the bookshop?’
‘Where else would we be going?’
‘The shop is boarded up and it will be dark and dirty. We could spend the night in the Romsey Arms.’
‘Nonsense. We’ll soon put it in order and the girls would much rather stay there, wouldn’t you, girls?’
‘No,’ replied Polly, ‘we would not.’
‘Not if it’s dark and dirty,’ agreed Lucy. ‘Why can’t we stay at the inn?’
The reason, thought Thomas, is that in these two chests are tens of thousands of pounds’ worth of gold which I intend to keep my eye on until I can deposit it in a safe place. ‘Inns are no places for young ladies,’ he said sternly.
‘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.’