Dark Matter

“That is good,” said Lord Halifax. “Nevertheless, Doctor, I should like you to stay away from the Mint until this business is over. If the Tower be full of such a dangerous contagion, it seems foolish to put yourself in the way of it. There is already so much feeling against Roman Catholics abroad in London that I do not doubt how killing you, Doctor, would work some dreadful effect upon the population. It would need only someone to come forward and swear Mister Ambrose and Mister Roettier out of their lives for the design of an assassination against the King to be the spark that would ignite the whole city in a more awful calamity than the Great Fire.

“Therefore I say to you, Doctor Newton, keep yourself from the Mint and leave these matters to me. I shall come to Jermyn Street if I need to speak with you.”

“If you think it necessary, milord,” said Newton, bowing gracefully. “We will do as you say.”

The Treaty of Ryswick that ended the war was announced in the London Gazette on September the sixteenth, and signed on the twentieth. During the month that led up to the Treaty and the month afterward, things grew somewhat easier at the Mint, for, with the signing of the peace, the financial crisis that had afflicted the country for want of money to pay for the war eased most considerably.

Having to visit Newton in Jermyn Street so much, to conduct the business of the Mint, I saw more of Miss Barton again. I saw no sign that she might still be in love with me, despite what Newton had told me. Her behaviour to me was courteous but cold; not that Newton did perceive any difference between us, for he was quite blind to how things are between men and women. Besides, Miss Barton was often out, although I knew not where, since neither she nor Mrs. Rogers, nor Newton himself, saw fit to tell me; but several times Miss Barton and Newton were guests at Halifax’s house in Bushey Park, while I remained in Jermyn Street, with Mrs. Rogers. But despite her apparent indifference to me, ’tis certain I was distracted by her, which is but a poor excuse how I managed to put the threat to Newton’s life to the back of my mind; and how he was almost murdered.

One unseasonably warm day, my master and I were encouraged to walk instead of going about our business more safely by coach; but whatever the reasons, it is certain that we had relaxed our guard. We were coming away from Whitehall, where we had been interviewing Mister Bradley, who was an under-clerk in Lord Fitzharding’s office, and Mister Marriott, who had confessed to a fraud involving the conversion of exchequer bills into specie bills, and were proceeding to The Leg, a tavern in King Street, to review our depositions, when two ruffians armed with swords came out of Boar’s Head Yard and advanced upon us with very obvious intent.

“Have a care, sir,” I yelled to Newton, and pushed him behind me.

Had there been just the one I should have drawn my own sword and engaged, but since there were two I had little alternative but to use my pistols. At the sight of these they fled into George Yard on the other side of The Leg, and believing I had them cornered, I started to follow until, thinking better of it, I turned back to King Street. It was well that I did, for both men had dived into the back door of The Leg and were now coming out of the front door immediately behind my master, with their swords raised. One of them lunged at my master, who, seeing his assailant out of the corner of his eye, twisted himself to one side, clear of the blade, which passed harmlessly through his coat.

I did not hesitate. Nor did I miss. The first man I shot through the side of the face, and though I did not kill him, it is certain he would have starved to death, such was the mutilated state of his mouth. The second I shot through the heart, which was to suppose that he had had one. Newton himself, although splashed with the blood of one of his attackers, was unhurt but quite shaken, for he trembled like a tansey pudding.

“See what he has done to my coat,” he said, putting a finger through the hole his attacker’s blade had left there.

“Better than your belly,” said I.

“True.”

At the discovery of the hole, Newton felt obliged to go into The Leg and take a glass of brandy wine to steady his nerves.

“Once again I am indebted to you, and the excellence of your marksmanship,” said Newton, who still looked most pale. He raised his glass to his lips and drained it gratefully. “I confess I little thought they would try to kill me in broad daylight.”

“We do not know that they won’t try again,” said I.

“I don’t believe that those two will try again,” remarked Newton.

“Others may try,” said I. “From now on, we must only move around the city by coach.”

“Yes,” he said, almost breathless with the fright of it. “You are probably right. A coach from now on, yes. That would be safer.”

A parish constable arrived, and Newton said that our two assassins were ordinary footpads that had tried to steal Newton’s purse.