Dark Matter

“The centre of their community is the Church of the Refuge in Threadneedle Street,” said Newton. “Some attend the Austin Friars Chapel in the City. Others the French Conformist Church of the Savoy in Westminster. But all the Huguenots from this Tower, whether they are Mint or Ordnance, attend Threadneedle Street. I myself went to a service at the French church of La Patente in Spitalfields where I found much to admire, since many of these Huguenots do embrace anti-Trinitarian views which are familiar to me. And yet they are most secretive. I was required to state my belief that Christ was a mere man, though without sin, before they would permit me to remain during their worship, for they are very fearful of spies. And not without good reason, I think. I have heard it said often enough that they do harbour secret Papists in their midst. My own agents say the same, but that is based on nothing more substantial than their own ignorant fancy, for our spies think all Frenchmen are, when weighed in the balance, found wanting.”

“That was also my own opinion,” I told him. “Certainly I know that there were a great many Huguenots who fought for King William at the Battle of the Boyne, including General Ruvigny himself. But I confess I have little apprehension of the true character of their persecutions. And why so many of them are here at all.”

“But you must have heard of the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew,” protested Newton.

“I have heard of it,” I said. “But I am unable to describe what happened.”

Newton shook his head. “I would have thought the circumstances of the massacre were familiar to Protestants everywhere. What history are they teaching young people these days?” He sighed. “Well then, let me enlighten you. On the night of August the twenty-fourth, 1572, a large number of Protestants were in Paris to see the Huguenot Henry of Navarre, the future French King and grandfather of the present French King, Lewis, married to Marguerite, who was a member of the ruling French Catholic family of Valois. The treacherous Valois family saw opportunity to extirpate Protestantism from France, and took it. Ten thousand were massacred in Paris and many more in the provinces; and it is generally accepted that as many as seventy thousand Huguenot Protestants were murdered by the Roman Catholics. Many Huguenots sought refuge in England.”

“But that was in 1572; surely by now they would be much integrated into English society?”

“Henry himself was spared, and eventually became the King of France; and by the Edict of Nantes, did establish religious toleration for Protestants in France. Which persisted until about ten years ago, when this same edict was revoked by his own grandson, and now many more Huguenots are fled to England again. Now do you understand?”

“Yes. I see. But that you say there are several Huguenots here in this Tower still surprises me. One might think that the security of the Mint would demand that only Englishmen should garrison this place.”

“Did I say several?” said Newton. “I meant many.” He collected a sheet of paper on which appeared two lists of names. “In the Mint, Mister Fauquier, Mister Coligny the assay master, Mister Vallière the melter, and Mister Bayle the moneyer. In the Ordnance, Major Mornay, Captain Lacoste, Captain Martin, Sergeant Rohan, Corporals Cousin and Lasco, and Warders Poujade, Durie, Nimmo, and Lestrade.

“There may be others not yet known,” continued Newton. “Those who have sought refuge in England since 1685 and the revocation of the Edict of Nantes are easier to see than those whose families have been here since the defeat of La Rochelle in 1629. Major Mornay was born in this country. As was Mister Bayle, the moneyer. Being more English than French of course may make them weaker links in the Huguenot chain.”

“Do you think that they conspire to do something? Could they have murdered Daniel Mercer and Mister Kennedy?”

“I cannot hypothesise. That is what we must find out. It is true that there is much to connect French Protestantism and the Huguenots with the hermetic world of alchemy. But I do not believe that there is anything in these Huguenots that would make them any more protective of alchemy than I am myself.”

“That may be so,” said I. “But what about the Templars of whom your friend in the Royal Society, Mister Pepys, spoke when we dined with him? Were the Templars not French, too? Might it not be that these Huguenots are the heirs to the Templars and their own secret? Would not such a treasure be worth killing for? It seems to me that there are many secrets hereabouts.”

“Enough, enough,” groaned Newton. “You trouble me with your incessant speculations.”

“What would you have me do?”