Copyright © 2019 Leslie Hatton
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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To my wife Barbara for her love and support.
Contents
Charles, Prince of Wales
The Hague, Holland
Queen Henrietta Maria
St Helier
Execution of the King
Squire of Bishop’s Wood
Stokesay Castle
Dinmore Manor
Paris and the Castle of Doves, 1651/2
Henry, Duke of Gloucester
The Restoration. May, 1660
The Coronation of King Charles II
Death of a Traitor
Tangier 1663/4
Viscount Brocklehurst
Brocklehurst Huxley Shipping Company
The Great Plague
The Great Fire of London
Historical characters of the period featured
Author’s notes
Charles, Prince of Wales
It happened at midday on a Sunday in March, 1648. The day started just like any other, I climbed from my bed, dressed and made an early start on my chores as I always do. But this day was no ordinary day. This was to be the day that changed my life forever. This was to be the day I met Charles Stuart, Prince of Wales.
***
I am Toby and I was almost ten years old at the time and living at Madam Veronica’s whorehouse on Fleet Alley. Fleet Alley is half a mile from St Paul’s Cathedral, a spit away from Ye Olde Swan Tavern and about a mile from the Great Coffee House and Royal Exchange where the gentry of London met to conduct their business.
I don’t remember my mother, but Veronica told me she was called Charlotte, and that she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. She also told me that when my mother left the house it was to get married to someone out Richmond way.
When I asked why she did not take me with her, I was told that there were circumstances beyond her control that prevented it. But she also told me that one day she would come back for me.
I know she must have had good reasons for not taking me with her, but because I was only a few days old I never really knew her… so never missed her.
I have always hoped that one day she would come back for me but she never did, and now it doesn’t really matter because I am very happy with my life as it is… living in Veronica’s big house with her ladies and all my friends. I know my mother hasn’t forgotten me because every month she sends money for my keep.
***
Madam Veronica is a jolly lady with a happy smiling face, she is average height for a woman but a little wider in girth than she would choose to be. Her hair is blonde, usually tied back with a pink bow… she has a cheery personality, an infectious smile and dresses smartly as befits a lady in her position. She is always tightly corseted with a broad low neckline and dropped shoulders which allow her bosom to be permanently on show, she wears her long skirt drawn back and pinned to display a heavily decorated petticoat, and she is never seen in public without her jewellery.
Veronica’s customers call her Madam, some of the locals call her Miss Vee, but those of us who live in her house, her girls, her partner George and me, all call her Veronica. I think she is in her forties and George is about the same age. George and Veronica are not married, but I’m sure in her own way she loves him, and him her, she also finds him very useful in dealing with troublesome customers, or those who become drunk and offensive.
***
George is not much taller than Veronica, he’s clean shaven and has a square jaw with a dimple chin. He has bushy black hair, is broad in the chest with thick arms and is as strong as a horse. I have seen him pick up an abusive customer and throw him out onto the street using only one hand.
George is responsible for the heavy jobs and repairs about the house, he’s a cheerful friendly chap and I like him, though I think he’s lazy and spends far too much time drinking cheap ale at the local tavern with his friend Stinky. Stinky is not his real name, his real name is Samuel Skinner but everyone calls him Stinky because he works on the dung barges that line the banks of the River Thames. They are responsible for dumping the city’s waste out to sea.
The house has three floors, an attic and a basement, and there are usually five or six girls who work and live there permanently, though the numbers do vary.
Each girl has her own room where she lives and works and is responsible for keeping it clean and tidy.
On the ground floor is the parlour which is the best room in the house. In the window there’s a red lamp on a short chain hanging above an aspidistra which is sat in a china bowl. Next to the window is a harpsichord which just collects dust as nobody ever plays it.
The parlour has red drapes, a number of comfortable chairs, an oak sideboard and a large low table in the centre of the room on which stands a statuette of a naked couple.
In one corner there is a small bar with gin and brandy for those customers who can afford to pay a little extra, and ale for those who cannot. Painted on the pink walls is an erotic mural of a Roman orgy.
Veronica and George live in rooms behind the parlour where there is also a communal kitchen.
I have the basement room all to myself with a small window that lets in a little daylight from the street above. In my room I have two beds, a stove to keep me warm in the winter, and some old oak furniture where I keep my clothes and a few personal treasures. Sometimes Elizabeth sleeps on my spare bed, she is two years younger than me and is the daughter of one of Veronica’s girls. I have to share with Elizabeth on the nights that her mother has a guest staying over.
I love my life at the house and have many friends, but I have to work for my keep by doing chores. Most days I go to Cheapside Market where all the traders know me… I deliver messages and parcels, and every morning I have to collect fresh bread from Pudding Lane bakery.
It’s often quite late when George gets out of his bed in a morning, especially if he has been drinking the night before, but when he does finally appear, I help him to empty the piss-pots into slop buckets which we then put onto our hand cart, ready for him to pull down to the river. I always go with him to Black Friars steps where we empty the buckets into Stinky Skinner’s barge, sometimes
we go twice a day. Elizabeth likes to come with us and though she’s of little help I do enjoy her company.
While on the embankment we look for kindling for the house fires. Occasionally when there’s not much slop to take to the river, or if George is drunk, I carry one pail at a time, and go on my own.
***
It was the Lord’s Day and George was still in his bed. Veronica and her girls had gone to St Bride’s Church for the morning service, but I was excused because I had two parcels to collect from Temple Bar.
I had completed all my chores and as there was only one half full bucket of piss on the cart, I decided to carry it down to the river and see if any of my friends were on the embankment.
It was late March, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and I was content and happy with my life. It was just an ordinary day just like any other. After emptying the bucket, I spent a few minutes ambling along the embankment in the direction of the Tower looking for kindling, and it didn’t take me long to find enough to fill the bucket to the top. I also found a log about a yard long and as thick as a George’s arm which I tucked into my belt like a sword.
It was unusually warm for the time of year and the stench from the dung barges was particularly pungent, but that didn’t dampen my spirits, I was in a good place, happily doing my chores and content with my life in the big house with Madam Veronica and her girls.
The sky was blue, the trees along the embankment were starting to burst into life after their winter sleep, and as I was in no hurry to get back to the house, I walked slowly back to Black Friars steps feeling rather pleased with myself. There I sat watching the wherries going about their business on the river while eating the snack Veronica had pushed into my coat pocket.
It being the Lord’s Day, there were more than the usual amount of people in their Sunday clothes returning from the morning service at St Paul’s Cathedral, the ones I knew spoke to me and some stopped and sat for a while watching the river meander on its journey to the sea.
***
I could hear them before I could see them, great crowds of people waving and shouting as two open carriages came down Ludgate Hill.
Realising it must be someone important returning from the Cathedral, I ran to join the crowded pavement and tried to squeeze my way through to the front.
I shouted at the top of my voice, ‘Who are they?’ But no one was listening, it was as if I was invisible, everyone so preoccupied with what was happening on the road in front, no one cared a jot about me.
My vision was restricted by a smallish but well-dressed gentleman wearing black leather boots, a dress coat and a wide brimmed hat, it was only when the first carriage drew closer that I noticed a dagger in his hand.
Surely he was not going to try to kill a nobleman I thought, he must know that if they catch him he will be hanged and have his head stuck on a pike on London Bridge.
By jumping up and down I could just about make out the inscription on the tabards of the footmen, they carried the coat of arms of the Royal Stuarts. I knew the king was not in London, he was somewhere fighting Cromwell’s Roundheads, so at first I wondered if it was Queen Henrietta, but then I remembered that she was back in her homeland of France, and in any case she would never be seen in St Paul’s Cathedral. She was a catholic and not very popular with the English people.
That just left either Charles, Prince of Wales, or his brother James, the Duke of York.
***
The two black stallions pulling the first carriage were almost level to where I was standing when the man in front of me burst through the crowd with his dagger in hand.
There is never a night that I don’t dream of that Sunday in March, 1648. A moment in time as if played out in slow motion. At first they were nightmares that woke me up sweating and gasping for breath, but as the weeks and months passed by they became less disturbing, though still as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday.
The coach driver and the guard by his side did not see the assailant until it was too late, and the man sat next to the intended victim just happened to be looking the other way. The two footmen standing on the rear of the carriage were like mannequins appearing as if frozen in time, unable or too afraid to move.
Somewhere in the crowd a woman screamed, and as I followed the man with the weapon I was horrified to see him already standing over his intended victim, dagger aloft and ready to strike.
Dropping my bucket, I took the log in both hands and brought it down as hard as I could on the man’s head. I then watched in disbelief as he staggered and collapsed onto the road, the dagger falling from his hand and blood dripping from the wound to his head. The wound I had caused.
I didn’t know for sure if I had killed him, but I was not going to wait around to find out. Trembling and shaking like a tree in the wind, I dropped the log and ran as fast as I could, not stopping until I was home in Fleet Alley.
It was about midday and my family had just returned from church, the girls already inside removing their hats and coats, Veronica was on the step with George talking to a tall important looking gentleman who I assumed must have been a client.
I ran through the parlour straight down the stairs to my room, and to my bed where I covered my head with a pillow trying hard not to cry.
A moment later Elizabeth came in followed by Veronica.
‘What have you been up to Toby?’ she asked, ‘and where is my slop bucket?’
‘I think I just killed a man.’
Elizabeth started to cry, Veronica putting a calming hand on her shoulder.
‘You had better tell me the whole story from the beginning, and don’t leave anything out,’ she said as she put her arms around me as she always does when trying to comfort me.
I told her everything that I could remember. Who I had spoken to, the wood I had collected, the man with the knife and how I had struck him on the head with all my strength, the blood on the road and the gasps and screams from the crowd as I ran away. I then looked into her eyes waiting in fear for what she would say.
‘It sounds to me as though you were very brave Toby, and I am sure you did the right thing, do you know who you were defending?’
‘Not really, only that it was a man, and that he must be someone important. I think he might have been someone from Westminster or St James’s Palace.’
‘Were there many witnesses?’
‘Hundreds.’
‘And did you notice anyone you knew?’
‘Not for sure, but everybody knows me, there’s bound to be someone who will betray me.’
***
There was the sound of heavy feet, and men talking in the parlour above my room, and a moment later I heard footsteps on the stairs, Veronica took hold of my hand just as George came into my room.
‘There’s two men waiting in the parlour to see you lad,’ he said, ‘and there’s a carriage outside, you better come right away.’
‘Just be honest and tell the truth,’ said Veronica, ‘now come, let us face them together.’
A gentleman standing tall and menacing with hands on his hips was waiting for me as I stepped cautiously into the parlour. I recognised him as the person who had been sitting in the carriage next to the man who was targeted by the knifeman. There was also a footman guarding the door.
‘Ah,’ said the gentleman. ‘I do believe I have found my man. Let me introduce myself, I am Thomas Hudson, tutor to King Charles’s children, and courtier and companion of Charles, Prince of Wales.’
I wanted to speak but my mouth was too dry and I was too frightened.
‘What will you do to him?’ asked Veronica, ‘please don’t punish him, he’s only a child, and he was trying to stop a murder.’
‘I can assure you madam that neither I, nor Prince Charles, wish the boy any harm. On the contrary my master has ordered me to find the boy who saved his life, a
nd to deliver him safely to St James’s Palace.’
‘Prince Charles?’
‘Yes Madam, Prince Charles, son and heir of the King.’
Veronica flopped into a threadbare settee in shock.
‘Don’t be alarmed madam nobody is going to harm the boy.’
‘Did you say you were taking him to the palace?’
‘Yes madam, St James’s Palace. Are you the boy’s kin?’
Veronica hesitated before answering. ‘I am his ward, and the only family he has known since his mother left him in my care when he was just a baby.’
Turning to me he asked, ‘What is your name young man?’
‘Toby sir,’ I answered.
‘And do you have any other names?’
I was not sure if I had another name, so I looked at Veronica.
‘He is known only as Toby, but if he is ever in need of a second name, he uses Bennett which is my name. You see sir, from the day his mother left him in my care, I have nursed and loved him as my own.’
‘That was very charitable of you madam, and it seems that you have done a splendid job, the boy is a credit to you. Do you know where his mother is now by any chance?’
‘Not really sir. She married someone from the west end, I think.’
‘Do you have any idea why she didn’t take her baby with her?’
‘I think her new husband feared his father would disapprove of him marrying someone from a whorehouse.’
‘How old are you?’ he asked as he poked me with his finger.
‘Ten sir.’
‘He’s nine. He will be ten in May,’ said Veronica, ’and if you are taking him to the palace, can I accompany him?’
‘Of course you can madam, but hurry, we shouldn’t keep the prince waiting.’
***
Veronica quickly put on her new red leather boots and threw a favourite shawl around her shoulders, then holding my hand we followed Mr Hudson to the waiting carriage where a large crowd of curious locals had gathered.
Courtier in the Royal House of Stuart Page 1
