Courtier in the Royal House of Stuart

by Leslie Hatton

The door opened, but it wasn’t Veronica that opened the door, it was George, and from what I could see when I stepped inside, they were the only two people there.

  ‘Come in lad,’ he said. ‘I want you to take her away from here for me. Take her to Richmond… anywhere so long as it is far away from here.’

  Veronica was now crying so I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘Where are the girls George, are they all sick?’ I asked.

  ‘Just Elizabeth,’ he said. ‘The others have all fled, some home to their families, the rest staying with friends. I will stop here and look after Elizabeth. You take Veronica.’

  Through her tears she said, ‘I can’t leave her here on her own, she needs me.’

  ‘She won’t be alone, I will be here. Now go… go with Toby.’

  ‘I would like to see Elizabeth. Where is she?’ I asked.

  ‘I put her in our bed,’ said George. ‘Come, I’ll show you… but don’t touch her, she has blisters.’

  When I saw poor Elizabeth I cried like a child, tears running freely down my cheeks. It was a particularly hot day and there were beads of sweat on her face but she was shivering. George wiped her brow and moved the sheet to show me the blisters on her neck and armpits.

  She smiled when she saw me, and through her swollen throat croaked, ‘Don’t come too close Toby.’

  I stayed a few minutes longer, talking to her and promising to return soon.

  George gathered up some of Veronica’s belongings and handed them to me.

  ‘Take her away from here Toby. Take her now.’

  He handed me her case and a large purse of coins. ‘Take her and her money… take good care of her Toby, she’s a very special person.’

  There was no fight left in Veronica, she knew there was nothing she could do for Elizabeth anymore, she couldn’t even hold her in her arms.

  George held her in his huge arms and kissed her gently on the lips, then ushered her to the door. She took the purse off me and threw it on the table, and with tears streaming down her cheeks said, ‘Thank you George… thank you for everything.’

  ‘I will come back in a couple of days to see how she is,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t,’ suggested George.

  ***

  Veronica was still crying as we jostled with others to fight our way across London Bridge.

  ‘I will take you to Brocklehurst House where I can look after you properly.’

  ‘I would prefer to be at our house… your house in Barnes. I will feel more comfortable there where I have my own room.’

  ‘As you wish. Thomas will no doubt be pleased to see you, and I will visit you every day.’

  Thomas must have heard the rattle of the wheels on the gravelled driveway, because before the coach had even stopped he was striding forward to welcome us.

  ‘Dear lady, what on earth has happened?’ he said putting his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘I will explain everything to you inside Thomas, take care of her while I stable the horse.’

  It was an extremely hot day, and all the windows and doors had been left open to allow what little air there was to circulate throughout the house.

  I found Thomas and Veronica sat together on a sofa in the drawing room, Veronica dabbing her eyes with a clean linen handkerchief.

  ‘Sit down Toby,’ said Thomas, ‘we think the time is right to let you into our little secret. I once told you that there was a third investor in this house. I can now reveal that that person was your grandmother… Veronica, she has a third share in the house.’

  ‘It will all be yours when we have gone,’ she said through her tears.

  ‘I should have guessed it was you, especially when on the way here you said my house before quickly changing it to your house,’ I said, ‘and I am delighted. There’s plenty of room here for you both… you need looking after and I think Thomas is just the man to help me.’

  ‘She saved my life when I was stabbed and left for dead on Black Friars steps. So you can rest assured Toby that I will take good care of her.’

  ***

  It was four days since I had taken Veronica to Barnes and I was getting anxious to see Elizabeth, but also to check how George was coping on his own.

  I was hoping for good news but prepared for the worst, and as I approached the bridge the smell and stink of death was overpowering. As I crossed into the city, I could not help but notice that I was the only person passing into the city, everyone else was hurrying away, like rats from a sinking ship.

  I went first to King Street in Westminster to return my father’s coach, and to recover my own horse, I then hurried on horseback to Fleet Alley.

  The smell as I guided my horse through the narrow streets of the city was overpowering. I wrapped a scarf around my nose and mouth, but it made little difference.

  The door to Veronica’s house was not locked so I stepped inside. At first I thought the place was deserted, then with some fear and foreboding I crept into the bedroom.

  My chest felt tight, and my throat dry when I realised that Elizabeth was dead, lying there wrapped completely head to toe in a blanket of the finest silk, a crucifix on her chest and a ring of candles round her body. I pulled away one corner of the sheet to see her face which was covered in weeping blisters. My thoughts went back twenty years to the time when we were young children growing up together and playing in the narrow street and passages of Black Friars. I wanted to kiss her but instead I said a little prayer and replaced the covering on her face.

  I thought George was probably drowning his sorrows in the Tavern but when he returned he was completely sober.

  ‘Toby… I’m so glad you came, you can help me bury her.’

  He could have used the cart but instead chose to carry her in his arms. I walked by his side down Fleet Lane, turning left onto Fleet Street and the last hundred yards slowly to St Bride’s Church where a freshly dug grave awaited to receive her once beautiful body. I said a prayer and watched while George covered the body of the woman who as a child had been my best friend.

  ‘I am now going to prepare my own grave here next to Elizabeth,’ said George. ‘I will cover it over to stop others using it, but I want you to promise that you will bury me here.’

  ‘Of course I will, but hopefully you will have many years before you start worrying about dying.’

  ‘A week… perhaps two that’s all Toby, I already have the blisters in my groin, my bones are aching and my head is pounding. I have accepted that I will die from this disgusting disease, I just need your help in laying me to rest. The cart is where we always keep it round the back of the house. I intend to die on my bed so your biggest problem will be getting this great lump of meat that is my body, onto the cart.’

  ‘I will find a way. You have my word.’

  ‘Thank you Toby, that’s all I ask. Now don’t forget, on no account must you touch my body, always wear gloves because I need you alive to take care of Veronica. Now go… get out of this stinking hell hole.’

  I found it difficult to speak with the lump in my throat, but I managed to croak, ‘I will be back in a few days.’

  I went straight to Barnes, hoping that Thomas would be there with my grandmother. I thought it only right and proper that I tell them first of Elizabeth’s death, and her Christian burial in the churchyard of St Bride’s. I also wanted to tell them about George.

  ‘When the plague is passed, I want you to show me where they are buried,’ said my grandmother.

  ‘We can all go together,’ Thomas said, ‘and pray for their soul.’

  When I returned a week later, the bridge was packed with carriages and coaches. All those who had the money and resources to leave London were rushing to escape. It was mostly the nobility, the wealthy and the business people. But there was also some poorer people with re
latives living on the south bank… pushing their carts stacked high with as much as they could carry.

  Carts and coaches crowded together on the north side of the bridge causing a bottleneck, making it difficult to even get onto the bridge… especially for me as I was the only person pushing against the flow.

  The nineteen arches of London Bridge must have been straining under the weight of so many hackney-carriages, carts and coaches. I dismounted and took the reins, eventually guiding my horse through the multitudes to the city centre. Still on foot I walked through the stinking streets to Fleet Alley. Streets that once were full of happy cheerful people were now almost empty. So many poor sick people hiding behind doors marked with a red cross.

  George had passed away, his body lying just where he said it would be, the weeping blisters on his groin having spread to his neck and chest.

  His body was partially covered with hessian sacks… one covering the lower part of his body was tied round his waist with string… three other sacks were by his side waiting for me to complete the job. I could not help but cry as I used the rest of the sacks to completely cover his wretched pitiful body, a body that just a few short weeks ago was so strong and resilient.

  Wrapping up the body was the easy part, I now had the problem of getting eighteen stone of dead flesh onto the cart and down to St Bride’s Church.

  My first thought was to drag him out of the back door using the blanket he had died on, but then I realised I would never be able to lift him off the floor. George was not a tall man but was solid and sturdy. I was, however, young and strong, surely I should be able to lift him on my own. I must at least try.

  I wrapped the blanket around him and tried to lift him off the bed. With considerable effort and all the energy I could muster I succeeded in raising him a few inches and held him there for a moment, I then slowly returned him back to the bed. I cleared any objects that might get in my way, and brought the cart as close to the back door as I could. I then lifted him off the bed and with great care, carried him through the house and placed him on the cart. My back was killing me but I had done it. I now had to get him to St Bride’s Church, and bury him.

  It took me an hour, and I was completely spent but I had done it. After a short rest, I covered the body and said a prayer by the graveside. I then began the short journey back to Fleet Alley, where I intended to leave the cart, collect my horse and head for home.

  I was halfway up Shoe Lane when I heard a voice bellowing at me.

  ***

  I didn’t even know he knew my name until the booming voice of Lord William Craven called, ‘Toby… Toby Brocklehurst, have you come to help?’

  ‘I have just buried one of my kin,’ I said. ‘But yes my Lord. What can I do?’

  ‘We don’t as yet know how the disease is spread. It may be by touch or carried in the air. So don’t touch the bodies, wear gloves at all times and mask your nose and mouth. Do you have gloves with you?’

  ‘I did have my Lord, but I buried them with the body.’

  ‘Here, take my spare pair and follow me. Bring your cart.’

  I was completely exhausted but Lord Craven was not the sort of man you could refuse.

  ‘Did you know that the king has moved his Court to Oxford, the uncaring bastard has abandoned his subjects just when they need him the most?’

  I had never actually spoken to Lord Craven before, but I knew he had a reputation for being bawdy and vulgar, so I was not surprised to hear him speak in that treasonous way about the king… to him the king was just the nephew of his lover, the Dowager Queen of Bohemia.

  ‘There’s not one of them that gives a pig’s ear… they care only for themselves and their cosy privileged lives. Have you noticed there’s not a single physician, or nobleman left in the city… not a bloody one? And where are all the vicars? I’ll tell you where they are. They’re hiding away in their mansions, counting their money.’

  When we reached St Paul’s Square there was a dozen or so men waiting for instructions from their Lord and master.

  ‘You two,’ he shouted pointing to two of his minions. ‘Go with Sir Toby and collect as many bodies off the streets and alleys as you can find, and look inside the doors with crosses. Cover the area south from here to the river, and then west as far as Shoe Lane.’ Then addressing me he said, ‘I have some land just outside North Gate. I have sent a gang ahead to dig a mass grave. Deliver as many bodies as you can to the grave site… do two full loads then go home. Will you come again Sir Toby?’

  I am not used to being addressed as sir, especially by a Lord.

  ‘When do you want me my Lord?’ I replied feeling just a little ashamed at my vanity.

  ‘A week from today, we will meet here at ten in the morning.’

  ‘I will be here my Lord, you have my word.’

  It was late and I was completely drained as I walked through the empty streets back to Fleet Alley. I had left my horse inside Veronica’s parlour… the parlour she was once so proud of, but now a place with the stink of death hovering there like a toxic cloud. My horse I could see was troubled by the smell, and I was convinced he could sense it was a bad place… a place of death.

  When I arrived back at Brocklehurst House I stripped off all my clothes and burned them. Then with the help of my caring wife I bathed, scrubbing every part of my body. I then retired to my bed and slept for twelve hours.

  I returned to help Lord Craven and his team three more times… and against the wishes of his parents and my sister Hannah, Robert insisted on coming too.

  The days were getting shorter and the nights longer as the warmer days of summer gave way to cold winter. People were hoping and praying that a hard frost would kill off this terrible disease, but so far the reports suggested that the numbers were still on the increase.

  Midway through November, we received an ambiguous report that in May of this year our ship the Tudor Queen had been caught up in a sea battle off the coast of America. But nothing about the outcome, or even if she had survived.

  The December meeting of the board was a rather depressing affair… two items dominating the agenda. The Tudor Queen, and compensation to the officers and crew.

  After a long and sombre discussion, the unanimous decision of the board being that until we had proof positive that ship was lost, we would assume she was still afloat and the crew alive.

  Family members of the crew were beside themselves with worry, some enquiring at the Navy Board for information, others writing to our office in Lewisham.

  My father addressing the meeting said, ‘With every day that passes, it looks more and more as though we have lost the Tudor Queen. If this is the case, it will be a great loss to the company, but not a complete disaster. What I propose is that we hold off writing off the ship for another twelve months, but make interim payments to the crew’s families.’

  Ships returning from India had reported seeing the Tudor Rose entering Calcutta months ago, so at least we knew she had arrived there safely, nevertheless, I was beginning to worry about her return voyage through dangerous waters off the coast of France and Spain which were awash with Dutch frigates.

  On the 27th January, a Fluyt resembling the Tudor Rose, and flying the English colours, had that morning, passed the Isle of Wight. The next day William Huxley arrived in the city with the news that our ship had been seen off the south coast early that morning heading east.

  When I told Pop, he insisted on coming with us to Deptford.

  ‘I want to witness her return from India, and to see what treasure she has brought us.’

  ‘The treasure will not be ours Pop, it belongs to our customers.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said he.

  The following morning Pop was up early. It was a cold grey winter’s day but dry. I helped Anne wrap him up in a heavy coat and a beaver fur hat, we then sat him in the coach and covered him
in blankets.

  It was around midday on the 20th December when the Rose passed Greenwich, and glided serenely on the incoming tide to dock at Deptford.

  Captain Garry Watson looked a little perplexed and surprised at the size of his welcoming committee.

  ‘How was your voyage, what cargo have you brought us, and did you encounter any problems from the Dutch?’ I asked.

  ‘Give the poor man time to catch his breath Toby,’ said my father. ‘There will be time enough for questions later. I imagine Garry will want to see his family first.’

  ‘I was hoping to be back for Christmas, and only just made it,’ he said.

  ‘Just tell me what your cargo is?’ I asked.

  ‘Perhaps I should show you,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’

  We followed him onto the ship and into the hold, where we saw the greatest wealth in spices I have ever seen. There were sacks of pepper, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg stacked floor to ceiling. Bales of silk, and boxes of copper plate. Glass globes of indigo dye, and tucked in chests in the bow of the ship… tea from the Orient and ivory from Africa.

  ‘Come with me,’ said Captain Watson as he climbed back onto the open deck. We all followed him to his stateroom where he showed us a large chest of gemstones, silver and gold.

  ‘These are all ours,’ he said, ‘I have receipts for them all. You will be surprised how cheap they were.’

  By the time we had disembarked, representatives of some of the livery companies with commodities on the ship were beginning to arrive. A team of stevedores had already started removing the cargo.

  ‘Have you enough money to pay the crew, Captain?’ asked my father.

  ‘Not fully sir, I spent most of it all on those treasures.’

  ‘I have arranged a board meeting early in the New Year, I will give you the details later. When you come, I would like you to bring with you your senior officers and all your paperwork. Make sure your quartermaster knows the shortfall in cash to pay the crew.’

  ‘Thank you sir,’ replied Captain Watson.

  ‘Captain,’ I said, ‘before you leave could you arrange to have the ship moved to our berth across the river in St Catherine’s. I would like to give the hull a good check before sending you out again.’