‘What’s this?’ asked Robert in bewilderment.
Jamie told him the story in a confused jumble, backtracking to explain one detail, then leaping forward to another. Robert was horrified. ‘You are sure that Mr Barker did this?’ he asked, shaken. ‘He seemed to me a gentleman!’
Jamie had almost forgotten that Robert had travelled with Barker from Maidstone to the Severn. ‘He is a scheming malicious coward!’ he said hotly. ‘It’s true I’ve had no word of whether he’s returned to Colchester and spoken to the charge against him, but I’ve no doubt that it’s true! You say he struck you as a gentleman, but you must remember that on the road he told lies about me to set you against me.’
Robert looked doubtful. He still wasn’t sure whether what Barker had said about the Levellers was lies. ‘Why would he do so?’
‘Because he is of Cromwell and Ireton’s faction, and ambitious,’ replied Jamie.
‘What has that to do with anything?’ Rob asked in bewilderment.
Jamie stared a moment, realizing for the first time that his brother knew nothing of the political situation in the Army – and that Jamie should never have expected him to. Robert hadn’t gone to war, and in Lincolnshire news was scarce and confused. London newsbooks reached the county only sporadically, and nothing was printed there. ‘Rob, his faction shed blood of ours at Ware last year!’ Jamie pointed out. ‘I and many another man were cast into prison so that Cromwell and Ireton might gain mastery over the Army! Then this new war arose, and they found that they needed our help. There is a truce between us now, but very little goodwill. Men like Barker hope to demonstrate their loyalty and win favour with their masters by slandering us.’
Robert blinked. ‘By “us” you mean Levellers. I thought you’d agreed to quit that faction.’
Jamie had not actually agreed any such thing, but he knew he’d let Robert believe he had. He struggled to think what to say, terrified of damaging the still fragile reconciliation, but ashamed to deny friends and principles. ‘If I choose to be reconciled with you,’ he said at last, ‘it doesn’t mean that I hate the cause I fought for – only that I prize peace with my brother more.’
Robert gazed at him for a long moment, then nodded. ‘Fairly said. I suppose, too, that Mr Barker would have had no notion of any change in your loyalties.’
‘Aye,’ Jamie agreed, deeply relieved. ‘Rob, I beg you, believe me, for this is most true! I do not ask you to love the cause, only to believe that others do attack it for no reason other than that they are bound to suppress it if they would gain power themselves.’
Rob blinked again, frowning. He undoubtedly knew enough to see that what he’d just learned explained a great many things. After a moment he said, ‘You say that because of this – this struggle within your Army – Mr Barker made himself your enemy. That he insulted and slandered you, cast you to the common enemy to save himself, and in the end challenged you because you would not endure it quietly.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Jamie. ‘And, Rob, I have you to thank that he even troubled to fight me. Had he not known beyond doubt that I was a gentleman’s son, I believe he would have waylaid me with four or five friends and horsewhipped me.’
Robert’s jaw set, his eyes brightening with anger. ‘The insolent prating cur! You fought and beat him?’
‘I disarmed him at the first stroke, and then, as I said, spared him, since we’d agreed to end the affair at first blood. I wish now I’d killed him!’
‘I thank God you did not! By what you say it would have gone ill with you if you had.’
Jamie almost responded that no, his new colonel was a Leveller and would have tried to defend him – but publicizing his continuing connection to the cause would not be helpful. Feeling guilty for both the implicit deception and the implicit denial of his allegiances, he sat in silence, all appetite now vanished. Robert frowned some more, then sighed. ‘Well, there is nothing to be done but trust in God! I’ve not understood, though, why you quarrelled with your wife over this. From what you’ve said, she did bravely!’
‘She did,’ Jamie agreed at once, stabbed by fresh misery. ‘She rode all the way from London – in a day! And when she came before Ireton she spoke with such honesty and fairness that he could not contest a word she said. But I was a jealous fool, and I quarrelled with her over her company on the road; she’d gone for help to a man who . . . who’d employed her for a time upon his printing press, whom I suspect as a base lecherous rogue.’
Robert was looking confused and troubled, and Jamie was suddenly afraid that his brother had drawn the wrong conclusion and would go away thinking there was a stain on Lucy’s character. ‘All she wished was to borrow his horse!’ he explained quickly. ‘She knew he kept one, and thought he might lend it, but instead he insisted upon coming with her. I do believe her that she allowed him nothing and would have had naught to do with the fellow at all, had she not been so afraid for me – and yet I was so angry that I spoke as though I thought otherwise.’
‘Your wife was employed by this lecherous fellow?’ Robert asked.
‘As a printer,’ Jamie insisted. ‘And she left his employ as soon as ever she could. She has her own printing press now – and that’s another grief, Rob! She had engaged to print a new newsbook, a licensed one, and published by a woman, but she cast it aside to ride to Colchester. She was in great haste to get back, for fear that the journey would cost her the customer, and with it her livelihood.’
There was a silence. ‘I thought she was supported by her kin,’ said Robert, and Jamie suddenly saw the source of his brother’s confusion. ‘You mentioned an uncle, a London mercer.’
‘He died of the smallpox last November,’ replied Jamie. ‘Lucy’s supported herself since. I’ve given her nothing but a name.’
‘I see why you want her out of London,’ said Robert, now shocked. ‘A lone woman in such a bear-pit! By God, a Mrs Hudson in such a bear-pit!’
‘She lodges with friends of her uncle,’ Jamie told him, trying now to reassure. ‘Richard and Mary Overton, godly people. And she works as a printer. I told you she was a printer.’
‘Nay, you did not!’ replied Robert. ‘You said you’d met her working upon a printing press, but I thought it some . . . some project of your faction.’
‘It was,’ Jamie admitted, ‘but she took the skills she learned and put them to such good use that she not only supports herself, but helps her friends and mine. Rob, she was to be paid twenty-two shillings a week to print this new newsbook!’
The amount had shamed him; it stunned Robert. ‘Twenty-two shillings?’ he asked in amazement.
‘It seems that left her but a small profit, once the bills were paid,’ said Jamie. Suddenly the shame he’d felt vanished. Other wives bereft of support might beg for help; his built up a business. ‘She hoped to do better once she had more customers. Only – as I said – her coming to me at such a time may have cost her the one customer she had, and ruined her business before she could get it well set on its feet. I know nothing, though, for I’ve heard nothing from her since I left her back in London. Even in my illness, not one letter. I fear I’ve bitterly offended her with my foolish jealousy.’
Robert frowned at him. ‘You wrote to tell her you were ill?’
‘Nay,’ Jamie admitted.
Rob snorted. ‘And would your Army have forwarded hither any letter she did write?’
Jamie hadn’t thought of that. ‘I . . . suppose not.’
Robert began to smile. ‘So she may well have writ you! It seems to me, brother, that she’s unlikely to be so offended with you as you think. Women are pleased when men are jealous.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘She was not pleased. I made a foul, false accusation. I am ashamed of it.’
Robert’s smile only broadened. ‘Then all you need do is write her and tell her so. Say you were consumed with love and jealousy. Women ever adore such protestations! You only need fear that she keeps the letter ever after, and brings it out whenever you brea
the a doubt.’
‘Do you truly think so?’ asked Jamie. His spirits began to rise. Robert, he reminded himself, had been married now for over a decade; he ought to know.
Robert shrugged. ‘I’ve not met the wench. All I know is what I hear from her besotted lover – but if she loves you half so well as you love her, she will forget your quarrel at the first kind word, and if she rode clear to Colchester when she feared you lay a-dying, she loves you well indeed. I am more concerned about her situation in London. I had thought her protected and provided for by her kin, but you say she is not. This notion of a woman running a business – in London, in such times as these!’ Robert shook his head in dismay. ‘You say you wished to send her to us, and she would not go?’
Jamie’s face heated. Robert was offering help without even having to be asked. ‘We spoke of it. She said straightaway . . . that is, she feared she would not be welcome. She understood that there’d been a quarrel, though I swear I never said aught of it. She said she feared my father would not welcome the Leveller bride I’d married without his blessing – and, Rob, I could not tell her she was wrong.’
Robert winced. ‘If she came back with you, though . . .’
‘Do you tell me that I am wrong, and that Father would forbear to press me?’
There was a silence. Robert shook his head again, unhappily. ‘I fear you are right, Jamie. I should not have urged it. Father would not let the matter go – not yet. He grieves for Nick, and if Nick is to be a sainted martyr, you must confess yourself a guilty sinner. In time he may take a fairer view – but not yet. Still, he that has no horse can go afoot. If I can’t bring you and your bride home, I can yet do something for you both. You must stay here, at this inn, until you are well again – and I will ride to London, to visit your Lucy, and see what might be done for her.’
‘God bless you, Rob!’ Jamie cried, and caught his brother’s hands over the table. ‘You are a better brother than I deserve.’
They shared a bed in the inn that night. In the morning Robert set out for London with his servant. Jamie, ashamed at the trouble and expense he was causing, swore that there was no need for Robert to pay for him to stay at the inn – he was much better, and would return to Colchester that day.
He supposed that it was true – a night away from the dark stinking warehouse and a couple of solid meals had left him feeling stronger – but as soon as his brother disappeared down the road, he wished he’d accepted the offered charity. He dreaded returning to the siege.
He found an Army wagon that was bound for Colchester and got himself and his new sack of luggage – the clothing made by his sisters _ on board.
Ten
Nedham was not pleased when he saw that Lucy had brought company to their meeting at The Sun in Convent Garden. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked in dismay.
‘This is my good friend, Mrs Overton,’ Lucy informed him, looping her arm through Mary’s. ‘I lodge in her house, and she printed Mrs Alkin’s newsbook for me, whilst you and I were away from London.’
Nedham scowled. ‘Why is she here?’ A sly look. ‘Did you not trust yourself to be alone with me?’
‘The reverse,’ Lucy said shortly.
‘I did but think to have a pleasant dinner!’ Nedham protested, looking hurt. He scowled at Mary again. ‘Mrs Over done, you cannot be accommodated here. I bespoke dinner for two, not three.’
‘Then you must find other company,’ Lucy said briskly.
He gave her a look of deep reproach. ‘This is unkind! Surely I’ve deserved better of you than this!’
‘Sir,’ she replied in exasperation, ‘I told you plainly that I could not sit and drink alone with you in a tavern, for reasons you well know and all the world would approve! Do you take me for a simpleton?’
‘Would that you were!’ muttered Nedham. He glowered at Mary.
Mary smiled back. ‘Sir, if we are not to have dinner here, then Lucy and I must needs dine elsewhere, and quickly, for I’ve a pile of news to print ere nightfall.’
‘I’ve brought the money I owe you,’ Lucy added. ‘And I am grateful, sir, truly, for your help.’
‘Damn!’ muttered Nedham. Mary giggled, and he gave her a look of indignant surprise. Lucy took out her purse.
‘Nay, nay, nay!’ Nedham exclaimed. ‘Would you pay me off like a tailor? We’ll sit and dine – the three of us, dammit!’
He’d ordered a private room at the inn, an upstairs one. A little table next to a window had been laid with the best linen, pewter and glass; two chairs sat across from one another, intimately close. Mary looked at them and raised her eyebrows at Lucy, who lifted her eyes heavenward. Nedham, scowling ferociously, ordered the Sun’s serving man to bring another seat.
The dinner was, as Lucy had expected, perfectly sufficient for three, and very good – broth and green sallet; jellied eels and a stewed fowl – though when the serving man brought wine, Nedham snarled at him to take it away. Mary took the lead in the conversation, first commenting on the inn and the Convent Garden neighbourhood, then on the food. Nedham, still angry, replied in grunts and tried to fondle Lucy’s knee under the table. She pushed her chair back, out of reach, and chatted pleasantly with Mary.
After the arrival of the main course, though, Mary began on Mercurius Pragmaticus, and the conversation became more interesting. ‘My husband thinks you the wittiest newsman in London,’ she told Nedham, ‘but also the most foolish.’
‘Foolish?’ objected Nedham, stung. ‘Aye, I suppose it is folly, to tell the truth in such an age as this!’
Mary raised her eyebrows. ‘Mr Nedham, we are all of us here engaged in printing the news; let’s have no posturing about truth!’
‘Posturing?’ demanded Nedham. ‘Perhaps your husband postures, but . . .’ He stopped. ‘Overton? Of The Moderate?’
‘Aye.’
It was, Lucy supposed, a sign of how disappointed Nedham had been by Mary’s inclusion in the party that he hadn’t picked up that detail before. He knew perfectly well that she lodged with the Overtons of The Moderate. ‘He’s a very clever fellow,’ Nedham conceded, in a much more natural tone. ‘A most devilish Leveller, but writes like an angel.’ He smirked. ‘“The temporary sagacity of opportunity politicians” – I could not have put it better myself. He may consider me a fool for my love to the King, but he’s a greater one, for believing that any good will come of trying to put power in the hands of the rascal multitude.’
Lucy broke in with a snort of derision. ‘If those who don’t love the King are fools, what are you? “Hell’s barking cur, that every Monday spent his stick of spleen in venomous railing on the King and Queen.”?’ Nedham had proudly shown her that response to his previous newsbook in a pamphlet entitled ‘Mercurius Britanicus His Welcome to Hell.’
Nedham brushed the objection aside. ‘I never favoured democracy!’
Mary pulled a copy of Mercurius Pragmaticus from her apron pocket and held it out for his inspection. ‘When Dick calls you foolish,’ she said, ‘it’s for the like of this. “Seeing honest John is got loose,’twill not be long ere Mr Speaker and Nol Cromwell be both brought to the stake; for he meanes to have about them with some purpose, I can tell you; but especially with Cromwell.”’ She tapped the offending words. ‘That’s a clever man’s folly, to believe that all the world but himself is simple.’
‘You think to instruct me in politics, do you, Mrs Overton?’
Mary only smiled. ‘Nay, you need no instruction there; it’s of Levellers that you’re ignorant. Parliament voted to renew its addresses to the King and – on the same day! – to free Lieutenant Colonel Lilburne and Major Wildman. I’ve no doubt you understood at once that the second was to hinder Cromwell from interfering with the first. Why do you suppose us so simple as not to understand it too?’
Nedham hesitated, torn between a desire to hear more and reluctance to listen to this most unwelcome guest. He glanced irritably at Lucy. ‘’Tis a strange world! Loyalty to the rightful King is called treas
on, and petticoats think to instruct educated men in the ways of Parliaments! It would be laughed at, in a satire.’
Lucy shrugged. ‘Why shouldn’t you hear news from petticoats? You’ve sought it from serving-men and ostlers often enough!’
‘I’ve sought it, aye, not had it thrust upon me!’ Nedham said sourly.
‘Then I’ll say no more,’ said Mary, putting the paper away.
‘Nay, nay!’ said Nedham hastily. ‘I’ll hear you out. You say Honest John will be a friend to Cromwell? After Cromwell left him to starve in the Tower all last year? After Ware?’
‘Friend is too strong a word – but aye, he has writ Cromwell a letter promising that we will not move against him while he is engaged in the struggle for our liberties.’ Mary nodded in satisfaction. ‘Ned Sexby is to carry it north. There will be no hurly-burlies in the Army – at least, none of our making.’
‘Our making, quoth she!’ Nedham exclaimed. ‘As though a London scribbler’s wife might raise up and cast down armies!’
Mary only smiled. ‘If by that you mean that Cromwell never feared us, Mr Nedham, then my husband is right, and you are a fool.’
Nedham grimaced. Everyone knew that Cromwell did fear Leveller influence in the Army; it was why the Leveller leader had been left to rot in the Tower. ‘Well, I thank you for the news,’ he said, ‘though I’ve no doubt that all London will be reading Honest John’s letter to Cromwell ere the week’s out.’
Mary and Lucy both grinned in concession; it was a hit. John Lilburne never hesitated to rush into print, and never said anything privately if he could distribute it among his supporters.
Just then the Sun’s serving-man came in hurriedly and whispered to Nedham, who exclaimed, ‘Christ!’ and jumped up in alarm. His eyes flew uncertainly to the door.
A Corruptible Crown Page 15
