by Stella Riley
Eden considered this. Finally, he said, ‘If your step-son and his wife would do that, what makes you so sure they’re not involved in the damage here?’
‘I suppose I’m not entirely sure,’ replied Lydia truthfully. ‘But I find it hard to believe they had anything to do with that business yesterday. Mr Hayes might have been killed.’
‘He might indeed. And if your relatives have resorted to hiring assorted ruffians to cause damage but failed to specify just how far that damage should be allowed to go …’ He stopped and spread his hands. ‘You see my point.’
‘Yes.’ She looked up at him, her eyes troubled. ‘Unfortunately, I do. I’m just not sure what to do about it. I let them know that I suspected them of planting the whores in Strand Alley … but that was before Mr Hayes nearly broke his neck. So if it was them, they haven’t called off their hirelings. And if it wasn’t and I say anything about what’s been going on here, I’ll have handed them another stick to beat me with.’
‘And that would be worse than possibly stopping them in their tracks?’
‘No. I suppose not. But you don’t know what they’re like. The constant criticism and nagging is either going to turn me into a gibbering wreck or make me take to drink.’
Eden smiled and shook his head.
‘I doubt that. From what I’ve seen, you’re made of sterner stuff. However … would it help if I were to take a hand in my official capacity?’
‘Could you?’
‘Oh yes. A summons to the Secretary’s office usually frightens people.’
‘I’m sure.’ A gleam of mischief appeared and she suddenly laughed. ‘You have no idea how tempting that is.’
‘But?’
‘But, sadly, I suppose we should save the big guns until they are absolutely necessary.’
Eden raised one mocking brow. ‘We, Mistress Neville?’
‘With the utmost reluctance, it would appear so.’
‘Progress at last,’ he breathed. Then, ‘All right. Your family is a possibility. Are there any others?’
‘I don’t think so.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Oh – I had an offer to buy the lorinery from a gentleman who was prepared to pay a generous price. But that was made through his lawyer and mine so I doubt it has any connection to the current situation.’
‘You refused to sell? No – don’t bother to answer that. Of course you did.’
‘Yes. I won’t risk the men being turned off. And I like coming here.’ She paused briefly. ‘If you want the truth, this place and Strand Alley are the only things that give me either pleasure or purpose – so I’m damned if I’ll give them up.’
Eden contemplated her in silence for a moment or two. He noted the determined set of her chin, the militant sparkle in her eyes and the oddly enticing brown curls that had escaped her cap to dance about her neck. The fact that he noticed the latter startled him slightly so he shoved it to the back of his mind for consideration later. He briefly wondered if her marriage to a man four decades her senior had provided either pleasure or purpose, then told himself that was no business of his. But there was no denying that he was beginning to realise that Lydia Neville was a mine of contradictions and surprises … and that he enjoyed trading words with her, even when they clashed. No. Particularly when they clashed.
He said, ‘Nick will be here most days, so find a use for him if you can – even if it’s only escort duty. Should you need either one of us urgently, send a message to our home on the corner of Friday Street and Cheapside.’
Her brow wrinkled enquiringly. ‘The goldsmith’s shop?’
‘Yes. The current proprietor is my younger brother, Tobias, and the previous one was the Italian brother-in-law who trained him. We Maxwells like keeping things in the family. And, to be fair, Toby has not only worked very hard but is also – according to Luciano, at any rate – extraordinarily talented.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Visit the shop some time. Even if you don’t want to buy, you’d enjoy looking at his work.’
Once again, that smile caused a strange little reaction in her chest and made her own mouth quiver in response. She said, ‘You’re proud of him.’
‘And not a bit ashamed of it,’ he agreed. Then, sighing, ‘I should go – or I’ll be working until midnight.’
Lydia came to her feet.
‘When will you leave for Scotland?’
‘As soon as Major-General Lambert gives me the order – which can’t be soon enough for me. If I can’t come myself, Nick will let you know.’ Eden reached for his hat and bowed to her. ‘Take care of yourself, Mistress Neville – and if you need help, ask for it.’ He turned to go and then swung back to say, ‘Oh – and try to keep Nick away from your brother. I happen to know that John Gerard and certain of his confederates are back in the country and that there’s a possibility of further stirrings in that quarter. I don’t want to return from the north to find Nick’s been clapped in the Tower.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
TEN
At the meeting when Major Henshaw had announced that their main aim would be to assassinate the Lord Protector – and indeed all the other meetings thereafter – there had been a vast amount of discussion about the rights, wrongs and usefulness of such an extreme measure.
Some had argued that Cromwell’s death would make little difference. The Army would remain in power and another officer – probably Lambert – would simply become Protector in his place. But most insisted that it was Cromwell who wanted to rule by the power of the sword and therefore that removing him would force a change. It was Cromwell, after all, who had cut off the late King’s head and who had tossed out the Rump by force rather than constitutional means; it was Cromwell who had first sanctioned and then lost patience with the Barebones Parliament; and it was Cromwell who had assumed supreme power and was holding state at Whitehall, King in all but name. Cromwell, most of them agreed, was responsible for the fact that no workable form of government had so far been set in place and, since he was never going to step aside voluntarily, there was only one way to be rid of him.
Having swiftly discovered that they were united in their lack of enthusiasm, neither Sir Aubrey Durand nor Major Halsall threw themselves heart and soul into the business of recruiting. When, for the second time, they had to admit a joint catch of only one likely candidate, Major Henshaw said coldly, ‘Is the City so bereft of loyal gentlemen, then? Or are the pair of you incapable of performing the duty you’ve been given?’
‘You demanded caution,’ replied Aubrey who had begun to realise that he didn’t like the Major very much. ‘So we can hardly go about sounding out fellows willy-nilly, can we? We might as well stick posters up on walls.’
Gerard’s younger brother, Charles, who had been permitted to join their counsels for the first time and whose face reflected excitement and terror in equal measures, gave a nervous laugh.
Henshaw shot him a filthy look and then, turning back to Aubrey snapped, ‘Idiot! You know as well as I do that there are certain taverns where His Majesty’s friends can be found. Clearly, you are not trying – and I have to wonder why.’
‘You’re being too severe,’ said Colonel Gerard pacifically. And to Aubrey, ‘Try the Nag’s Head in Fetter Lane and the Rose and Crown just off Tower Street. You might also, if you haven’t already thought of it, put out some feelers to a few of the Levellers. They’re still up in arms over Freeborn John’s continued imprisonment and have been out of charity with Cromwell for years. The proprietor of The Moderate might be of some help there – a fellow by the name of Radford.’ He stopped, smiling a little. ‘And no, Henshaw – I’m not suggesting they ask Mr Radford to put a piece in his newspaper.’
Major Henshaw grunted and continued to scowl.
Colonel Aldridge attempted to change the subject.
‘What are the latest numbers?’
‘Three thousand and rising,’ replied Henshaw. And only half under his breath, ‘No thanks to some people.’
‘Three thousand?’ queried the
Colonel, his tone one of mild disbelief. ‘Really?’
‘I just said so, didn’t I?’
‘I think we can count on roughly two hundred apprentices,’ offered Somerset Fox, ‘though they’ll only have cudgels and brickbats.’
‘The store of arms in Bermondsey is steadily growing – though not as fast as I’d like,’ remarked Roger Whitley. ‘Has anyone anything to contribute to it?’
‘I’ve been trying to acquire more pistols,’ said Peter Vowell, ‘but it’s not easy. On the other hand, I’ve enlisted a fellow to help seize the horses in Islington.’
‘What fellow?’ snapped Henshaw. ‘Do we know him?’
‘I doubt it. His name is Billingsley and he’s a butcher by trade.’
‘A butcher?’ echoed Deane incredulously. Then, ‘God help us. How many damned civilians are party to this business of ours?’
‘Rather more than I’d like,’ replied Gerard wryly. ‘But beggars can’t be choosers. And most things seem to be going according to plan.’
Colonel Deane said baldly, ‘So what is the plan?’
Gerard hesitated for a moment, glancing round at his assembled troops. Then he said, ‘As you all know, Cromwell’s death must come first and everything else waits until we’ve received confirmation of that. The military elements remain unchanged and begin with the diversionary attack. After that, I’ll secure Whitehall, Major Henshaw will take Horseguards and the Mews and Colonel Deane, St James’s.’
‘And the assassination?’ asked Major Halsall. ‘How is that to be accomplished?’
‘Cromwell travels by coach from Whitehall to Hampton Court every Saturday morning to spend the day with his family. That habit is our opportunity – both because it is a habit and because, on those journeys, his coach is less heavily guarded than usual.’ He paused but no one spoke. ‘As has been said, Major Henshaw and I will lead a force of thirty armed men. Of those, the twenty-five I have approached – some of whom are here now – all know who they are. Major Henshaw wishes to include Mr Wiseman, Colonel Aldridge and Mr Tudor.’
‘Tudor?’ queried Deane. ‘Who the hell is he?’
‘An apothecary,’ muttered Henshaw. And, recognising expressions of mingled disbelief and derision, added defensively, ‘He’s heart and soul for the King. And he can shoot.’
‘Oh good,’ muttered Aubrey not quite under his breath.
Frowning, Gerard shook his head slightly and picked up where he had left off before Deane’s interruption.
‘This combined force will attack the Protector’s coach, overpower his guards and … do the deed. Since Cromwell’s route lies across to the bridge to the Surrey bank, Major Henshaw and I have agreed that the best place to carry out our attack is in Southwark where the road is quieter and there’s less chance of untoward interference. Once Cromwell is dead, speed will be of the essence so I’ll send riders to alert Colonels Haines and Deane – and Major Henshaw and I will get to our allotted stations as fast as possible. I hope matters don’t go awry but, in case they do, I’ve also engaged the services of an expert marksman and ask you to trust my judgement in that.’
‘We do trust it, John,’ said Colonel Whitley. ‘It’s why we’re here. But when is it to be? I’m assuming that a date has been set?’
‘It’s been set. We make our attempt on Saturday 13th.’
There was a long, airless silence. Then Aubrey said weakly, ‘A week tomorrow?’
‘Yes. We can be ready by then. And the longer we delay, the more chance there is that word will leak out and we’ll all find ourselves behind bars.’ Gerard stood up and raised his glass. ‘Here’s to His Majesty’s health … and a successful blow on his behalf.’
The toast was drunk and, as everyone resumed their seats, Gerard said, ‘And now, gentlemen, I suggest we all get busy.’
* * *
By the second week in May, the gossips in Westminster had once more turned their attention to the Franco-Spanish bidding war which was now into its third month. Cromwell had continued playing both sides against each other as he strove for additional concessions and as much money as he could wring out of them. But negotiations had disintegrated when Mazarin’s ambassador told Cromwell to mind his own business regarding the French Huguenots – with the result that Protector immediately told the Spanish ambassador he’d send thirty men-of-war against France, along with a sizeable army of Horse and Foot. A good many of the Westminster clerks who’d laid wagers on the outcome toddled off to hedge their bets.
Meeting briefly with Lambert to find out how soon he would be departing for Scotland and at what point Thurloe was to be informed of this, Colonel Maxwell took the opportunity to ask the Major-General’s opinion of the situation.
‘In Council, it’s a three-way struggle,’ said Lambert irritably. ‘The majority of us favour war with France – our need for money being great and the trade with Spain, lucrative. But a handful of fellows want a cosy French alliance. And Thurloe would like to reach an understanding with Mazarin in order to put an end to maritime warfare and presumably get Charles Stuart thrown out of Paris as well. Oliver is therefore in four minds over it and I’ve given up predicting which way he’ll eventually jump.’
‘Is there any point in having a Council,’ asked Eden slowly, ‘if Cromwell makes the decisions himself?’
‘A question I’ve frequently asked myself. However, you wanted to know how soon you’re likely to be leaving for Scotland. Unfortunately, your departure may be a week or so later than I’d hoped as we’re awaiting delivery of the last of the powder and shot. I suggest you assume you’ll be on the road by the last week of this month. Presumably that gives you sufficient time to arrange your own affairs?’
‘It does. I’ve a wedding to attend on the 24th but will be free to leave the day after. When do you envisage giving the glad tidings to Secretary Thurloe?’
‘As late as possible.’ A hint of a smile accompanied the words. ‘I want him to believe I’m only over-riding him because my need is urgent.’
Well, that will suit me, thought Eden. The later he knows, the less time there’ll be for him to have me working twenty hours a day.
Rising, he said, ‘I heard something about a price on General Middleton’s head. Is it true?’
‘Perfectly. We’ve empowered Monck to offer two hundred pounds to anyone who can bring Middleton in, dead or alive. I imagine there are men in Scotland who’d sell their grandmother for that.’
* * *
Back in his office, Eden found that a newly-delivered letter had been dropped on the pile of correspondence he’d been working his way through. He almost put it to one side but changed his mind when he noticed that it was addressed to Thomas Scot.
Ten minutes later he was in the Secretary’s office and, not bothering to wait for Thurloe’s full attention, said crisply, ‘That assassination plot that we spoke of some weeks ago …’
Thurloe looked up. ‘Yes?’
‘I’ve a letter here saying that it’s real and already in hand. The writer claims to be a Royalist himself but be outraged by the notion of cold-blooded murder. The plan is to shoot the Protector en route between Whitehall and Hampton Court on one of his usual Saturday journeys. No specific date is given but the letter mentions John Gerard and a fellow by the name of Tudor who is either a surgeon or an apothecary.’ Colonel Maxwell looked up from the paper in his hand. ‘It’s Wednesday today. I’m presuming you want to put some precautions in place?’
‘Of course. I’ll persuade His Highness to change either the day or his mode of travel.’ Thurloe thought for a moment then said, ‘Don’t arrest Gerard for the time being. He’s only one link in the chain. If we give them time to try and fail, we give ourselves time to find out who the other ringleaders are. I imagine you can probably predict most of them. Whitley, Halsall, Deane … possibly also Henshaw. All the usual suspects whom we know to be currently in England. I suggest you start making a list.’
‘Just the ringleaders, sir?’
‘No, no.
Begin with them but list the small fry as well. I rather suspect that this time it will be necessary to make a few examples.’ He turned back to his work. ‘Thank you, Colonel. That will be all.’
Eden walked back through the corridors that separated him from Thurloe, thinking several things at once. Amongst the more serious was the hope that Sir Aubrey Durand’s last experience of officialdom had been alarming enough to prevent him making the same mistake twice – because if the young idiot was arrested again, Eden had a strong feeling that Lydia Neville would expect him to do something about it. And at the other end of the spectrum lay the thought that, if Ellis Brandon was somewhere in the City, he’d arrest him just for the hell of it and to give Gabriel a laugh when they met.
For the rest, he chose not to delve too deeply. The only thing he was sure of was that the sooner he went to Scotland, the better … because he was becoming increasingly disenchanted with both the Lord Protector and everything he stood for.
Which meant, if taken to its logical conclusion, that he was more in sympathy with the Cavaliers than he’d ever expected to be.
* * *
At home, Tobias and Nicholas talked a great deal about Deborah’s forthcoming wedding while the bride herself made quiet preparations but said very little on the subject. And because both Eden and Deborah knew that the future lay between them like a stone, they made a point of tacitly avoiding each other.
A third letter arrived from Ralph Cochrane. Terse and even more pointed than the previous two, it said simply, Since it seems you’ve forgotten, I’ll point out that you have children and a mother who misses you – and that London is not on another planet. Get your arse here, you uncaring bastard.
