by Stella Riley
Frowning, the Secretary laid down his quill.
‘Who are the ring-leaders?’
‘Henshaw, Gerard and Wiseman. Also possibly Somerset Fox and Peter Vowell.’
‘Arrest those five immediately, then set about rounding up the others. I’ll see to the Protector’s safety myself.’
‘Very well.’ Eden turned to go and then, looking back, said, ‘Making the arrests simultaneously at dawn tomorrow, will give us our best chance of catching them all.’
Thurloe nodded and extracted a sheet of paper from amidst the neat heaps in front of him.
‘Arrange matters as you see fit. And Colonel?’
‘Sir?’
‘I have a note here from Major-General Lambert requisitioning your services in a military capacity. His need appears to be urgent.’ The cool, precise voice was laced with suspicion. ‘Since he demands your release five days from now, I trust you can name someone capable of filling your shoes?’
Unable to believe that it could possibly be this easy and setting aside jubilation for later, Eden said expressionlessly, ‘My chief clerk, Mr Hollins, is able, efficient and fully briefed on all pertinent matters. I don’t think you’d be disappointed.’
‘Let us hope not, Colonel. Let us indeed hope not.’
Organising the co-ordinated arrests of five leading conspirators and planning the taking of twenty-five more from locations spread throughout the City and beyond was a feat of organisation which took most of the night. But at first light on Sunday morning, the operation went off without a hitch except in one not-insignificant particular.
Gerard, Wiseman, Fox, Vowell – and also the Reverend Hudson who’d been with the latter at the time – were all safely locked up. But Major Henshaw was nowhere to be found.
* * *
A crick in his neck and his eyes gritty with lack of sleep, Eden left Major Moulton to oversee the next wave of arrests and went back to Cheapside where he fell into bed for a well-deserved four hours. Then, recognising that time had been speeding by almost unnoticed and that Deborah’s wedding was only three days away, he shaved, dressed and went in search of her.
She was in the small top-floor room, sewing something dark red and glowing which spilled from her lap to the floor. Something jerked at his nerves when he realised that it must be her wedding-gown.
Deborah stopped sewing and met his eyes. She said, ‘I thought you might leave it to the eleventh hour. But do I take it that we are to have this conversation now?’
‘Yes.’ There was no point in pretending he didn’t know what she meant. ‘I think so.’
She pushed the gown aside to make room beside her on the settle.
‘Then perhaps you’d better sit down.’
He did so, saying wryly, ‘This conversation? Am I so predictable?’
For a moment she said nothing; and then, ‘I know you.’
Yes. You do – though that’s not an answer.
‘So you’ll know I have to ask just one last time.’ Eden reached out and took her hand. Then, waiting until her eyes met his, ‘And you’ll know why.’
‘Yes.’ A faint smile lingered in the night-dark depths. ‘It means a great deal that you worry. But you must accept that there is no need. Jeremiah is a good man and he cares for me.’
‘I know. But still --’
‘No, Eden. I don’t regret my decision. Indeed, during these last weeks, I’ve become more and more certain that it is right. And I’m at peace with it.’
His throat tightened and he said, ‘That sounds very philosophical.’
‘It’s the product of a great deal of reflection,’ she replied. ‘For example … if you think back to how our relationship started, it was I and not you who began it.’
‘I don’t recall putting up any great show of resistance.’
‘No.’ Her smile blossomed and then faded. ‘But you never pretended. You didn’t ask me to love you – or even want me to. And you never offered me forever.’ She gave his fingers a slight squeeze and then withdrew her hand. ‘These years with you have been a gift. One I never expected to have and one that many women never have … and I’ll treasure the memory of them. But from the moment Jeremiah puts a ring on my finger, a dear memory is all it will ever be. I will not repine and I won’t look back, wishing things were different. He deserves better than that. And you need to go your way knowing I’m content to go mine.’
It was a long time before Eden spoke but finally he said, ‘I hope you mean that and aren’t still doing your damnedest to ease my mind – because there’s something you should understand. It’s true that I never offered you my whole heart. I’m not sure it’s in me to offer it to any woman. But you carry a piece of it. And always will.’
Her eyes grew luminous with unshed tears.
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t! Don’t thank me, for God’s sake.’ He put an arm around her and pulled her hard against his shoulder. ‘Just promise that if there’s ever a need … if you’re ever in trouble … you’ll come here. Not necessarily to me, perhaps. I’d understand that. But to Toby or Nick. Will you?’
‘Yes.’ If that’s what will comfort you. ‘Yes. I promise.’
* * *
A little later, meeting Nicholas entering the house just as he was leaving it, Eden took the opportunity to say, ‘How are things in Duck Lane?’
‘Still quiet – a fact probably more attributable to the padlock on the gate than to my distinguished presence.’
‘Or both. But if you feel surplus to requirements and have better ways of spending your time --’
‘I haven’t. I enjoy going there and I like the company,’ replied Nicholas simply. ‘But I feel sorry for Lydia. That daughter-in-law of hers is worse than toothache.’
On first-name terms already, are you? thought Eden. But said, ‘You’ve met her, then?’
‘Once. I escorted Lydia home one day when there was a lot of unrest in the streets. Mistress Margaret looked down her nose at me and asked a lot of damned impertinent questions.’ Nicholas grinned suddenly. ‘I was forced to fall back on my title.’
‘Dear me. She must have really annoyed you. So did it work?’
‘Playing the baronet? Well enough. It took her by surprise and embarrassed her – which was all I wanted. There was another fellow there as well; a long-faced miserable cousin of some sort who clearly didn’t take to me any better than the Toothache.’ He paused and said, ‘Will you find time to visit the workshop yourself before Thursday?’
‘I doubt it. All hell is breaking loose today – and for some days to come, I suspect,’ said Eden, stepping out through the door. ‘If I get home at all tonight, I’ll explain. Though I rather suspect that, by then, I won’t need to.’
Arriving back at Westminster in the late afternoon, Colonel Maxwell found numerous officers and clerks busy transferring the more important prisoners to the Tower, the holding cells now being full to bursting. Scanning a list of those now in detention, Eden discovered two names he hadn’t expected to see.
Looking up at Major Moulton, he raised enquiring brows and said, ‘Sir Richard Wyllis and Colonel Villiers? Is there new information linking these two to the current conspiracy?’
‘Not that I’ve heard. The Secretary just issued new orders adding them to the list. Actually, I don’t even know who they are.’
‘Edward Villiers is a highly-regarded and trusted member of the court-in-exile. He’s related to just about everybody – including the Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of Suffolk and Ned Hyde. By contrast, Richard Wyllis – though an experienced soldier – has no connections worth mentioning. I’m just curious about why Thurloe wants them pulled in now.’
Ned shrugged this aside and bluntly changed the subject.
‘There’s a rumour that Lambert’s sending you north with supplies for Monck. Is it true?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see. When were you thinking of mentioning that?’
Eden sighed. ‘When I got the chance. Thurl
oe himself only found out a couple of days ago and it’s been a mad-house here since then.’
‘When do you leave?’
‘On Thursday.’ He looked sideways at the other man. ‘Want to come?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Fine. Put your best Captain in temporary charge and I’ll arrange it.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘After the Dunbar campaign, I didn’t think you’d ever want to see Scotland again.’
‘No. Neither did I.’
* * *
The morning of May 23rd brought forth a proclamation that all persons currently lodging in London, Westminster or Southwark were henceforth forbidden to change their abode without official permission. It also brought forth yet another surge of arrests until more than a hundred men were being held in custody. Both the proclamation and the continued arrests sent a wave of indignation through the City – the pot being deftly stirred by an inflammatory leaflet – and by the afternoon, placards declaring the plot to be a Government invention were fixed to walls everywhere.
After yet another day of chasing his tail in an atmosphere of near-chaos and wanting nothing more than food and his bed, Eden managed to get home just as Tobias and Nicholas were finishing supper.
‘Is it true what people are saying?’ asked Tobias before his brother had even taken off his coat. ‘That this whole Gerard’s Plot thing is nothing more than a ruse to enable Cromwell to crack down on the Royalists and anybody else that takes his fancy?’
‘No.’ Eden dropped into a chair and reached for the ale jug. ‘The plot’s real enough.’
‘Folk in the street don’t think so,’ offered Nicholas, obligingly pushing the remains of a dish of collops across the table. ‘You’re saying they’re wrong?’
‘No.’ Eden tipped some meat on to a platter. ‘I’m saying I’ve had a hell of a day and I’d appreciate it if the inquisition could wait until I’ve had my supper.’
‘So they’re not wrong?’ persisted Tobias.
‘For God’s sake!’ Eden threw down his knife in disgust. ‘The plot is real. The placards are wrong. The rumours were started by leaflets printed in Newgate Market. And I have nothing further to add other than the fact that I’ve to be in Westminster again tomorrow morning and will be lucky to escape in time for Deborah’s wedding. Now … may I please eat?’
~ * * ~ * * ~
TWELVE
‘More names,’ said Major Moulton resignedly as he handed a sheet of paper to Colonel Maxwell early the next morning. ‘Some of those we’ve already arrested are trying to buy their way out of trouble.’
Eden scanned the sheet and went suddenly still.
‘Have you sent troopers out after these yet?’
‘No. I thought --’
‘Don’t. Drag your heels for an hour. In fact …’ Remaining on his feet, he scribbled a brief note. ‘Get that to Nick Austin. At this hour, he’s probably still in bed but don’t let that stop you putting this in his hand. Tell him it’s urgent. Go!’
Not unnaturally, Nicholas was more than a little alarmed to be shaken from slumber by a large, rather grim-faced Army officer. Rubbing sleep from his eyes and trying to assemble his brain, he said stupidly, ‘What the – who – am I under arrest?’
‘Read that,’ said Major Moulton. ‘And don’t tell me what it says. I’d sooner not know. Just do whatever it says as fast as you can.’ Upon which note, he stalked out.
For perhaps five seconds, Nicholas stared open-mouthed at the space where his surprise visitor had been. Then he broke the seal on Eden’s note.
L. Neville’s brother on list. Will delay arrest as long as possible. Get him to Shoreditch. Explain to Jack. Tell no one else.
And barely legible underneath, Burn the note.
Nicholas groaned and swung his legs out of bed.
He’s risking his career. Again. And the wedding’s at noon. Bloody hell!
* * *
Later, Eden would wonder why he was sticking his neck out for an idiot who plainly hadn’t learned his lesson the first time. Now, however, he was too busy to think of it.
Aside from dealing with the large number of prisoners still held below stairs, he had also to ensure the smooth-running of the office after his departure on the morrow. This took the best part of two hours as he and Mr Hollins ploughed through a myriad of detail and the accompanying paperwork. At some point, Ned Moulton stuck his head around the door and gave him a brief nod before disappearing again.
Eden took a moment to hope rescuing Lydia Neville’s brother from his folly wouldn’t put Nicholas at risk and then restored his attention to the matter in hand.
At just before ten o’clock and with only two hours left before Deborah’s wedding, a message arrived from Major-General Lambert requiring Colonel Maxwell to come to Whitehall at his earliest convenience to receive his marching orders and, Eden suspected, yet more paperwork. Realising that, unless he was prepared to grace the ceremony in his uniform, he was now cutting it extremely fine, he handed disposal of the prisoners over to the first Captain he met and took off at something close to a run.
Fortunately, Lambert didn’t keep him waiting and was disposed to be brief. Eden accepted the various supply inventories he was handed along with a list of the troopers, officers and civilian artisans that General Monck had asked for. Then, sliding them into his coat, he said, ‘Where is everything being assembled?’
‘The Tower – on account of the gunpowder. Captain Grey has been dealing with all matters related and is already assembling the train in readiness for tomorrow. He’s efficient, so you shouldn’t need to do anything other than oversee the final stages in order to satisfy yourself that nothing has been overlooked.’ Lambert gave his habitual ironic smile. ‘You’re scheduled to depart at eight … which means you may be on the road by eleven.’
Eden nodded, knowing only too well the truth of it.
‘I commandeered the services of Major Moulton, by the way. Since, like me, he also served under Gabriel Brandon, I assumed that would be all right?’
‘I’ll make sure that it is.’ Lambert rose from his chair. ‘Do your best with Colonel Brandon. Judging by what I hear about him these days, I doubt he’d have any difficulty in getting elected. And if he’s out of charity with the current form of government, remind him that he won’t change that from Yorkshire.’
* * *
At around the time Colonel Maxwell was sitting with his chief clerk, Lydia Neville was woken by Nancy to the news that her brother had apparently left the house some two hours earlier, accompanied by a man with one arm.
‘What?’ Lydia yawned, sat up and pushed back her hair.
Nancy turned away to open the curtains.
‘As best I can tell, Madge was just stoking the range when this one-armed fellow came in the back door, asking for Sir Aubrey. She pointed the way and he went off up the stairs. Then, no more’n ten minutes later, him and Sir Aubrey came back down in a hurry and went off together.’
Frowning, Lydia threw back the covers and got out of bed.
‘They didn’t say anything – or leave a note?’
‘Not as I know of.’
‘Did the one-armed man give Madge his name?’
‘Don’t think she asked. Can’t describe him, neither. I reckon she was too flustered to take a proper look.’
Lydia thought about it.
A one-armed man suggested Mr Potter or someone else from the lorinery – though why they’d send for Aubrey rather than herself was a mystery. Unless … unless it was something to do with the current wave of unrest sweeping through the City. She supposed it might be that. She hoped it was – because the other alternative was that it was something to do with Aubrey himself.
When the arrests had started, he’d told her not to worry and that he wasn’t in any danger; but what he hadn’t actually said was that he’d had nothing to do with the plot to kill Cromwell that everyone was talking about. As a consequence, she’d been living on a knife-edge for the last four days, frightened t
hat every knock at the door heralded soldiers looking for her brother. It had therefore been a huge relief when people started saying that the only plot that existed had been formulated by Cromwell himself.
She dismissed her fears and started to dress. It was the lorinery. It had to be.
An hour later, Mr Potter stared at her in some confusion and shook his head.
‘Sent for Sir Aubrey? No, Miss Lydia. There’s been no trouble. And even if there had … well, why would we be telling him and not you?’
‘That’s what I thought. But when Nancy said it was a one-armed man, someone from here seemed the most logical --’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Oh God. How stupid! It must have been Sir Nicholas. Why on earth didn’t I think of that before?’
And without further ado, she whirled round and set off for Cheapside.
Since the main entrance to the house appeared to lie through the shop, the first person she encountered was a very large young man with a winning smile she found eerily familiar.
She said, ‘Mr Maxwell?’
Tobias bowed. ‘At your service, Mistress. How can I help you?’
‘I – I need to speak with Sir Nicholas. Urgently.’ And when he didn’t immediately answer, she added rapidly, ‘I’m Lydia Neville. My brother went off with Sir Nicholas early this morning and hasn’t returned home. I was hoping to find out why.’
‘Ah.’ The widow whose brother Eden arrested some while back. No wonder she’s worried. ‘Unfortunately, Nick isn’t here just now – and I’ve no idea where he’s gone.’
‘Oh. Then perhaps Colonel Maxwell might know something?’
‘That’s not beyond the realms of possibility,’ agreed Tobias. ‘But he’s not here either. Both he and Nick will be back before noon but if you can’t wait until then, Eden should be at Westminster – though finding him might be difficult.’
