Blood's Game

by Angus Donald

  ‘I will stand surety for my son’s debts,’ said a voice from the crowd. Colonel Thomas Blood stepped forward. ‘I have here the title deed to a lovely little estate in County Kildare that I believe you are familiar with, Your Grace – they call it Straffan. As sweet a place as any on God’s green earth. I will gladly set that deed against any losses my boy might incur.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Buckingham smiled. The chance to take down both father and son at a single stroke was too much for him to resist. ‘In that case I shall gladly agree to the new terms.’

  ‘Holcroft,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Trust me, Jack. As I trust you.’

  ‘Your Grace, I am most uneasy,’ said Sir Thomas Littleton. ‘I am not a rich man, sir. I’d prefer if we stuck to the original stake, if it please you.’

  ‘It does not please me. I shall assume full responsibility for your debts, Littleton – if indeed you incur any. Play with a light heart, but play well, and you and I shall both be a good deal richer in an hour or so.’

  ‘We are all agreed then,’ said Holcroft. Three nods from around the table answered him.

  *

  Holcroft felt his gorge rise when he picked up the thirteen cards on the table in front of him and saw what he had done. He had nothing but the queen of diamonds, his old friend, a couple of low clubs, which were trumps, and a singleton heart that might win him a trick. But he refused to go down without a fight. He led the heart and to his delight Littleton, who clearly had the ace, played low and Jack won the trick with the king. Jack led a heart back to him and he was able to trump and win another. After that Littleton and Buckingham won trick after trick after trick. Jack then won with his queen of hearts and trumped Littleton’s ace, and Holcroft made his lovely queen of diamonds work for him in the second from last trick.

  But that was it.

  Buckingham added two more points to his score. If he won only two more points, he would win the game, the match and Holcroft would owe the colossal sum of eight thousand pounds. Straffan would be gone: his father’s dream of a life of gentlemanly ease would be swept away.

  It was Holcroft’s turn to deal and as he picked up the cards he noticed that his right hand was trembling. As he flicked out the cards to each of the four players, he was aware of a slight stirring in the crowd, a ripple of sound and movement, but he was too deeply into his deal to even lift his head. He turned over the last card, his own, and saw that it was the four of spades: trumps. Then he looked at the rest of the cards in his hand. It started well with an ace of clubs, a knave of spades and then the king of clubs, then a lot of mediocre hearts and clubs and another spade. He saw that he had a void in diamonds – not a single one of that suit – seven clubs to the ace, king, queen, and three trumps to the knave. It might not look like much but Holcroft felt a shiver pass through him when the import of his hand sank in. His void and the seven clubs in his hand meant that the normal distribution of the cards – usually three or four of each suit to each player – was badly skewed in this round, and sometimes, just sometimes, when this unusual event happened, with very careful play, great things might be achieved.

  Littleton led the ace of diamonds, and Holcroft’s heart began to rise. Jack played the two, Buckingham the five and Holcroft, possessing no diamonds, trumped with the four of spades and took the trick. One. He led the ace of clubs, saw that Jack had a void in clubs and that he was discarding hearts, won, and then led the king of clubs, and won again, noting that Littleton was forced to play the knave and thus had no more clubs. Three tricks. Holcroft played the queen of clubs, and Littleton ducked the challenge to trump it – knowing that Jack had a void and could over-trump him – and discarded a heart. Jack, realizing Holcroft’s queen was a winner also saved his trumps and discarded a diamond. Four tricks. The same thing happened when Holcroft played his ten of clubs. Five tricks. Holcroft believed that Jack must hold some high trumps because otherwise Littleton would not have ducked trumping his clubs. Jack had also been discarding hearts, which meant that he might have a void now, and so could trump, or perhaps he had a very high card remaining. So Holcroft led the three of hearts. Littleton played the six, and to Holcroft’s joy Jack tossed down the ace. Six tricks. Any more tricks they won would be points towards the game.

  Jack, who was now sitting up straight as a poker, eyes starting from his head as he examined his cards, played a perfectly brilliant diamond, which Holcroft trumped with his five of spades. Seven tricks and one point to them. Holcroft played a heart, the eight, which Littleton ducked again, discarding the knave of diamonds, and Jack trumped it with the two of spades. Buckingham, now beginning to look nervous, played his knave of hearts. Eight tricks.

  Jack led another diamond, which Holcroft trumped with his knave of spades. Nine. Holcroft led the nine of hearts. Littleton trumped it with the six of spades. Jack over-trumped it with the queen of spades. Buckingham was forced to play his queen of hearts. Ten tricks. The rest were all Jack’s. He played the ace of trumps, then the king, and then when all the trumps were played except one, he played his eight of spades. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen tricks.

  A grand slam.

  Holcroft looked down at the carefully stacked cards before him on the table. He was aware that the crowded music room was applauding with great fervour. He felt light-headed, almost as if he were in a dream. He had won.

  ‘Thirteen tricks, seven points, I believe,’ he said. ‘Which makes nine points for us, gentlemen, and the game, and the match.’

  He looked at Buckingham. The older man’s face had fallen in, the lines were suddenly much more deeply etched, while Sir Thomas Littleton looked ready to weep. Jack’s handsome face was a veritable beacon of delight.

  ‘Five points, we’ve won by five points,’ said Jack. ‘Doubled for winning the match makes ten – a thousand pounds a point. I believe, Your Grace, that you must therefore now pay over to us ten thousand pounds.’

  ‘A noble sum, for a noble victory,’ said the King. And for the first time Holcroft noticed His Majesty, standing not two yards away and beaming at the four men at the table. Holcroft saw that beside him stood the Duke of Ormonde, scowling like an ogre. He looked as if he were in severe pain.

  ‘I . . . I shall send round a draft for the money on my bankers before the end of the week,’ said Buckingham. Holcroft had never seen him look so small, shrivelled and old.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said the King, ‘you must pay up now. I believe that is the usual agreement, eh? Pay your debt promptly and cheerfully, my Lord Buckingham, you can certainly afford the loss.’

  ‘But I do not carry that amount of gold with me, sire.’

  ‘Then you should not be wagering it. But no matter, we cannot have you welshing on your bet. Do you know what they do to welshers in the King’s Foot Guards, Buckingham? Terrible, terrible things, I hear. Tell you what: I shall have my clerks make out a draft this hour for the sum for these two gentlemen – ten thousand, wasn’t it? – and you can pay me back by the end of the week. But do not keep me waiting for my money, Your Grace, I warn you I am not much minded to be patient with you today.’

  The Duke of Buckingham got slowly to his feet. His eye alighted on the Duke of Ormonde and gradually, his spine uncurled, straightened, his chin lifted, he looked his fellow duke in the eye. Then he looked over at the far side of the room, where Blood was enfolding his son in a huge bear hug.

  ‘Your Grace,’ he said, with more than a trace of his familiar haughtiness, ‘I have information for you, which I believe you may find interesting. It concerns the monstrous attack on your person last December in Piccadilly. I have uncovered the truth about the identity of the attackers.’

  ‘If you are going to tell me Colonel Blood was the man who attacked me last winter, you can save your breath,’ said Ormonde. ‘The King told me the same not an hour past. He also urged me to forgive the fellow, as others have urged me, most persuasively – and, indeed, I am minded to do so.’

  ‘You, sir,’ Ormonde cal
led out across the room to Colonel Blood who was now standing with his arm draped around Holcroft’s shoulders and beaming like a trencherman sitting down to a feast. ‘I know you have borne a grudge against me and my family for many a year for the settlements that were made of your lands. I know, too, that you were the man who waylaid me in Piccadilly, beat me and left me bleeding in the mud. But I tell you now, in the presence of all these witnesses, that I forgive you for that action. If His Majesty can forgive you making away with his Crown Jewels, I can forgive a few bruises.’

  ‘That’s handsome of you, duke. And I may tell you there are no hard feelings on my part either. I have lands once more.’ He waved a stiff piece of paper. ‘And a living; recompense has been made and I have no further cause for grievance. Let bygones be bygones. I say this to you: if we keep the faith with each other, my dear Ormonde, we’ll both come up smiling yet.’

  Holcroft watched as the Duke of Buckingham made his way out of the music room, followed by Littleton and his two footmen. The last person in his dismal train was Henri d’Erloncourt, and at the threshold of the door through which his noble patron had just passed, Fox Cub stopped, turned and gave Holcroft one final glance.

  It was a look of undiluted loathing.

  Saturday 10 June, 1671

  The first performance of The Amorous Prince by the Duke’s Company was a resounding triumph. The King remained awake throughout almost the whole performance and smiled continually when he was awake; he was even seen to laugh once or twice at some of the broader jokes. The play’s new patron, the Duke of Ormonde, while possessing a temperament that was not much given to mirth, had praised the production to its author Mistress Behn and was also said to be pleasantly surprised at the takings by the ticket-sellers – for it had been a full house, with several dozen theatre-goers turned away disappointed at the door when the pit became dangerously full.

  The leading lady of the play, Miss Jenny Blaine, had quite entranced the audience with her portrayal of Cloris the sister and, scandalously, the love interest of the titular prince; and John Wilmot, the Earl of Rochester, recalled to court after a temporary banishment following the incident with the sundial, had declared drunkenly at the fall of the final curtain that if he could not have her he would die. Miss Blaine, who might otherwise have been interested, and might yet too, one day, now feigned indifference to his advances at the party to celebrate the first night and flaunted a large ruby ring on the third finger of her left hand. She said she was promised in matrimony to the dashing Colonel Blood, the Irish landowner. But that gentleman was not in evidence that evening – urgent business, Jenny said, having called him and his eldest son Thomas to Romford, and he had been unable to say exactly when he would be back in London.

  However, his younger son Holcroft had attended the performance – dressed in a splendid scarlet coat with blue turnbacks, blue breeches, white stockings and highly polished black shoes. A brand-new sword hung from his side and a purple sash was wrapped around his waist indicating his new status as an ensign of the King’s Foot Guard. He stood at the side of the stage chatting with the author of the play, a slight, pretty, blonde-haired lady dressed in widow’s black from head to toe.

  ‘I think they liked it, Holly,’ said Aphra. ‘I also think that with your new wealth and my success with the Duke’s Company we may never need to return to our old, sad and criminal ways.’

  ‘We might have been criminal but I don’t think we were sad for very long. I think, in fact, I rather enjoyed the experience. I believe you did too.’

  ‘Possibly, possibly. By the way, I heard something the other day that might amuse you. The Earl of Westbury has publicly accused the Duke of Buckingham of the murder of his third son Robert. He received an anonymous letter telling him that the duke liked to engage in sodomical practices with his pages, and that young Robert was a favourite bed-partner of his. The letter-writer informed the earl that his son grew tired of his employer’s affections, tried to blackmail his older lover and was quietly murdered by the duke’s henchmen for his pains.’

  ‘You are a very clever woman, Aphra.’

  ‘Some people might think so.’ She put a hand to her throat, where a single large diamond gleamed in the centre of a black velvet choker. ‘I want to thank you again for this,’ she said. ‘It was unnecessary but kind of you.’

  Holcroft smiled but said nothing.

  ‘Tell me, Holly, what have you done with your winnings – your five thousand pounds – apart from spending part on this vast bauble for me?’

  ‘I took some advice that my former master gave me many months ago. I invested it. I bought an annuity.’

  ‘Indeed? Are you going to retire then and live a life devoted to pleasure, a life of debauched luxury, regular degradation and daily vice?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Holcroft frowned at her. After a pause he said, ‘Were you by any chance making another one of your silly jokes?’

  ‘I confess it,’ said Aphra, smiling.

  ‘Oh, yes, very funny. Ha, ha, ha. Well, since you ask, I may tell you that I’m going to sea.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Jack Churchill is still out of favour at court. The King suspects him of continuing his affair with the Duchess of Cleveland and, as a result, he will find no advancement if he remains in White Hall. So he has volunteered for foreign service in the Admiral’s Regiment. He’s going to be posted aboard a ship, in fact, his patron the Duke of York’s flagship Prince, with a company from the King’s Foot Guards. I’m going with him. We are going to fight the Dutchmen, Aphra. We’re going off to war!’

  ‘Just make sure you come back all in one piece.’

  They fell into a companionable silence, watching the antics of the Earl of Rochester, who was whispering something filthy into Jenny Blaine’s ears and making her blush, flutter her eyelashes and wave her fan enticingly.

  ‘I must ask you something, Holcroft, although I am quite certain I’ll regret it: did you like this performance any better than the written play?’

  ‘You know, Aphra, I did like it. The actors gave it life. I found it very humorous, very witty but also sad and quite touching in parts, too.’

  ‘Do you mean that? Did you really like it?’

  ‘No,’ Holcroft grinned at her. ‘No, I did not like it. Not at all. I thought it was awful. A terrible play. But you see, Aphra, I can make jokes now, too.’

  Historical note

  When I was growing up, my mother, whose maiden name was Blood, told me that we were descended on her side of the family from a notorious character called Colonel Thomas Blood. This gentleman, she said, stole the Crown Jewels of England in Charles II’s time, was caught red-handed, insisted on an audience with the King and, astonishingly, was granted one, pardoned, and even given a grant of lands in Ireland, despite his many crimes. That incredible (in both senses) story stayed with me over the decades and when I first started thinking of becoming a novelist, I knew that I wanted to tell it. So here, in your hands, is my version of that extraordinary story.

  I have to admit that I don’t know if it is strictly accurate that I’m descended from Colonel Blood. My mother now says that she is not so sure, just that she was told that when she was growing up, and it made an exciting tale for the children. But my late Uncle Tony (a GP in Cornwall – Doctor Blood!) apparently had a gold signet ring with the Blood crest on it and was adamant that it was true. I’m not convinced.

  There are thousands of Bloods here in the British Isles and more across the Atlantic. The name is ancient, deriving in medieval times from the Welsh name Ap Lloyd, meaning son of Lloyd. So there must be lots of Bloods alive today who aren’t related at all to the infamous seventeenth-century crown-stealing colonel. One day, if I am ever invited to go on one of those tear-jerking genealogy TV shows, perhaps I’ll discover the truth. But, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter. As we used to joke when I was a journalist: you should never let the truth get in the way of a good story. And, in my opinion, the t
ale of Colonel Thomas Blood and the Crown Jewels is a cracking story.

  Thomas Blood was born in County Clare, Ireland in 1618, the son of a successful iron-master and grandson of a member of the Irish Parliament. At the age of twenty, he married an English girl, Mary (or Maria) Holcroft from a family of Lancashire gentry, with whom he had at least seven children. When the English Civil War broke out in 1642, Blood initially joined the Royalist side and apparently fought bravely for the King. But when it became clear that the Cavaliers were losing the war, he switched sides and became a Roundhead. He rose to the rank of captain (his later colonelcy was self-appointed), and was duly rewarded for changing sides at the end of the wars with a gift of lands in Ireland. He settled down during the Commonwealth with his growing family to enjoy a gentlemanly life of moderate wealth and leisure.

  All was well until the Restoration of Charles II in 1660, followed by the Act of Settlement of 1662, which stripped lands and properties from Cromwell’s supporters and handed them over to the resurgent Royalists. Blood was ruined. His estates were confiscated and he blamed the government and particularly the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, James Butler, Duke of Ormonde, for his sudden destitution.

  Not the sort of man to take an injury without retaliation, Blood was part of a scheme in 1663 to storm Dublin Castle and kidnap the Duke of Ormonde and hold him for ransom. The plot was betrayed, however, and several conspirators were captured and executed. Blood had to flee Ireland and take refuge in the Netherlands, leaving his wife and family behind to manage as best they could. Blood vowed to have his revenge on Ormonde for this fresh indignity but was unable to take direct action against him for the next six or seven years, during which he lived the hunted life of an outlaw. At some point during this time Blood became associated with George Villiers, Second Duke of Buckingham and a rising power at Charles II’s court.