The curate of All Saints, Hastings, quickly became the most unpopular man in the district. The rector was heartily disliked, and the people of Hastings would not have believed it was possible to find a man more detestable until they met his son. Titus seemed to delight in circulating scandal concerning those who lived about him. If he could discover some little peccadillo which might be magnified, he was greatly delighted; if he could discover nothing, he used his amazing imagination and an invention which amounted almost to genius.
Samuel hated his son more than ever and wished he had never allowed him to become his curate; therefore, there arose the problem of how to remove Titus. Titus had his living to earn; and it seemed that, if he remained in Hastings, not only the curate but the rector would be asked to leave. A schoolmaster’s post would be ideal, decided Samuel; there was one in a local school, but unfortunately it was filled by a certain William Parker, so popular and of such good reputation that it seemed unlikely he could be dismissed to make way for Titus.
Father and son were not the sort to allow any man’s virtues to stand in their way.
Titus therefore presented himself to the Mayor and told him that he had seen William Parker in the church porch committing an unnatural offense with a very young boy.
The Mayor was horrified. He declared he could not believe this of William Parker, who had always seemed to him such an honest and honorable man; but Titus, who was a lover of details and had worked on the plan with great thoroughness, managed to convince him that there was truth in the story.
William Parker was sent to jail and Titus, swearing on oath that he was speaking the truth, gave in detail all he alleged he had seen in the church porch.
Titus was eloquent and would have been completely convincing; but he was not yet an adept at the art of perjury, and he had forgotten that truth has an uncomfortable way of tripping up the liar.
Parker was able to prove that he was nowhere near the porch when the offense was alleged to have taken place; the tables were turned; Titus was in danger of imprisonment, and so he ran away to sea.
It was not difficult to get to sea, for His Majesty’s Navy was in constant need of men and did not ask many questions. Titus became ship’s chaplain, in which role he had opportunities of practicing that very offense of which he had accused Parker, and became loathed by all who came into contact with him; and after a while the Navy refused to employ him.
Samuel had been forced to leave Hastings after the Parker affair and was in London, where Titus joined him; but it was soon discovered that Titus was wanted by the law; he was captured and sent to prison, from which he escaped, only to find himself penniless once more. He joined a club in Holborn, where he made the acquaintance of several Catholics, and it was through their influence that he obtained a post of Protestant chaplain in the household of that staunch Catholic, the Duke of Norfolk.
It was at this time that the Catholic scare was beginning to be felt in England, and it had occurred to Titus that there might be some profit in exposing, in the right quarters, the secrets of Catholics. He thereupon set himself out to be as pleasant as he could to Catholics, in the hope of learning their secrets, and obtaining an authentic background for his imagination.
Dismissed from the service of the Duke of Norfolk, he was again in London where he made the acquaintance of Dr. Israel Tonge.
Dr. Tonge was a fanatic who was prepared to dedicate his life to the persecution of Jesuits. He had written tracts and pamphlets about their wickedness but, as so many had done the like since the conversion of the Duke of York, there was no sale for those of Dr. Tonge. This made him bitter; not against those who refused to buy them, but against the Papists. He was more determined than ever to destroy them; and when he renewed his acquaintance with Oates, he saw in him a man who could be made to work for him in the cause so near his heart.
Titus was at the point of starvation and ready enough to do all that was required of him.
The two men met often and began to plot.
Oates was to mingle with the Catholics who congregated in the Pheasant Coffee House in Holborn; Tonge had heard that certain Catholic servants of the Queen frequented the place. There Titus would meet Whitbread and Pickering, and other priests who came from Somerset House, where Catherine worshipped, in accordance with her Faith, in her private chapel.
There was one person whom those two plotters mentioned often; the condemnation of that person could bring them greater satisfaction than that of any other, for to prove the Queen of England a Papist murderer would enrage the country beyond all their hopes. If they could prove that the Queen was plotting to murder the King, then surely there was not a Jesuit in England who would not be brought to torture and death.
“The King is a lecher,” said Oates, licking his lips. “He will wish to be rid of the Queen.”
Dr. Tonge listened to the affected voice of his accomplice and laid a hand on his shoulder. He knew the story of William Parker and Titus’ tendency to be carried away by his imagination.
He warned him: “This is no plot against a village schoolmaster. This is a charge of High Treason against the Queen. ’Tis true the King is a lecher, but he is soft with women, including his wife. We shall have to build up our case carefully. This is not a matter over which we can hurry. It may take us years to collect the information we need, and we shall accuse and prove guilty many before we reach the climax of our discovery which shall be the villainy of the Queen.”
Tonge’s eyes burned with fanaticism. He believed that the Queen must wish to murder the King; he believed in the villainy of all Catholics, and the Queen was devoutly Catholic.
Titus’ sunken eyes were almost closed. He was not concerned with the truth of any accusations they would bring. All he cared for was that he should have bread to eat, a roof to shelter him and a chance to indulge that imagination of his which was never content unless it was building up a case against others.
Dr. Tonge’s plan was long and involved. Titus should mix with Catholics; he should become a Catholic, for only thus could he discover all they would need to build the plot which should bring fame and fortune to them both, and win the eternal gratitude of the King and those ministers of his who desired above all things to see the Queen and the Duke of York dismissed from the Court.
Titus “became” a Catholic and went to study at a college in Valladolid. When he returned, expelled from the college, he brought with him little knowledge, but a fair understanding of the life lived by Jesuit priests; and he and Dr. Tonge, impatient to get on with their work, set about fabricating the great Popish plot.
They would begin by warning the King that two Jesuits, Grove and Pickering—men whom Titus had met at the coffee house in Fleet Street—were to be paid £1,500 to shoot the King while he walked in the park. The death of the King was to be followed by that of certain of his ministers; the French would then invade Ireland and a new King would be set up. This was to be the Duke of York, who would then establish a Jesuit Parliament.
That was the first plot. Others would follow; and when the people were fully aroused, and the King fully alarmed, they would bring forth evidence of the Queen’s complicity.
Titus was excited. He saw here a chance to win honors such as had never before come his way.
So when Dr. Tonge returned to his lodgings and told Titus that the man who had uncovered the hellish Popish plot and had thrust the papers concerning it under the door of Dr. Tonge was ordered to appear before the King, Titus was eager to tell his story.
Charles looked at Titus Oates and disliked him on sight.
Oates knew this but was unperturbed; he was accustomed to looks of disgust. He cared for nothing; he had a tale to tell, and he felt himself to be master of his facts.
He was glad now of the affair of William Parker as it had taught him such a lesson.
Beside the King was the Duke of York, for Charles had said he must be present since this matter of plots and counterplots concerned him as much as Charles himself.
“A preposterous tale,” said Charles when he had read the papers. “False from beginning to end.”
His eyes were cold. He hated trouble, and these men were determined to make it.
“So you have studied in Valladolid?” he asked Titus.”
It is true, Your Majesty.”
“And you became a Jesuit, that you might mingle with them and discover their secrets?”
“That is so, Your Majesty.”
“What zeal!” commented the King.
“’Twas all in the service of Your Most Gracious Majesty.”
“And when you were in Madrid you conferred with Don John of Austria, you say in these papers.”
“’Tis true, Your Majesty.”
“Pray, describe him to me.”
“He is a tall, spare and swarthy man, if it please Your Majesty.”
“It does not please me,” said Charles with a sardonic smile. “But doubtless it would please him, for he is a little, fat, fair man, and I believe would desire to appear taller than he is.”
“Your Majesty, it may be that I have made a mistake in the description of this man. I have met so many.”
“So many of the importance of Don John? Ah, Mr. Oates, I see you are a man much given to good company.”
Titus stood his ground. Be could see that if the King did not believe him, others were ready to do so. The difference was that they wanted to, whereas the King did not.
“You say,” went on the King, “that the Jesuits will kill not only me but my brother, if he should be unwilling to join them against me, and that they received from Père la Chaise, who is Confessor to Louis Quatorze, a donation of £10,000.”
“That is so, Your Majesty.”
Those about the King seemed impressed. It was true that Père La Chaise was Confessor to the French King.
“And that there was a promise of a similar sum from another gentleman?”
“From De Corduba of Castile, Your Majesty.”
Again Titus was aware of his success. He made sure of facts. The visit to Spain had been well worthwhile. What if he had made a mistake in his description of a man; those about the King did not consider that to be of any great importance.
“So La Chaise paid down £10,000 did he? Where did he do this, and were you there?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. It was in the house of the Jesuits, close to the Louvre.”
“Man!” cried the King. “The Jesuits have no house within a mile of the Louvre!”
“I doubt not,” said Titus slyly, “that Your Majesty during your stay in Paris was too good a Protestant to know all the secret places of the Jesuits.”
“The meeting is over,” said Charles. “I will hear no more.”
And, putting his arm through that of his brother, the King led James away, murmuring: “The man is a lying rogue. I am certain of it.”
But the news of the great Popish plot was spreading through the streets of London. The citizens stood about in groups discussing it. They talked of the Gunpowder Plot; they recalled the days of Bloody Mary, when the fires of Smithfield had blackened the sky and a page of English history.
“No Popery!” they shouted. Nor were they willing to wait for trials. They formed themselves into mobs and set about routing out the Catholics.
Coleman, who had been secretary to the Catholic Duchess of York, and one of the suspects at whom Titus had pointed, was found to be in possession of documents sent him by that very Père la Chaise, for Coleman was in truth a spy for France.
All the King’s skepticism could do nothing to quiet rumor. The people’s blood was up. They believed in the authenticity of the plot. The Jesuits were rogues who must be tracked down to their deaths; Titus Oates was a hero who had saved the King’s life and the country from the Papists.
Oates was given lodgings in Whitehall. He was heard in royal palaces talking of Popery in his high nasal and affected voice interspersed with the coarsest of oaths; he was at the summit of delight; he had longed for fame such as this; he was no longer a poor despised outcast; he was admired by all. He was Titus Oates, exposer of Jesuits, the man of the moment.
The King, still declaring the man to be a fake, went off to Newmarket, leaving his ministers to do what they would.
And Titus, determined to hold what he had at last achieved, concocted fresh plots and looked for new victims.
Catherine was afraid.
In her apartments at Somerset House she sensed approaching doom. She felt she had few friends and owed much to the Count of Castelmelhor, a Portuguese nobleman, who had been loyal to Alphonso and had found it necessary to leave the country when Pedro was in control. He had come to Catherine for shelter and had brought great comfort to her during those terrible weeks.
Her servants brought her news of what was happening, and from her stronghold she would often hear the sound of shouting in the streets. She would hear screams and protests as some poor man or woman was set upon; she would hear wild rumors of how this person, whom she had known, and that person, for whom she had a great respect, was being taken up for questioning. “No Popery! No slavery!” was the continual cry. And Titus Oates and Dr. Tonge with their supporters were banded together to corroborate each other’s stories and fabricate wilder and still wilder plots in order to implicate those they wished to destroy.
The King, disgusted with the whole affair and certain that Titus was a liar, was quick to sense the state of the country. He had to be careful. His brother was a confessed Catholic. It might be that that clause in the secret treaty of Dover was known to too many, and that he himself might be suspect; he was afraid to show too much leniency to Catholics. He was shrewd, and the tragic events of his life had made him cautious. He remembered—although he had been but a boy at the time—the feeling of the country in those days before the Civil War, which had ended in the defeat of his father, had broken out. He sensed a similar atmosphere. He knew that Shaftesbury and Buckingham with other powerful men were seeking to remove the Duke of York; he knew too that they plotted against Catherine and were determined either to see him divorced and married to a Queen who could provide a Protestant heir, or to see Monmouth legitimized.
He must walk very carefully. He must temporize by giving the people their head; he must not make the mistakes his father had made. He must allow those accused by the odious Titus Oates to be arrested, questioned and, if found guilty, to suffer the horrible death accorded to traitors.
He was grieved, and the whole affair made him very melancholy. He would have liked to have put Titus Oates and his friends in an open boat and sent them out to sea, that they might go anywhere so long as they did not stay in England.
But he dared not go against the people’s wishes. They wanted Catholic scapegoats, and they were calling Oates the Savior of England for providing them. They must be humored, for their King was determined to go no more a-wandering in exile. So he went to Windsor and spent a great deal of time fishing, while he indulged in melancholy thought; and Titus Oates lived in style at Whitehall Palace, ate from the King’s plate and was protected by guards when he walked abroad. All tried not to meet his eye, and if they were forced to do so, responded with obsequious and admiring smiles, for Titus had but to point the finger and pretend to remember an occasion when a man or woman had plotted against the King’s life, and that man or woman would be thrown into jail.
Titus was content; for all those powerful men who had for ten years been seeking to bring about a divorce between the King and Queen saw Titus as a means of perfecting their plans, and to Titus they gave their support.
Catherine knew this.
She longed for the King to come and see her, but she heard that he was at Windsor. There was no one to whom she could turn for advice except those immediately about her, and they were mostly Catholics who feared for their own lives.
She began to realize that the trap into which many of her servants were in danger of falling was in reality being prepared for herself.
There ca
me news that a certain magistrate of the City, Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey, had been murdered. He it was who had taken Titus’ affidavit concerning the Popish Plot. He was known as a Protestant although he had Catholic friends, and the manner of his meeting his death was very mysterious. Titus accused the Papists of murdering him, and the magistrate’s funeral was conducted with great ceremony while Titus and his friends did everything they could to incite the citizens to fury against his murderers, declared by Titus to be Catholics.
Charles had offered £500 reward for anyone bringing the murderer of Godfrey to justice, although he half suspected that the man had been murdered by Titus’ agents for the purpose of rousing the mob to fresh fury, for it seemed that whenever this showed signs of lagging, some such incident would take place, some new plot would be discovered.
It was then that William Bedloe made himself known and came before the Council with a terrible tale to tell.
Bedloe was a convict, and he had met Titus when they were both in Spain. At that time Bedloe had been living on his wits and posing as an English nobleman, with his brother James acting as his manservant. He was handsome and plausible, and had managed during his free life to live at the expense of others, but he had served many sentences in Newgate and had just been released from that prison.
He was attracted by the King’s promised reward of £500 and by the fact that his old friend Titus, whom he had last known as a very poor scholar of dubious reputation in Valladolid, was now fêted and honored with three servants at his beck and call and several gentlemen to help him dress and hold his basin whilst he washed.
Bedloe did not see why he should not share in his friend’s good fortune, so he came forward to offer his services.
It seemed to Catherine that she was always waiting for something to happen; she was afraid when she heard a movement outside her door. She believed that these men were preparing to strike at her, and she was not sure when and how the blow would fall.
It was dusk, and she had come from her chapel to that small chamber in which her solitary meal would be served. And as she was about to sit at her table, the door was thrown open and two of her priests came in to throw themselves at her feet.
A Health Unto His Majesty Page 30
