by Jean Plaidy
He was arrested for bigamy and sent to prison but was released when he promised to divulge a Popish plot. This he did by forging the signature of various people to whom he had written at some time or other merely for the purpose of supplying himself with signatures he could copy: On the point of being discovered he came to England.
It did not take Young long to forge more documents which he pretended had been written by the Archbishop of Canterbury. With these he managed to delude several clerics, live on their bounty, and extract money from them, until he was found out; at Bury he and Mary Hutt were imprisoned.
While he was in jail he wrote to the Archbishop of Canterbury telling him that he had been ill-used, giving him a long account of a fictitious Irish background, asking for his help and promising in return to uncover plots against the state. The Archbishop ignored this and on being released from Bury jail Young forged the Archbishop’s signature and worked the same trick in England as he had in Ireland, visiting wealthy clergymen, telling them he came from the Archbishop, and extracting large sums of money from them.
Eventually the Archbishop heard of the fraud, and Young and Mary Hutt went back to jail—this time to Newgate.
Failing to gain interest in the plot he was trying to fabricate, Young decided that he would work by himself. If he could disclose a plot involving famous people he believed he would not only be released from prison but would be substantially rewarded and given an opportunity of being in the company of men who could be of use to him—if only giving him opportunities of forging their signatures.
The great scandal at this time, even in the prisons, was the dismissal of the Earl of Marlborough. Marlborough had distinguished himself in Ireland and Holland; he had been a soldier of importance even before the coming of William; yet he was deprived of all his commands and employments and living in disgrace. It was said that he had spread disaffection in the Army by complaining of favor shown to foreigners and had taken bribes. Was this the real reason? It was whispered everywhere that Marlborough was a “Jack” planning to bring back James.
A plot, thought Young, which would involve Marlborough, would make them notice him.
He drew up a document which was meant to be a declaration for the restoration of James II. He had had opportunities of examining the signatures of the people he wished to involve, for he had seen Marlborough’s signature on military papers and those of others on public declarations; and his knowledge of church affairs decided him to involve the Bishop of Rochester, who was known to be easygoing and something of an opportunist.
It was amusing to while away the weary hours of captivity formulating a plan which should be foolproof. All the men he intended to involve were already suspect; but of course Marlborough was the one who was going to cause the greatest stir.
This document had to be put in the house of one of the suspects, and then attention called to it so that it could be discovered there. But how operate all this from prison?
Young’s agile brain enjoyed nothing more than working out an involved and seemingly impossible scheme; and as he was searching for the solution he thought of a disgruntled prisoner named Stephen Blackhead.
Blackhead had suffered badly in the pillory and as a result part of one of his ears was missing, the other being badly mauled. He hated society on account of this injury.
Young began by talking to him about his wrongs—a subject Blackhead was always ready to discuss.
“You have been cruelly treated, my friend. Society is against people like us.”
Blackhead was mollified by the attention of the apparently well educated Robert Young, particularly when he was allowed to talk of his early days, of his poverty and of all he had suffered in an unsympathetic world.
Blackhead was only in prison for a short while, and Young had no idea when he himself would be released; so Blackhead was the man for the job.
“There is a way of getting your revenge on them,” said Young. “They are worse criminals than you, my dear fellow. You are trying to get enough to eat; they are trying to make wars and bring rebellion into the country.”
“Who?” asked Blackhead.
Young appeared to consider. Then he said: “I know I can trust you with an important secret. This is a matter which concerns the state. Will you swear to secrecy?”
Blackhead swore.
“I happen to have a document in my hands which could bring important people to the scaffold.” Blackhead looked incredulous. “You think I’m mad. What if I showed it to you?”
“You would?”
“I trust you my friend.”
Young brought the document from inside his jacket and showed Blackhead. Blackhead could not read, but he was impressed by the writing.
“You see that name,” Young pointed. “That is Marlborough. And you see that—that is Thomas Sprat, Bishop of Rochester. That is the Archbishop of Canterbury and those are Lord Salisbury and Lord Cornbury.”
“All those famous people! But how did you get it?”
“Never you mind. I make it my business to discover these plots and help the government. In this it says they’ll kill the King and Queen and bring back James.”
“The King and Queen ought to know about it.”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“But you could send it to them.”
“Do you think they would believe me? I’ve tried to help them before, but I’m a poor man, wrongly accused. What chance have I against them?”
“There’s one law for them, another for us. Why, I wasn’t given a chance …”
Young interrupted; he wanted no further meandering through the wrongs suffered by Stephen Blackhead.
“The only way to get this brought to light is to put it in one of their houses and then let it be known that it will be found there.”
“How’d you get into one of their houses?”
“I would if I were free.”
“But you’re here and so you can’t.”
“No, but you’ll be free next week.”
“Me?”
“You want a slice of the reward, don’t you? I can tell you it will be a big one.”
Blackhead licked his lips and although he had turned pale he said: “What would I have to do?”
“It’s easy. You go to the Bishop of Rochester’s house to take a letter.”
“What letter?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll give you the letter. It will have been sent by your master.”
“What master?”
“Some Doctor of Divinity. You’re his manservant and he has sent you to deliver the letter. When you get there you’ll be in need of refreshment and it will be given to you. You’ll be taken to the kitchens by the servants. You will talk to them, tell them how honored you are to be in a Bishop’s house; you can ask to see where the Bishop works. You’ll touch his table with reverence. ‘Is this where His Honor does his writing? Is this where His Honor sits?’ you’ll ask. You’ll flatter them. Lucky people to work for a great bishop. You’re just the servant of a humble priest. Then, when none of them is looking you slip the document somewhere … behind a picture … in a drawer, pushed well back so that it won’t be easily discovered. You’ll have to find the place when you get there. All you have to do is to make sure it is somewhere where the Bishop is not going to find it for a little while. Once you’ve done it, we shall inform the government that the document is in the Bishop’s house and where it is. They will find it and we shall be rewarded.”
Blackhead was staring at Young
“Suppose they won’t show me into his rooms?”
“Then you’ll put it somewhere else. I can see you’re a man of resource. Think what your reward will be. The state owes you something in my opinion.”
“In mine too,” grumbled Blackhead; but he was bemused.
Young was slightly anxious. Would Blackhead have the sense to work this thing? He wasn’t the accomplice he would have chosen. But how else was the plan going to work? Young was a
ccustomed to taking chances. Well, he had to take a big one now.
Stephen Blackhead arrived at the Bishop of Rochester’s house in Bromley, hot and dusty.
Could he be taken to the Bishop for he had a letter to deliver from his master and he had been told he must himself put it into the Bishop’s hands.
He was taken into the study of the Bishop who received him cordially.
“A letter for me from your master?”
Stephen Blackhead handed over the letter which Robert Young had given him.
It was a beautifully written letter complimenting the Bishop and asking his advice on a matter which, the writer pointed out, would seem trivial enough to him but was of some importance to a humble deacon.
The Bishop glanced at the signature. He did not know the name but the letter had come from some little distance. He was pleased with the terms in which it was couched, and the subtle flattery put him into a good humor.
“I will answer your master and in the meantime you will be refreshed. I see you have traveled far.” He sent for his butler and told him to take the messenger to the kitchen and give him food.
This was working out exactly as Robert Young had said it would and Stephen’s spirits began to rise. He had never been inside such a magnificent house; he had never tasted such food as the butler was putting before him.
“This is a grand house,” he said, for Young had told him he must admire the house and he could do it with sincerity.
Yes, it was a fine house, agreed the butler and the Bishop was a good master. It was a comfortable living serving such a man.
Stephen looked wistful. “I have never been in such a fine house.”
The butler was clearly proud of it.
“I’d like to see a little more of it,” said Stephen. “I’d like to see the Bishop’s study.”
“The Bishop’s study! But he’s working there.”
This was where the plan was going wrong. How was he going to plant the document in the Bishop’s study if the Bishop was working there; and how was he going to put it somewhere without the butler’s seeing?
“The Bishop,” said the butler, “is very fond of his gardens. He plants things himself. You see those flowerpots all along the windowsill; he’s got his special plants and things in there. Would you like to see the gardens? I could show you them.”
“Well, yes,” said Stephen blankly. How was he going to put the paper in the gardens?
“Flowerpots,” said the butler. “They’re everywhere.” He showed Stephen a little parlor leading off from the kitchens. “A lot of them go in here. We’ve got to put them somewhere. Now would you like a piece more pie while you’re waiting?”
Stephen said that he would and while he was eating it the butler was summoned to his master’s study for the reply which Stephen was to take back to his master.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” said the butler.
And Stephen was alone, but he could hear the voices of other servants in some of the outhouses. This was the moment, he knew; he might not be alone again; and how was he going to rid himself of the document unless there was no one to see him.
He looked wildly about the kitchen; then he thought of the parlor with the flowerpots. He went into it quickly, picked up a large flowerpot, and knocking out some of the earth it contained, put in the document; he managed to conceal it by covering it with earth. Then he slipped back to the kitchen.
When the butler returned he was sitting at the table eating his pie.
He felt triumphant. He had done the job assigned to him; now all he had to do was wait for his reward.
The butler took him around the gardens as promised and as he feigned an interest he did not feel, he believed himself to be a grand conspirator.
As soon as he could get away he hurried to London and went to Newgate to visit the prisoner, Young.
“Well?” said Young.
Blackhead told him of everything that had taken place and how the incriminating document was in a flowerpot in a parlor which was clearly rarely used.
Young was delighted. “It couldn’t be better,” he said.
Mary sat with her Council to discuss the latest scare.
A prisoner in Newgate had written to the Privy Council warning them that he had evidence of a plot in which the ringleaders were the Bishop of Rochester and the Earl of Marlborough. These men had been in correspondence with James II and a letter containing the signatures of the conspirators and an offer of their services to James, had fallen into his hands. The letter was now in the house of the Bishop of Rochester at Bromley and if they would allow him to explain in detail, he would give them all the information they needed.
“Young?” said the Queen. “I fancy I have heard his name before.”
“I have ascertained, Your Majesty, that he is a criminal, in prison for forgery,” Danby told her.
“These are dangerous times,” replied the Queen.
The Council agreed with her; also that no sources of information, wherever they were, should be overlooked.
As a result Young was able to tell them that if they searched the flowerpots in the Bishop’s house they would find the document.
As a result the Bishop was arrested and a search party was sent to the Bishop’s house and his flowerpots investigated.
Fortunately for the men whose names had been forged, for they would have been sent to the scaffold had the document been discovered, since Young’s signatures were very good indeed, the disused parlor was overlooked; and the party came away without discovering the document.
Sarah was with Anne at Berkeley House in Piccadilly, whither they had come from Sion House as soon as Anne had recovered from her latest confinement, when news was brought to her from St. Albans that her youngest child, Charles, was ill.
“You must go at once to him, dear Mrs. Freeman,” said Anne, “and write to me every day that I may know what is happening to you.”
Sarah promised and when, arriving at St. Albans, she found the child with a high fever, she immediately put all her energies to nursing him.
It was pleasant to be home with her family, but not, as she told her husband, for such a reason.
“This ridiculous state of affairs must be over soon,” she said. “Time is being wasted.”
“Anything can happen in the next few weeks,” replied Marlborough. “There are going to be mighty battles either at sea or on land and they may well decide great issues.”
“And Marlborough skulking at home … in disgrace!”
“Which may be as well,” he said grimly. “It is difficult at this stage to know which side one should be on.”
Sarah was ready to launch into discussion of great plans, but the sickness of the child worried her and as the days passed he grew worse.
She was in the sickroom one day when she heard the sounds of horses galloping and looking from her window she saw a company of guards coming toward the house.
She called to her husband, but he was already on his way down. Rushing after him she was in time to hear what the leader was saying.
Marlborough was arrested on a charge of high treason, and orders were to conduct him without delay to the Tower of London.
Sarah was in despair. She thought of the letters Marlborough had written to James and trembled. Had one of these fallen into the Queen’s hands? If so, he was doomed. But Sarah was not one to believe the worst until it had happened.
Marlborough must be freed from the Tower. He must be proved innocent.
How?
She must go to him. She could be with him in his lodging, make sure that he was well cared for, plan his escape if necessary.
She was preparing to leave when one of the nurses came to her and begged her to come at once to the child’s sickroom.
Little Charles had taken a turn for the worse.
Sarah, numb with misery, sat reading a letter from the Princess Anne.
“I am very sensibly touched with the misfortune that my dear Mrs. Freeman ha
s in losing her son, knowing very well what it is to lose a child, but she, knowing my heart so well, and how great a share I bear in all her concerns, I will not say more on this subject for fear of renewing her passion too much.”
Anne was right. There must be no renewal of passion. The grief was overwhelming. Her beloved son for whom she had planned such a grand future—a corpse in a coffin. But that was past. There were the other children—her dear son John still left to her; her girls, Henrietta, Anne, Elizabeth, and Mary. She still had them.
And her own dear husband, that other John, who was at this moment a prisoner in the Tower.
She must go to him at once. She would take up her lodging there that they might be together.
No. Wait a while. She would go to see him, but she would not stay. She would return to the Princess Anne, because there she could work more hopefully for his release.
Meanwhile there was heartening news for the Queen. The fleet, under Admiral Russell, had beaten the French at La Hogue after a mighty sea battle lasting five days and nights. It was a complete victory. How delighted Mary was! All the anxieties of the last days seemed to be lifted if only temporarily.
Her first thought was for those men who had been wounded in the battle and she sent fifty doctors and hospital supplies to Portsmouth; she gave thirty-seven thousand pounds to be distributed among those who had taken part in the victory; she ordered all the bells to be rung throughout London.
“This has decided the issue,” was the comment. “James will never come back now.”
Young, who feared that, since the paper Blackhead had deposited in the Bishop’s house would never be discovered and therefore the plot founder, sent Blackhead back to the house in Bromley to recover the paper.
