A Masterpiece of Corruption

by L. C. Tyler

  There is menace in his words. Either he doesn’t like Hyde or he doesn’t like me. One or the other. Or both.

  ‘Why should I have been instructed to avoid you?’ I ask.

  Ripley looks at Brodrick and shrugs.

  ‘Hyde is losing confidence in us,’ says Brodrick. ‘We’d like to know why. And we’d like to know what you are doing here. Why has he sent you and not told us?’

  In some ways these are more difficult questions to answer than the name of my parish church, but in other ways it is not. I do, as I say, know something of the Sealed Knot and it is hard to think of anything that it has achieved in the six years of its existence. Many of its members have secretly gone over to Cromwell and are providing him with valuable intelligence. That Hyde has finally despaired of them is not to be wondered at. He does not want my father’s mission, whatever it is, endangered. My father has been told to avoid the King’s loyal supporters in London and get on with the job. By accepting Ripley’s invitation I have fallen into a trap that he would have side-stepped. This may not, however, be the right time to tell Ripley all of these things. I am caught in some Royalist squabble of which I know only a little.

  ‘Hyde has never said anything of the sort to me,’ I say truthfully.

  ‘You were overheard,’ says Brodrick. ‘We know what Hyde said to you before you left. You were told to avoid contact with the Sealed Knot in England.’

  Ripley gives him a sharp look. He was not supposed to reveal that.

  ‘If you overheard us,’ I say, ‘you have no need to question me on the purpose of my visit.’

  Ripley says nothing. Either Brodrick is bluffing or their informant overheard at best only a little of what Hyde said to my father. None of us, then, has the first idea why I am here. It is helpful to know that.

  Brodrick looks daggers at me. I have made an enemy in a very short time. ‘We know exactly what your mission is,’ he says. ‘Don’t we, Sir Michael? And it would be well for you, John, that you tell us.’

  Ripley considers. ‘Reluctant though I am to contradict my good friend here, let me confess that I do not know why you are here. I think it is a matter we may need to return to. But perhaps, since you have spoken to Hyde, I could enquire whether he has considered the proposal that we put to him?’

  ‘Your proposal?’

  ‘You can scarcely be unaware what it is.’

  Is this another test? Have they put some new plan to Hyde that my father would know about?

  ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘And the answer that you were hoping for was …?’

  ‘Yes or no.’

  Dare I now ask what the question is? I think not. I have already said I know. I am drowning in my own duplicity. Perhaps very soon I can flee from this place, change my lodgings and remain in the library of Lincoln’s Inn for the next year, other than when I need to go out and piss. But Yes or No? Which is the safest? Yes may require further information that I do not have. But No implies the refusal of some reasonable request, which may go ill for me. They might ask: ‘Why not?’ And I do not know why not.

  I draw myself up to my full height, which is greater than Ripley’s, though less than Brodrick’s by several inches. I suddenly remember, years ago, standing on a bluff, about to dive into a fast-flowing river of unknown depth. The dark water swirled beneath me. This is what it felt like then. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and launched myself into the unknown.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Hyde’s answer to you is Yes.’

  For a while I seem to hang in mid-air. Then Ripley speaks. ‘And we should proceed with our plan, or some variant of Hyde’s own devising? If it is our own plan then I shall need you to clarify one or two things.’

  Clarify? I can’t do that. Hyde’s plan it is then.

  ‘Hyde has a plan, but I cannot tell you any more than that,’ I say cautiously.

  ‘How then do we take it forward?’

  ‘You don’t. There is no need to trouble yourself further.’

  Ripley nods again. For him this is a very good answer. I only wish I knew why. Unfortunately, Brodrick still wants further information.

  ‘So, you are saying we can leave all that to you?’ says Brodrick. ‘Our offer was unnecessary because Hyde already has a plan of his own?’ He seems relieved.

  ‘Most assuredly. That is what I said. You may leave it to me.’ I half-turn towards the door. Perhaps if I go now?

  ‘We thought we would need to arrange the thing ourselves,’ adds Ripley. ‘We have spoken to one who is willing, as Hyde is aware. So that is the true purpose of your visit?’

  ‘Precisely,’ I hear myself say. ‘That is why I am here.’

  ‘But …’ says Brodrick.

  I feign, quite well I think, justified indignation. ‘Are you questioning Hyde’s instructions, gentlemen? I hope not.’ The door is close but not quite close enough to make a run for it. My mouth is dry and I am not being offered any wine.

  ‘Question Hyde’s instructions?’ says Ripley. ‘Why should we wish to do that? If Hyde thinks you can do the business better than the man we recommended … Do you also have the ability to gain admission to the Protector’s household?’

  Even I can guess the right answer this time.

  ‘That can be arranged.’

  Ripley says slowly, ‘Very well. I think I can see why you were reluctant at first to tell of your mission. I can even see why Hyde may have told you to avoid contact with known Royalists. The authorities may be watching us all – even me. What you have to do must be done with all secrecy.’ He looks at Brodrick, who in turn is regarding me with greater respect than anyone has ever shown me before.

  ‘You’re a brave man,’ says Brodrick. ‘I would not take such a risk myself. Not for the world. Even if my conscience allowed me to do such a thing, which it does not.’

  ‘No braver than you, I’m sure.’

  ‘If you are caught, it will be a terrible death that you are condemned to.’ The mere thought of what I am to do makes Brodrick pour himself another drink.

  ‘I do not fear the hangman’s noose,’ I say. Though as a matter of fact, I do fear the hangman’s noose as much as any other does. Perhaps a little more, for I have seen a man hanged. It is not a good death nor a quick one.

  Brodrick laughs. ‘A merry jest,’ he says, ‘not to fear the hangman’s noose. Ha! No, it’s what will happen after they cut you down, still conscious and able to feel pain, that would worry me. And the torture that you will need to endure before. After all, they will not believe you when you say that you acted alone, and they will want names that you will, of course, refuse to give them. It will be a slow and painful end, I’m thinking. A slow and painful dying over many days and nights. And Cromwell is guarded all the time. Even if you succeed in stabbing him, you cannot possibly escape.’

  So that is what I have just agreed to? The assassination of the Lord Protector? For a moment I forget that I am not a low Republican. ‘I cannot stab Cromwell!’

  ‘Of course not,’ says Ripley. ‘They say Cromwell wears steel under his coat. I am sure that you have more subtle methods. Perhaps ones that may even give you a slim chance of getting away unscathed.’

  ‘This other person that you mentioned …’ I say.

  ‘He will be disappointed. He had been looking forward to it. He hates Cromwell. But do not worry. He will not grudge you the first attempt. And, if you fail, he will have his chance then.’

  ‘I would not wish to inconvenience anybody. Perhaps if you offered the task to him after all? As you say, I may fail.’

  Ripley shakes his head. ‘Sir Edward’s wishes are clear. As you point out, it is not for us to question them. Nor shall I. I am sure he will have selected you for your skill and bravery. And, if you need help, the Knot will be with you.’

  ‘Will it?’ I ask.

  ‘Do not fear. We shall not compromise you. But we have agents all over London. We will be watching you every hour of the day. Whatever you do, wherever you go, you may depend on it that our
eyes will be upon you.’

  I wonder if that includes the pissing place behind Lincoln’s Inn library. I fear that it may.

  ‘That is a great comfort,’ I say. ‘That is a very great comfort indeed.’

  ‘It will be our honour, John, to assist you. You are a brave man. In future years, though sadly it will probably be after your death, your name will be honoured by all those true to His Majesty. But we shall not use that name from now on. That would be too dangerous even for you. If you wish to contact us, then write as Mr Cardinal.’

  ‘Cardinal?’

  ‘Unless you prefer some other name.’

  ‘Cardinal is good,’ I say, sitting down in one of the vacant chairs.

  ‘Pour Mr Cardinal a glass of wine at once,’ says Ripley. ‘For I see he has gone quite pale with the cold.’

  I am running through the dark streets of London. Sleet is lashing my face but I scarcely notice it. Occasionally I slip and slide in the dark, wet streets, but I wish to place some distance between myself and Gray’s Inn. I have just promised to assassinate the Lord Protector of England, in exchange for which I have not been shot as a low Republican. I am free to go. But to go where? I have bought myself a day or two at the most before I am grabbed by some ruffian who wishes to resume the same conversation in a dark alleyway.

  First, if they were indeed expecting my father, then (unless happily delayed) he is doubtless already in London and may still – depending on exactly what his partly-overheard instructions were – make contact with the Knot himself. He may then also give them Hyde’s answer and they will be bemused why his son has already given them the same answer or perhaps a completely different one. If Ripley and Brodrick explain clearly what has happened before my father has a chance to open his mouth, then I am sure that he will not intentionally betray me. But since he is unaware of my plight, it would take little to trap him into admitting that his son was not a loyal adherent of the Stuarts but rather a dull and dutiful citizen of the Republic, who is likely to denounce them to the relevant officers. And I have no way of contacting my father to warn him how he should reply to casual questions about a family that he has evidently not admitted to having.

  Second, even if my father has been delayed in his journey and however long I can remain undetected, I cannot even make a pretence of doing what I have promised. I have, for example, no friends at the Lord Protector’s court who could offer me employment or any other way of getting close to him. My imposture will soon be clear to all.

  Third, even if I do denounce Ripley and Brodrick to the authorities, as I could, I am sure that others in the Knot will swiftly take their revenge. They know exactly where I live. And my landlady would doubtless be very helpful to any aristocratic young man who enquired about my movements.

  And last – what exactly is my father’s role in all of this? He may simply bear a harmless message from Hyde. But unless Brodrick and Ripley have been wholly misinformed, it would seem that he has been told not to make contact with the Sealed Knot – perhaps for exactly the reason that Ripley has wrongly attributed to me: that my father is himself the chosen assassin. After all, if Hyde wants Cromwell dead, would he really trust the Sealed Knot with the task? Or would he send somebody from Brussels to do the job properly – a surgeon perhaps, like my father, skilled in the use of the knife and not unfamiliar with poisons? Though he deserted his family, I have no wish to see him caught and executed. And though my mother would be quite happy to have him hanged quietly and discreetly, the public execution of a man she had long claimed was dead might prove problematic for her.

  If I had not begged my mother to repudiate utterly all her Royalist connections, then she might have advised me. And she is in any case far away in north Essex. I can think of only one person in London who can solve this riddle. I knew him well once. His name is Probert and, if he has not got himself killed in the meantime, he still works for John Thurloe, spymaster to the Lord Protector – a man I once worked for myself. I must get a message to him tomorrow morning.

  If I am still alive tomorrow morning.

  Probert

  It is early on Tuesday and I am not yet dead.

  I have given a letter to Will Atkins, Mistress Reynolds’s boy, and told him to run to Westminster and deliver it to Mr George Probert at an address I have provided. If the Sealed Knot really are watching my every move, then it would be certain death for me to be seen in that vicinity, but it should, I hope, be less dangerous for Will.

  In fact, he does better than I could have dreamed. He returns with a message to say that Mr Probert would be delighted to talk with me in the gardens of Lincoln’s Inn, as I have proposed, at nona hora. Will repeats these last two words to me dubiously, not having come across this o’clock until now. I assure him that I understand, and I accordingly set out for a noon meeting with Mr Probert.

  *

  ‘Salve, Grey,’ he says in greeting. ‘Quid agis? We meet some way from where we first met and under a weaker sun. Behold! Fumum et opes strepitumque Londinii! But within this noisy and smoky city, you have picked a cold and dismal place for our meeting. These garden walks of yours are pleasant in the summer, but a warm tavern is more to my taste in December.’

  He pulls a cloak more tightly around his large frame. Probert was never dainty in appearance. He has eaten well, I think, and shaved only occasionally, since I last saw him.

  ‘The more congenial the place, the more people there will be to overhear us,’ I say.

  ‘True, but we could have met in your lodgings.’

  ‘There above all.’

  ‘The walls have ears?’

  ‘No, my landlady has ears. The walls are merely impediments to her hearing. Let us stroll a little, Mr Probert, and see if anyone follows us.’

  Probert looks up at the sky. He does not need to point out, in either English or Latin, that the scudding clouds threaten a drenching. We go out nevertheless through the wicket gate into Lincoln’s Inn Fields and shelter for a moment under one of the great elms. Above us the branches thrash and hiss their warning of a coming storm. The wide expanse of lank, overgrown meadow stretches away on all sides, like an old tapestry faded to browns and greys. It is bleak and windswept to be sure, but here I can be certain we are alone. I watch the gateway to Lincoln’s Inn to see who leaves in our wake, but there is nobody. This damp coldness tempts none from their chambers.

  ‘From whom are we hiding, Grey? I am not one to skulk in the shadows, as you know. Audentis fortuna iuvat. Anyway, I am too large to escape notice except on the very blackest of nights. Whom had you expected to see emerging from yonder gate?’

  ‘A member of the Sealed Knot,’ I say. ‘Do you know Mr Allen Brodrick or Sir Michael de Ripley?’

  ‘Brodrick is the Secretary of the Sealed Knot and one of Hyde’s couriers. He drinks too much and talks when he would do better to hold his tongue, especially to young women who may be happy to oblige him in one way or another; but he has managed to stay one step ahead of us for some time. I should greatly like to meet him, though he perhaps would not like to meet me. But Ripley … No, that name is unknown to me, which may mean he is harmless or perhaps merely that he is cleverer than Brodrick. But whoever he is, the Knot presents no menace to one such as yourself. Bruta fulmina! Their threats are as empty as their purses! Let them try to kill you! Ha!’

  Probert does of course laugh in the face of danger and has a deep scar in his shoulder as evidence of this. He rubs that shoulder now through his thick cloak, as if the damp still troubles it. The wind is growing ever more bitter. There is now just a hint in the air of snow, a sharpness that pricks at the lips and cheeks.

  ‘I think,’ I say, ‘that they will kill me if I do not do as they request.’

  ‘And what do they request?’

  ‘They wish me to murder the Lord Protector.’

  ‘Murder His Highness? Why should they think that you would like to do that? It would be a strange deed, for a lawyer with good Republican principles such as yours
elf. They have made a poor choice.’

  ‘I have been mistaken for … another,’ I say. Better that my father’s name is not mentioned at all, if that is possible – whatever the nature of his mission. ‘They think I am also a member of the Sealed Knot or at least a sympathiser, lately come from Brussels. Once I had met the two gentlemen, I could not undeceive them; in short, they had already told me more than was fit for me to be told. They are aware that I know their identities – Brodrick told me Ripley’s name almost at once. And they are also aware I know of the existence of a plot to kill the Lord Protector – one that will apparently proceed with me or without me. We must act – and swiftly.’

  Probert is less impressed than he might be.

  ‘Do you think, Grey, that we do not know that there are people who wish His Highness dead? Experto credite – that is to say you may trust my own judgement here. They are myriad. And not just the fools of the Sealed Knot. There are religious fanatics of all persuasions who would do the same deed; there are Diggers, there are Levellers, there are Adamites, there are Muggletonians. There are Ranters, there are Anabaptists, there are Fifth Monarchy Men. All mad. So would many of His Highness’s closest and dearest companions wish him dead. His Highness has enemies in Parliament. He has enemies in the Army. And so far, I have listed only those on his own side who would kill him: we have not as yet even begun to consider the Royalists and the Papists.

  ‘The State has fined many men to their ruin, and some of them would risk all to kill the man who has undone them and their families. There are those who feel, I could not say precisely why, that it was wrong to execute the tyrant Charles Stuart and that vengeance should be exacted on somebody. And there are those, of no particular persuasion, who would be happy to kill anyone in exchange for a purse full of gold. It may be only you and me and Mr Thurloe who truly wish His Highness well. That is why my Lord Cromwell will never tarry in a room with only one door to it. That is why nobody knows the route his coach will take until he steps into it. That is why he wears armour when he travels from place to place. That is why there are two loaded pistols in his carriage. We are prepared.’