A Masterpiece of Corruption

by L. C. Tyler

‘It’s Willys,’ says Ripley. ‘As Mr Grey will now explain.’

  Hyde looks at me. ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply.

  Hyde nods slowly. ‘That Willys was a traitor has been Sir Michael’s fear for some time. I doubted that it could be so, but a little while ago our source in Thurloe’s office provided hard evidence. He sent us a batch of papers. They were very interesting. I should like your views on them.’ He passes me a document.

  I read it. The letter is dated Saturday 15 November. It is signed by one Thomas Barret. He reports that an agent named Colonel Dobson has travelled to Calais, apparently to set in motion a plot to land Royalist troops near King’s Lynn – reportedly six thousand men, to be led by the Duke of York. Barret asks the recipient to confirm that the letter arrived safely. He promises to write further.

  ‘And you are saying this Thomas Barret is really Willys?’ I ask.

  ‘Exactly so,’ says Hyde.

  ‘Who is the letter to?’

  ‘Thurloe.’

  ‘And are the contents true? Is there any such person as Colonel Dobson?’

  ‘It is true enough.’

  ‘Then your plans are betrayed,’ I say.

  ‘Precisely – though they are very old plans and of no consequence now. We have other letters from the same source.’

  He passes me a second. This time Barret requests a meeting with Thurloe and expresses a wish to serve him with all duty and faithfulness.

  ‘And you say that is from Willys too?’ I ask.

  ‘Tell us what you think.’

  I think I wish to get out of this alive. I apply my forensic skills as best I can.

  ‘I believe it is the same hand,’ I say.

  Hyde, a fellow lawyer, nods and passes me three more, much like the first two.

  I examine them more closely. Eventually I say: ‘There are many inconsistencies in spelling and the method of dating. There is strangely little to them. And, in the end, they reveal no great secrets for one in such a position.’

  ‘Could they be forgeries?’ asks Hyde.

  ‘They are strange. Take the first letter, for example. If I were Willys, I would put nothing incriminating in writing – no names, no events. I would simply contact Thurloe and say that I wished to speak to him. Why should I wish to leave a written record of my actions? And yet, if I were forging letters I would do much better than these. I would have had Mr Barret reveal things that were still current – and I would have had the letters over a much longer period than these few weeks. I would also have tried harder to ensure they all appeared to be from the same hand. In the end, it is the faults that convince me. They are too bad to be forgeries. But much also depends on your source. You say that somebody high up in Thurloe’s office sent them to you? That can, as I have said to Sir Michael, only be Sam Morland. Is it?’

  Hyde glances at Ripley, who shrugs. If they shoot me, it won’t matter what they’ve told me.

  ‘You are correct,’ says Hyde. ‘Morland offered some time ago to come over to us. Tell us then, can Morland be trusted? I mean, can he be trusted by us?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘He cannot be trusted by anyone. Thurloe no longer trusts him either. Had Sir Michael not cut his throat, Smithson would have reported back to Thurloe that Morland had forewarned you that the King should not travel to England.’

  ‘Precisely,’ says the King. ‘And that is why we should not believe these rumours. In spite of the other reports.’

  ‘You have other reports?’ I ask.

  ‘Last year we sent an agent to London,’ says Hyde, ‘with instructions to question certain people, including Willys himself.’

  ‘But the Sealed Knot in London was not to be told of this,’ says Ripley. ‘Not even I, who shared your suspicions.’

  ‘It was necessary that it should be so, Sir Michael,’ says Hyde. ‘We could scarcely tell any of you of the purpose of the visit. It was better that you knew nothing at all.’

  ‘Well, we heard anyway,’ says Sir Michael. ‘At least we heard that somebody was coming to London on a mission that we were not to know about.’

  ‘So that is who you thought I was?’ I say. ‘This agent sent to investigate Willys.’

  ‘Yes – until you told us that your mission was to kill Cromwell,’ says Ripley. ‘Then we began to doubt that the information we had received was correct.’

  ‘That is unimportant now,’ says Hyde. ‘Our agent – the real one – investigated as instructed and reported back. The report was that there could be little doubt that Willys had betrayed us. He was in close contact with Thurloe and was passing information to him at every opportunity.’

  ‘And how could your agent be so sure?’ I say. ‘What was the source of his information?’

  ‘Partly what Willys said,’ says Hyde. ‘But also partly what a certain John Grey had reported.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I say.

  ‘You don’t need to understand,’ says O’Neill. He has been silent for some time but, now that he speaks, the room listens. ‘Indeed, perhaps it is better that Mr Grey does not understand. I think, Your Majesty, that we have presented as much information as is necessary. We have long suspected Willys. We have the Barret letters, which Mr Grey believes to be genuine, as I do. We know from Mr Grey that Thurloe has been protecting Willys. We know that Willys has conspired with Thurloe to persuade the Sealed Knot that Mr Grey here was known to us – which he was not. I believe that Willys is complicit in some way in this ridiculous plot to lure you to England. And our agent, sent to investigate the matter and having spoken at length to Willys, believes he is false. I too was in England earlier this year, as you are aware. Thurloe seemed to know exactly where I was. Somebody was leaking information to him.’

  ‘But you escaped,’ said the King. ‘Willys ensured that you knew when Thurloe’s men were coming.’

  ‘Then Willys is playing some sort of double game that I do not understand. He must be relieved of his command at the very least. I think he should be summoned to Brussels to account for his actions.’

  The King is silent for what seems like several minutes. ‘No,’ he says.

  ‘No?’ asks Hyde.

  ‘You are all deceived,’ the King continues. ‘Willys fought as bravely as anyone for my father and has served me well since then. This is Thurloe’s plot to bring an innocent man down. Mr Grey has said very clearly that Morland is not to be trusted. These letters from Thomas Barret are Morland’s work. Then Thurloe very conveniently sends us Mr Grey with a letter for me. Thurloe has previously allowed words to drop into his conversations with Mr Grey to suggest that he might be protecting Sir Richard. He forbids Mr Grey to have contact with him, causing Mr Grey to wonder why. In short, Thurloe carefully weaves a tapestry of falsehood. When Mr Grey sees the contents of the letter, his surprise is genuine and very convincing. We are led to believe, as you did, that Willys and Thurloe have colluded. Smithson then appears to whisk Mr Grey away before he can be interrogated further – before he can question him as we are questioning him now. Had you not found Smithson and cut his throat and returned Grey to us, we might just have believed the whole story. But, as it is, we know the truth. This is a clever plan by Thurloe to deprive us of our greatest asset in England. But we, gentlemen, are cleverer than he.’

  O’Neill looks puzzled. ‘With respect, Your Majesty, whatever you may think of the other evidence, including my own, the report from our agent is unequivocal.’

  ‘But it is based, at least in part, on what Mr Grey had said. Hence it also originates with Thurloe.’

  ‘There is also,’ says Ripley, ‘the fact of Sir Richard’s having assured us that Mr Grey was vouched for in Brussels, when clearly he was not.’

  ‘Thurloe could have falsely arranged for Sir Richard to receive the necessary assurances.’

  That, of course, is also what Thurloe told me. Though I do not agree with the King, I am impressed with his reasoning. He has talked down his most senior lawyer and left him silently fuming. Th
at is no mean feat. And he has done so in order to leave himself the easiest path – that of doing nothing.

  Ripley and O’Neill look at each other.

  ‘But …’ says Ripley.

  ‘The matter is at an end,’ says the King.

  ‘And I am free to go?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ says the King. ‘You have answered honestly. It is clear that you are no agent of the Republic. We have no reason to detain you.’

  ‘I think,’ says Ripley, ‘that Your Majesty should hear from one further witness before we come to that conclusion.’

  ‘Do we not already know all that we need to know?’

  ‘Far from it, Your Majesty,’ says Ripley. ‘I have evidence that, contrary to what he tells us, Mr Grey was actively working for Thurloe all along; indeed, that he undertook other work for him – work that strikes at the heart of our designs. And he has chosen to reveal none of this to us so far.’

  ‘Who says so?’ asks the King.

  ‘Esmond Underhill,’ says Ripley. ‘Shall I call him in?’

  Mr Esmond Underhill, His Evidence

  Underhill slides into the room. On seeing the King, he wrinkles his nose as if in contempt, then makes a poor show of a bow in his direction. He is not at his ease in this company.

  ‘You are Mr Underhill?’ asks Hyde with distaste.

  ‘Yes, Sir Edward,’ says Underhill. His own loathing for Hyde is similarly not well concealed. But he does not need to conceal it. His visit here is one of mutual benefit. They need him perhaps more than he needs them. ‘Formerly Corporal of Horse in the army of my Lord Lambert,’ he adds, giving them a twisted smile. ‘I’m also a good friend of Sir Michael’s, you might say.’

  ‘You are no Royalist, I think,’ says Hyde.

  ‘Nor no lover of Cromwell,’ says Underhill.

  ‘Tell the King what you told me this morning,’ says Ripley. ‘You know Mr Grey here?’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ he replies. Underhill looks in my direction. I betrayed him, as he sees it, and in a moment his revenge may be complete. ‘Met him at Hampton Court, where he drank my brandy and promised friendship. But he’s false, that one. He informed on me to Thurloe. Told him all sorts of lies about me. Had me arrested.’

  ‘Mr Grey tells us that he was duped by Thurloe and that he worked for him no more than he had to in order to stay alive,’ says Ripley.

  ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Underhill continues. ‘He’s been a willing agent of Thurloe’s for months – years maybe.’

  ‘I did work for Thurloe once,’ I say, ‘but I left his service. You know that already.’

  ‘Why did you leave?’ asks Hyde.

  I take a deep breath. Perhaps it is best to tell the truth, or as much of it as I dare. ‘I fell out with your informant Mr Morland,’ I say.

  ‘Why?’ asks Hyde.

  A good question from the King’s Chancellor. The scene is still painfully vivid – me, Thurloe and Morland together. My accusations. Morland’s suave denial. My carefully built case crumbling before me. And all I did was to convince Thurloe, quite wrongly, that the Cliffords were plotting against the State. That I was justified in accusing Morland of being a Royalist spy does not seem a good argument in this room that is full of Royalists, many of whom are spies of one sort of another.

  ‘I had my reasons,’ I say.

  ‘Grey is full of spite and deceit,’ interposes Underhill. ‘Thurloe took him back on because he had a use for such a person. And Mr Grey has served Thurloe very diligently indeed.’

  ‘These are empty accusations,’ I point out. ‘Let Underhill give you proof that I have willingly done anything for Thurloe. He will not be able to do so.’

  ‘Can you do that, Mr Underhill?’ asks Hyde. ‘Give us proof?’

  ‘Of course. I had the honour to serve, as I say, under my Lord Lambert. Mr Grey was sent on a mission by Thurloe to sound out my Lord on his loyalty to the State. My Lord contacted me afterwards and asked if I knew anything about Mr Grey. I told him that Grey was a sneaking little fellow and not to be trusted. Lambert agreed. Grey was there to investigate on Thurloe’s behalf. Cromwell didn’t even know he’d been sent. He’s Thurloe’s agent, through and through.’

  ‘Is this true?’ asks Hyde.

  ‘I did visit Lambert,’ I say.

  ‘Why?’ asks Hyde.

  ‘As Underhill says, to sound him out.’

  ‘For Thurloe?’

  ‘For the State. Cromwell wanted a reconciliation.’

  ‘Why you? Why not somebody more senior?’

  ‘I was available.’

  Hyde nods. His need for agents is not unlike Thurloe’s. I was available.

  ‘That’s not all, though,’ says Underhill. ‘Thurloe then sent him to interrogate my Lord Fairfax.’

  ‘Did you?’ asks Hyde.

  ‘It was a similar mission,’ I say.

  ‘But hardly one for a man reluctantly doing no more than he had to,’ says Ripley.

  That is fair comment.

  ‘So why the second mission?’ asks Hyde.

  Again, Underhill kindly supplies the answer. ‘Thurloe was aware of a plot to kill Cromwell. Mr Grey was investigating it. I think you may find that that is his real reason for being in Brussels.’

  They all look at me. I have to agree that it is convincing, if wholly untrue. To say that Thurloe had told me that I no longer needed to continue my investigations after Underhill’s arrest will merely confirm that I had indeed been conducting enquiries into just that.

  ‘I have told you why I am here,’ I say.

  The King and his dog look doubtful.

  ‘So you see,’ says Ripley, ‘that is why you cannot let Mr Grey return to London. He is still working for Thurloe and we have no idea what he may have discovered.’

  ‘But,’ I say, ‘there is no scheme to kill Cromwell, other than the feeble attempts by Mr Underhill that were so easily forestalled. Apart from those, there is no plot …’

  Then I see the look on Hyde’s face, the look on O’Neill’s face, the look on Ripley’s face, the look on the King’s face. Only the dog gives nothing away. Of course there is another plot! They all know that there is another plot. And now I know too. And they know I know. They cannot let me return to London. Not now.

  ‘So,’ says the King, ‘I agree that unfortunately changes everything. What then becomes of Mr Grey?’

  ‘I shall deal with that problem, Your Majesty,’ says Ripley. He touches the scar on his face. I remember what he told me about being unforgiving. Of course, he may have been exaggerating.

  ‘In that case,’ says the King, ‘I shall probably not see you again, Mr Grey. I am sorry for it. I rather liked you. It was pleasant to talk to you about England, to which I hope to return one day. I do regret that you will not have the same opportunity.’ He rises. His dog also prepares to leave.

  ‘But,’ I protest, ‘am I to be condemned on so little evidence? If I am to be executed, do I not deserve a proper trial like the late King?’

  But I have said the wrong thing. Here at this court nobody believes that the late King was accorded a fair trial.

  ‘You have not been condemned, Mr Grey,’ says the King. ‘You are merely the victim of expediency. We cannot risk releasing you.’

  ‘You have tried to steer a middle course,’ says Hyde. ‘Sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn’t. In happier times it would have been commendable. Please do not blame yourself for the fact that we are going to have to shoot you. It is just that that is how things have turned out. The danger of keeping you alive outweighs any consequent benefit.’

  ‘Wait!’ I say, because if they do not wait I shall be dead very soon. ‘You cannot claim I have been of no service to you. I have given you information about Willys, even if you choose not to believe it. And your agent – the man that you sent to London last year – he said that I had been helpful to him.’

  ‘Man? I mentioned no man,’ says Hyde.

  The door behind us opens and I hear a familiar
voice.

  ‘I apologise for this intrusion, Your Majesty, but I came as soon as I heard that a dangerous spy had been taken.’

  I turn and there is Aminta. She shakes her head sadly. ‘Oh dear, Cousin John. You seem to have got yourself into a bit of a mess, haven’t you?’

  Aminta Pole, Her Evidence

  ‘Will somebody please explain, to me and my dog, exactly what relevance this is supposed to have to anything?’ The King looks at each of us in turn. Hyde speaks first.

  ‘When Lady Pole was in London,’ says Hyde, ‘attempting to find out the truth of the accusations against Sir Richard Willys, she used some information that had been obtained from a Mr Grey – a person of whom at that time we knew very little and had no way of connecting with Mr John Clifford until now. However, Lady Pole clearly knew Mr Grey very well.’

  ‘I therefore took the liberty of sending her a message,’ says O’Neill, ‘once I had worked out that this Grey was the same one that Lady Pole had spoken of in London. It seemed to me that she must know him better than anyone else and might be able to provide us with the reassurances we required as to his future conduct.’

  Ripley scowls at O’Neill, but the rest of us all turn to Aminta and listen.

  Aminta smiles and surveys the room. I am grateful to her for coming, but I think she may be enjoying this a little too much.

  ‘Thank you, Mr O’Neill. I am indebted to you for calling me. As Sir Edward says, I was sent to London to investigate Sir Richard Willys. Sir Edward rightly thought that a man asking questions might arouse suspicion but that a woman asking questions would be regarded as mere tittle-tattle – a harmless feminine weakness that was of no account. Such was the case. But there were also places that a woman could not easily go. I therefore took my cousin into my confidence, knowing his impeccable sentiments and strong Royalist principles. His father fought for the late King, as you may be aware. His mother too is loyal to Your Majesty. You may remember that she corresponded with you from Essex. Indeed, it was she who recommended to me that I should seek out John in London. That is true, is it not, cousin?’