Pausing only to acknowledge the presence of his most loyal subjects, the King strode the length of the room and slumped down on a high-backed chair, placed throne-like against the far wall. A parody of a throne, in a parody of a court, Daniel thought.
Charles scanned the room as if looking for someone.
‘Where is the man my cousin sent?’ he demanded.
Daniel had presented himself to Sir Edward Hyde earlier that day, bearing letters from the King’s cousin, Louis XIV of France. Now Hyde’s gaze sought out Daniel standing at the window.
‘Come forward, Lovell,’ he said.
Daniel squared his shoulders and stepped forward, bowing again to the King.
The King looked him up and down.
‘I thank you for your role as courier, Master Lovell,’ he said. ‘I trust you found my cousin well?’
Daniel could afford to smile. His audience with Louis had been brief. On their return to France, Broussard had produced him as another trophy – the Englishman turned French privateer. It seemed to amuse Louis.
‘An English privateer on a French vessel?’ Louis had enquired with a cocked eyebrow. ‘We have heard stories of the exploits of such an Englishman. What do they call you … ? Ah yes; Le Loup Anglais.’
‘I assure you, a reputation undeserved,’ Daniel had responded.
On a ship of escaped slaves and convicts, the anonymity of a nickname, deserved or ironic, became part of the legend of L’Archange. However, in his case he knew the nickname, “the English Wolf”, had been earned.
L’Archange needed to return to France for repairs, ending the career of the English Wolf. He had become once more plain Daniel Lovell, with letters bearing the royal seal of Louis XIV for his cousin Charles II of England.
‘Your cousin is a most interesting man,’ Daniel replied to Charles’s question.
‘Alas, I am something of an embarrassment to him.’ Charles’s hooded eyes seemed to recede further back in his skull at the thought of his cousin. ‘You look familiar, Lovell. Have we met before?’
The question surprised Daniel, reminding him once again that this man had the greatness of kings about him. ‘Once, briefly, a long time ago. At Worcester.’
The lines on Charles’s face settled into deeper grooves. ‘Ah … Worcester … ’
The atmosphere in the room shifted, an indefinable rustling like the dried leaves of an autumn tree. There would be many here who stood shoulder to shoulder with the King on that day.
Daniel nodded, and for a moment they were both transported back to that moment when two young men had thought they were invincible.
The King waved a forefinger at Daniel’s face. ‘A legacy of Worcester?’
Daniel touched the scar that scribed his right cheekbone, serving as a visible reminder to all who saw him of that terrible day. Beneath his severe clothes, no one would see the other scars, the long lines that crossed his back and circled his wrists. Those too were a legacy of Worcester.
‘Hyde here tells me you have something of an interesting history. How did you come to be aboard a French privateer?’
Daniel hunched his shoulders, an almost unconscious habit he used to release the tautness of the scars that marred his back. He had been circumspect in how much he had revealed to Hyde and he repeated the story.
‘After Worcester, I was sent to Barbados,’ he began, conscious of a murmur rising in the room behind him. Barbados had been a death sentence and he had survived.
‘I escaped the plantation to which I had been assigned and threw my lot in with the crew of L’Archange,’ he said with a casual shrug.
A slow smile lightened the King’s saturnine countenance. ‘I assume you had little alternative, my friend.’
Daniel ducked his head in agreement.
‘I’m not sure our friends in London have taken too kindly to the predation on English ships,’ Hyde said.
Daniel fixed the courtier with a hard stare. ‘We carried lettres de marque from Louis. We were not pirates.’
The King’s moustache twitched. ‘A fine distinction, my friend. Has it made you a wealthy man?’
Daniel hesitated. The five years of privateering had netted him a comfortable sum. Sufficient to restore a life in England he had not known since before the war, but hardly a fortune.
The King laughed and held up a hand. ‘You do not need to tell me. Indeed, I do not wish to know.’ He leaned an elbow on the arm of his chair and inclined his head. ‘So why have you returned now?’
‘I heard that Cromwell is dead,’ Daniel responded.
‘But you are still an escaped prisoner, are you not, and a privateer? No doubt there is a price on your head.’ The King leaned his elbow on his chair, stroking his moustache.
Daniel shrugged. ‘Possibly, but that is not why I am here, Your Majesty. I am seeking news of my brother, Christopher Lovell. He –’
A hush fell on the room, and the back of Daniel’s neck prickled.
‘Do you mean Kit Lovell?’ Hyde asked.
The breath caught in Daniel’s throat as the King frowned. ‘Lovell?’
‘You recall the man, Your Majesty. That affair of Gerard?’ Hyde leaned down to whisper in the King’s ear, and Daniel’s sense of foreboding trebled.
‘Good God, I thought I knew your face.’ An unfamiliar voice came from the courtiers behind him and, the tension broken, Daniel turned to see the speaker, a trim man of middle height with light brown hair curling to his shoulder.
He too looked familiar, but Daniel could not immediately place him. There had been many visitors to Eveleigh during the long years of the war. He could have been one of many.
‘Sir, you have the advantage of me,’ Daniel responded.
‘Longley,’ the man replied with a bow. ‘Giles Longley. We played cards on the eve of Worcester — your brother, Jonathan Thornton, and I. Do you recall?’
Daniel stared at the man as small snatches of memory began to snap into place. A card game on the eve of Worcester, Kit and his friends playing their last hand before the battle that would decide their fates. They had tried to warn him but he had not heeded their words.
The arrogance of youth.
In the long years that had followed, he had often wondered what had become of them, the men that he had called the Guardians of the Crown. In his mind they all lay dead on that field of battle.
If Longley still lived, then maybe there was hope for Kit?
Daniel swallowed. ‘A lifetime ago, my Lord,’ he replied hoarsely.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the King glance at Hyde. Whatever private message passed between them, Hyde acknowledged it with a slight inclination of his head.
The King straightened in his chair. ‘You are welcome, Lovell. Welcome to my court and, God willing, soon to be welcome in a peaceful England.’
Daniel’s lips curled. ‘I am not so certain of the last sentiment, Your Majesty. As you pointed out, there will be some in London who would like to see me hanged for my alleged crimes.’
‘They’ll have to catch you first, my friend, and it seems you have your brother’s aptitude for evasion. Longley,’ the King indicated the dapper Viscount. ‘Take our friend Lovell and introduce him to the joys of this town. They do good ale, but not much else I am afraid, Lovell.’
Dismissed, Daniel bowed and left the room, his question unanswered.
***
‘Tell me, Lovell, why have you come back now?’ Longley asked as a greasy and ill-tempered pot boy slammed down their ales, slopping most of it on to the table.
Daniel looked around the crowded taproom. A haze of tobacco smoke hung in the air, tinged with smoke from the huge fire that burned at one end of the room. A fug of unwashed bodies and boiled cabbage completed the picture. He could not have been further from the dens of Fort Royal in Martinique, and it felt good.
He took a draught of the excellent ale and considered his reply.
‘As I said, Cromwell’s dead. His son is fled to the Continent. The ti
me is right for the King to return.’ He paused. ‘For us all to return. How many years has it been since you were last in England?’
Longley sighed. ‘I’ve not been back since my own escape from Worcester. Is it really eight years?’ He took a swig from his tankard, brushing foam from his well-groomed moustache. ‘I long to return, but it is not quite so simple, my impetuous friend. We must see the King legally restored by the will of the people. Until such time we continue to bide here. Exile teaches you patience.’
Daniel smiled. ‘Patience has never been one of my virtues, my lord. I have paid my dues and I am no longer a raw youth hungry for his first taste of battle. The simple fact is, I want to go home.’
Giles studied him for a long moment. ‘Longley will do … and no, you’re not a raw youth. I can only guess at what you have endured over the last eight years. But why would you risk going back now? Why not wait?’
The questions surprised Daniel. It had not occurred to him to kick his heels within plain sight of England.
He considered his response. ‘Let me just say I have some unfinished business.’
‘Ah,’ Longley’s moustache twitched. ‘I can only guess at what that means.’
Daniel studied the older man. ‘I saw my father murdered in cold blood on the step of his own home, my lord. I cannot forget. I intend to find the man who gave that order.’
Longley’s mouth tightened and he set his beer down on the sticky table. ‘I counsel you now. The King does not want to see more blood spilled. If there is to be any reckoning, it will be at his hand. Who is the man you seek?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘It is none of your concern, my lord. I came here seeking news of my brother, no other reason. No one has yet provided me with an answer.’
Longley’s fingers beat a tattoo on the worn and stained tabletop. He sighed heavily. ‘I am sorry it falls to me to break the news, but your brother is dead.’
Daniel had long since learned to school his face to betray nothing, but his jaw tightened and the word seemed to come through stiffened lips. ‘Worcester?’
Longley shook his head. ‘No. Kit Lovell survived Worcester. He may even have been a prisoner like yourself … but he managed to get away. I came across him in Paris the year after Worcester, but he couldn’t settle to an exile’s life and went back to London. He kept company with others like himself. I believe they used to gather in a hostelry in the Old Bayly. What was it called … oh, yes, the Ship Inn. How could I forget – they called it the Ship Inn Plot.’
‘The Ship Inn plot?’
Longley waved a hand. ‘That was one. Kit got himself involved in several plots to overthrow Cromwell and restore the King. None had the consent of the King, and mostly they were so foolish that even Cromwell laughed and set the plotters free.’ He frowned. ‘But even the Lord Protector’s sense of humour failed when John Gerard brought over a French assassin. They may have succeeded had it not been for a traitor in their midst who betrayed them. Your brother was one of those caught and hanged.’
The breath left Daniel’s body at the bald words “caught and hanged” and he looked away. His invincible brother, Kit, dead at the end of a hangman’s rope – an ignoble end.
After all the years of believing Kit dead, it was as if he had died all over again. On a subliminal level, he realised now, there had always been a hope that Kit had survived, but now a hundred thoughts crashed together. What had become of his grandfather … his mother … his sister?
‘Hanged?’ he managed to say with a voice that cracked with emotion. ‘When?’
Longley frowned. ‘It would have been the summer of ’54.’
Daniel cleared his throat. ‘Another wrong to right when the King is restored, my lord?’
‘Indeed,’ Longley replied. ‘Those who died in the King’s name will be pardoned and those, like me, who had everything stolen from them will have it returned, but what we remember so fondly may be sorely tested by reality,’ Longley said. ‘What of your home? Cheshire, I believe?’
‘Eveleigh Priory, about five miles out of Chester, but as you say, the word “home” is an illusion, my lord. Parliament’s men, led by a man by the name of Tobias Ashby, destroyed it in ’48. My mother and sister were living in a few surviving rooms, reliant on Kit for whatever money he could spare.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘With my brother dead, I have no idea what has become of my family.’
Longley’s moustache twitched. ‘Have you had no contact with them?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘No. While I was plying my dubious trade as a privateer, I considered it prudent to leave my mother and sister in the belief I was probably dead. How many times can you ask your family to grieve for one person?’
Longley considered him for a long moment. ‘Why would your family have believed you dead?’
Daniel switched his gaze to a far corner of the room. ‘They sent me to Barbados,’ he said. ‘How many return from that hellhole?’
Longley frowned, and probably would have continued his interrogation had it not been for the appearance of Sir Edward Hyde, pushing his way through the patrons to where they sat in their dark corner.
‘You were not easy to find,’ Hyde complained as he sat down, unbidden, and summoned the tap boy for another jar of ale.
‘I wasn’t aware you were looking for us?’ Longley leaned back in his chair and picked up his ale.
‘The King has a mission for you, Lovell,’ Hyde said without preamble.
Daniel looked at the man. ‘But the King knows nothing of me. Why would he entrust me with a mission?’
Hyde’s moustache twitched. ‘Whatever else the King may be, he is a shrewd judge of character. Your brother had certain talents and there is a hope that maybe you have inherited them.’ He glanced at Longley. ‘You’ve told him?’
Longley nodded.
Hyde’s mouth tightened. ‘You’ll hear stories about your brother, so be prepared.’
Longley raised a hand. ‘Not now, Ned … ’
Hyde glared at him. ‘Why not now? It’s better he is prepared, is it not?’
Daniel looked from one to the other. ‘What stories?’
‘There are those who believe he may have been in the employ of Cromwell,’ Hyde said. ‘In fact, he may have been the one to betray Gerard and the others to Thurloe.’
Daniel pushed his chair back from the table, a white spark of anger flaring in his breast. ‘Kit? A traitor? Never! He was a king’s man to the bone.’
Hyde waved him back to his seat. ‘Calm yourself. I cannot say with certainty if there is truth to the stories; I merely repeat what some who were closer to the events believe.’
‘If he were indeed a traitor, why would they hang him?’ Daniel glanced at Longley.
‘Unlike his fellow conspirators, his execution was private, conducted in the grounds of the Tower itself. No one can say with certainty that Kit Lovell died at the end of a rope,’ Hyde replied.
Daniel shook his head as the enormity of what Hyde implied sunk in. It seemed impossible that his brother, the man he had known all his life would turn his coat, but if it were true, could Kit still be alive? Coming here had raised more questions than it had answers.
‘Enough about your brother. I told you we have a commission for you.’ Hyde dismissed the fate of Kit Lovell with a wave of his hand.
‘You know nothing about me,’ Daniel repeated.
Hyde glanced at Longley, who shrugged.
‘What we know is that, like your brother, you are dead, are you not, Master Lovell? According to the official stories, you were sent to Barbados where you died of a fever.’
So that was the story Outhwaite had put out.
‘Every second prisoner died of fever,’ Daniel said.
‘But you didn’t. You escaped, and I am curious as to how a dead man is sitting here having an ale with us on a chilly night in the Low Countries.’
Daniel looked from one man to the other. ‘I told you. I escaped … I was rescued by French privateers �
�� that is all.’
Hyde shrugged. ‘It makes no difference. Since Cromwell’s death the mood in England has changed. The time is right for the King to return but this, as you can understand, is no simple matter. There has been a group of men operating in secret with the King’s commission. They call themselves the Sealed Knot but they have been relatively ineffective since Penruddock’s uprising back in ’55. Earlier this year the King issued a second commission. Part of that commission was to organise simultaneous uprisings across the countryside, but the reach of the spy network set up by John Thurloe is long and we may as well have set up a town crier in the centre of London. The uprising in Cheshire was quickly defeated and unfortunately one of our key supporters, James Ashby –’
Daniel started and Hyde looked at him, his eyes narrowing. ‘You know the man?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘My pardon, I recognise the name Ashby, but the man I knew wore the uniform of Parliament.’
‘Oh, you mean Colonel Tobias Ashby? A cousin, I believe. He has done well in the favour of Oliver Cromwell.’ He shook his head, his mouth tightening. ‘He commanded the martyred King’s escort on the day of his murder.’
Tobias Ashby, that hard man of the Parliamentary forces who had issued the order to his men to shoot down Thomas Lovell in cold blood.
Murder and Tobias Ashby seemed to have much in common.
‘Who is the Ashby to whom you refer?’ Daniel changed the subject.
‘James Ashby. You may know him as the Earl of Elmhurst of Charvaley Castle in Lancashire.’
Daniel frowned. He had vague recollections of his father talking about Elmhurst but he could not remember meeting the man himself.
Hyde shrugged. ‘He gave some nominal support to the King’s cause during the wars, but rumour is he was equally as forthcoming to those who came on behalf of Parliament. Whatever his true feelings, his home at Charvaley survived intact and unmolested. Like many we will encounter in the next few months, who trim their cloth to the wind, after the death of Cromwell, James Ashby professed his loyalty to the King, and being in a position of some influence and power in the north, the King named him in his commission. A few months ago his men captured a consignment of coin bound for York. Charvaley was used as the hiding place. It was to have been passed on to our agents, but Ashby was taken before the handover could be affected and we believe the coin is still at Charvaley.’
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