Morice shook his head. ‘I do not do so freely, Your Excellency, I do assure you most sincerely upon mine own honour,’ he said vehemently.
‘Who has spoken to you of this matter?’
‘Why, sir, only Sir John.’
‘Touching myself?’
‘Only Sir John, sir. Who else is he to approach to promote his master’s scheme but you, sir?’
‘I do not like schemes, as you well know. I also know that your own opinion favours Charles Stuart, a man whose father disregarded my advice and whose House I am known to oppose.’
‘Then the new Parliament will oppose you, General Monck,’ Morice said, his voice stronger, adding with considerable feeling, ‘and that would run contrary to political sense as well as my own desires, for no-one can hold the Army in check but you and, without the Army under control, civil war…’
‘I know, I know.’ Monck waved aside Morice’s further argument. ‘I foresee all this myself.’ He paused a moment. ‘To tell thee truth, William, my mind is coming ever more to the same conclusion as yourself, but to avoid civil war will require the most careful preparation. Charles Stuart must concede much…’
‘Sir, forgive my interruption, but these details are the more fruitfully discussed with Sir John. You will see him?’
Monck nodded, thinking swiftly. ‘Dost know Tom Clarges’ mind upon this matter?
Morice nodded. ‘I essayed the proposition with him seeking his advice as to your own mind…’
‘He has said nothing of it to me.’
‘I asked him not to, sir. I did not wish to widen the circle of… of…’
‘Of conspiracy?’
‘I would not wish to call it that, Your Excellency.’
‘No, of course not, no more than I.’ Monck looked directly at Morice who felt the ice in the blue eyes melt. ‘Very well, William. Bring Grenville secretly to Tom Clarges’ house this afternoon. Go at once to Tom, tell him that Mistress Monck and I will dine with him and his wife, but not with you. Ask him to provide you with a chamber where you and Grenville may eat. I will come to you there. Tell Sir John to bring nothing with him, nothing at all. We will conduct all business by word-of-mouth. If the slightest suspicion is raised, I shall arrest him and have him carried into The Tower. He may join John Lambert and Bishop Wren,’ he jested grimly, ‘they may settle their differences in theory, at least.’
Morice was already on his feet, his eyes a-kindled with delight.
‘Stay your enthusiasm, William,’ Monck cautioned guardedly. ‘The world is as full as eyes as it is ears.’
Morice blew out his cheeks and nodded, reaching out to take Monck’s hand. ‘You will not regret this, Your Excellency.’
‘Will I not, Will? Will I not?’
Monck watched him go. ‘What was that river Gumble named?’ he asked himself. ‘The one once crossed by Caesar could never again be passed-over?’
He must speak quietly to Anne, of course; Tom Clarges he would leave to Morice; the less activity between them all the better. He only hoped Grenville could play his part without ostentation.
The hurriedly arranged meal with Tom and Mary Clarges was strained, the conversation forced. Anne, at once anxious and pleased, excited and terrified, was at her worst, feeling the need to maintain a running commentary on inconsequential nonsense. It was as well Clarges was her brother and could readily forgive her her silliness, knowing its nervous origin. As the hour struck ten Monck rose, saying nothing. Clarges followed him with a candle stick and lit him to a bed-room on the second floor. Here Monck found Morice and the younger Grenville demolishing a capon of Clarges’, a bottle between them. They both rose to their feet as Monck entered the room. As agreed, Clarges withdrew, rejoining the ladies for a game of cards.
Grenville made his bow to his distant kinsman, Morice provided a chair for Monck, who sat down without a word and fixed Sir John with his ice-blue glare.
‘I am infinitely obliged to Your Excellency for giving me the opportunity of discharging myself of a trust of great importance both to himself and to the whole Kingdom…’ Grenville began, his tone cautious.
‘Kingdom sir? That is a trifle previous of you, do you not think? Oblige me by informing me what Charles Stuart has to say to me, Sir John.’
Grenville exchanged a glance with Morice. It clearly occurred to him that he might have walked into a trap until Morice made a placatory gesture, his expression inviting Grenville to disregard Monck’s apparent hostility.
‘Well, Sir John? I am waiting.’ The General’s tone was peremptory.
Grenville drew from his breast a letter which Monck recognised contained all that brother Nicholas had attempted to seduce him with the previous July at Dalkeith. It included the offer of £100,000, Monck noted as he folded the letter with its Royal signature, and handed it back to Grenville.
‘I repudiated these terms before, Sir John. Why should my mind be changed now? Do you not consider it impertinent to approach me, given my known position in regard to the House of Stuart?’
‘I do so now, Your Excellency, as I know you for a true patriot whose every intention and action has been for the benefit of the country and its people. My master’s wishes and desires are exactly congruent –’
‘But your master’s methods would be very different, as would be his objectives.’
‘He is ready to be guided in all things by your, sir, and you alone. I am to press this matter most firmly and with every assurance of fidelity –’
‘He seeks to buy me sir. That letter says it frankly. And I am not to be bought.’
Grenville was shaking his head, deeply concerned that the encounter was not going the way Morice had hinted it would. Then, just as Grenville was about to appeal to Morice, Monck shifted ground. It was subtle at first, but then Grenville picked up the grim old soldier’s drift.
‘Does His Highness appreciate the difficulties he places me under, and the difficulties under which he would labour once His Majesty was restored to the throne of his late father?’
‘I, er, I believe so, sir, and in such matters, as I have said, he would take your advice…’
‘He must limit his thirst for vengeance. Rifts must be healed, not reopened. We stand as things presently are upon the brink of a new civil war. Were His Highness,’ Monck shrugged, affecting an ill-concealed indifference to such forms as if his stumble had been involuntary, ‘His Majesty to appear, then an outbreak of civil war would be inevitable. That I could not countenance upon any conditions, not even those of such promise as one hundred thousand pounds might induce.’ He looked deliberately at Morice, making certain the substance and impact of the bribe was understood.
‘Your Excellency, His Majesty wishes to secure you as his chief adviser.’
‘His Majesty has followers, most of whom will expect rewards, favours, posts, perquisites. His obligation to them will, in time, over-ride any such as may touch myself, besides which I shall be held in suspicion by them and, as time passes and His Majesty feels secure, their counsel will prevail, it being more congenial to the King’s desires.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Sir John, I am not such a fool as to know my advice will be ill-received.’
‘His Majesty wishes me to impress upon you his sincerity –’
‘His Majesty’s late father,’ Monck cut in with asperity, ‘whose death I most sincerely lament, was nevertheless well-known for saying one thing and doing another. Indeed, Sir John, I would venture to say within these four walls that this unfortunate and unkingly characteristic led him the more directly to the block than any other.’
‘And that is why you so publically repudiate the House of Stuart?’
‘Just so.’ Morice was frowning now, uncertain of Monck’s cast of mind. It occurred to him that perhaps, after all, apart from soldiering, the old man really was as stupid as many claimed. It seemed to Morice, in that bleak moment, that Monck had either set back the Royalist cause, or stuck his own head into the hangma
n’s noose. Grenville, by contrast, was brightening.
‘Your Excellency, I do most honestly assure you that His Majesty is fully aware of his father’s follies. He is a different man in all respects and pledges to you with every possible means that my poor advocacy is inadequate to express that he will be now and hereafter guided by you.’
A long silence, followed during which Monck’s head fell forward with every appearance of him having suddenly fallen asleep. Morice and Grenville exchanged glances of concern; a sense of farce suddenly obtruded into the room. Then, just as Grenville was about to utter words of exasperation, Monck threw his head back. Had either men known him better, or seen him on campaign, they might have recognised the General’s odd, if occasional habit. He rose to his feet, compelling his companions to do likewise, and turned to Morice.
‘Do you wait without and guard us. I would have private words with my cousin.’
Morice bowed and withdrew. Monck then closed the distance between himself and Grenville, and hugged him.
‘Cousin, tell His Majesty of this embrace. The King must forgive me what is past as well as others the same. My heart has been torn by these late wars and separations, but assure His Majesty that my life and fortune are at His Majesty’s service on such conditions as he has laid down.’ Monck stepped back, holding Grenville at arms’ length. ‘Do not play me false, Cousin. What I say I mean. I shall not hold His Majesty to the promise of the sum on offer, no nor to any rewards either, but I will hold him and thee to your honourable words. Should I hang, you will too.’
‘Your Excellency will not regret what you have promised,’ Grenville smiled.
‘One thing more. You shall say nothing to any man of what we have here spoken this evening save to your master. I insist and charge thee that His Majesty perfectly comprehends those matters which he must concede and that his agreement to be guided by me is absolute. When you return with his answer you should come occasionally and show your face at The Cockpit. Importune me publically, but do not take offence if I publically spurn you. I have much to do and so have you. Do I make myself quite clear?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Only thus can we carry matters to a conclusion. Tom Clarges, my brother-in-law shall be courier between us.’
‘I understand.’
‘Then do you play the game until our next encounter. And now I wish you good-night.’
Morice returned to the room as Grenville left. Monck sat in his chair once more, his head fallen onto his breast. ‘It is done,’ he said heavily, looking up. Morice was astonished to see tears in Monck’s eyes.
‘The King, Excellency?’ Morice whispered.
‘Just so, William. And I shall likely die for it.’ Monck stirred himself and stood, touching Morice affectionately on the shoulder. ‘But before it comes to that pass, I shall sleep.’
*
Whether or not he was prompted, Monck never knew and never afterwards enquired, but three days later Mr Speaker Lenthall waited upon Monck as though upon official business connected with the impending election.
‘Your Excellency,’ Lenthall had begun when the two men were settled over wine and tobacco, ‘I am minded to raise my concerns about the probability of the new Parliament carrying a motion for the Restoration of the Monarchy. I know you to have given assurances to the Army that cavalier Members will be excluded, but the temper of the times is such that more than just those cavaliers have come to the conclusion that if it could be contrived that a monarchy could be re-established with some undertaking that a future King, whosoever he might be, bowed to Parliament, or laid itself open to Ministers commanding Parliamentary supporters…’
‘I note you speak in general terms, as befits your former place as Speaker, Mister Lenthall, but pray, as I assert my own mind, what is yours?’
‘I note you do not reveal your own,’ Lenthall side-stepped Monck’s direct question.
‘Surely you know it.’
‘Mmmm. I should be for what best serves the Nation, General Monck. That, I judge, is your position.’
‘Quite so. And if what best served the Nation meant…’
‘Let us not speak of it, sir, but please peruse this.’ Lenthall produced from a leather case a document that a mere glance showed was a complicated argument. Still, it was not difficult to divine its purpose.
‘This,’ said Monck, wagging the sheaf of papers so that they rustled like dry grass between them, ‘is for the King’s return.’
‘It is.’
‘And does it speak for you, or for a mere intellectual possibility?’
‘It speaks for itself,’ prevaricated Lenthall.
‘Really.’ Monck flicked the sheets, of which there were too many. ‘This is too much the legal brief for me, Mister Lenthall.’
‘But it stands, General Monck, as a perfect argument to serve those men of goodwill whose only interest is the welfare of the Nation…’
‘You mean, I take it, of the welfare of the Kingdom… the Three Kingdoms, no less?’
Monck looked at Lenthall who nodded, but said not a word. Monck returned the papers to Lenthall who took them, replacing them in his bag as Monck said, quietly: ‘Then I have no need to read them, Mr Lenthall.’
The two men shook hands. There was nothing further that needed to be said.
*
On the 9th April, John Lambert escaped from The Tower. Word swiftly reached London that he had raised the standard of rebellion in Worcestershire, on the field of Edgehill where, years earlier, the Stuart fortunes had foundered in favour of the Parliament’s. A furious Monck was told just as he was about to send Dick Cann north to Morgan in Scotland on a most secret mission to sound out the little Welsh dragoon on the temper of himself and his forces regarding a Restoration of the Monarchy. Eager to race in pursuit of Lambert himself, Monck was tempted to forsake politics, immerse himself in a military campaign once more and strangle forever the endless factionalism that his quondam rival Lambert personified. Common-sense prevailed; had he left London at that point there was no saying what might happen.
‘Damn John Lambert to perdition!’ he swore, telling William Clarke to send for Colonel Ingoldsby. Ingoldsby was among the Regicides, the men who had signed the Death Warrant of King Charles in 1649, and the duty Monck laid upon him would test the loyalty of the old guard among the senior officers of the New Model Army. Within a fortnight, Richard Ingoldsby had cornered Lambert near Daventry, taken his surrender and restored him to The Tower. The episode was short-lived, Lambert’s support having proved small, a fact noted by Monck, among others.
What was called the Convention Parliament assembled on the 27th April. Among its Members was George Monck himself who, having been elected for both Cambridge University and Devon, chose to sit for his native shire. Among the first business of the chamber was to settle the affairs of the Army, vote it was paid and confirm Monck as the ‘Lord-General under Parliament of all the land forces in England, Scotland and Ireland’. Monck was also appointed a General-at-Sea, a post in which he was joined by Sir Edward Montagu. The few assembled Lords, now again conjoined with the Commons, agreed with the lower House that the manor and palace of Hampton Court should be made over to Monck as his official residence, adding £20,000 for his public services. Anne’s pleasure in this was naturally tempered by what she knew was cooking. On three occasions her husband, finding the importunate Sir John Grenville in his awaiting-room, had dismissed him with a cheery ‘Good night, Cousin, ’tis late!’
No-one made any secret of Grenville’s loyalties and, after the seriousness of his warning to her, Anne was perplexed at the freedom George allowed his cousin, a fact commented upon by others. But George would say nothing beyond ‘wait and see,’ which did nothing to slake either Anne’s curiosity or her anxiety. Until, that is, one evening when she found the two men in deep conversation in her bed-room. By this time, Grenville’s presumed purpose to attempt the seduction of his kinsman in the favour of Charles Stuart had given way to an even more
alarming speculation.
The Parliament’s constitution was, as had been predicted, overwhelmingly in favour of the Restoration of the Monarchy, only sixteen of the old Rumpers being present. Notwithstanding this majority and the collapse of Lambert’s pathetic rebellion, the radical fanatics had not given up. The ever ingenious Sir Arthur Haselrig began a poisonous campaign against Monck himself, blackening his name with all the ingenuity a lifetime of sophistry could muster. Unsurprisingly, Clarke, as Monck’s ‘Intelligencer’, was the first to get wind of it.
‘They are now saying that of course you are against the restoration of Charles Stuart to the throne because you seek a higher place for yourself and your line.’
‘What nonsense is this now?’ Monck set down the letter he was reading and gave Clarke his full attention.
‘Haselrig, drawing an inference from the fact that Plantagenet blood flows in your veins, cries aloud that you aspire to the Crown. This purports to show your lineal descent…’ He handed Monck a printed pamphlet, adding with a tone of incredulity: ‘He gilds his assertion by saying you claim a right predating that of the Tudors.’
‘By the Blood of Christ, is there no end to that man’s folly!’ Monck’s fury was obvious. He rose and paced the room, wishing he had simply had Haselrig thrown into The Tower like Lambert. ‘That man not three weeks ago claimed that if I restored the Stuarts as Stanley placed the Tudors on the throne I should, like Stanley, be too great a man to live! The bastard would execute me if he had half a chance on such a notion! And these men see themselves fit to rule… Christ in His heaven, give me patience!’
‘He adduces the evidence that you have had Parliament confer upon you the Palace of Hampton Court.’
‘For which I never asked…’
‘No, but that cuts nothing with them. A dissembler cannot stand the sight of an honest man, sir. Besides, Haselrig claims that you had no right to state, as you did before the dissolution of the Rump, that you can guarantee the peace of the Nation by virtue of the loyalty of the Army.’
‘Pah! There may have been some substance to his remark then, but after Lambert’s failure he could not say so now.’
Sword of State: The Remarkable Story of George Monck Page 47
