by Stella Riley
‘Indeed,’ agreed Ashley. Then, to Athenais, ‘Are you happy?’
She nestled a little closer, one hand stealing inside his shirt to settle against his bare shoulder. It was a gesture Ashley was beginning to become familiar with and which seemed to make his brain go soft.
‘More than happy. Actually, there isn’t a word for how I feel at the moment.’
‘Homicidal?’ he teased. ‘I thought you wanted to murder me?’
‘I did. And I should. But it might have to wait until tomorrow.’
For a long time, the silence was broken only by the crackling of the fire. Then, looking dreamily into her new husband’s eyes, Athenais said, ‘What are you thinking about?’
Ashley tilted her chin to gaze at her with an expression that made her heart turn over.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said.
* * *
In later years, Pere Henri would talk of that marriage service. He’d explain that it wasn’t the rarity of the double wedding that made it memorable … or the fact that one of the grooms had proposed to his bride right there in church … or even the unexpected presence of a King. It was the way the eyes of the brides and grooms never strayed from each other and the depth of emotion redolent in their responses. And something else. A thing he’d never seen before. A moment of pure spirituality as a beam of golden light fought its way past the high, dirty windows to illuminate the altar plate … which in turn, reflected that light back on the faces of the four young people kneeling before him.
Throughout the rest of his long career, Père Henri looked out for that stray beam at every marriage service he conducted, hoping that one day he’d see it again.
He never did.
~ * * ~ * * ~
EPILOGUE
London - April 1653
‘Go! Get you out! Take away that shining bauble there and lock up the doors!’
Oliver Cromwell to the Rump Parliament
Colonel Maxwell heard nothing further about the assassination conspiracy until the beginning of April when Thomas Scot walked in and tossed a report on his desk.
‘Decode that, would you? It’s from one of our agents in Paris and may be of interest.’ He paused, on his way to the door. ‘God knows why whoever sorts the correspondence can’t deliver it to the right place. I waste half my time looking at stuff that’s either meant for you or should have gone to Thurloe’s office – and it’s intensely irritating.’
Eden waved the paper at Scot’s retreating back and settled down to his task. Since the code was one of his own, it didn’t take long. The agent had picked up two possibly related rumours. First, that a certain Major Deane, along with another so far unnamed gentleman, had been taken by Chancellor Hyde’s fellows and were currently under interrogation; and secondly, that the corpses of two troopers known to have served under Deane had been found on the quayside at Honfleur. The agent asked, with some asperity, what – if anything – had been going on and why he had not been informed of it. A hastily added postscript said that Prince Rupert was expected to join his cousin in Paris in the next few days.
Guarding his expression, Eden took the transposed letter next door to Scot and suggested that he read it. Scot did, then looked up frowning.
‘I know nothing about any of this. Why is that, do you think?’
‘Presumably, because orders for whatever it was didn’t come from this office.’
‘Exactly.’ Scot stood up, half-crumpling Eden’s transcript in his hand. ‘Thurloe, again. Must he have his fingers in everything?’ And he stormed out.
Eden watched him go, hoping that the report meant what he thought it did; that Francis and the unknown Colonel Peverell had succeeded in their mission. Like everyone these days, he could do with some cheering news.
London was a cauldron of discontent, most of which was aimed at the Rump. The Dutch War was disrupting trade to an unacceptable degree and the price of coal had tripled because the ships carrying it from Newcastle rarely made the journey unmolested. Then there was the expense of prosecuting the war itself and the number of men being pressed into service for the Navy. Inevitably, the populace was sick of the whole thing and wanted to see an end. But though Cromwell had been calling for peace negotiations for the best part of a month, Parliament had so far refused to do anything about it. And the result was that people in the streets were saying that even a Cavalier Parliament would have more integrity than the one currently sitting at Westminster.
And that wasn’t the worst of it. More than half of the seats in Westminster Hall had been empty for years, making the Rump a national joke … but the manner of how to fill them was a matter of heated dispute. Determined to retain their own seats, Harry Vane and his supporters were pushing a Bill to recruit men of their own choosing to occupy the vacancies. The Army wanted Parliament completely dissolved followed by an immediate general election. The result was deadlock and a mass of ill-feeling.
At home in Cheapside, Deborah grumbled about rising prices and Tobias, when he could be prised out of his workshop, merely said what Eden knew already. That, if the Rump had its way, there might never be a full election ever again. So it was good to see the smile on Nicholas’s face when he heard that the conspiracy against the King’s life seemed to have been successfully foiled.
‘I knew Ash could do it,’ he said simply. ‘I just hope he and Francis came through it alive.’
‘Since they’ve landed two of the assassins in prison and left another two dead at the scene, I imagine they’re all right. But if you wanted to write to them now, there shouldn’t be any harm in it so long as you’re careful what you say.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Eden smiled. ‘You said you thought Francis was in love – which isn’t something I can easily imagine even without what you’ve told me of the lady in question. So I’m curious to hear of any developments.’
By the fifteenth of the month, the Rump was still doggedly pursuing its Bill for selecting new Members ‘of known integrity, fearing God and not scandalous in their conversation’. And four days later, having spoken in favour of a new Parliament and been ignored, Cromwell called a conference between the Army Officers and the existing Members at his apartments in Whitehall.
Eden sat at the back amongst some of his fellow Colonels and resigned himself to a long day and a numb backside. Oliver, it appeared, had a Plan which he’d already discussed with senior officers such as Lambert, Harrison and Desborough. They might have liked it; Harry Vane and his fellow Members didn’t – and neither did the lawyers. Eden wasn’t surprised. Basically, Cromwell was suggesting temporarily replacing the entire Parliamentary system with a limited body of Godly men – purely, he said, until the country was used to the new order and Parliamentary government could be restored. The resulting debate on the advantages, disadvantages and legalities or otherwise of this raged on all afternoon, right through the evening and late into the night – by which time Eden had a pain between his shoulder-blades and a nagging headache. But finally the MP’s grudgingly agreed to halt progress on their Bill to recruit new Members and to meet with Cromwell and the Officers again on the following afternoon for further discussion.
Eden walked out of Whitehall thinking irritably, Further discussion? Really? Is there anything left that they haven’t already said three or four times already? God. Am I being punished for something?
Not bothering with the cold supper Deborah had left ready for him, he collapsed into bed beside her, gathered her into his arms and immediately fell asleep. Then, next morning, he rose well before she woke and prepared to attempt to cram a day’s work into the few hours he had before being doomed to another wasted afternoon.
It didn’t happen. At shortly before midday, he was alerted to the fact that all hell was breaking out at Westminster Hall. It seemed that Vane and the rest had reneged on their promise of the previous night – and that Cromwell, on being informed of it, had gone down to the House to see for himself. Except, as it turned out, that wasn’t all
he had done. He’d also taken forty or so musketeers with him … and, after telling the House exactly what he thought of it, had summarily dissolved Parliament by force.
Throughout the next couple of hours, Eden heard most of the details and, by the time he walked down to Westminster, it was all over. The Hall was deserted, the entrances all padlocked … and some witty fellow had wasted no time in pinning a note to the doors.
THIS HOUSE IS TO LET:
NOW UNFURNISHED
* * *
Eden walked home, deep in thought and then sought out his brother in the workshop. He said, ‘Have you heard what happened today?’
‘Mm?’ Tobias was hunched over something that sparked blue.
Eden sighed. ‘Toby. Could you stop work for just a few moments please?’
Reluctantly, Tobias turned his head and let his gaze focus on his brother.
‘What?’
‘Cromwell has dissolved the Rump.’
This finally engaged Tobias’s full attention.
‘Has he? Well, good for him!’
‘No. I’m not sure that it’s good at all. Look – I’d like to talk to you, if only to clear my head. And I really need a drink. Do you think we might go upstairs?’
Recognising the trouble in Eden’s eyes, Tobias laid down his work and said, ‘Lead on. Wine sounds good. And I wouldn’t mind a slice of pie, if there’s any going.’
Once settled in the parlour with food and drink, Eden said, ‘Last night, Vane agreed to hold fire on the Bill to fill the empty seats with specially chosen members. This morning he tried to rush it through without Cromwell’s knowledge. Cutting a long story short, Oliver called the existing Members every name under the sun. He called them mercenary wretches, thieves and prostitutes. He accused them of immoral practices and told them they had no more religion than his horse. He --’
Tobias gave a snort of laughter.
‘Yes. I know. But what he did next isn’t so funny. He called in a company of musketeers under Lieutenant-Colonel Worsley and had them drive out the Members by force – on peril of their lives, he said. Apparently, Harrison personally hauled Lenthall from the Speaker’s chair and Cromwell had the mace removed … that shining bauble, I believe he called it … and the doors locked and barred.’ Eden paused, frowning. ‘As of noon today, England has no legal government at all.’
‘A lot of people would say we’re unlikely to notice the difference.’
‘I daresay. And a lot of other people will remember what happened in January of 1642 when the late King went into the House to arrest five of its members. Parliament called that a breach of privilege – and it was. It was also the straw that tipped the country into civil war. And the only difference between that and what Oliver did today will be what happens next.’ Staring moodily at the slice of pie he was pushing round his platter, Eden said, ‘Four years ago, Cromwell took the late King’s head. These days, he holds audiences in the Banqueting House, just as Charles used to do and now he’s dispensed with Parliament. Perhaps I’m reading too much into it … but it seems to me that he’s creating a king-sized space for himself. And, if that’s to be the case, I don’t know what I – or indeed any of us – fought for.’
Tobias helped himself to the contents of his brother’s plate and took a bite. Finally, he said thoughtfully, ‘No. I would suppose not. So what will you do?’
‘That’s just it. I don’t know.’
‘Can you get leave of absence while you think about it?’
Eden blinked. ‘Yes … I imagine Lambert would give me permission.’
‘Then why don’t you do it? Take yourself out of London for a time and consider your options. You haven’t been to Thorne Ash since you wrote and told them about Celia – so spend a few days with the family.’ Another bite of Eden’s pie followed the first. ‘After that, you must have friends you can talk to. Colonel Brandon, for example.’
The thought of being able to sit down and thrash everything out with Gabriel was suddenly overwhelmingly appealing. His expression lightening, Eden said slowly, ‘That is such a good idea, I wish I’d thought of it myself.’ And, with a grin, ‘It’s almost – and I do mean almost – enough to make me forgive you for stealing my pie. Again.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
Author’s Note
Even though it is seen through the eyes of three fictional characters, I have – as always – made the details of the Worcester campaign as accurate as possible.
The same is true with regard to French theatre of the period. Petit-Jean Laroque was indeed the manager of the Théâtre du Marais where Corneille’s Le Cid was revived in 1652, sixteen years after having originally been premiered there; and Floridor was the actor-manager of the Marais’s rival company at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, where Cyrano de Bergerac forcibly removed Montfleury from the stage.
Cyrano – duellist, playwright and amateur scientist – was not quite the lovelorn fellow with the immense nose of Edmond Rostand’s play. He would have been about the same age as Francis and Ashley, had retired from the military by the time this story is set and was to die in 1655, aged 36.
Though details are sketchy, there are references to a plot formulated by Thurloe in which Charles and the Duke of York were to be lured to the coast of France and assassinated. At a time when Cromwell was talking to Bulstrode Whitlock about making himself King, such a plot is by no means inconceivable. However, in the absence of concrete information and because Calais was in Spanish hands at the time, I have chosen to set this Honfleur – with which my home town of Sandwich is twinned.
The matter of whether or not Charles the Second married Lucy Walter was to raise its head many times after the Restoration – most notably when it became clear that Charles was never going to have a legitimate son and that his heir would be his Catholic brother, the Duke of York. The Duke of Monmouth, Charles’ son by Lucy, was Protestant and therefore the preferred choice of many. A good deal of pressure was put upon the King to declare him legitimate … but he never did, always maintaining that his brother was his rightful heir.
Thank you for reading The King’s Falcon. I hope you have enjoyed it.
If you can spare a few minutes to post a brief review, this would be greatly appreciated by myself and extremely helpful to other readers.
Stella Riley
October 2014
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