The Soldier, the Gaoler, the Spy and her Lover

by Simon Parke

  But on her arrival at Hampton Court she was aware of dissonance in the air. There were more soldiers than usual and no peace. Instead, there was the dull sense of rage and a heavy cloud of blame.

  ‘And who are you?’ asked a soldier, accusingly.

  ‘A servant of the king,’ said Jane.

  ‘A servant who travels to and fro at will? Are you sure you’re not the queen?’

  He was mocking her, and she blushed.

  ‘I do what I can. The king has many needs.’

  ‘I’m sure he does, miss, but the king is not here. Your deceitful master has moved on.’

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘Not for me to say; nor you to know.’ He seized his moment of power.

  ‘Has he been moved by the army?’ asked Jane. ‘We really should be told! A king needs his household!’

  ‘He’s not where he was, that’s all I can reveal. Best find another master, one more reliable.’

  The army had clearly moved him, thought Jane. But then came a question from the soldier that made her think again . . . and filled her with hope.

  ‘Perhaps you can tell us where he might go?’ said the soldier.

  ‘Where he might go? Has he escaped?’ She was both concerned and excited. Had he made for Essex, where he’d be safe?

  ‘When did you last see him, lady?’

  ‘Just two days ago.’

  ‘And of what did you speak?’

  ‘I bring only messages of love and support from his wife and family abroad, Captain. He misses them greatly.’

  ‘He said nothing of this?’ The soldier waved his hand vaguely.

  ‘There was no talk of his leaving, no. He wanted only friendship with the army – and thought Cromwell the best of men.’

  How did she say that? Jane needed to be away from this place; she needed information. She felt unsettled when she didn’t know where the king was.

  ‘If I hear anything, I will assuredly let you know,’ said Jane.

  She would not flirt with this man to find out more. It would be like flirting with a wall.

  *

  The king had chosen his refuge wisely. The earl had always been solicitous for his welfare and a supporter of his cause. Here was a subject with no time for new voices in government, whether parliament or the army. What sort of chaos would that lead to? No, the sooner Charles was returned to the throne, the better it was for everyone – this was the earl’s belief.

  But while he spoke of honour at this royal epiphany, he was thinking mainly of money, for a king was nothing but trouble and cost. Monarchs do not understand the world, how finances work, how an income needs to be earned, how bills need paying, how bankruptcy strikes. They imagine their large travelling entourage and endless meals round another’s table a return to the simple life and no imposition on anyone.

  So while the earl wished the king safe travel, he wished it to be in another direction, away from his home . . . and as soon as could be arranged. And his best hope lay with the man now sitting downstairs: Robert Hammond, the new governor of the Isle of Wight.

  Hammond had arrived mid-afternoon with Firebrace and Dowcett, who both looked shattered. He had also brought Captain Basket, the commander of Cowes Castle, and his odd servant, Edward, who appeared to do little serving and called the captain ‘Jonathan’. Hammond regarded it as all very strange and asked why he was not in the kitchen with the others.

  ‘Edward does not react well to pepper,’ said Basket, by way of explanation.

  ‘A servant who cannot enter a kitchen must limit his worth, surely?’

  ‘He is a boy of many talents, Colonel, if we can look beyond our stomachs for a moment!’

  It was a clever parry by the captain, and Hammond pursued the matter no more; especially as Edward now stared at him in a disturbing manner. And where was Firebrace? He’d told Hammond he’d go upstairs and warn the king of his arrival, but that was an hour ago.

  *

  Charles, meanwhile, had changed his mind again. He’d decided against the Isle of Wight and asked now for a boat to France, unaware that the ports had been closed in response to his escape. Firebrace told him that theirs was the last boat through, on account of the governor, Colonel Hammond, being on board. Charles was not pleased.

  ‘Have you brought Hammond with you?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘You’ve brought him here?’

  ‘It was your desire to place yourself under his—’

  ‘I have changed my plan.’

  ‘We did not know, your majesty.’

  ‘You have quite undone me!’

  Firebrace was confused. ‘You said in the wood, your majesty, that you wished to go to the Isle of Wight and the care of Colonel Hammond.’

  ‘And Henrietta?’ asked Charles, pointedly. Firebrace looked blank. ‘If Hammond is here now, how may I go from this place? Answer me that.’

  ‘Well, sire—’

  ‘How may I now travel to see her in France? You take me from my wife, kind sir!’

  Firebrace was a resourceful fellow, with a plan for every need, but he wilted in the ever-changing wind of circumstance . . . and felt spliced by royal irony.

  ‘If you will give direction, sire, and hold to that opinion a moment, Hammond need not interrupt us.’

  ‘And how might that be?’

  Firebrace looked with deliberation at the knife tucked into his belt. He would kill a man for the king; even a governor. This is what he imagined, at least; he’d killed many a pig and it couldn’t be so different.

  The king was walking up and down the room, pondering the violence. ‘The world would not excuse me, no,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘Really, sire?’

  ‘If I should follow this counsel, it would be said and believed that Hammond had ventured his life for me, and that I had unworthily taken it from him. I could not have that charge laid at my feet.’

  Firebrace felt numb. Thousands had died in war, awful deaths – one couldn’t pretend otherwise – without bothering the king’s conscience. Yet now he baulked at one more . . . and would instead blame Firebrace, from this day on, for the dark unfolding.

  ‘No,’ said the king, ‘it is too late to do anything other than to walk the path you have forced me down, and leave all else to God. Let us travel to the Isle of Wight, gentlemen – and may God smile on our endeavours.’

  Firebrace wished for the same. He had not seen that smile for a while.

  *

  Downstairs, Hammond, Basket and Edward were having supper in the earl’s parlour. They’d made small talk, comparing cooks and such like, but as Edward’s eyes continued to stare, Hammond was suspicious at the delay. What was going on upstairs? When conversation stilled, Dowcett – a miserable presence – was sent to remind the king that these officers were still waiting. But another half-hour passed before Dowcett returned for them; and soon they were climbing the stairs.

  ‘Your majesty,’ said Dowcett, leading them in. ‘May I introduce Governor Hammond and Captain Basket.’

  Edward had not been allowed upstairs to see the king, which caused a tantrum. Captain Basket would have relented, but Hammond did not.

  ‘He shall not see the king,’ said Hammond, after taking Basket aside. ‘For I do wonder if he might be a man better suited to the molly house.’

  ‘I refute your inference!’ said Basket.

  ‘He looks at me strangely,’ said Hammond. ‘And asked whether I was of the marrying persuasion!’

  ‘A polite enquiry.’

  ‘It did not feel polite to me – which makes me wonder why he is quite so close to you.’

  Basket breathed deeply. ‘We shall not fall out over this boy, Hammond. These times need bigger men than that.’

  ‘Indeed they do,’ said Hammond. He had no wish to fall ou
t with Basket, who could be a necessary ally in the days to come, however he lay in his bed.

  ‘But let us be mindful of the rumours,’ said Basket.

  ‘What rumours?’ said Hammond.

  ‘The king’s father, of course.’

  ‘King James?’

  ‘King James of blessed memory . . . and a fine man.’

  ‘A very fine man – with a wife and two fine sons,’ said Hammond, sensing what was to come.

  ‘Yet with a preference for men; which we will not judge in a king.’

  ‘We will not judge indeed,’ said Hammond firmly.

  ‘Nor speak again of Edward and the molly house,’ said Basket.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Hammond. ‘Quite so.’

  *

  ‘This has been a most mismanaged day,’ Charles said.

  The king’s small frame was rigid with rage, though when Hammond entered and kissed the king’s hand, Charles received him cheerfully enough. He explained the death threats that had forced his hand, and asked to be kept safe until an agreement with parliament could be reached. There was no trusting the army now, he said; he wished only for an agreement with parliament and an end to all this unpleasantness.

  Hammond said, ‘I will do all that I can, sire, to give you your desires.’

  ‘My good and faithful servant!’

  ‘In relation to the orders and directions parliament may supply,’ he added, still angry at the delay. Charles raised his royal eyebrows. ‘It is to parliament that I answer,’ explained Hammond.

  ‘Though I am your king,’ said Charles with a smile.

  ‘You are my king, sire.’

  It was a qualified assurance from Hammond, and not quite to the royal liking, but accepted. Charles could manage this affair. Two hours later, and much to the relief of the earl, they were on the water again, crossing to Cowes, where they left Captain Basket and Edward. Charles would spend his first night on the island in the Plume and Feathers – an adequate inn, though the carving on the oak bed headboard was unfortunate. ‘Remember thy end,’ it said, which Charles took as a bad omen and knelt in fervent prayer.

  *

  ‘So what now of the Essex homecoming?’ wondered Jane Whorwood, in some panic.

  Her head still chewed on the question. She was behind events when she should be in front of them – and foresaw several dreadful unfoldings. She must stop the king from travelling any further. He’d mentioned Hammond, but surely he would not go there? Hammond was not to be trusted, this she knew. Her courier was waiting as she wrote; he would ride straightway, and Charles could be reading it by the evening candle.

  Mrs Jane Whorwood

  London

  11 November 1647

  Your majesty,

  Greetings from your fervent well-wisher, Jane, amid changing circumstances.

  I hear you have left the ghastly restraint of Hampton Court, fleeing for your precious life. I celebrate this freedom you have made for yourself, but urge you to be careful of your destination; and please – I’m sure you shall – hold yourself back from the Isle of Wight. For what seems like gold may not be so; and consider whether Cromwell might have you snared in his evil net?

  You may question me – but has he not carefully lured you south and given you eyes for the Isle? My reasoning is clear. He fears those in the army who would attack your majesty, and wishes for you a safer and more secure keeping. Where better than the Isle of Wight, where extremists cannot come, the Solent in between?

  You know he puts Hammond there, a trusted associate, appointed by the army; but, we note, sent to visit you on his way to the Isle, to smile and speak of loyalty to your royal person. And all the while, Cromwell sows fear in your noble soul, feeds you with stories about murderous intent, and then entices you south to a most convenient imprisonment over the water, safe in his hands, with his monkey Hammond as the keeper of the king!

  Did not the ease of your escape surprise you? The Venetian ambassador speaks of foot and horse guards being set to watch over your person, but we must wonder where they were on the afternoon of your bold escape?

  How clever to free yourself from their designs, your majesty, and yes, all now is set fair! You will cross the water to France. There is a boat in Sandwich, all is ready, you will travel in disguise; these matters are being arranged. But stay clear of the Isle if you would avoid the army’s net.

  With a devoted admirer’s love,

  Jane

  *

  ‘He is on the Isle of Wight,’ said Henry, walking towards Oliver. They were at Hampton Court together, surveying the fateful scene and raging at Colonel Whalley – though Ireton raged more than Oliver, who seemed a relaxed figure as they paced the gardens. ‘He was taken there by two men called Firebrace and Dowcett, according to Wood.’

  ‘Then I am sure it is reliable, Henry. Wood is sound on the whereabouts of people; he knows where I am whenever he needs to.’

  Wood was the best intelligencer currently serving parliament and the army, though some felt he mainly served himself. He knew when Henrietta changed her mind, not by reading her mind but by reading her mail – and if royalist couriers were dedicated souls and busy across the kingdom, then so was Wood.

  ‘You seem unusually gay, Oliver,’ said Henry, who couldn’t help but notice.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Unusually gay.’

  ‘I can scarce be in mourning.’

  ‘We have lost the king.’

  ‘He could not stay here, Henry. There were dark schemes, we know that.’

  ‘How dark?’

  ‘And is it so bad he now has his back to the sea? Perhaps he will retire himself to France and save us the trouble. One of his children can reign.’

  ‘You imagine our problem drifting quietly away?’

  ‘And in the meantime, while he gathers himself, where safer for the king than in young Robert’s hands?’

  ‘Robert drifts, Oliver. Robert Hammond is a drifter, a pleaser. He will need watching.’ Ireton was not happy with these outcomes.

  ‘Then we shall watch him with keen eyes, Henry, but the king has chosen an army holding.’

  They walked the courtyard silently for a while, as if in meditation, watching their feet on the flagstones.

  ‘Did you tell the king to go there, Father?’ asked Henry. ‘Or have you just been fortunate?’

  *

  It was Sunday morning and a blustery sea air wreaked salty havoc with the oiled royal hair.

  Charles, under escort, was preparing to leave Cowes for his new home in Carisbrooke Castle. It was not a traditional royal procession. There were six elderly guards from the local militia and Firebrace, Dowcett and Legge, rather enjoying the pomp of it all, as they were not usually accorded such interest. Other members of the king’s household should have been with them, making it a grander affair, but they’d been held up by choppy water in the Solent and so temporarily remained in Portsmouth. Also waiting there, with several cooks and a laundry lady, was the king’s barber who was much missed.

  In the meantime, the king would travel via Newport, where news had travelled fast. Groups of bystanders watched the royal journey – though he was also a prisoner, in some manner. And it was not quite in the style Charles would like. He did not yet have his royal coach; he would ask for this to be brought across the water. But he rode his stallion in regal style and was not a prisoner in chains, not at all. He was a king on an island throne for a while, before making his sure and certain way to France . . . or London.

  And as it transpired, Newport was a most favourable experience, confirming Charles in his decision to come here, despite opposition from some. Yes, he’d read sweet Jane’s letter that morning, advising him against these things. But she could get too anxious, really she could, and become rather wild in her declarations. She would see sense soon enough, for
here he would set up court, be separate again and parley with his supplicants on his own terms. And perhaps he would travel to France. Henrietta desired this, longed for his body beside her again; this she had made clear.

  A king leaves his kingdom only in the last resort, however. The people do not like a king who leaves. And while he longed to be with Henrietta – as a husband must long for his wife – he felt better able to manage affairs of state here. And even as he thought of Henrietta and then of Jane – Henrietta in English form, one might say – a woman approached him through the crowd. She was bright-faced and bonny among the Newport faithful and he waved her through the elderly line of island militia around him.

  ‘Come!’ he declared. She carried a rose and reached up to offer it to his majesty, to place in his hands.

  ‘This is a blessed rose, your majesty, which survived the autumn frost. And that shall be you! You too shall survive the frost of these bitter times!’

  Others warmed to her confidence, and told him he was most fortunate, more fortunate than he could imagine, for the whole island was for him – apart from the governors of the castles, perhaps. But everyone else, they were unanimous in their support, even the castle guards, twelve old men who’d been there for years! They were the king’s men through and through – and surely Hammond would be, if he had sense?

  ‘Be of good heart, your majesty!’ they shouted and other similar lines. ‘You too shall survive the frost!’

  *

  Though seven miles away, at Nunwell Park, there was a different feeling.

  There, on the east of the island, the royalist Sir John Oglander held his head in his hands at the latest news. His understanding was different from the Newport crowds, less excitable. Once deputy-lieutenant of the Isle, he now sat in his study, looked out across the fields, and watched the sea wind bend and billow in the long grass. With sadness, he wrote in his diary, ‘I can do nothing but sigh and weep. And the reason for my grief is that verily I believe the king could not have come into a worse place for himself; or a place where he can be more securely kept. Once this place was wholly for the king, yes indeed; but there are few honest men here now, that is my experience.’