The Duke showed himself keen to ride any road that would alleviate the persecution and suffering of Roman Catholics in London and throughout the three kingdoms. He asked pertinent questions about Stroud and Bedlow, and of Lord Shaftsbury, Reverend Oates and others of the Green Club, where many of these exchanges occurred, and listened carefully to the answers, asking further questions where he was unclear.
He, being pleasingly perceptive and witty, found Captain Willoughby and myself equally so, and so we left on the best of terms, with his vow he would speak to his brother, the king, on the matter. Though he expressed a doubt whether there was enough to convict any single man of treason, he paid Willoughby the large sum of twenty pounds so that he might continue to discover intrigues and plots in any place where they might be hiding. He then expressed to me the desire to meet again, and proclaimed that, despite circumstance, he had not spent such an enjoyable time in a long while!
When we were almost to the door, he called out to me, ‘Madam Cellier!’ I turned to him and he added, ‘I note the late Duchess of York was indebted to you for the sum of five or six hundred pounds?’ I simply nodded, not wanting to impose obligation on him for his previous wife’s unpaid debt, the loss of her having brought such sadness to him. ‘You did not apply to me for your fee, but you will have it!’ Then, with less confidence, ‘Perhaps you might… make arrangements to attend… call upon my wife, The Duchess? She has not had great success with child and your reputation for sound advice is famous.’ That was common knowledge.
‘Gladly will I do so, Sir. I would be most honoured.’ He nodded his satisfaction and I curtsied once more before following Captain Willoughby out the door.
The Duke of York had been good to his word on both counts. I had received payment for my attendance on his first wife, and he had spoken with King Charles on the subject of Willoughby’s discoveries, and we were soon to be admitted to the royal presence.
Though I had seen the king before, I had never spoken with him. He was said to be a discerning and tolerant man if somewhat leaning toward more self-indulgence and extravagance than his brother. It was publicly acknowledged that he openly welcomed the bastards of his many mistresses into the court, including the Duke of Monmouth, though they would never be legitimised as his progeny by the Government. Most considered his rule as nearly frivolous, but preferred the way of that to either the austerity and tyranny of Cromwell or the shambles of anarchy in the years after his death.
I could not help but smooth my dress beneath my cloak, and then straighten my cloak and hat while I waited, noting that I was no better than Willoughby with his prattling. In fact, if anything, Willoughby was more at ease than I. If he had any apprehension about the imminent meeting he appeared calm and self-assured, far distant in poise from the broken man I had found dirty and tearful and curled as an unborn child in Newgate many months ago. If such a one could look calm then so could I! I took some time to work at an appearance of composure and confidence, and raised my head in readiness.
St. James’s palace was everything a palace should be. The sumptuous rooms were so enormous, and the ceilings so high I might have been walking outside under some foreign sky, with candelabras as stars and portraits of severe ancestors instead of trees. The corridor to the Throne Room was as long and wide as a metropolis street, yet cleaner and sweeter than the cleanest street on a dry spring day, having been cleansed by the winter rain! If I imagined Heaven, it might be something like this – no mud, no muck and some sort of exotic scent to take away the inevitable smell of dung and smoke that comes with London living. Something about the freshness of the walls and floors made me think of Great Missenden in Buckinghamshire. It was a long while since I had visited the village where I was born.
I considered we had been forgotten when a footman called us to the door and bid us enter.
‘Only, be sure to keep your hands out of sight,’ I whispered to Willoughby. The sight of the tattoos and scars might prejudice the case against us.
For some unfathomable reason, I imagined King Charles would enter after we had stood for a while. But the moment we entered the great room, which was anything but a throne room, and saw we were even now in the presence of His Majesty, both Willoughby and I fell to one knee and bowed our heads.
‘Take down your hood, M’Lady,’ I was instructed by the footman before he closed the door behind us. I had been uncertain of the protocol. If I exposed my head might it appear presumptuous? But, if I remained hooded, would it seem as if I hid myself? I quickly uncovered myself as instructed.
‘The Duke of York has said you have some information to impart,’ said King Charles in a most disinterested voice. ‘Come closer so that I may hear you.’
Before we entered, the footman said we should not rise before the king gave permission. Now I did not know if I should shuffle along the floor on my knee into his hearing, or whether I should stand and move with dignity, but perhaps bring the king’s ire upon us. Willoughby must have had the same thought, for he had stayed where he was also.
The king laughed. ‘Come now. I do not wish to have you shout at me, and I cannot hear you from where you kneel. Have to your feet and come hither!’
Not one in the kingdom would deny the king’s reputation of mischievous humour, and I suspected we had been the source of a secret drollery. To my side, I saw Willoughby gracefully raised his knee, pushed back to his feet and stand tall in one beautiful movement. My eyes still to the floor, I followed suit with less elegance, a more ungainly rise, and scuffled clumsily forward the few steps to stand beside Willoughby.
‘Speak now,’ commanded the king, seeming to become serious. ‘What is this information you have for me? Am I to understand you come to warn me of some plot fouler than all plots before? Then you must tell a good tale for you have great rivalry in this; every other person to enter this chamber comes with the same story!’ he said with amusement in his voice. ‘And, note this well, I wish to discover plots but not to create them!’
I do not know what I had imagined, but I did not suppose the king to have good humour with so many trying to take his life! He was the king, and being king was a serious duty, one that must demand a solemn demeanour in all those surrounding him, and I had thought we must also be serious in his presence.
‘May it please Your Majesty,’ I said, ‘we are both very relieved you are recovered from your recent sickness, and we are sincerely grateful for your indulgence in granting us audience. I am your humble servant and, as such, my family lives to serve Your Majesty. In the manner my father and brother died in service to your father, the king now deceased, I lay my life before you.’
‘Your father and brother were known to me in those troubled times,’ the king said, ‘and, if for no other reason, for that alone I would see you and offer my thanks to you for their service. And for their lives freely given in defence of my father, I owe you a debt of gratitude I hope it is in my honour and capability to repay.’ The king’s deep voice was as a cello, reverberating deep in me, drawing on memories of my early life. This was the son of the monarch my father and brother died for. A bond such as theirs should be remembered, and for that I would equally honour both my father and his.
‘As the lives of my father and brother were freely given to your service, so is my life,’ I reiterated, bowing my head still lower.
When the king again spoke, I dared to peek at him through my lashes. ‘My brother has told me you tended his wife, Anne, the late Duchess of York. I understand a debt is still due you. We must look to remedy that sad oversight.’
‘Thank you, Your Majesty, but the Duke has recently settled it.’ I bobbed my knees to a half curtsey; grateful my former attendance was again acknowledged.
‘But I am remiss. Who stands this beside you? And what have you to say for yourself?’ I imagined the king looked upon Willoughby, so I went to introduce him.
‘Your Majesty, this man is the good C
aptain Thomas Willoughby. The game that once was played against Charles the Great, your father, is now played over with his son. Though you jest about it, he has indeed discovered a plot most foul, and is come to reveal it to you.’
‘Begad, a plot!’ The king’s voice was again underlined with humour and he appeared to be laughing at me. His next words confirmed he was not ready to take us seriously. ‘We have plots and plots! Plots in the taverns, plots in the coffee houses, plots on the street corners; and now you are come to tell me of yet another design on my life? I am verily the most murdered king in England!’ Other men in the courtroom laughed at the king’s jest. I did not know if to laugh or not. The king made light and might expect it of me, but this was no matter for humour. If he did not take it seriously, it might cost him his life. And if I did not take it seriously, it might cost me mine.
‘Your Majesty. I humbly beg you take note of this one, for I have heard it with my own ears and know it to be true!’
Willoughby spoke beside me. I sensed he spoke to the floor. ‘Your Majesty, I humbly ask your permission to speak?’
‘By all means, Willoughly. But first listen to me carefully. If you inform me well, I will reward your service accordingly; but if you steer me along a false path, you will find one of my prisons a familiar home. Be sure to choose your words well, my man. In this room I have listened to many false tales from those who hope to open my purse!’
The laugh had gone from the king’s voice, and I sensed he knew too well how readily a man – or woman – would perjure him or her self for the sake of gold in the hand. Then he spoke to me.
‘Mrs Cellier, do you vouch for this man?’
Though I knew I must not, I paused momentarily. I freely vouched for him to Lady Powys and Lord Peterborough, and to the Duke of York, but now the king asked me if he could trust him, and I could not be as certain as I had been. He had shown himself sometimes unreliable. Could the king trust his life to this man? If the Captain’s tale be false or misled, I would be held accountable for him. But, then, contrary to his original nature, Willoughby had shown himself a good navigator ere now, and had since repented of all his previous sins. He might steer us well, and perhaps save the king’s life.
‘This man has come in the way of a hard life, Sir…’
‘Look me in the eye when you talk, madam. I wish to weigh your sincerity.’
I obeyed the king, and looked into the eyes of a great man. His upturned lips brought up the corner of his moustache in a delightful manner, and his striking smile caused his fine-trimmed, three-point beard in the style of ‘Van Dyke’, made famous by the royal painter, to stand out toward me. And upon my soul, his periwig was a cascade of such immaculate dark brown curls, brushed and oiled to perfection, so it gleamed when he lent his head. Yet, though gaiety marked his face below the nose, his eyes examined me with the seriousness of a man that guards against ever-present danger to his life.
All this I took note of, whilst his regal stance and composure, though I had prepared myself for his company, reminded me to pull my back straight and tall so that I may measure up to even a small part of him. Even more than his presence was the look upon his face. He might jest about the plots, but he was more ready to listen than I had thought.
‘The captain has late come from the service of the Prince of Orange and the Duke de Villa Hermosa,’ I said to cover that Willoughby had been up to all manner of no good abroad. It was true, the Captain had been in the army in Spain and other places and, though he had been back for some time, that was a piece of the tale that would not lend itself to the king’s belief in his story. ‘Since his return, he has fallen in with some people of the most obnoxious kind.’
‘And this lends him to me?’ he asked, echoing my own concern on this matter.
‘He has fallen in with them of his own will, Sir, for to discover their deeds and designs, for he was shocked indeed when he heard them speak.’
‘What designs and deeds are these?’ The king looked directly at Willoughby, who still looked to the ground and so did not see. I elbowed him in the side, and he recoiled as though I poked him with a stick on a sore spot; a noise such as the one he made might be better found in a pig house, though he fast collected himself.
‘Designs so dastardly, deeds so dire, Your Majesty, and I heard them spoken with my own ears.’
‘Well, man, what are these schemes you speak of?’
For the first time, Willoughby raised his head and looked the king straight in his eyes, a brave and even hardy move, yet a bold one that gave him credence.
‘It was not my intention, Your Majesty, to dig myself into the den of the foxes. I put on the crafty fox-coat so that I might run with the cunning creatures and discover their conspiracy, for I had heard them talk of it.’
‘Tell me, what did they talk of, and which fox was it that did the talking?’
Willoughby looked carefully and suspiciously at each man surrounding the king. ‘Can we speak alone?’
‘Speak openly man. I trust each of these men with my life. Anything you have to say to me may be said in front of any of them.’
Willoughby nodded. ‘If that is so, I am happy that you are protected so well. This is what I must tell you,’ he paused but a moment, I thought, for effect. ‘The topic whispered round the coffee table is of how to weigh the appearance of a plot against Your Majesty into the balance of the Catholics, whilst furthering the cause of the Presbyterians. Members of the Green Ribbon Club sit confidently side by side respectable men, spinning their imaginings into plots most wicked.’
The king’s eyebrows raised momentarily. ‘Get to the point, man.’
‘The point is a salient one, Your Majesty, and sharp as a duelling sword that cuts through leather and skin from two steps away. The point is likely to cost Your Majesty’s life if it is not heeded well.’ Again he paused for effect, and I was both impressed and repulsed by his manipulative nature. ‘An army collects in the Netherlands and stands ready for the call to arms! This army awaits but a word from England, an invitation from some that stand beside you and behind you at the throne, so close you might easily think them trusted brethren; so credible that their word, and the word of their stooges, has caused the death of many innocents ere this time.’ Now, dramatically, Willoughby looked at each of the men in the room, as if he might identify the traitors merely by their appearance. Wouldst it was so easy!
‘Name these vermin, for I will chase them to earth and dig them out with my hounds!’
‘Lord Shaftsbury leads the pack, for he has propositioned William of Orange…’
‘My brother’s son in law?’ interrupted Charles.
‘Yes Sir. William of the Netherlands, wed to Mary Stuart, daughter of the Duke of York.
‘I know my own nephew! Continue!’ Even King Charles grew weary of Willoughby’s speeches it seemed.
‘I fear their plan was to throw the Government of the three kingdoms into upheaval by the murder of Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, and the casting of blame of that poor man’s death onto Catholic hands. I have heard men talk in the taverns and coffee houses and I have listened well.’
‘Tell me more of what you have heard,’ prompted the king when Willoughby’s voice trailed away. I hoped his devotion to the king would not be dissuaded by the fear of retribution amongst those he would speak of.
Fireside talk was that those who spoke up against the Whigs and their plot could easily next day be only a memory in the minds of their family and those once around them. A person could melt away as fast as ice in the springtime, or a shadow brought into sunlight, leaving no trace. Else they could be found beaten in an alley. Willoughby’s next words worried me he spoke too much.
‘Well, Sir, what you do not know about me is that I was… I was in confinement in one of your finest cells for a spell most recently.’ I sensed Willoughby glance quickly at me, most likely to check I was not discompos
ed at this disclosure. The king only nodded as if he already knew this, giving nothing away. ‘While I enjoyed the hospitality of Your Majesty,’ he paused again but to smile tentatively, ‘I had the dubious pleasure of spending time with a man that knew the Reverend Titus Oates abroad.’
‘What has this to do with any new plot?’ he said. ‘This is one I know of.’
‘This is the point I am aiming towards, Sir, and I will reach it shortly, if you will allow me patience. This man I shared bread with, a man named Stroud, he told me how Mr Oates met a friend of his abroad, and employed him to speak out against those that were lately executed for the murder of Sir Godfrey.’
‘If this man had information to share of the murder, it was only right he should speak out about it,’ said the king in a most strong voice.
‘Yes Sir, I would not think to question that. The purpose of my words is not to question what is right, but to inform you of what I know.’ Willoughby managed to look uncharacteristically diffident. It was a look that did not sit well on him with my knowledge of him.
‘Pray continue,’ said the king in a voice that said he was well acquainted with reservations caused by his presence. I willed Willoughby to continue, and he did, with no show of the self-consciousness of moments before, a sign he should be on the stage, he was so accomplished at changing character at whim.
‘The point of all of it is that, in his possession, this man Stroud keeps a letter from his friend, whose name is Bedlow, saying that he did not know of any plot against you, the king, more than he had been told by Reverend Oates. He revealed to me this man had perjured himself for a palm full of gold.’
The Popish Midwife: A tale of high treason, prejudice and betrayal Page 16