‘Does he say who filled his pockets?’
‘This he does, Your Majesty. Pray have patience with my dull story; I am not practiced at telling tales.’ Willoughby bowed his head low, but I could see his face and it was not at all submissive.
‘Pray continue,’ repeated the king, obviously frustrated at not knowing all at once. It occurred to me that there was purpose to Willoughby’s pauses. Each time he did so, the king believed the story more. The doubt he showed when Willoughby begun to speak was replaced by impatience for details of the plot. Willoughby held the king’s reins and steered him as a skilled coachman, taking him whither he wished to go rather than be instructed on the destination.
‘On account of Stroud’s story, I have taken it upon myself to discover the truth of the matter. I would not be presumptuous to reveal the story to you before I have acquainted myself with some of those that he talked of to be sure of the truth of it.’ Willoughby took all the credit on himself as if I had no involvement. ‘What I have discovered will shock Your Majesty.’
‘I show great patience, Captain.’ The king sighed with exasperation. ‘Pray come to the point.’
‘Sir, the vilest plotting is discussed openly and most keenly where you think you are safe. More horrid and noxious scheming and designing takes place in the heart of your own government by those you trust most.’ Again, Willoughby made a point of looking at each of the men standing in the room as if they might be the ears of the enemy. Again, I imagined he might have acted on the stage at some time, so dramatic was his stance. ‘Though abhorrent to me, I have spent time in the company of those who are a danger to you, and written down their speeches so you may judge them your self.’
‘What? Is this man not the most loyal and devoted subject!’ He spoke to the two men I did not know, who stood behind him, and swept his hand wide towards Willoughby as though he filled the whole room. ‘Have you this paper here with you?’
This was the moment we waited for. When he saw proof of the plot, he might be satisfied and take action to protect himself. He would also see what they called the Popish Plot against him was woven to hide other Presbyterian deeds. The table would soon be turned. From beneath his cloak, Willoughby took his bound sheaf of papers, now secured by a length of my red ribbon, and held it in front of him as an offering.
‘Bring your papers to me, Captain.’
Head bent, Willoughby approached with suitable humble demeanour, but then took his feathered hat from his periwigged curls and swept it as widely as the king had moments before swept his hand, bowing deeply as he did so, before looked with great daring straight into the king’s eyes as he passed him the papers.
‘Your Majesty is most kind. I am honoured to share my simple but modest scribblings with hope you might find gratitude for this sincere and heart felt means to serve my king.’
Willoughby understood that sincerity is rarely believed without seeing into a man’s soul, and risked himself to prove himself true. It was hard to not admire his practiced audacity and skill, and at that moment I could easily believe how he talked himself in and out of so many escapades as he had described to me in such a short life!
The king untied the ribbon and lay it on his lap. Then he read the pages before him, asking questions to clarify who said what at a particular time when it was not recorded in writing. He also asked questions about the dates when these conversations occurred. Willoughby answered smoothly. It would be hard for the king not to be convinced; all the details were given with confidence. At the end, the king dropped the hand holding the papers into his lap and looked first at Willoughby then at me.
‘Will you swear all you say of this before the bench?’
‘I will.’
‘You have done me the profoundest service bringing me this news. It does indeed deserve gratitude, and gratitude shall you have!’ Willoughby again bowed low, widely sweeping the hat in his hand in front of him.
‘All I have done in this affair, I have taken upon myself as a humble and devoted subject of your kingdom. I live only to serve Your Majesty!’ In his speech, he again neglected me, and how I had employed him in this business, and took credit for it all upon himself.
‘Then you must have payment for your trouble, and for your goodness in bringing this news to me.’
The king called for his purse and, when it arrived, opened it and took out some gold coins. He called Willoughby forward. The captain did as he was bid, and elegantly knelt before His Majesty.
‘Take this, and keep your ear to the ground. If you discover any further facts for me, bring them at once.’
With eyes lowered, Willoughby accepted a handful of coins, perhaps as much as the Duke of York had given him, then stood and backed until he reached a few steps away. He then knelt, again for effect, and thanked the king for his graciousness.
‘Nay, it is your kindness that I thank you for. You have brought my attention where it was neglected, and for this I am pleased. You may take your leave now.’
Thinking the king had forgotten me, I started backing towards the door, as did Willoughby.
‘Mrs Cellier!’ As if a whip cracked over me, my head shot up and I looked King Charles in his face, forgetting myself. Should I have curtsied lower? Should I have said something when I did not?
‘Your Majesty!’ I curtsied to my knee and stayed there.
‘Mrs Cellier, I have my purse open and it is incumbent on me to repay some interest on the debt long overdue to you, though my brother has repaid the captial.’
I said nothing. It was not my place to presume to deny the king his generosity, so I waited.
‘Will you come forward, Mrs Cellier, and take a small token in lieu of full payment?’ I pushed myself to my feet, my legs not as steady as I would have liked them to be, and stepped slowly to the throne. The king held out a bulging fist, and I was obliged to hold my hand beneath it. Without intention, I looked up into our king’s face, the second King Charles, and almost jumped when he closed one eye in a saucy wink, the other eye glinting with humour.
The number of years under his hat may be equal to mine, but where the cloak of loose and scandalous life folk would have me wear was imaginary, he wore his so brazenly and boldly none would question it. He audaciously kept his bastards and their mothers in his court, so none would whisper about the issue of his carnal pleasures. I did not know what to do. Likely others in the room too saw his wink so I could not feign blindness. It would be gravely uncivil and ungracious to ignore royalty. But neither could I wink back, complicit in his act. It would not be seemly nor in my heart.
‘Why, I am grateful Your Highness remembers my service to the Duchess of York, may her soul rest in peace. I am furthermore happy my service in this present matter might safely deliver the king from such a dreadful plot and that Your Majesty finds himself in such fine spirits once more!’
I accompanied this speech in the manner of Willoughby by fast circling my hands in the fashion of an elaborate flourish and curtsying deep, finishing on my knee with a bow down low to the floor. But I could not resist a quick peep to see how the king would respond, and when I saw he smiled, and those behind him were not looking, I winked so only he could see. At first, he snorted with astonishment as I caught him unaware, and then he released a belly laugh that filled every corner of the chamber that made the men not paying attention behind him jump. Though unaware of the source of amusement, as a flock of sheep, other men in the room baa-ed delicately, for it might be seen as surly not to join in.
‘Mrs Cellier! Your actions are most refreshing! Your services are gratefully received!’
With laughter still commanding his face, King Charles clapped his hands at shoulder height. ‘Colonel Hallshall,’ he addressed the man who came forward. It was His Majesty’s cup bearer. ‘Be so good as to take Mrs Cellier and Captain Willoughby to the honourable Mr Coventry, and ask him to listen to their tale. He will
especially enjoy this one, since it involves his old friend, Lord Shaftsbury!’ The king wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his fingers and wiped them on his regal clothes. Then, addressing Willoughby and myself, he dismissed us with the words, ‘Mr Secretary Coventry will see to your needs.’
As we backed out of the court, I remembered the words of Lord Powys when supping at the Tower one time, when he laughed at how this Mr Coventry had defended a man of the Government, Mr Samuel Pepys, that was now also falsely accused and in the Tower, by saying, ‘There are a great many more Catholics than think themselves so, if having a crucifix will make one’.
He was spoken highly of by all the Lords, and if he was so admired by them, then he would have my trust also.
16
17th day of October, 1679
Pierre’s fingers teased the curls of his brown horsehair periwig lying on the table between the hide bound ledgers we were working on – previous years balance sheets and Profit and loss books, debtors and creditors – picking at stray hairs and winding them in or pulling them out, tidying them without thinking. On occasion he pulled hard at some hairs until they broke, and other times he gently stroked them in a way that distracted me from my task.
But all the time he recited the things I read out loud until he remembered them. Or thought he remembered them. His memory often failed him these days.
For many long evening hours I guided my husband in what I knew of the business law of our land for, even now, he was familiar with that of France but not of this kingdom. In the year of 1675, and again in the year of 1677, I had guided him through two business hearings held against him, but now he was come against a tougher case and should know some of the law himself. Together we had studied the fine points yet, whenever I tested him, they skirted his understanding, playfully flirting with him before flitting out of reach.
The candle flickered and spat and threw moving shadows over Pierre’s ageing face. I had thought it before, how vulnerable he looked with so little hair on his head, so grey and thin it exposed him for the old man he had become, but it did not compel me to judge him harshly nor did it diminish my esteem for him. He had shot my heart with Cupid’s bow so that the arrow had found its mark and stayed true. His good character and fine standing held me forever captive.
Despite my fond feelings for him, I suffered from great fatigue in the effort to impart my knowledge to him. I did not wish to diminish who he was by actions of sinful pride, but I feared his capacity for bookishness was as the stars out of reach. The facts stubbornly refused to settle in his head, more so now than before. The time was come to change the topic under discussion. If I was tired, he was more so.
‘Captain Willoughby has done a fine job of collecting, Pierre, but there remains too many outstanding debts. It would be well if you could pay a visit to the more stubborn oysters.’
‘If you think I must, ma chère, I will take a knife and open them myself.’
Though he could do nothing at this time of evening, Pierre took up his periwig, as if glad to be given some useful action he could follow away from these ledgers, and pulled it close upon his head, hiding the deep worry lines on his forehead behind curls not yet set in place.
I feared concern for his business was the cause of the lines, and prepared to reassure him on this point, but it was upon a different subject he then addressed me.
‘Lizzie, my sweet, you and I know the Captain well now we have taken him back into our society. He has lived with us nigh on half a year, and is apt to talk about his past enthusiastically to the extent I fear he takes pride in his roguery...’
‘Worry not, my dearest,’ I reassured my husband, placing my hand on his. ‘It is for this reason he is most right for the collection of debts and for the other tasks we set him.’
‘It is not for my business I worry,’ he said. ‘Though he makes light of his oft-told stories of past villainies and punishments, I sense and fear we must not trust him overly much.’
‘Not only has he confessed of his sins, Pierre, he has repented of them. With my own eyes I have seen him stand in the yard and flail himself with Franciscan tails, and he prays fervently for the Lord’s forgiveness.’
Before my eyes I saw those silver lines I had spied on Willoughby’s bare back whilst he bathed and in the summer sun, so criss-crossed were they that unmarked skin was rare there! I remembered the compassion I had in that moment, and how I would have cared for him tenderly as my own child, had he let me. But he would have none of my attention. He pushed me away, threw his shirt on to cover the welts he had since added to past ones and turned his back on me. ‘Save your kindness for one that deserves it,’ he had said as he walked away. I did not miss how his voice shook.
‘Well, I am not convinced. He still keeps company with those he did mischief with and, as well, a man I did business with said he saw him come from Lord Stafford’s home. He is not to be trusted. I wish you to consider this wisdom and avoid his private society when you can.’
‘He will do me no harm, dearest one. He is beholden to me, and to you, for his freedom and for paying his debts. I fear you worry needlessly.’
‘And I fear not. From what I have heard of him, and what he has told us himself, a worst scoundrel you could not care to find! We are chickens homing a fox under our roof!’
I defended Willoughby, though I knew not why.
‘Nature may have made him a fox, but like a tame dog he serves his master. His ways are to our benefit. They are of use to us. If he has sin left in him, I have not seen it since he has stayed in our house. It is not our place to judge him, only to forgive him.’
‘If he has sin left in him, like a fox he hides it so we do not see it. One more thing...’ Pierre paused as if not knowing how to phrase the next. ‘…and this is of a nature more delicate. He has earned a...’ Still he hesitated. ‘…name...a reputation with women folk, and that name is Don Juan. I do not question your devotion, but I insist you must not be alone with him any place that could give cause for mischievous tongues. Some have before now whispered in my ear that I would be unwise to leave you and he alone together.’
At the sight of my face he held up his hands in mock defence. ‘Of course, I have laughed at them, but it would not do to put yourself in a position where those busy-bodies have substance to talk of...’
Despite his making light of it, Pierre’s eyes were serious, and I knew he believed there to be real danger to my reputation.
‘I will take care, my dear, but he is too young and I am too old for any ear to believe that wagging tongue!’
‘He is a handsome rogue and, from all accounts, does not see wrinkles as a barrier to his amours. Your years have been kind to you, Lizzie, and you are so much younger than me; some believe me already cuckold.’
Before I could catch myself, an image of the captain romancing me, courting me, brought burning to my cheeks. The idea that my many years might not be a barrier to his doing so gave me a moment of stolen satisfaction quite removed from the affection and passion I shared with my husband. I bent my head to hide my guilty blush and turned back the corners of several pages of the nearest ledger, then dropped them back again. I hoped Pierre would think my fluster was from his flattery of me, or perhaps from his revelation that others thought me an adulteress.
‘We have spoken of this together many a time, dear one. The only thing meant by your having more years than me is that you were born before me. It is only a matter of time, not of the heart. We were fortunate that we two were born in the same century and close enough in birth for us to find each other! We are lodged in each other’s heart.’ I smiled and kissed his cheek as I quoted our friend and favourite poet, Cowley, that we often read to each other. ‘I will guard our reputation as much as I might when my profession prepares fertile ground for seeds of suspicion!’
Pierre grimaced in a way that showed he knew this to be true. My would-be pro
tector had lived long with the good and bad of my trade, but that did not give him acceptance of some parts I was cast, though I was fain to act those parts when I must.
‘Now,’ I said, wishing to change the subject of our conversation once again, ‘if you wish to help your own business, Pierre, you might have Willoughby winkle payments from these, who are not much more than a month overdue with their payments, and not let them become oysters from the first.’ At his nod, I continued on the subject we had been so engrossed in before other concerns. ‘And when you are in the court, you must carry these books with you,’ I said, placing my hand on the pile of finance ledgers. ‘You must mind well all I have spoken about this night. In word of the law you have done no wrong to this one you are in court with, but they say they have witnesses to the contrary so we must prove your case.
Pierre placed his hand on mine, in a shared pact with both my hand and the books it rested upon and, with sincere eyes, said, ‘I swear I will do justice to your teaching, ma chèrie.’
Abruptly, the door burst open with a bang. Pierre withdrew his hand and stood to face the intruder, pushing his chair back with a screech on the polished wood floor. The chair lay tipped over and untouched, our attention turned on our visitors. Masters Townley and Palmer stood a small way inside the chamber, cloaked with cold autumnal air that crept along the floor to our ankles.
Seeing urgency on their faces, my first thought was that a woman needed help birthing, so I also came to my feet and crossed the floor to my midwife’s bag next to the comfortable fireside chair, where I had dropped it when I returned earlier.
‘Monsieur Cellier! Monsieur Cellier!’ Palmer’s words halted my hand from taking the handle. It was not me for whom they had come.
‘Make haste, Monsieur Cellier! Captain Willoughby…’ He looked guiltily at me before continuing. ‘Captain Willoughby is…steeped in liquor. You must come now and take him away!’
‘It would not be the first time the Captain is in his cups. I am sure his need for a wet-nurse is past.’ Pierre’s peevishness hinted of more than exasperation for being called to fetch Willoughby home. Perhaps he had after all detected my earlier thought that I now sincerely regretted. Having dismissed any need for his attention, Pierre picked up the chair that had fallen and begun to sit, but halfway to the seat was brought back to his feet by Townley’s next words.
The Popish Midwife: A tale of high treason, prejudice and betrayal Page 17