My own interest in such things had certainly waned. November had followed October, and my many petitions for release had fallen on unfertile ground, yet still I had not been indicted, for they did not have two witnesses against me, and the law says they must have two to arraign me for treason.
Such petty frivolities as the theatre were inconsequential compared to my dire circumstances.
‘How extraordinary!’ Lady Powys removed her fabric guard once more, so I saw she was smiling, eyes wide. ‘That’s exactly what Mrs Currer said - she opened the play with just such an observation. She said that all the plots, suspicions, elections, jealousies,’ Lady Powys looked far away as she tried to remember the words, ‘and other dramas in this fearful town had made the stage pointless.’
‘Well, she was right to say so,’ I said. ‘Have you heard any more of your own situation?’
‘Fortune has not sent me news to alleviate either my situation or my mood since last we met.’ Lady Powys replaced the hand-kerchief over her nose to prevent the stench that seeped over from the main prison from overwhelming her; an odour I was surprised to realise I had now grown used to. Unaccustomed to such tainted air, a tear or two ran from Lady Powys’s eyes and soaked into her little piece of lace-edged cloth. ‘‘Tis much more than a year now since my husband and the others were accused and committed to the tower.’
‘Did you see the Procession last week?’ I asked, wishing to take My Lady’s thoughts from her woes.
‘Oh, but I suppose Pierre has told you all about it! How you were portrayed in that despicable parade was a disgrace so vile it should never have been permitted!’
‘Others in here speak freely of my infamy,’ I said, ‘but Pierre will not talk of it, except to swear those who were part of it are too deep in the Devil’s pocket to climb out.’
‘Indeed, Mrs Cellier, I am compelled to tell you, their wickedness cannot be measured! Such heinous acts, to have burned an effigy of the Pope,’ Lady Powys made a cross with her hand in front of her, ‘is not new to London, but what cloven-footed creature made them fill it with live cats this time! Yes cats!’ She emphasized this last in response to my open-mouth. ‘Wriggling and clawing and screeching and screaming – so gruesome, so loathsome, that some of the demons themselves wished they had not done such an ungodly thing and went to slash it open and release the crying creatures; but other more macabre persons stopped them, for there are always those that enjoy the tragedy of death and dying. They said when the cats were squalling it was the Pope talking to the Devil; and also that they signified double-death, both of the Pope and of our religion.’
I had seen some bad sights living in Newgate, and perhaps that should have moderated my sensitive nature, but the combination of people’s hate and zealousness still had the power to knock me. The Pope-burning processions started six years ago, when the Duke of York took his Italian bride, Mary of Modena, but I heard the Green Ribbon Club had made this year’s parade a much more elaborate affair than those that had gone before, playing to the scared and angry people of London, and to Oates, that wicked man, and his story.
If his finger pointed at the truth, following him would be well, but his condemnation of every Catholic for planning and plotting to kill good King Charles and put his brother on the throne was but fabrication and should not be heard let alone listened to.
And if a person could not have both their own religion as well as the love of their king then justice hid behind the skirt of bad laws.
Lady Powys’s husband was one of Oates’ accused and remained locked in the Tower with five other Lords, now including poor Lord Castlemaine whom, so I heard, Dangerfield had named and condemned as he had me. I had not been struck by Lord Powys as being anything but a good man and a good husband when I met him. There was no indication at all he was the sort of man to plot against his monarch. I suspected the others to be as equally innocent.
‘I understand Pierre unwillingness to tell me.’
Now Lady Powys looked in her hand, and unfolded a large piece of paper she had been holding so tight it was as crumpled as tree bark, and passed it to me. As I took it, I saw the smears of dirt on my hand and remembered my revulsion when that same hand had come near Willoughby’s, or rather Dangerfield’s, last year. How the wind had turned. Now it was me that was untouchable; me, that had always kept myself so meticulously clean, as any good midwife should. Before I read the broadsheet, I wiped my hands on my skirt, being the only suitable cloth I had.
Curious, the things we did miss when they were locked away from us: a bathtub; a table to sit and eat at; sight of the sky overhead; the feel of rain on your cheeks; or even to be needed in your trade… How I longed to see a newborn baby again! Perhaps it was the innocence I longed for – a clean page, with no notions of the world, and with no prejudices, hate or any such thing. This place could make you miss that innocence more even than the trees.
And it had been so long since I had seen my little Pierre and Maggie, and my dearest husband. How I missed them. The older ones that were married had tried to visit, but they had also been denied me. I suspected Lady Powys was only allowed in to catch us out in our ‘plotting and planning’. There was, again no doubt, an ear not far from the door or window.
I looked at the picture on the broadside. It took up a full half page and, below it, a half page of writing. Above the picture were the words, The Solemn Mock Procession of the POPE, Cardinalls, Jesuits, Fryers etc through ye City of London, November ye 17th 1679. This was dated a week ago, one hundred and twenty one years after the death of Queen Mary, the day that Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, and nineteen days after I was taken here.
In the image, the long, dignified procession snaked from the bottom right corner, up the page in lines right to left, left to right, then right to left again, towards an inset picture in the top left corner, wherein was a contrasting scene of a huge blazing fire surrounded by an angry mob, shaking their raised fists towards the fire in front of the Marble Arch at The Temple. A line of every sort of non-Protestant, religious noteworthies walked in groups before the Pope’s pageant towards their death. As the title indicated, there were fryers, priests, cardinals, Jesuits and others. Some were carrying crosses, others were blowing horns, but all appeared blissfully unaware of their destination.
‘Look there, there you are at the back of the Procession, at the Pope’s feet!’ Lady Powys pointed, momentarily forgetting to hold the hand-kerchief over her nose and immediately re-covering it. ‘They honour you whilst seeking to dishonour.’
She spoke truly. There I was.
None could doubt that it was me wearing the cloak and cap of my trade, sitting to the front of the Pope’s wheeled stage and bearing a flag covered in crosses. Beside me sat a man holding another flag the same. Behind the two of us sat the Pope on a throne, proud as any king. My effigy so close to the Pope’s marked me as one of the most reviled people in London.
Perhaps it was for this reason Pierre did not talk to me about the Procession. He would not have liked how conspicuous this made our family, making us seen when we should be invisible, and after he had told me I should not bring such attention to us.
Though I thought myself strong, a swoon was hard upon me, and I found my voice did not come easy when next I spoke.
‘What did I ever do to any of them, that they hate me so…?’
‘You need not do a thing to displease them. Our religion is reason enough.’ Lady Powys said.
‘But they do not target you. I am the only woman whose image was there burned in front of one hundred thousand people of The City and beyond.’
‘When they target my husband, they target me. There are broadsheets and whispers enough that portray me with you as a vital conspirator in the plot against the king.’
I could not disagree. She was near as easy a mark as me.
‘What news from the courts? How went the trial of our friends Jo
hn Lane and Thomas Knox, today?’ I asked.
Titus Oates had dismissed Lane and another fellow by the name of William Osborne in the spring when he had suspected them of spying for Lord Danby – an accurate insight. Danby had paid the young lawyer, Knox, to persuade the two men to discredit their former master and his false testimony by accusing him of nefarious bed habits with men and boys, including assaults against themselves. The sympathy of the Grand Jury was not with the two workers and the case was thrown out.
Fearing retribution, Lane and Osborne straightaway renounced the accusations against Oates, and later still repented of that renouncement, but it was too late. Knox, Lane and Osborne were indicted for defaming and scandalising Mr Oates and for attempting to hinder justice against all of the Lords in the Tower. Lane was to be tried today, as was Knox, but Osborne had moved fast when he saw which way sentiment blew, and had escaped both country and indictment in a timely manner.
Lane had stayed with us a short while in May, when it was feared Oates would use his presence at Powys House as more evidence against Lady Powys and her husband.
‘I hear they did not fare so well,’ said Lady Powys. They were convicted of misdemeanour and they are each sentenced to a year in prison and a fine; and Lane is to be pilloried also.’ Her face was a reflection of the defeat I myself felt at that moment. We had not expected any other verdict, for their testimony had already been rejected, but one could not help but hope for some proof of truth at any time, then be despondent when that time still did not come. ‘The court said that they tried to pervert justice, and that what Lane and Osborne told us about Oates’ beastliness and how he assaulted them and others was found only as vicious false testimony to sully Oates.’
‘So, it was found against them.’ All I could do was turn my back for a moment to hide my melancholy, for here every action and feeling was on show, but it occurred to me that Lady Powys must be as miserable as I, perhaps even more so. ‘How was the news taken in the Tower?’
Lady Powys placed the back of her free hand to her forehead, a sign she was overwhelmed by either the surroundings or her thoughts.
‘They are philosophical about it. No life has been lost, and Knox and Lane will be comfortable in prison, they are visited by your woman Mrs Ayrey, but they are – we all are – of course, disappointed. The Whigs have seemed so invincible that for a time it was a small comfort to think they might have an Achilles Heel.’
‘It was well for Osborne that he ran away,’ I managed.
‘Indeed,’ she said, forgetting to cover her mouth. She moved towards the door as if to go, but she had not yet finished talking about the trial. ‘The counsel for Knox, my man told me, would have him as a poor duped innocent, taken in by the apparent sincerity of the other two, but it did not wash with the court. He was found equally guilty for his part in managing the whole…and for dropping coins on the table for them to pick up, as payment for their part in it, though he insisted, in truth, he did not hand them any.’
The question of their innocence or guilt was answered by the court, but not by me. Their story had convinced me so I had believed it, but did I do so for reason of wanting to? Had my own desire to disgrace Oates and Bedlow, with their horrid natures, blinded me as to whether or not I should discern the truth? Might my own wish to discredit the man be more a wish for our religion to be redeemed, no matter that truth be lost?
I could not be sure it had not.
I was as much instrumental in encouraging those two as was Lady Powys, her husband and the other Lords in the Tower, but perhaps I had done wrong in meddling in this? The flip side of the coin must be, if Lane and Osborne have told the truth about how uncivil Oates had been with them, and their charge of sodomy against him was based on his actions, then a wrong had been done them, as it had been against so many others in prison these days.
Had the court discounted and rejected their testimony as they had for too many innocents, perhaps with a desire for Oates to be pristine and believable. If he was found disgraced they might have to suppose they had killed innocent men on his say so. They would surely not be happy in this.
‘All he had done was bring the plight of the young men to light. He should not be punished for that, any more than Lane should be punished for having been assaulted,’ I said.
‘We are all punished for the actions and words of others. You too will face trial in the stead of another.’ The shoulders of Lady Powys hunched as if she tried to make herself small and unseen, but she was as visible as I, and perhaps more so. How she had escaped direct accusation I did not know. She spoke again, but now with less conviction and sound, so I had to listen more carefully to hear. ‘Have you thought on how you will defend yourself?’
‘I have,’ I said. ‘Now that Oates is vindicated, ‘tis left to me to discredit the one paid to betray us: the serpent that lived amongst us and unwittingly revealed his tender spot. I shall profit from his loose tongue.’
‘Dangerfield,’ she stated. ‘Are you so confident? None have yet escaped the collusion of those venomous witnesses in court! Do you have a weapon none have yet used?’
‘I have a weapon some have tried unsharpened,’ I said. I could not help look to the closed door and wonder if some ear pressed against it, so I too spoke quietly. ‘When they tried to bring his testimony to naught by calling him a criminal, he easily showed the pardon, given to him by the king for his service in speaking against those he formerly ran with…’
‘You mean us,’ she said.
‘Yes. But none have brought true proof of his misdeeds to the jury. I have seen his bit of paper, for he willingly showed it to me and offered me one of my own, and I have seen that his pardon cannot cover every crime he has committed and that he has unwittingly told to me! I will not leave my fate to chance. I am writing to every court house of every place he told me he has passed through. I will find proof of his villainies and convictions. The viper will live only long enough to regret biting his rescuer!’
‘Are you so certain they will freely inform you of what you need to know?’
‘They must,’ I said. ‘‘Tis the law that they must do so.’ Her Ladyship looked surprised that I should know this, so I could not keep pride from my voice as I added, ‘I have not been idle in my seclusion, My Lady. I would not waste so many weeks and months doing naught to save myself – what other should I do! If I cannot save my life, then any other pastime is worthless. There is a priest here that has found me books and I have read all he could find.’
‘Your wit does not limit itself to your tongue, Mrs Cellier. Might I be of assistance to you in this? I am acquainted with some men that might loan you what you need. It is a travesty of law that denies counsel to one accused of treason.’
‘It is a travesty of law that denies a person the right to swear oath on the Bible! I am grateful for your kindness and will be further obligated to you if you can find me any book on felonies. It is in this subject I suspect I will find my salvation.’
Lady Powys nodded and, moved closer towards the door, saying, ‘If it will please you, Elizabeth, when I come next, I must as well bring you some little thing to alleviate the gloom and smell of this place. It claws at my nose worse than a pesthouse! Perhaps some scented candles?’ She knocked on the door and, when she realised the noise would not be heard, called the guard boldly through the bars and then, as if suddenly remembering her hand-kerchief, covered her nose and mouth once more as the turnkey undid the lock and the door opened. ‘Stay strong, Mrs Cellier,’ she said as she left.
The door closed, the key again grated in the lock, and then her footsteps joined the keepers as she walked away along the stone corridor without any further words. I returned my thoughts to the predicament I found myself in. Chief Justice Scroggs had not yet sent me a copy of Dangerfield’s pardon as I had requested. I owned little enough paper to this end but I might, perhaps, apply myself to writing once again. My whole defence
rested on that other piece of paper.
21
11th day of June, 1680
Neither being fresh to The King’s Bench nor any longer holding admiration for the process inside the building, I was not in awe of the ancient law court on the south side of the river at Southwark.
Had it not been a trial for my life I might, however, have delighted in the journey from the prison, sat on the open cart in the hot midsummer sunshine. I might have enjoyed every bump in the road that jolted me and reminded me I was alive after so much stillness. As it was, though the whole time I prayed to the Lord for strength, by the time we arrived outside the courthouse I was stuffed full of panic and dread for what awaited me beyond the crowd.
As wolves drawn by the smell of blood, they awaited my arrival with anticipating of my conviction and death. They would not so happily await my salvation.
Nor, if history were to give an account of now, would the court do any but hang the life from me.
With my hands tied behind my back, the prison guards pulled me in a rough fashion from the back of the cart and ushered me inside through the hostile crowd. Neither encouraging me against their taunts nor protecting me from grabbing hands, they pulled at my clothes as if they would remove them. Indeed, some person took my hat and destroyed it, and they pulled my hair until it hurt. Someone spat in my face, then another did the same. With my hands still tied behind me, I could not wipe the wet away and must endure it sliding down my face.
Once I was past the crowd, still grabbed at and taunted, the ropes around my wrists were removed, and I quickly wiped my wet cheek. It did not wipe away the humiliation and degradation that I would have to carry with me for many years.
I thought on my hands being free now, and looked to see if there were any escape. The crowd had tightened the circle around the edges of the room, removing any chance of making a run for it, even if I were brave enough to try. None would allow me escape and deny them their entertainment! And, where could I go? There was no place I could go they would not find me.
The Popish Midwife: A tale of high treason, prejudice and betrayal Page 23