Gunpowder, TREason and Plot, or How we dug up the Ancestors

by Allan Frost

  Augustus, on the other hand, cursed the day he’d promised Robert Catesby to pick up the consignment from Bristol docks. He’d never had the misfortune to drive a horse drawn wagon before and hadn’t expected the journey to be so slow and back-breakingly and rear-endedly uncomfortable. He’d much rather have ridden his horse but, as Elizabeth pointed out, if he wouldn’t trust anyone else to drive the wagon, he’d have to do it himself. And you could hardly expect a horse to carry the load as well as its rider all that distance.

  However, the discomfort was more than compensated for by having his beloved Elizabeth at his side, every day and every night. Even though his father was now dead and the need for secretive assignations no longer necessary, attending to estate legalities had hitherto left him with very little time to spend in her company. His father would turn in his lead-lined stone-slabbed grave inside All Saints parish church if he knew the full extent of their relationship.

  Of course, he’d have liked to have brought William and Jane with them but the children were far too young to undertake such a long journey without servants to take care of them. Fortunately, Elizabeth’s parents had been more than happy to oblige. In fact, they’d been extremely supportive of their daughter’s clandestine affair. Children born out of wedlock were, to them as most normal people, simply the hazardous results of human frailty and not a subject for hypocritical condemnation.

  Neither Elizabeth nor her parents had presumed to raise the question of marriage. They knew their place. The best they could hope for was a contribution, however short it might be forthcoming, for the children’s maintenance. Augustus was, after all, the dead lord’s eldest son and now a lord himself, with all the responsibilities which came with that position. In their minds, they’d been very fortunate that he hadn’t had his fun and abandoned them.

  On the contrary, he’d done far more than they’d expected, at least until now. Whether he’d continue to do so when a person of his rank in society was obliged to seek marriage with someone of equal, if not better, standing, remained to be seen.

  Augustus knew what he was supposed to do but, being an incurable romantic, would much rather marry for love than a large dowry. Marrying the ‘right’ person to satisfy his father’s requirements had been a constant worry after he’d met Elizabeth.

  But now the old bigot was dead. Furthermore, William Wilton Senior had conveniently forgotten that his own grandmother had been the daughter of a common clerk, so why shouldn’t Augustus marry someone from a lowly background as well? It wasn’t as if Elizabeth was totally unsuited to play such a role.

  Taking the waters at Cheltenham, where Elizabeth perceptively observed the behaviour of foppish, extravagant young men and arrogant, hare-brained women, was an eye-opener. She mimicked their actions and cliche-ridden conversations to a fault, enabling Augustus to witness another aspect of her wonderfully unpredictable character. Having grown up in the Priorton Arms and catering for the needs of a wide range of folk from all branches of society had given her the opportunity to watch and emulate their mannerisms and behaviour, even their way of speaking.

  Pictures from those scenes perpetually played on Augustus’s mind from the time they departed luxurious lodgings at The Bear at Cheltenham to the time they arrived at The New Inn at Gloucester.

  He slid out of the heavily-curtained four poster bed first thing the following morning, saying he had some business to attend to. He returned two hours later and told Elizabeth to put on her best dress as they had an appointment to meet someone very important.

  Despite plying carefully contrived and usually successful feminine wiles, Elizabeth hadn’t managed to persuade him to reveal who this important person might be. Shortly before noon, she found herself walking hand-in-hand with Augustus through narrow dusty streets into the city centre. She was surprised when he led her into the cathedral but that was nothing compared to the shock of being escorted to a side chapel by the dean.

  So much happened in such a very short space of time. Augustus knelt down and asked if she would do him the honour of becoming his wife. The dean had been kind enough to provide a seat and beaker of water to help her recover from the shock. Elizabeth must have agreed because, moments later, she and Augustus were kneeling in front of a stone altar with a solitary flickering candle, exchanging vows.

  A gold ring (bought by Augustus earlier) suddenly found its way onto her finger and the dean mentioned something about them being ‘man and wife together’. It was all very hazy. She remembered a tear dribbling down her cheek while she and Augustus gazed lovingly at each other before they embraced for the first time as a married couple.

  The dean then led them into a private chamber where a clerk demanded, rather perfunctorily, their signatures on a piece of parchment. Elizabeth heard a purse of money exchange hands behind her back as she struggled laboriously with the quill. Reading, let alone writing, was not an ability granted to people of her position and it was only through Augustus’s patience that she was able to make her mark.

  Afterwards, Augustus led her, stunned yet deliriously happy, to an inn where a jovial, flush-cheeked landlord instructed a seemly wench to personally attend on them during a simple yet sumptuous meal. Music was provided by an aging lute player with nasal warts; he happened to be staying there at the time and picked the tunes as well as his nose.

  Like any young woman denied the company of her parents at her wedding, Elizabeth felt slightly guilty that they weren’t present to witness such an important event first hand. Augustus must have realised the fleeting look of sadness in her eyes and guessed the reason. He promised to make amends by holding a wedding feast at Priorton Hall when they returned home.

  They spent another day at Gloucester even though the appointed time to meet Robert Catesby left little room for dallying en route. While his adoring new wife spent the morning being fitted for a new gown, Augustus visited a Man of Letters rather than wander aimlessly around the city.

  There had been little opportunity for Augustus to spend much time on personal business matters after the death of his father and, rather than wait until his return to Priorton, decided to take advantage of this short period of free time to ask a professional clerk to draw up a couple of legal papers.

  The clerk was obviously an experienced lawyer, judging from the way he automatically rephrased Augustus’s dictated phrases. After signing several parchments in his own distinctive, flourishing hand with a well-used but freshly sharpened quill, he left the clerk’s office to return to Elizabeth.

  He duly paid for the new dress but Elizabeth refused to let him see it; that would have to wait until their wedding feast. Her husband knew better than to argue when her mind was made up.

  XVI

  Sir Augustus Wilton, deceased, cleared his throat, rather unnecessarily because ghosts don’t suffer from thirst or frogs taking up temporary residence. It was done purely for effect and to delay his narrative for a moment or two longer. Augustus experienced more than a little pleasure at having such a rapt audience hanging on his every word.

  ‘We left Gloucester to continue our journey southward to Bristol,’ he continued, striking another poetic pose with one hand resting on his hip and the other twiddling his short, pointed beard. ‘Our mood was one of joyful anticipation at the prospect of enjoying a happily married life together. We had no further need for clandestine meetings behind the Priorton Arms or in the local woods. It’s impossible for anyone who has not experienced the lifting of such an irritating burden to appreciate how much our spirits were raised now that our relationship had been solemnised by the mother church.

  ‘The road became increasingly rutted and uncomfortable as we drew closer to Bristol, that city of global commerce. But we weren’t bothered. Warm, amorous feelings and blissful doe-eyed love make a remarkably soft cushion for the hard seat of a rustic wagon, believe me!

  ‘Upon entering the busy outskirts of the city, we rested in a small inn for an hour or so to ascertain the precise location of the docks,
and sought a recommendation for somewhere for Elizabeth and I to stay. We barely had time to reach The Ship hostelry before nightfall. It was, I have to say, a most comfortable inn and more than adequate for our needs.

  ‘The landlord was a respectful fellow, fully aware of the differences in our rank. Friendly without seeming over-familiar; I’m sure you know what I mean. He was most attentive to our needs and gave us much worthy advice on how we should protect ourselves from pickpockets and thieves.

  ‘Bristol was considerably larger and much busier than we could have imagined. Dear Elizabeth was quite taken aback at the vast crowds of people scurrying around the narrow streets and alleys; I had, of course, visited London several times and was quite used to being caught up in the general hubbub of city life, but it all came as something of a shock to my wife.

  ‘By way of contrast, Priorton was a quiet backwater, as was Bridgnorth. Worcester and Gloucester, being cathedral cities, were somewhat larger yet, strangely, retained a village-like atmosphere. Bristol, on the other hand, seemed incredibly cosmopolitan, full of foreigners, merchants and beggars.

  ‘To begin with, I felt extremely sorry for those poor souls driven to eke a meagre existence from the miserly handouts of passers by. But there were so many! Most were clothed in rags, others had limbs missing or required roughly-fashioned crutches to hop awkwardly from one place to the next. With all the best will in the world, my purse was incapable of providing sustenance to all whose path I crossed. I felt so inadequate, so powerless to help; as Elizabeth wisely pointed out, we must do our best to ignore them here but, upon our return to Priorton, resolve to assist all unfortunates who venture into our village.

  ‘I did not, however, hold the same feelings towards folk from alien lands. Most had a bare smattering of the King’s English and, in my opinion, owed it to themselves to learn our tongue as best they could. What use is there in framing a question no one can understand, nor hope to comprehend the answer? There were times when I found myself shouting, with increasing volume, the same response repeatedly to an enquiry until Elizabeth made me realise that yelling is not likely to make any difference to an inability to understand an answer, however quietly or loudly it is delivered.

  ‘Merchants, on the other hand, were able to communicate with everyone, whatever their background or country of origin. If words failed, conversations, if I may call them that, took the form of hand gestures and facial expressions. And the appearance of money, of course, the value of which seems to be understood by everyone.

  ‘On the whole, I found the merchant class miserly and lacking humour. Having said that, they were most helpful in giving directions, albeit in a most perfunctory manner, as if every minute of their time not conducting a transaction directly affected their profits.’

  The mist in Sir Cedric Foot-Wart’s courtroom swirled again before dispersing to reveal busy quays with high-masted wooden vessels of all kinds moored alongside. Augustus’s wagon stood with its rear flaps tied. Elizabeth sat in the driving seat, clutching the reins and observing everything going on around.

  Flagstoned quays were bounded by warehouses, offices and wooden huts filled to the brim with barrels, boxes and sacks awaiting distribution elsewhere or loading onto vessels. Nets and fishing baskets lay scattered haphazardly across the ground, presenting stumbling blocks for unwary feet. Mules and donkeys stood silently in heavily-laden trains, tethered together with resigned patience until it was their turn to move.

  The unmistakable scents of seaweed, fish, tar, wood smoke and animal droppings assailed the nostrils, except near alehouses where rancid fumes from stale tobacco and hopped beverages added their own distinctive scent.

  Curt commands were made by captains and merchants against an incessant background of grumbling dockworkers and screaming gulls. It did not, in any way whatsoever, reflect the relatively organised and civilised chatter heard at Priorton’s country markets or even its boisterous fairs. It didn’t take long for Elizabeth to feel overwhelmed by the cacophony and unrelenting, frantic activity.

  Augustus stood near his empty wagon, anxiously shooting glances at the new sundial on the wall above the harbourmaster’s office. It was almost noon, the hour appointed to meet Robert Catesby at a mooring capstan near the weatherbeaten sign of The Anchor Inn, whose foulmouthed patrons swayed and lurched in and out of the door like wave-tossed flotsam.

  Loose women, ready to console sailors frustrated by long voyages and anyone else so inclined, loitered in dim doorways, seductively exposing several of the shoddy goods they had on offer at bargain prices. It was not the sort of place or scene Augustus would have wished dearest Elizabeth to witness, although she was probably more accustomed to such drunken and licentious behaviour than her husband would ever be, even with his experience of brother Giles’s insobriety and lack of moral fibre.

  ‘Sir Augustus Wilton?’ enquired a respectable and well-spoken voice from behind. It was not the type of voice normally associated with this environment.

  Augustus turned to see a man dressed in the fashionable garb of affluent society. Where had he come from, and why had his approach been so silent? He hadn’t been anywhere near a few moments ago.

  ‘At your service, sir,’ Augustus bowed, exhibiting a modest formal flourish while sweeping his feathered hat in a long curve.

  ‘Robert Catesby,’ replied the speaker, returning the compliment. ‘And this is. . .?’

  ‘Forgive me. Let me introduce my wife Elizabeth, Mr Catesby.’

  Elizabeth inclined her head slightly while Catesby allowed his lips to barely touch her gloved hand. She felt a shiver ripple down her spine. There was something suspicious with the way his ferret-like glances darted furtively up and down the quayside. What or who was he afraid of?

  ‘It was good of you to honour your father’s appointment,’ observed Catesby, examining Augustus’s eyes uncomfortably closely, as if to ascertain their honesty. ‘He was a good man.’

  ‘Indeed he was,’ replied Augustus sincerely. ‘Although I have no idea why he should agree to travel such a long distance as your letter stipulated. He wasn’t a young man and the journey wasn’t one he would have considered undertaking in normal circumstances. The consignment must be extremely unusual and important.’

  Elizabeth watched Catesby with increasing interest. Yes, what was the cargo that warranted such clandestine treatment?

  Robert Catesby shot a few more furtive glances before drawing Augustus closer.

  ‘I don’t think it’s wise to discuss the matter here, in public,’ he whispered. Augustus couldn’t hear because of the din surrounding them.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he shouted. ‘What did you say?’

  Catesby shook his head.

  ‘Later,’ he replied. ‘But first, we need to load the cargo. Lady Elizabeth, would you be so kind as to turn the wagon round and follow me? It’s not far.’

  Elizabeth clucked the horses and lightly flicked the reins, pulling to one side until the wagon faced the opposite direction. She drove behind Catesby and Augustus who ambled towards a small, ramshackle building with a hole-ridden thatched roof at the far end of the quay. A surly, unshaven mariner smoking a pipe leaned against the open doorway. He nodded curtly at Catesby before wiping dribble from his nose against the damp cuff of his jacket sleeve. He sniffed disgustingly.

  ‘Unfortunately, servants are not as couth as I would prefer,’ commented Catesby with an apologetic smile. ‘But we have to accept whatever help we can muster in this God-forsaken place. I hate busy towns and its people, don’t you? No decorum or sense of respect.’

  ‘I quite agree, Mr Catesby. Give me the quietness of the countryside any day!’ replied Augustus. Fascinating though the visit to towns en route had been, he couldn’t wait to return to the familiar surroundings of home, especially as he and Elizabeth had so much to look forward to.

  ‘In here,’ said Catesby, leading the way through a narrow doorway into the gloomy surroundings beyond. A number of small kegs were stacked
neatly in arched recesses at the far end of the room.

  Augustus bumped into Catesby, who stopped abruptly when he saw a candle flickering on top of a low beam.

  ‘I thought I told you—!’ Catesby began angrily, addressing the ruddy-faced pipe smoker. ‘Take that down and put it somewhere else!’ he ordered in a more reasonable tone. ‘Carefully, mind!’

  The smoker gave him an insolent grimace, removed the candle and set it down on a rickety shelf near the doorway.

  ‘And extinguish that pipe, Jake! Now!’

  Jake shoved the pipe into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Can’t understand how anyone would want to puff away at Walter’s Weed,’ Catesby remarked to Augustus. ‘Makes a terrible stink. He might as well smoke old rope.’

  ‘Smells like he is,’ replied Augustus, who sensed Catesby was doing his utmost to control extreme anger. But why? Was the consignment highly explosive or was he just taking sensible precautions for fear a fire destroyed everything? There was certainly enough combustible material, including empty sacking, straw and timber, scattered around the floor to warrant some concern but surely not to the point of paranoia? Catesby’s attitude made Augustus feel very uncomfortable.

  ‘There are thirty casks,’ said Catesby. His tone was slightly clandestine yet businesslike. ‘Jake will load them into your wagon while we retire to The Anchor. I do so detest visiting these wharves. Full of common degenerates, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Can’t say I’ve had much experience,’ said Augustus, shrugging his shoulders. ‘But I don’t particularly like crowds. Shall we give, er, Jake a hand?’

  ‘Good Lord, no! He shouldn’t need any assistance, considering how much I’m paying him.’

  Jake couldn’t help but overhear, the room was so small.