by Stella Riley
‘Make it brief,’ grunted Henshaw. ‘I’ve a meeting across the river with Colonel Haines in an hour.’
‘Then we’ll try not to keep you,’ came the smooth reply. ‘The King and Prince Rupert are currently at odds over possession of the prize-money from the Prince’s recent activities in the Caribbean. I only mention this because it has inevitably brought Hyde and Rupert into conflict with each other – and since Hyde is all for caution, Rupert is naturally the exact opposite and therefore willing to support a scheme proposed by Major Henshaw.’ He paused, shrugging slightly. ‘Despite his best efforts, Rupert couldn’t persuade Charles to receive the Major when he was in Paris last month. However, His Majesty did send for Colonel Fitzjames … and it was through him that some of us gained an audience.’
‘Who?’ asked Colonel Deane. ‘Which of you met with Charles?’
‘Myself and my cousin, Lord Gerard. Also Colonel Whitley, Captain Griffiths and Fitzjames himself, of course.’ An expression of sorrow darkened Gerard’s eyes. ‘I know that not everyone here was acquainted with Fitz … but I hope we can all mourn his loss.’
‘He’s dead? How?’
‘Drowned on the return crossing from France,’ supplied Roger Whitley. ‘A stupid, tragic accident.’
‘Bugger,’ said Deane. He took a hefty swallow of ale. ‘Right. Let’s hear the rest of it.’
‘At the urging of my cousin, we laid certain proposals before the King. In essence, they were the same ones Major Henshaw had already discussed with Prince Rupert – so I’ll leave him to give you the details in a moment. Suffice it to say that His Majesty is still in agreement with Hyde and not inclined to sanction anything risky. And so, although he didn’t entirely dismiss Henshaw’s plan, he refused to approve it for implementation right now.’ Gerard glanced around the assembled faces. ‘There are still whispers of an official body to control all loyal conspiracies – but no one we spoke to seems to know who is involved. One might guess, of course. Men like Ned Villiers and Nicholas Armourer. But the upshot is that we have neither the King’s blessing nor that of this secret organisation and so --’
‘What we do have is the backing of Lord Gerard and Lord Keeper Herbert,’ interrupted Henshaw belligerently. ‘These – and to a degree, Prince Rupert – are keen to see some action in the near future. Damn it – am I the only one who’s bloody tired of sitting on my hands?’
‘No. Everyone in this room feels the same. But it’s possible there are some here who won’t want to act without the King’s authority,’ returned Gerard flatly. ‘In truth, I’m not entirely comfortable with it myself even though I’ve allowed my cousin to persuade me to his way of thinking. Consequently, I’ve called this meeting so you can outline your plan and we can discuss both the idea and its ramifications in detail.’
‘Tell them about the Proclamation first,’ suggested Colonel Whitley before Henshaw could continue arguing.
‘Oh – that.’ Gerard reached into his pocket and drew out a much-creased piece of paper. ‘Anyone who wishes to read the whole may do so later. Basically, it offers five hundred pounds a year and a knighthood or the rank of colonel to any man who “by pistol, sword, poison or by any other means whatsoever” succeeds in murdering Oliver Cromwell.’
Major Halsall shifted uneasily. ‘Who offers this? The King?’
‘I doubt it. Granted, it’s been issued in his name. But I’d put money, supposing I had any, on it actually being the handiwork of Sir Edward Herbert.’
Aubrey unlocked his jaws and spoke for the first time.
‘But the King will be held responsible for it – which won’t do his reputation any good whatsoever. Unless I’m missing something?’
‘If you are, then so am I,’ remarked Halsall. ‘His Majesty should issue a retraction, disclaiming all knowledge. Or someone should do it for him.’
‘That’s a completely separate issue and nothing to do with us,’ said Henshaw irritably. ‘Can we please get on with the business in hand?’
‘By all means,’ agreed Gerard. And with an elegant shrug, ‘The floor is yours, Major.’
‘About time, too.’ The Major pushed back his stool and got to his feet. ‘We need to begin by recruiting as many of His Majesty’s old soldiers as we can reach and who can be persuaded to join us. It’s a pity Dutton is still in the Tower because he’s good at that. However, my brother-in-law, John Wiseman, and I have already embarked on the task and can count on some six or seven hundred stout fellows between us. Colonel Finch has taken on the task of raising the young bloods in the City and Somerset Fox will stir up the apprentices. A schoolmaster in Islington – one Peter Vowell – believes it may be possible to round up Army horses which are left to graze on the fields near his home … and everyone involved will need to acquire as many pistols as they can – along with powder and shot. Then, when our numbers are great enough and we’ve amassed sufficient horses and arms, we will strike.’
‘Strike?’ asked Colonel Deane tersely. ‘How?’
‘Our first move is the most difficult and also the most crucial,’ replied Henshaw, ‘and will doubtless lead to a great deal of discussion. That being so, I’ll leave explaining that part of the plan until later. Once this critical stage has been successfully accomplished, we will move on to the more widespread part of my plan. I propose to begin with a diversionary assault on Colonel Ingoldsby’s regiment in Southwark – the aim being to draw a proportion of Cromwell’s troopers away from their normal positions. This done, our main forces will launch simultaneous attacks on Whitehall, Horseguards, St James’s and the Mews.’
Bloody hell, thought Aubrey. But merely said, ‘That sounds rather … ambitious.’
‘Caution and half-measures won’t serve,’ snapped Henshaw. ‘This has to be all or nothing. And if everyone fulfils their part and no word of our intentions is allowed to reach Thurloe, we have a good chance of success.’
‘Do we know exactly how many troopers are stationed at the various locations?’
‘Not as yet – but I’ll find out. In general terms, we know that the Mews is not heavily guarded and that the various regiments of Foot withdraw from their posts to muster on Tothill Fields three times a week.’ He paused for a swallow of ale. ‘And now to each man’s specific duties on the day. As I said, Mr Fox will be responsible for rousing the City apprentices and Mr Vowell has undertaken to provide us with some horses. Colonel Daniel, Captain Griffiths and myself will continue recruiting outside London – in which,’ he added, staring across the table, ‘I would hope Colonels Whitley and Deane will agree to lend their assistance.’
Deane immediately nodded. Whitley’s expression remained somewhat doubtful but, after a moment’s hesitation, he signified also his assent.
‘Good,’ said Henshaw. ‘Colonel Aldridge … I’d ask you to help Colonel Finch create divisions within the soldiery. You know the kind of thing – just sow as much discontent as you can. And Halsall … you and Sir Aubrey will occupy yourselves with seeking out every loyal man in the City and drawing them to our cause. But for God’s sake don’t reveal our specific goals. Needless to say, that rule applies to everyone.’ He glared around him as if daring anyone to argue. ‘Then, on the day appointed, Colonel Haines will surprise Southwark and I’ll engage to secure Horseguards and the Mews; Colonel Gerard will take Whitehall and Colonel Deane, St James’s. Clear so far?’
Aubrey said nothing while, around him, there was a muted rumble of assent. Then Major Halsall said tentatively, ‘Should we be attempting something of this magnitude? Indeed, without His Majesty’s commission, should we be doing anything at all?’
‘Possibly not,’ said Gerard. ‘But Major Henshaw is right. With sufficient effort and organisation, the plan will work. And the King won’t disown us if we succeed.’
For almost a full minute there was silence. Then, turning to Henshaw, Deane said, ‘You spoke of a critical opening move that will precede everything you’ve just described. What is it? And who is to undertake it?’
> ‘Gerard and myself – at the head of thirty men, all armed and mounted.’ Henshaw paused briefly, as if choosing his words. ‘As to what it entails … it’s something that will put an end to this sorry government for once and all.’
‘Excellent.’ Deane stretched out his legs and crossed one ankle over the other. ‘How?’
Across the table, Major Henshaw’s eyes met those of Colonel Gerard and he took his time about replying. Then almost carelessly and as if it were the simplest thing in the world, he said, ‘We’re going to kill Cromwell.’
The ensuing silence was so acute that Aubrey could have sworn he heard his own heart beating.
Then everyone started talking at once.
~ * * ~ * * ~
EIGHT
Aubrey’s nerves kept him awake for the whole of the night.
Although the notion of cold-blooded murder didn’t sit well with him, he could see both logic and a certain justice in somebody shooting the Protector. After all, the fellow had killed the late King and was preventing the return of the rightful heir by occupying the throne himself. On the other hand, Aubrey wasn’t at all sure how involved he wanted to be in an assassination plot. If it failed – and even if it didn’t … if it went awry in any particular … everyone who’d had a hand in it was likely to find themselves decorating the end of a rope. He also, somewhat uneasily, recalled what Colonel Maxwell had said about Ellis Brandon and wondered if he shouldn’t pass the warning on to John Gerard – just in case.
He got up the following morning still with no clear idea of what he intended to do. Perhaps, he thought, he could start by sounding out the views of the man he was supposed to be working with. From what he’d seen so far, Major Halsall was no more eager to stick his head in a noose than Aubrey was himself.
Yes. A few words between the two of them might clarify matters.
If he’d known what was happening across the City in Westminster, he might have considered jumping on the first ship ready to sail.
* * *
On the same morning, Eden left early for his office because he wanted to get out of the house. Today was the one on which he was to have the dubious pleasure of meeting Deborah’s future husband. And on the previous evening, he had finally brought himself to tell Tobias and Nicholas what was happening.
It had not gone well.
‘She’s what?’ demanded Tobias sharply.
‘Marrying the vintner. His name’s Fisher, apparently.’
‘Why?’ asked Nicholas, baffled. ‘I mean … it’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?’
‘Not especially. He proposed to her a few weeks ago.’
‘But you didn’t think to mention it.’ Tobias again, arms folded across his chest and a dark look in his eyes. ‘Nick’s right. It’s damned sudden. What did you say to her?’
‘Nothing you didn’t put in my head.’ Eden faced his brother squarely and with more than a little annoyance. ‘Hell, Toby – this was your idea.’
‘It wasn’t an idea so much as something I thought you should consider. I didn’t expect you to go rampaging off and give her her marching orders.’
‘And I didn’t. I told her not to rush into anything. I even tried to talk her out of it. But it’s her choice. Ask her yourself, why don’t you?’
‘I will,’ vowed Tobias, turning towards the door.
‘Wait,’ snapped Eden. He knew his brother. Easy-going as Tobias usually was, he could also be the most stubborn man God ever made. ‘Talk to Deborah, by all means – but remember one thing. You will be civil to Fisher until there’s a reason not to be. And you will do it for her sake, not his.’
Tobias made a sound not unlike a grunt and stalked out, shutting the door behind him with a snap.
Nicholas looked at Eden in silence for a moment and then said, ‘I don’t understand. I thought she … that you and she were happy together.’
‘We were.’ Eden dropped wearily into a chair and ran his hands over his face. ‘But my one taste of matrimony was enough for me – so our relationship was always destined to end at some point.’ He looked up. ‘Deborah deserves a wedding ring and a home of her own, don’t you think?’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so.’ Trouble still lurked in the younger man’s eyes. ‘But how is this supposed to work when it’s as clear as day that she loves you?’
‘Oh God, Nick. I don’t know. I’m just hoping for the best and that she knows what she’s doing. And, unless I’m mistaken and you ride to Shoreditch much less often these days for some other reason than the one I’ve assumed, you ought to have some inkling of how I feel. After all, you don’t want to marry Verity Marriot, do you?’
This time the silence was a long one. Then Nicholas said slowly, ‘No. I don’t feel that way about her. In the beginning, I thought perhaps … but it didn’t happen. Truthfully, she’s like my sister.’
‘But she doesn’t see you as a brother.’
‘No.’
‘Well, then,’ said Eden, hauling himself to his feet. ‘There you have it. My situation, more or less exactly.’
After this conversation and a further, unusually terse one with Tobias, Eden had got out of bed determined to avoid any repetition. His office, he decided, was preferable.
The first letter he picked up went some way to improving his mood. Major-General Lambert was summoning him to Whitehall that afternoon to discuss requests recently arrived from General Monck in Scotland. This sounded promising. Eden prayed that it was but permitted himself only the smallest fragment of hope. Then he reached for the three new reports which his clerk had placed in the box labelled ‘Paris’.
Ten minutes later, wheeling away from his desk to slam his fist into the wall, he had only one lucid thought.
Bloody buggering hell. I’ll never get away now.
* * *
Secretary Thurloe deigned to pause in his labours and said, ‘You wished to see me, Colonel?’
No. I’d be ecstatic if I never had to see you again.
‘Yes, sir. I’ve had word from two of our agents in Paris – some of which I felt you should be made aware of immediately.’
‘Ah.’ Thurloe gestured to a chair. ‘Well? You have something about this sealed knot?’
‘Not specifically – though I’m told that Hyde has recently met with Colonel John Russell on more than one occasion. Edward Villiers and Nicholas Armourer are also regular visitors. I can only speculate … but if this secret group exists, it’s likely that those three either know of it or are members. I don’t know about Armourer but I’m informed that Russell and Villiers are now in England – so you may wish to have them found and followed.’
‘Arrange it,’ said Thurloe, glancing back down at his desk. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. Something rather more serious.’ Colonel Maxwell waited until the Secretary graced him with his full attention. ‘I have a letter here addressed to Thomas Scot – presumably from someone who doesn’t know he’s left the service. It offers no details but it refers to a possible plot to assassinate the Protector.’
Thurloe tossed down his quill.
‘Heaven help us. Another one?’
‘Yes. I realise that these rumours arise from time to time and that, so far, they have amounted to little or nothing. But, in this particular instance, there may be something more.’
‘Go on.’
‘A proclamation has been issued in Paris offering a substantial reward for any man who contrives Cromwell’s death. It purports to come from Charles Stuart - though the agent who brought it to my attention believes it to be the work of someone in the Queen’s party, most likely Edward Herbert.’ Eden held up his hand as Thurloe would have spoken. ‘There’s more. Charles recently granted Lord Gerard, his cousin Colonel John Gerard and his brother-in-law, Colonel Whitley a private audience. Also present, apparently, were Colonel Fitzjames and one Captain Griffiths – the latter being the only one whose name is unfamiliar to me.’ He paused briefly. ‘The same agent informed me that, with the sole exception of his
lordship, all of them set off back to the coast over a week ago – which I assume means they’re now in England. But a separate report from Dover indicates that Fitzjames was somehow lost at sea en route. That may merely have been bad luck on his part – or it might not. He was one of our sporadic informers. Not an enormously useful one, it’s true – but an informer nonetheless.’
‘You’re suggesting one of his colleagues discovered that and took the opportunity to toss him overboard?’
Eden shrugged. ‘It can’t be discounted. And neither can the fact that the Gerard faction aligns itself with the Queen’s party and is rash to the point of lunacy. Taken all in all, I think an attempt on the Protector’s life might be a real possibility.’
The Secretary nodded. ‘You may be right. Precautions should certainly be taken.’
Rising from his seat, Colonel Maxwell said, ‘I’ll be speaking to Major-General Lambert later today. Do you wish me to brief him about this?’
‘By all means. And keep me informed of any further developments.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Eden walked slowly back through the corridors, acutely aware that it was not yet nine o’clock in the morning and he yearned to sit down with a bottle of brandy. He even contemplated doing it … and was still contemplating it when he walked into his room to find Major Moulton entertaining Will Collis.
Before he could say anything, the old soldier burst into speech.
‘Colonel – I’m sorry to come troubling you but things is going from bad to worse and we didn’t know what else to do so I said as I’d come and ask you.’
Battening down his own feelings and dismissing the Major with an almost imperceptible gesture, Eden said, ‘Ask me what? Or no. Never mind. Just sit down and start at the beginning.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ He sat on the edge of a chair and tortured the brim of his hat. ‘It’s the lorinery. You remember that business with the brick?’
‘Vividly.’