by Jean Plaidy
I felt that Titus Oates was rubbing his hands with glee. I guessed that in his imagination I was already imprisoned in the Tower awaiting execution, for once my physician Sir George Wakeman was found guilty, the implication must be that I was too. Members of my household had already been found guilty because of the insistence of Oates…poor innocent people…but this was my physician, a friend, one who would be in my confidence.
Sir George had never made any secret of the fact that he was a Catholic. He and his brother had, during the war, raised a troop of horse for the Royalist cause. He had fought against the Parliament and had been in prison at the time of the Restoration. He was a man of charm and intellect; he was well liked. There must surely have been many who marvelled that a man like Titus Oates could set himself against such as Sir George and have the weight of public opinion supporting him.
Accused with Sir George were three Benedictine monks who, Oates asserted, were working with the physician in these dastardly schemes.
The chief witnesses for the prosecution were, of course, Oates and his crony Bedloe.
I was glad in a way that I was not present, although I knew that everything that was said would be of the utmost importance to me.
I heard an account of the trial from an eyewitness, so I could well imagine the tension in that court room. Everything depended on Lord Chief Justice Sproggs. I had heard of him. He was the one who had condemned Coleman to death.
Oates, I was told, gave his evidence with the assurance that he must be believed. He was a little sanctimonious, trying to create the impression that he was God’s advocate, throwing off his lies as though they were inspired by heaven. It was so difficult to understand why people could not see through him. He said that Wakeman had been offered ten thousand pounds to kill the King, which he could do with the Queen’s help, but at first he had folded his hands and refused.
“The court was so still,” said my informant, “that you could hear the sharp intake of people’s breath.” Was Oates going to admit that he had lied? But of course not. He went on to say that Wakeman had protested that it was a daring operation they were asking him to undertake and ten thousand pounds was not enough. “Moreover, what of his post in Your Majesty’s household? He would lose that. There would be a new queen. No, ten thousand pounds was not enough. ‘Then,’ said Oates, ‘came the offer.’ When the deed was done, Sir George was to be offered the post of Physician General to the Army, and five thousand would be added to the reward. ‘That was an offer,’ said Oates, ‘which he could not refuse.’ Sir George declared that there was not a shred of truth in this. Then Bedloe was called to corroborate Oates’s story.”
I heard how outside the Old Bailey the mob was calling for a verdict of guilty. I could imagine the satisfaction of Oates and Bedloe. They were confident of success. However, the Lord Chief Justice was not afraid of the mob, and the comparison between the evil countenances and the wild accusations of the witnesses for the prosecution and a man of Sir George’s reputation and obvious integrity had its effect on him.
Sir George was shrewd in his evidence. He proved that some of the papers produced by Oates were forgeries. Bedloe professed that he himself had had several interviews with Sir George.
“Does Your Honor think that I would consort with a man such as that?” Sir George demanded.
Most people would admit that it was unlikely.
Oates grew very excited. He could not endure opposition. He went a little too far, even for him. He declared that he had seen Sir George sign the receipt for the first thousand pounds. In his zeal he said that he had been present—hidden as usual—and had actually seen another receipt which Sir George had signed accepting the five thousand pounds and the appointment as Physician General to the Army.
The Lord Chief Justice asked him how he knew that the document was not a false one. Anyone could produce such a piece of paper.
“Oh, it was Sir George’s signature, my lord.”
“You know his signature well?”
“Oh yes, my lord. I have seen it many times. There was no mistaking it.”
“And how did it come into your possession?”
Oates looked sly. “My lord, in my zealous pursuit of those who would seek to destroy our country, I have engaged people…those whom I can trust and who have the same ideals that I have…to work for me. It is dangerous work for which I must pay them.”
“So you tell me, Mr. Oates,” said Lord Chief Justice Sproggs, “that you were sure this document was not false because you knew the signature of Sir George Wakeman so well.”
“That is so, my lord.”
It was then that Oates was greatly discomfited, for the Lord Chief Justice brought out several specimens of handwriting in the name of George Wakeman.
“Now, Mr. Oates,” said Sproggs, “will you be good enough to tell me which of these is the signature of Sir George Wakeman?”
With an air of confidence Oates made his selection.
The Lord Chief Justice smiled slowly. “Mr. Oates,” he said, “you clearly could not recognize Sir George’s signature, for it was among those shown to you, and you have selected one which is quite unlike his.”
Oates was furious. He would soon be discovering that Sproggs was plotting treachery.
The Lord Chief Justice summed up the case decisively. He addressed the jury with eloquence. Could they in the light of what they had heard in the court find Sir George Wakeman guilty? Of course they could not.
Charles came to me in great delight. He swept me into his arms.
“Odds fish!” he cried. “This must be the beginning of the end. Wakeman is acquitted.”
SHORTLY AFTERWARD Sir George was asking the King to receive him. Charles did so with the utmost pleasure, and I was with him when Sir George arrived.
He came and knelt before the King. He looked pale and drawn, which was not surprising after his ordeal.
Charles congratulated him. “I cannot express my joy,” he said with emotion.
“Your Majesty is gracious.”
I took his hand. “I have prayed for you,” I said. “I thank God my prayers were answered.”
“That villain got a trouncing,” said Charles. “Thank God Sproggs had the courage to do it.”
“It takes courage, Sire, at this time.”
“Are you going to return to my household?” I asked.
He hesitated. Then he said: “There is something I would say to your Majesties. Oates will not let this matter rest.”
Charles nodded in agreement.
“He will find some other charge,” went on Sir George. “He will not be content to let me go. He will hate me the more for this.”
“It would appear to me,” said Charles, “that he will be less confident now. I am of the opinion that even the people who shout for him in the streets may be asking themselves whether they should not look at his actions more closely.”
“That may be so, Sire, but the man is dangerous still. I would not feel confident to remain where he could wreak his vengeance on me.”
“I understand your feelings,” said Charles ruefully.
“Your Majesty, I am asking your permission to leave the country.”
I was dismayed, but I saw his reasoning, and recognized the wisdom of it.
“What do you propose to do?” I asked.
“To cross the Channel tomorrow, Your Majesty.”
“I see,” said Charles. “Of course, you must go and you are right. You want no more of these ordeals. I trust that soon we shall be free of this obnoxious fellow. Godspeed. I shall write letters for you to take, and one day perhaps you will come back to us.”
Sir George fell onto his knees in a state of great relief.
I wished him well and he left us.
I was very sorry to see him go, but I knew he was wise to do so. He was free and yet with a lesser man than Lord Chief Justice Sproggs, he might have been in a cell at this moment awaiting execution.
And if that had been the case, I
might very well soon have been sharing his fate.
I DO BELIEVE that the trial of Sir George Wakeman was a turning point for Titus Oates and his confederates, though this was not immediately apparent.
Oates was, of course, incensed by the acquittal. It was an absolute rebuff by Lord Chief Justice Sproggs, who had hitherto been a zealous Protestant and far from lenient to Oates’s victims.
I did not like much what I heard of Sproggs. He was rather a crude man with a not very good reputation. He was brash, but his asset was a certain power with words. He could be outstandingly eloquent, both with speech and pen. This set him apart, and the fact that he had used his skills on the side of good against evil and had secured the release of Sir George Wakeman aroused the King’s interest in him.
As was expected, Oates was not going to accept the rebuttal meekly.
He immediately began stirring up trouble for Sproggs. He incited the people against him, and defamatory libels were set in motion; broadsheets were circulated and rhymes were set to tunes to be sung in the streets. These implied that Sproggs had been bribed with gold from Portugal. Sproggs knew that Wakeman was guilty and with him the Queen. In the ordinary course of justice that would have been the verdict…but Sproggs had diverted the course of justice for Portuguese gold.
Sproggs, however, was a man able to defend himself. At the King’s Bench, he answered his critics in a brilliant speech. He said that at the trial of Sir George Wakeman he had acted “without fear, favor or reward, without the gift of one shilling or promise of expectation.”
I believed that even Oates realized that there was little to be hoped for from attacks on such a man.
The King sent for Sproggs and he came to Windsor. I was present at the interview.
I was a little repulsed by the man. There was something unpleasant about him, but Charles received him warmly, for he said to me in private that the man had saved us from God alone knew what. I knew that he was thinking that, had Wakeman been judged guilty, there would have been demands to question me; and moreover, those who did so would have been determined to prove me guilty. So we owed a good deal to Sproggs.
Charles congratulated him on his actions in Sir George’s trial.
“I did my duty, Your Majesty,” said Sproggs.
“Knowing that it was not what the people wanted.”
“Knowing that, Sire. The accusation was aimed beyond Sir George Wakeman…that much was clear.”
The King laid his hand on my arm and nodded gravely.
I said: “Thank you, Lord Chief Justice.”
“The people are using you ill,” added Charles.
“Your Majesty, the mob is easily led…and very changeable.”
“And these have some strong leaders. They have used you ill. They have used me worse.” He smiled at me. “We stand or fall together.”
Sproggs bowed. He was obviously delighted, and I believed counted the King’s favor as worth more than the approval of the mob.
When he had gone, Charles said: “I don’t much like the fellow, but he has a way with words…and that is a very powerful thing to have. He will stand for us…and it may well be that Mr. Titus Oates will not maintain his glory much longer.”
IT WAS TRUE that Oates was deflated by the Wakeman trial and his inability to take adequate revenge on the Lord Chief Justice. There was another case in which Oates met a similar fate.
There was a certain notoriety about this one, because the accused was Roger Palmer, Earl of Castlemaine, husband of the infamous Barbara. He was a well-known Catholic, and therefore a target for Titus Oates.
On Oates’s accusation he was sent to the Tower, and while there he wrote a pamphlet on those who had been falsely arrested and charged with being concerned in a plot which had no reality outside the imagination of Titus Oates.
This was a further insult to Oates and he could not allow it to pass. Fresh evidence against Castlemaine was procured and in time the case was brought before Lord Chief Justice Sproggs.
The Earl of Castlemaine was a great friend of the Duke of York. I sometimes wondered when Oates would have the temerity to attempt to bring James himself to trial. After all, he had tried hard enough to involve me. But then, of course, because Charles spent so much time with other women they had not expected so much opposition from him. Yet when he had protected me, they had not stopped their prosecution. But I supposed that even they would hesitate to attack the King’s brother and heir to the throne.
Castlemaine faced the court with courage and determination. He shrugged aside the insults of the prosecution and defended himself with dignity, restraint and a sincerity which could not be ignored. And, like Sir George Wakeman, he was acquitted.
Oates’s power was considerably subdued, but I had another enemy in Shaftesbury. His was the cause of Protestantism, and I was a Catholic. He did not accuse me of attempting to poison the King. He merely wanted to remove me so that the King might marry a Protestant queen and have children who would ensure a Protestant heir to the throne.
He knew that he could rely on considerable support throughout the country, and he brought in a Bill for the exclusion of the Duke of York and a divorce for the King that he might marry a Protestant and leave the crown to legitimate issue.
If Charles had wished to divorce me then, it would have been easy for him to have done so. He could have shrugged his shoulders in his nonchalant way and declared that it was his duty to do so.
I shall never forget how he stood by me in that time of danger. I knew how he hated trouble, how his great desire was to live a life of comfort and pleasure. His sauntering, his interest in the stars, his herbs, his dogs, the navy, planning buildings with the architects…that was the life he wanted to live. He had been so long in exile that these pleasures were of particular importance to him. He had had enough of conflict.
Yet with great vigor, he became my champion, and because of this I was ready to fight beside him. Indeed, what else could I do? To be parted from him was something I could not contemplate. It would be the end of everything I wanted. Anything, even this persecution, was better than that.
Charles made a point of going to the Peers to stress his abhorrence of the Bill, and to tell them that it was against his wishes that it should proceed. He would not see an innocent woman wronged. He was married to me and so he would remain. As for the Duke of York, he was the legitimate heir to the throne and only if he, the King, had legitimate heirs could that be changed.
Charles won the day. His wishes were respected and the Bill did not proceed.
Then William Bedloe died. This was quite unexpected, and it was another blow for Oates, for on his deathbed, Bedloe decided that he could not meet his Maker with so much on his conscience. So he repented and confessed that he had told many lies, that he knew nothing against me, except that I had given money to some Catholic institutions and was a Catholic myself. He admitted that accounts he had given of my attempts to poison the King were all lies.
Titus Oates must have been infuriated. Already he had lost some of his credibility by the acquittals of Sir George Wakeman and the Earl of Castlemaine. He might strut round in his episcopal robes—silk gown, cassock and long scarf—calling himself the nation’s savior, and enjoying his pension from the privy purse, but he must be suffering some qualms of fear and asking himself how long his glory would last.
I heard he had three servants to wait on him and dress him, as though he were royal; they vied for the honor of holding the basin in which he washed his hands. Everywhere people fawned on him, fearing that if they did not he might name them as conspirators and they find themselves under arrest.
He had so much to lose and Bedloe’s deathbed confession must have given him great concern.
His spirits were no doubt uplifted by the trial of William Howard, Viscount Stafford. There was as much interest in this as there had been in that of Sir George Wakeman; and there was a certain desperation about Oates and his followers now. There must be no more acquittals. Staffor
d was a noble lord…a man of integrity, son of the Earl of Arundel…and a Catholic.
He had been accused by Titus Oates, with several other Catholic lords, but Stafford was the one they decided to send for trial. I was of the opinion that this was because he was old, in frail health and perhaps less able to defend himself.
He was to be tried in Westminster Hall and I had a great urge to be there. I knew that, even if I were not mentioned as one of the conspirators, my complicity would be hinted at and I felt I must hear what was said.
A box was provided for me in the Hall and in this I sat, with some of my ladies.
It was a heart-rending experience to see that old man so persecuted. He was innocent, of course, and people in that hall knew it, but were afraid to say so.
Oates and his men gave evidence. There were two I had not heard of before—Dugdale and Tuberville. They swore that Stafford had tried to persuade them to murder the King. Oates affirmed that he had seen a document sent from the Pope to Stafford in which it was clear that Stafford was promoting Catholic interests.
The trial lasted for seven days. It was the same as before—lies, innuendoes and the continual suggestions that I was concerned in the plot to kill Charles.
Surely, I said to myself, everyone must see how false these people are. They are so obviously liars. Again and again they are proved wrong over details.
But there was fear in the hall. I could sense it. Titus Oates had a satanic power to terrify people. They did not seem to realize that if they all stood together against him they need not fear him.
Lord Chief Justice Sproggs had been persecuted after the acquittal of Sir George Wakeman. He had succeeded because of his powerfully expressed arguments. But for that, Sir George would have been condemned. It was pitiable. There was no such help for Stafford, and the verdict was what Oates demanded: Stafford was found guilty of treason. And the sentence for such a crime was hanging, drawing and quartering.