A Masterpiece of Corruption

by L. C. Tyler

  ‘At that very address. The place you are staying.’

  I wonder how my father can have been so far-sighted. My mother knows where I am, of course, but not he. Unless my mother has written to him. That is not impossible.

  ‘That was careless of me,’ I say.

  ‘But useful to us,’ says Ripley.

  There is another silence, then I say: ‘You are aware that an attempt was made on Cromwell’s life while I was at Hampton Court? A knife was to drop on him while he slept.’

  ‘A knife to drop on him? How?’ Ripley seems genuinely puzzled. So, the knife was not ordered by him then.

  ‘I know only what I was told,’ I say. ‘A very poor trap had been set for Cromwell in his own bed. So, this was not carried out by the man you say you had commissioned?’

  ‘He has been told to desist. As Hyde instructed.’

  We look at each other. ‘Perhaps you should check whether he has,’ I say.

  Ripley nods. A point to me, I think. But then Ripley says: ‘You went under the name of Grey at Hampton Court?’ he asks.

  I too have been wondering whether I was wise to use my real name. But others there might have recognised me. Aminta in fact did recognise me. The risk of using a false name was greater than inventing an alias, even if it does mean that people like Underhill can find me again.

  ‘It seemed best,’ I say.

  ‘It would have been helpful if you had told us what you were going to do,’ he says.

  This is true, perhaps, but I do not need Ripley’s permission to use my own name if I wish. There is something, however, in Ripley’s tone that I do not understand. I am beginning to suspect that Underhill is in contact with him. I wonder what he has said.

  ‘You need me, John,’ says Ripley. ‘You need me more than you seem to think. There’s a lot that Hyde clearly hasn’t told you, for all your loyalty to him. You have to keep me better informed. If you don’t tell us everything … if you give Brodrick the slightest cause to doubt you, he’ll cut your throat without a moment’s hesitation.’

  ‘And does he have any cause?’ I ask.

  ‘Nothing to speak of,’ says Ripley. ‘Not yet. Of course, if I thought you were lying to us, I’d have cut your throat before Brodrick had even drawn his knife.’

  Sir Richard Willys

  Thurloe’s expression gives nothing away. ‘The information about their preparedness is helpful, of course.’

  ‘But you do not believe in their ten thousand men?’ I say.

  ‘You clearly don’t, Mr Grey. I doubt Hyde will believe in them either. He’s no fool, for all that he has backed the wrong horse.’

  ‘Or perhaps he will,’ I say. ‘Men tend to believe what they wish to believe, even when the evidence is against it.’

  Thurloe nods thoughtfully. This is what men do. ‘Yes, perhaps he will,’ he says. ‘You may be right. In which case …’

  I wait for him to complete the sentence, but he does not.

  ‘Who is Sir Richard Willys?’ I ask. ‘We always meet in his absence at his chambers. Ripley was amazed I did not know him.’

  ‘As I told you,’ says Thurloe patiently, ‘he is a former Royalist. His family is from Fen Ditton in Cambridgeshire. He served in the King’s army with some distinction in the Bishops’ Wars and later at Shrewsbury. He was Governor of Newark for a while – in 1645, I think – and was made a baronet by King Charles. When the royal cause was lost, he left for Italy, but returned to England in 1652 to resume his legal practice.’

  ‘I think we should investigate Willys further. I could make enquiries.’

  ‘To what end, Mr Grey?’

  ‘He could be the assassin.’

  ‘Impossible,’ says Thurloe. ‘You must accept my word for that. No more on the subject, please. You have done well, Mr Grey, but you must take guidance from me.’

  That may be good advice, but I wish to move things ahead faster than that. I am curious to discover what I will find if I visit Gray’s Inn when Ripley is not there and the owner of the chambers is.

  ‘Why?’ asks Aminta.

  ‘Because I am convinced Willys lies somewhere at the heart of this plot,’ I say. ‘Thurloe knows him better than he claimed. He was able, without consulting any papers, to tell me who Willys was, in which battles he had fought and in what year he had become Governor of Newark. Why would all of that be at his fingertips?’

  ‘Because that is his job?’

  ‘That would be some feat of memory if he knows such detail for every inoffensive former Royalist.’

  ‘So, who do you think Willys is?’

  ‘He is clearly involved,’ I say, ‘in clandestine Royalist activity.’

  ‘But he can’t be the intended assassin.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you said that the assassin had access to the court. Willys does not. Anyway, I think my father knew him – years ago.’

  I look at her curiously. ‘Did I hear you mention Willys’s name to Dr Bate?’

  Aminta shakes her head. Her blonde curls swing to and fro.

  ‘Bate knew him,’ I say. ‘He said that he didn’t usually mix with baronets, and I hadn’t told him whether Willys was a knight or a baronet.’

  ‘A good guess?’

  ‘Knights are more common, surely?’

  ‘A knotty problem,’ says Aminta. ‘But not one that need detain us.’

  I look at her, astounded.

  ‘But of course!’ I say. ‘That was it precisely!’

  ‘What have I said?’

  ‘The words that Underhill used and I had forgot.’

  ‘What words?’

  ‘When we were talking about Willys he laughed and said it was a something-or-other problem. “Knotty” – that’s what he said. “A knotty problem”. And then he laughed because I was befuddled with drink and didn’t understand.’

  ‘Are you sure? You were, as you say, befuddled. You were still somewhat befuddled when I met you the following morning. Anyway, what would it signify?’

  ‘A lot,’ I say. ‘It is clear that I did not, after all, consume Underhill’s brandy in vain. Whatever I may have told him, he has let slip a secret of his own. “A knotty problem”, he joked. I think Mr Underhill is familiar enough with the Sealed Knot. What if Willys is actually the head of the Sealed Knot in England? What if that is the point of his jest? Doesn’t that fit all of the facts as I have related them? That is why Ripley was astounded that, coming as a courier from Hyde, I had no idea who Willys was.’

  ‘That is a very large conclusion from very little evidence. And Thurloe has told you not to take this further.’

  ‘Which is why I must do it quickly and quietly. I don’t know when Willys will return to his chambers, but I shall try tonight and then every night until I find him.’

  ‘It may be better not to interfere.’ Aminta is tapping her foot, a sure sign that I have somehow incurred her displeasure.

  ‘I won’t interfere,’ I say. ‘I’ll just ask some innocent questions and come away.’

  ‘It still seems an unnecessary risk.’

  ‘The risk is slight,’ I say. ‘If he is alone and unarmed anyway. And I shall check carefully that he is both of these things.’

  Truly, winter has now arrived. The air chills to the bone. Snow falls slowly but insistently. Now it lies thick on the ground and shows no sign of melting. Carriages roll over it, leaving long, slightly glistening indentations and the marks of many horseshoes, but these are rapidly smoothed out again and lost to view. Inch by inch, a layer of white is building up too on every rooftop, hanging there precariously until it looks ready to collapse under its own weight. My feet make a pleasant crunching sound as I walk, but that is all that is pleasant. This is cold that kills.

  At Gray’s Inn the one-eyed porter is still absent, but the other, huddled by a brazier, informs me that Sir Richard Willys is at home, if I care to ascend to his chambers.

  I knock. The voice that answers is one used to command. I enter as instructed.r />
  ‘Have I the honour of addressing Sir Richard Willys?’ I ask.

  The occupier of the chambers looks back at me with disdain. He is a little above average height and of a soldierly bearing. He is, I would say, between forty and fifty years of age. His long, slightly curly hair is starting to turn grey. His moustache is jet black, as is the little tuft of hair below his mouth. His mouth is slightly open as if ready to issue some reproof. But he is alone. And I see no evidence of weapons in the room.

  ‘You read the sign by the door,’ he says. ‘Who precisely are you?’

  ‘I am called Mr Cardinal,’ I say.

  ‘Are you?’ Willys appears quite willing to believe that.

  ‘I was here last night.’

  ‘If you say so,’ he says.

  He does not query why I might have been in his chambers or think it odd.

  ‘I met a gentleman named Ripley,’ I say.

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘Yes, you have. And his friend, Allen Brodrick. And I think you’ve heard of me – or, if not, you’re remarkably incurious. I’ve burst into your chambers and you’ve asked me nothing about what my business is or where I come from.’

  Willys considers this briefly. ‘So, where do you come from and what precisely is your business here tonight, Mr Cardinal?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Why should I deal with junior members of the Sealed Knot when I can speak to its head in England?’

  ‘Why should you think that’s who I am?’

  ‘Because Hyde told me. Even if he hadn’t, it would be self-evident. You have a natural authority that Ripley and Brodrick lack.’

  Willys frowns but is not altogether displeased. There is a vanity in him that may be useful.

  ‘Brodrick isn’t convinced you are who you say you are,’ he tells me. ‘I hope for your sake, Mr Cardinal, that you told Brodrick the truth.’

  Well, he knows who I am then.

  ‘I’ve no instructions from Hyde to tell Brodrick anything,’ I say. ‘The truth or otherwise.’

  ‘I assume that means that you do have something to tell me?’

  I take another deep breath. ‘As you know,’ I say, ‘my instructions were to act alone. Since I have made contact with your organisation, however, Sir Edward would wish me to reassure you personally of his confidence in your management of affairs here.’

  Willys laughs. ‘Would he?’

  ‘That is his message. He – and the King – value you highly.’

  ‘Ah,’ says Willys.

  We look at each other. We are playing some sort of game, the rules for which are not very clear to me. He has not admitted to being head of the Sealed Knot but nothing in what he has said denies it. I press on.

  ‘It’s Brodrick in particular that Hyde doesn’t trust,’ I say.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A drunk and a womaniser, with a loose tongue. Not entirely a gentleman.’

  I am relying on the character provided for Brodrick by Ripley. It would seem likely that it is a generally held view.

  ‘Hyde has clearly taken you into his confidence quite remarkably, as a newly recruited courier, if he has told you that the Secretary of the Sealed Knot isn’t a gentleman. Perhaps you shouldn’t have repeated it if he did.’

  I remember that Probert once advised me that, if I was going to lie, I should lie boldly. I therefore ignore Willys’s rebuke entirely and round on him.

  ‘I do not have time for idle chatter,’ I say sharply. ‘Though you personally have Hyde’s confidence, he does not have any trust in the Sealed Knot, as you are aware. He has therefore asked me to report back on affairs here.’

  ‘Without contacting us?’

  ‘Just so.’

  Willys is strangely unfazed. ‘What does he wish to know?’

  I consider this. What information would Thurloe wish for? What will Willys trust me with?

  ‘How many men you actually have at your command,’ I say. ‘Ripley says five thousand horse and five thousand foot, all armed. Is that true?’

  ‘You doubt it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What would you find believable, Mr Cardinal? Three thousand horse?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say.

  ‘Two thousand?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘And a few hundred foot?’

  I have no idea.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That is what I would have expected.’

  ‘You are right, Mr Cardinal. We don’t have the powder and shot that we need for more than that.’

  ‘Was Ripley misleading me deliberately?’

  Willys smiles. ‘I would advise you not to turn your back on him unless you have to. Where can I find you if I need you?’

  ‘I am staying at Mistress Reynolds’s house. Ripley knows where it is.’

  ‘I may have a message for you to take back to Brussels,’ says Willys. ‘If the opportunity arises. There is something I need to report. It will be for the King and the King alone.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say.

  ‘Good,’ says Willys. ‘I know a great deal about you, Mr Cardinal. More than you think. And you do have my full trust and confidence. But now you must leave quietly and unobtrusively. You may prefer not to mention this visit to Ripley or Brodrick. I shall certainly say nothing to either. If questioned by the porter or anyone else, tell him you came to consult me on a legal matter – a breach of promise case. You behaved inadvisedly towards a young lady, who now seeks redress. It is always as well to have your story ready, just in case. You never know when somebody may decide to ask you awkward questions.’

  As I leave Gray’s Inn the heavy snow deadens the sound of my feet. I manage to startle the watchman, who does not hear my approach.

  ‘You found Sir Richard?’ he asks. ‘I hope you obtained good advice.’

  ‘Breach of promise case,’ I say.

  ‘Nasty business,’ he says.

  ‘It will get worse before it gets better,’ I say.

  Mr Plautus

  Thurloe can make you believe, quite genuinely, that you are not there. He is staring out of the window of his office. He does not look at me or at Probert who is also present. He cannot have failed to hear what I have said, but I do not know if he plans to answer me or not. He is watching something or somebody in the road below. Eventually he sighs and turns to me.

  ‘I said that Sir Richard was no concern of yours.’

  ‘You said that he was an inactive former Royalist. He is in fact the leader of the Sealed Knot in England.’

  ‘Why are you so sure?’

  ‘He knew without my telling him that Brodrick was the Secretary.’

  ‘Then that was an unfortunate slip on his part.’

  ‘And he knows Brodrick’s character.’

  ‘That is well enough known.’

  ‘I accused him to his face and he did not deny it,’ I say.

  ‘A good point in law, I grant you,’ says Thurloe.

  ‘Even if I am wrong that Willys is the leader – and I don’t think I am – he is at the very least an active Royalist with a knowledge of the Knot’s senior officers, and is in direct contact with Hyde. He confirmed the number of troops that the Royalists could raise. Two thousand horse. Maybe a few hundred foot. And he asked that I should be ready to take a message to Hyde. Though I do not understand why, he said I have his complete trust.’

  Thurloe nods slowly.

  ‘I apologise for doubting you. Once again you have done well,’ he says. ‘So, we now know that Willys is the leader of the Sealed Knot. We have a better idea of the forces at their disposal. Yes, you are to be congratulated.’

  ‘The information was obtained easily enough,’ I say.

  ‘I am sure that it was due in no small part to your skill in questioning a witness.’

  And yet, even as he says this, I am beginning to worry that it was too easy – that a little bluffing and flattery was enough to obtain even this much. How can Willys know enough about me to trust me, especially when
Brodrick says he should not?

  ‘What if we have been deceived?’ I say. ‘What if Willys was lying? What if that is merely what they wish me to report to you? What if Ripley, say, really is the head of the Sealed Knot? What if the rising is in fact imminent, with tens of thousands of troops?’

  Thurloe shakes his head. ‘What Willys told you is supported by other things that we know. We are certain, for example, that they lack arms and that Hyde is planning to land weapons of all sorts in Dorset or Cornwall.’

  ‘So, the information I have provided is useful?’

  ‘It is of the greatest value.’

  ‘Then I hope you will agree that I have now done enough for you – that I should be allowed to retire to the country under your protection while you arrest Willys, who will undoubtedly give you enough information to hang Brodrick and Ripley too. Of course, you may require me to give evidence in court, I understand that.’

  ‘If we arrest him,’ says Thurloe.

  ‘If?’

  ‘It may not be opportune.’

  ‘But we can bring down the Sealed Knot! Willys. Brodrick. Ripley. And maybe others besides.’

  ‘The Knot is many things. It is rash, foolish and incompetent. But it does not lack men who believe they can lead it. Willys may be the leader now, but they will soon appoint another. And it may be that under another leader it will flourish as it has not under Willys.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ I say, ‘an organisation of that sort can only be taken apart bit by bit. Willys may only be the first step, but if we do not take it, where do we start?’

  ‘You have already obtained much without the need for an arrest. From what you say, he has no idea what we suspect. That is to our advantage. Our own stores of arms are well guarded. And when they bring in weapons from the Spanish Netherlands, we will be watching the ports. You have done well, but I think you can do a great deal more for us.’

  ‘You will take no action at all against Willys?’ I say, astounded.

  ‘We must act prudently. And we must ensure that we do nothing that will reveal to the Knot that you passed this information to me. We don’t want another Manning.’

  ‘Manning?’