A Masterpiece of Corruption

by L. C. Tyler

  ‘I’ve had word from the Secretary’s office to detain him until further notice,’ says the gaoler. ‘Bread and water diet. No visitors.’

  Should I say that I am in fact about to be released? I am not supposed to know that and suspect that Ripley should not know either.

  ‘That is true,’ I say cautiously. ‘My diet and other conditions are as you describe.’

  ‘But perhaps I might be permitted to talk to this gentleman in private?’ says Ripley. He plays a little with his purse as if acquiescence on the part of the gaoler might result in gold changing hands.

  ‘You know I can’t,’ says the gaoler, though not without considerable regret. He watches the purse vanish back into Ripley’s pocket. ‘As a magistrate yourself you would know that, Mr Jones. I have to guard the prisoner.’

  ‘Since I am a magistrate,’ says Ripley, flashing a lace cuff, ‘I could instruct you to allow me to examine the prisoner alone.’

  His voice carries great authority but Ripley’s mistake was to put the purse away. The gaoler shakes his head. ‘You’re not a City magistrate,’ he says. ‘I’d know you if you were. You’ll need to get an order from a London Justice of the Peace.’

  ‘You mean the one coming down the corridor?’ asks Ripley.

  The gaoler turns to look, squinting into the darkness. A big mistake. You’d have thought he would have exercised some caution in dealing with out-of-town magistrates.

  The wooden stool crashes down on the back of his head. He collapses to the floor without a word. Though I had seen Ripley make his move, I am shocked by the weight of the blow.

  ‘What have you done?’ I ask, horrified.

  ‘I’ve just obtained a habeas corpus,’ says Ripley.

  ‘I was in no danger. If this poor man is badly hurt, when he recovers he may now give evidence that I attacked him and tried to escape.’

  Ripley bends over the bloody figure and places his hand carefully in front of the gaoler’s face. I wait anxiously for a minute, then another.

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s fine,’ says Ripley, getting to his feet.

  ‘Thank God for that.’

  ‘Stone cold dead,’ he continues. ‘He won’t be giving evidence against anyone. Still, it would be inadvisable for either of us to stay here longer than we need to. We have, after all, just murdered an officer of the State, albeit a minor one. If you’d be kind enough to pick up that candle, I’ll lock the door behind us and we can leave quietly. If anyone asks, I’m Henry Jones, Justice of the Peace in the County of Surrey and you’re my prisoner. Happy Christmas, by the way, Mr Cardinal. And a Happy Easter, too.’

  Mr Allen Brodrick

  ‘So, the gaoler is dead?’ Brodrick is not happy. ‘Did you not consider the consequences before you decided to hit him with a stool?’

  ‘That’s my concern,’ Ripley snaps back at him. He was quite jaunty on our journey from the gaol, but he is less so now. ‘It seemed for the best.’

  We are ensconced in a tavern near Aldgate. It is a modest establishment, and the food is bad, but its bill of fare is not limited to the stale bread I have grown used to. And I think we cannot remain here long enough for the quality of the meals to matter greatly. For the moment, Ripley and Brodrick have consented to eat with me on condition that I strip off my verminous clothing and hose myself down for a full ten minutes under the pump in the courtyard. I am now dressed in the second best suit of one of the serving boys, which Ripley has improbably promised to return to him at some later date. I am not sure that it smells much better than my prison garb, and both gentlemen have elected to sit on the far side of the table from me. Brodrick’s expression has, however, nothing to do with any residual odour of the kitchen that may be emanating from my shirt, breeches or stockings.

  ‘It is my concern if it means that the authorities are seeking you,’ says Brodrick. ‘Or seeking him. Even if Clifford had been tortured, what he could have told them was old news. This whole action was unnecessary.’

  For once I am with Brodrick, at least as concerns the general principle. ‘There was no need to rescue me,’ I say. ‘I had already been told that I would be released soon.’

  ‘Told by whom?’ asks Brodrick.

  ‘Other Royalists had been freed,’ I say. ‘They had no reason to keep me.’

  ‘Some have indeed already been released,’ Ripley concedes. ‘But the more daring adherents of His Majesty have been detained longer. We had heard – from our own sources – that you had been closely confined and were likely to be tortured. They said you seemed to imagine that you could easily endure torture, which we doubted you could. Once we had discovered which prison you were in, we could not take the risk of leaving you where you were, even for another day.’

  ‘Whoever you are,’ says Brodrick.

  A nasty silence follows this. It would seem that my imprisonment has counted for less than Thurloe imagined. Has rumour spread that I am John Grey?

  ‘You know who I am,’ I begin. ‘I have been sent by Hyde …’

  I look from one to the other wondering exactly what Hyde may have said about me in the interim. But Ripley comes to my rescue. ‘Do not fear, Mr Clifford. Though Mr Brodrick retains some doubts, Sir Richard Willys made extensive enquiries about you in Brussels.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘He confirms that you are indeed John Clifford and a man of sound Royalist sentiment.’

  I try not to show too much surprise. John Clifford after all does not exist – in Brussels or anywhere else. ‘Then all is well,’ I say.

  ‘But why haven’t we heard of you before?’ asks Brodrick. ‘That’s what I mean. Even if you were told not to contact us this time, we know you’re not one of Hyde’s usual couriers.’

  ‘It isn’t a job for a courier.’

  ‘How were you recruited?’

  I have at least had time to think before I tell the next lie.

  ‘My father was originally due to undertake the mission,’ I say, ‘but was unable to travel on account of his gout. I was asked to take his place. I travelled to Brussels, where I was briefed as you know.’

  The mention of gout is, I think, a nice touch. With luck, if they know anything about him, they will have heard that Sir Felix is a sufferer. I have been careful not to say where Sir Felix is now, because I do not know and they may.

  ‘Enough,’ says Ripley. ‘Willys says Mr Clifford’s known in Brussels. That will have to be sufficient. You must concede that he has done all he can for us. He will be wanted for the murder of his gaoler, so we must get him out of the country. I can obtain papers for him and, since I am wanted too, I shall accompany him back to Brussels.’

  ‘Brussels?’ I say. ‘But …’

  ‘It will be safer than remaining here.’

  ‘I’ll take that risk.’

  ‘We can’t. If you are recaptured they will certainly torture you this time, and I do not share Mr Brodrick’s view that you could tell them nothing of value. Brussels will surely not be that much of a hardship after prison?’

  Brussels will be my death, but I cannot explain that truthfully. Very well then, I must lie again.

  ‘You are right,’ I say. ‘I will accompany you to Brussels, Sir Michael. But I must return to Mistress Reynolds’s first.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘I have … I have documents there. I cannot risk leaving them behind. Thurloe will search my lodgings once he knows I have fled. They will incriminate us all.’

  ‘Very well. We shall send a man with you.’

  ‘No, I shall be safer alone. Thurloe will know most of your men and may be looking out for them. I’ll go now and return tonight, when it is dark.’

  ‘How do we know we can trust you to return?’

  ‘Because, as you say, if I am recaptured I shall be tortured then hanged for murdering my gaoler. On reflection, Brussels is better. I shall need the forged papers of which you speak if I am to get away to the Spanish Netherlands. What else can I do but return here?’

 
‘Then it shall be as you wish,’ says Brodrick, ‘but if you are taken, do not betray us. You would be better dead.’

  That, of course, is only his opinion.

  I am back in my own room at last. A light breeze wafts through the open window, carrying the happy noises of free people, going about their business in the street below. I have shaved and exchanged the serving boy’s second best suit for some clothing of my own. Will Atkins has been sent out to run another errand and Probert is now sitting there with me, in my chamber, gnawing on a chicken leg that Mistress Reynolds had cooked for me. It will have been added to my bill. Outside, a warm day is drawing to an end. Soon Ripley will be expecting me back.

  ‘The gaoler will live,’ says Probert. ‘The blow that Ripley struck was hard, but the skulls of our gaolers are harder, it would seem. We found him dazed and cursing the duplicity of Surrey magistrates. The State is, of course, put to the expense of purchasing a new stool, but otherwise no harm was done. Now we have explained the full circumstances to him, the man bears Ripley a grudge but reluctantly forgives you. There is no arrest warrant for murder.’

  ‘Then all is well,’ I say. ‘There is a full moon to aid my journey. I shall leave tonight for Cambridge. I doubt Ripley will feel inclined to search for me – he will be too anxious for his own safety. I am of no further use to the Knot. I can be of no further use to you. Ripley wishes to send me to Brussels, for my protection as he sees it, but where I will most certainly be found out. They still think I am the son of Sir Felix Clifford because Willys has received confirmation from Brussels that that is who I am. I do not know how he was so misinformed, but let us simply be thankful that that is the case. Once I get to Brussels, however, I shall not be able to continue my pretence. My fear is that Sir Felix, far from accompanying Aminta and Roger to Paris as I was told, is in Brussels with Charles Stuart. I may be able to deceive Ripley into thinking I am his son, but I shall certainly not be able to convince Sir Felix.’

  Probert is nodding thoughtfully. ‘Then it has worked out well,’ he says.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I mean our trick has worked. We knew that the Knot would, in due course, make enquiries of you in Brussels. It would have been no more than prudent. But we do, of course, also have agents there. We were able to ensure that Sir Richard Willys was told that you were indeed John Clifford. It will therefore be safe for you to travel to Brussels.’

  ‘But I’ve said – there are people there who simply know I am not—

  ‘We can take care of that too.’

  ‘But Ripley will speak to them!’

  ‘Only if he gets there,’ says Probert.

  ‘And he may not?’

  ‘It will be arranged.’

  ‘So, you wish me to travel to Brussels?’ I say.

  ‘Mr Thurloe feels that this is an opportunity,’ says Probert. ‘Sir Richard said that he would send a message by you, did he not?’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘We need you to receive the message; then, having read the thing, take it to Brussels as proposed. Sir Richard will have no idea that we know his designs. The little incident with the gaoler this afternoon is an unexpected bonus. As I say, no arrest warrant has been issued, but it could be. It would in fact be prudent to do so. As a wanted man, your journey to Brussels would be very natural.’

  ‘But even if Ripley is stopped, Sir Felix may still recognise me.’

  ‘You will not be in Brussels for very long. All you have to do is deliver the message, as John Clifford, and return here as quickly as you can. If you meet Sir Felix, he won’t need to know what name you have given Hyde. But you probably won’t meet him, not if he is at home stricken with gout.’

  ‘I think his gout may be as fictitious as his Paris address.’

  ‘Then greet him in a friendly fashion and tell him as little as possible. We simply need you to travel to Brussels, deliver a letter and come back. It is very easy, Grey.’

  ‘Why not let Ripley take the message? He wants to go to Brussels. Willys must trust him. Why am I needed at all?’

  ‘That is the point, Mr Grey. Willys does not trust Ripley. He trusts you. Your arrest has allayed any suspicions he might have had. So your time in gaol was not wasted. And we think Hyde is expecting a young man of precisely your description.’

  ‘So Ripley is not even to know that I have the letter?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘There’s one small problem you have overlooked. Even if I were willing to take the letter, how will Willys get it to me without Ripley seeing it?’

  Probert produces a sealed sheet of paper from his doublet. ‘I rather think I have it here. There is somebody within the Sealed Knot who is in our pay and to whom Willys gave this for delivery to you. He then gave it to me. We have, of course, already opened and copied it. The difficult part is done. Now all that remains is for you to deliver it.’

  ‘So, you already know what is in it?’

  ‘Yes, it is not in code. We have read it. Now we wish Hyde to read it too, because he will then act upon it and we will be waiting for him. There is a further consideration: if it is not delivered by you, then the Knot will know that it has been intercepted by us and that there is a traitor in their midst. They will probably guess who it is. It is you, Mr Grey. I do not need to describe what happens then. So it is essential that it is delivered.’

  ‘And you can really ensure that Ripley is stopped?’

  ‘Ripley will, of course, begin the journey with you. He shall, I promise you, not get beyond Dover. We shall take care of that. You will arrive in Brussels alone as the trusted messenger of Sir Richard Willys – whom you have fortunately met, should they ask you any questions about him. You shall then travel back under the protection of the Sealed Knot as far as Ostend and under the protection of Mr Thurloe from the Kent coast. What could be safer?’

  ‘And if I do not go?’

  ‘We had hoped you would be happy to do this for us. But if you are not, Mr Thurloe asked me to remind you that there could be an arrest warrant out for you by tomorrow morning.’

  ‘But you put me in gaol for my own safety and the gaoler is in fact alive and well. I am neither an escaper nor a murderer.’

  ‘Of course not. And you will be able to argue that when you come to trial in a few months’ or few years’ time.’

  ‘You would not arrest me again!’

  ‘If we did not, then the Knot will be very suspicious,’ says Probert. ‘They will wonder how you can injure a gaoler with impunity. They will certainly wonder what can have become of Sir Richard’s letter. They will wonder if you have not gone over to our side. Of course, we would not betray your whereabouts to Mr Brodrick if you did not cooperate with us. I would not wish you even to think that we might. But we really do need you to do this, and there is nobody else who can help us.’

  ‘Does Samuel Morland know that I am going?’

  ‘I do not understand your fears. Sam Morland is to be trusted. But it has not been necessary for him to know.’

  ‘The fewer people who know …’ I say.

  ‘You are right,’ says Probert. ‘The fewer who know, the better. Did Mr Thurloe ever tell you about Manning?’

  ‘Yes. He was shot because Cromwell made a slip and inadvertently gave him away.’

  ‘It wasn’t a slip, it was a joke,’ says Probert. ‘As a lawyer it may appeal to you. A former Cavalier had been given leave to go abroad on condition that he did not see Charles Stuart. Note the precise wording. In order that he should not have to lie on his return, this gentleman’s meeting with Charles Stuart took place in the dark. Manning heard and reported this to Whitehall. Once back in London, the Cavalier told Cromwell he had not seen Charles. Cromwell replied, “No wonder, since the candles were out”. He was arrested but got a message back to the court that there was a spy amongst them. That was what did for Manning. Of course, Manning was careless with his ciphers. I suspect they were on to him anyway. Otherwise how would they have known which of them it was
? And Manning made things up. You could never be sure what he reported was true. He wasn’t a great loss. There was probably no need to have shot him.’

  ‘Thurloe doesn’t make jokes,’ I say.

  ‘It’s safer that way,’ says Probert.

  Through the windows I can now see a glorious sunset. The red glow seems to reflect off Probert’s weather-beaten face. He looks an honest man, which (as he would no doubt point out himself) is no reason for trusting him. Would Thurloe betray me to Brodrick if I don’t cooperate? Only if he had to. Only if there was no better way of getting the job done.

  ‘Very well,’ I say at length. ‘I shall go as you request. But this is the very last thing I do for you. And I would ask one favour in return.’

  ‘Anything within reason.’

  ‘It is, like my journey to Brussels, easy enough. I would request that the Lord Protector gives careful consideration to Lady Pole’s petition requesting that the attainder should be reversed and her husband’s estates restored. I think I owe her that.’

  ‘Yes, you probably do owe her that. Very well. I shall do all I can to ensure that her request is well received. I cannot guarantee the outcome.’

  ‘Nor, for my part, can I guarantee I will reach Brussels safely, but I intend to try. Surely, however, I do not need to go through this charade of skulking in the shadows with Ripley as far as Dover? Could he not be stopped here in London and I travel to Dover as myself? I would reach Brussels before they heard of Ripley’s detention.’

  Probert shakes his head. ‘Who knows who may be watching you as you go? We would not wish the Sealed Knot to think that we do not take our trade seriously.’

  I am therefore hurrying again through the dark streets, carrying a leather satchel with a change of clothes and Willys’s letter. Brussels lies ahead of me. But first I must make my way to Dover with the threat of arrest helpfully hanging over me.

  And there is one mystery that still troubles me. If the person Ripley and Brodrick were expecting really was Sir Felix, where has he been for the past few months? And where is he now? London? Paris? Essex? It would be so much better if it were not Brussels.