Sexby's tortuous relations with the Royalists were almost foundering, mainly due to Langdale's suspicion. 'It sticks in my craw to ally with this extremist, Lovell.'
'But we are desperate.' Lovell still had a bad taste from what he had just seen in England. 'Rochester's rebellion was an expensive fiasco — and we have run out of resources. We must use Sexby to kill Cromwell for us. Then we may distance ourselves.'
The atmosphere was full of alarm. Thurloe's double agent at the young King's court, Henry Manning, had been exposed. Charles II had him immediately arrested. Manning was shot dead in a lonely wood outside Cologne. The incident emphasised that no one could be trusted. Orlando Lovell suggested himself to move in for a much more intimate watch on Sexby's intrigues.
The two men met. Sick of skulking in disguise, Sexby came across as peevish, morose and intractable. Lovell told Langdale the man was more interested in destroying Cromwell than in restoring the King. Despite this, Orlando Lovell had some time for Sexby. They were both loners, outsiders, aiming higher than somehow seemed proper.
Langdale had found Richard Overton a more sympathetic character, but at the end of the year Overton returned to England. He lodged with his previous landlord Colonel Wetton, where he came under observation again from Gideon Jukes. Gideon learned that Overton was now devoting himself to republishing a tract he had written ten years earlier called Man's Mortalitie. Dear to his Baptist heart throughout his life, this argued that the soul dies with the body. Since the soul's immortality was a fundamental Christian tenet, many Christians viewed the idea with horror. Gideon was enough of a sectarian to share Overton's opinion. Making no comment on the theology, he duly reported that as far as he could tell, Overton had turned away from political intrigue and was no longer working with Sexby.
Not until the middle of 1656 did Sexby's plans reach the point where he risked writing to his other old associate in England, the imprisoned John Wildman, hinting that his great enterprise was now afoot:
My Dear Friend,
It's now about a year and two month since I left England, and longer since I writ to thee, and received any from thee. I pity thy condition, but prithee be of good comfort; all hopes of liberty is not utterly lost and gone. Nor I do not yet despair, but I shall see England again, and thee too, before I die…
Oh! what would I give for an hour's discourse; but knowing that cannot be, let us converse this way, if possible. I understand thou art much dejected: you have as little cause so to be, as ever prisoner had; for though your unrighteous judge and his janissaries think they sit so sure there's no danger of falling; yet I tell thee, he will not be of that opinion long… That apostate thinks he knows me… Mark what I say to you… his soul (though as proud as Lucifer's) will fail within him.
I am and for ever shall remain, my worthy friend,
Thine to command till death,
Thomas Brooke
Antwerp, May 28, 1656
'Thomas Brooke' had this risky letter intercepted by Thurloe. Only a few weeks later, John Wildman was abruptly released. He was now supposed to be acting as a double agent for Thurloe. However, it was Lockhart, the English ambassador in France, who wrote in July that Sexby had indeed gone to England: '… I could learn nothing where he was, but was assured he was upon dangerous designs…'
In fact Sexby was withdrawing from direct action and making himself a puppet-master. Just as he once masterminded the army Agitators, he now employed a virtual unknown, the man who had fled abroad from Scotland when General Monck was exposing the officers' plot: Miles Sindercombe.
Orlando Lovell had been introduced to Sindercombe.
Provided by Sexby with five hundred pounds, weapons and ammunition, Miles Sindercombe travelled to England in disguise to assemble a group of supporters. He took up old contacts with disgruntled soldiers, in particular a member of Cromwell's Lifeguards, who could pass on information about Cromwell's movements. Accompanying Sindercombe was a man called 'William Boyes', who used several disguises and names. The only thing certain about Boyes was that none of Sindercombe's group knew much about him. He had attached himself before they thought of asking questions. Somehow he put himself at the heart of their schemes. What made Boyes seem useful was a promise he made with great assurance that once Cromwell's death created a power vacuum in England, they were assured of support from Charles II. This suggested that he was a Royalist, one with intimate access to the King.
Sexby skilfully set up a network that included thirty or forty people. He arranged that not more than two ever knew the identities of the others. Though he himself remained a mystery, Boyes knew everyone.
The group hired a shop in King Street, in the ancient environs of Westminster, close to the abbey. From here, they hoped to assassinate the Protector as his coach passed by.
While they waited to make the attempt, the man they called Boyes took lodgings by himself. He first hired a room with the widow of a dead Royalist he had known in the Kent rebellion, a Mrs Elizabeth Bevan.
Chapter Seventy-Seven — London: 1656
'It is here credibly reported, the cavaliers have another design in hand. Surely they are madmen, that cannot discern the Lord hath blasted all their projects. I desire the Lord will settle us in peace, that we may get in our estates and be able to satisfy our creditors, and then, we may follow our employments quietly..'
(From the State Papers of John Thurloe)
For any family with aspirations, or at least a family containing boys, much time and effort had to be given to the issue of schools. In the country choice was limited, because only the great towns had grammar schools, but in London there were enough to occupy all the talk at dinner for months on end. For the Jukes of Shoe Lane the situation was precipitated by news of a legacy Juliana had been promised for her younger son from his godfather. Probate was finally granted and the money became available. Edmund Treves had stipulated it was to send Valentine to study for three years at Oxford University, hoping that Val would go to his own old college of St John's.
Long debates ensued. The boys, at twelve and ten, were sufficiently close in age for jealousy to be only a heartbeat away. It was already clear that Valentine was much more likely to benefit from this gift than Tom, yet Tom believed he ought to have been favoured because he was the firstborn. He appealed to Gideon, who was no help, because he had been a second son himself.
'Why don't I have godparents, Mother?'
'You did have. They were an Irish couple called Mcllwaine, one of whom for certain is dead…'
'Irish?' demanded Gideon, slightly askance. He pretended this was a pose, though he felt genuine unease.
'Yes, dear heart, you have married an incorrigible Royalist with sinister connections. I thought you were aware of it!'
If their opinions were sought, both boys were young enough to fall either into silly behaviour or into secret deep anxiety. No child of that age is in a position to know his mind on his future. It had to be discussed, however. The legacy had caused more complications than it solved. If Valentine was to go to university he had to be prepared for it, starting now. Money for school must be found. With two incomes coming into the household, that was less a problem than it might once have been. But if Valentine was to be educated, Thomas must have the same opportunity — and so the discussions about schools began.
Juliana knew Edmund Treves had attended Merchant Taylors' School, but that was in St Lawrence Pountney away in the City of London; since lessons started at six or seven in the morning, it would only be feasible if the boys boarded. Besides, Gideon heard the headmaster at Merchant Taylors' had been examined as a 'malignant schoolmaster' — thought to have Royalist tendencies; the man was a member of the Stationers' Company, who had recently been in trouble for publishing Roman Catholic material. Next, Juliana liked what she heard about Westminster, Ben Jonson's old school, until Gideon discovered that it still occupied abbey premises and the headmaster had locked in the boys during the King's execution to prevent their going to watch;
Juliana was horrified to hear that boys sometimes climbed on the high roof to get a view of Parliament. They settled on St Paul's School, where all the teaching was done in Latin or Greek. To stand any chance of survival, the boys had first to be sent to a private tutor and given a grounding in the classics.
Marchamont Nedham, the editor, had given them a tract, On Education, by John Milton, the Secretary of Foreign Tongues. Milton, like Gideon and Lambert, had been brought up in Bread Street, where his father was a scrivener, highly musical, and a great believer in education. Milton had even kept a school himself, though primarily for his own nephews. Gideon took a look, then left Juliana to plough through his essay.
'Gideon, he recommends establishing an academy where the whole process can be undertaken, from the years of twelve to twenty-one. The day's work should be divided into study, exercise and diet. The study should begin with good grammar and clear enunciation, then: Latin, Greek, Arithmetic, Geometry, Religion in the evenings after dinner, authors on Agriculture, use of Globes and Maps, Geometry, Astronomy, Trigonometry, then Fortification, Architecture, Enginery and Navigation. To illuminate their studies they should be exposed to "the helpful experience of Hunters, Fowlers, Fishermen, Shepherds, Gardeners, Apothecaries, and in other sciences, Architects, Engineers, Mariners and Anatomists". Poetry. Ethics. The knowledge of virtue and the hatred of vice. Scripture, politics, law, Hebrew, then perhaps Chaldean and Syrian… I particularly like how he throws in, "And either now, or before this, they may have learned at any odd hour the Italian tongue" — I fail to see him mention French, however. That must be a fault.'
Gideon and Juliana gazed at one another in trepidation, as parents who read widely but neither of whom had had long formal schooling. 'It is a wondrous chance that Val has been given, though Tom may kick out against it.' Gideon's tone was almost humorous. 'Never fear, sweetheart. I dare say even Val will still want to sit with us sometimes for a dish of fricassee, while his dog Muff gently licks his fingers.'
Marchamont Nedham urged that the boys also be sent to a writing school to be taught a good hand; he spoke wistfully of a system called 'Zeiglographia, or a new art of short writing never before published, more easy, exact, speedy, and short than any heretofore. Invented and composed by Thomas Shalton, being his last 30years' study.'
The upshot was that the boys were taught the classics by a private tutor for a couple of years, until Thomas was enrolled at St Paul's when he was twelve. Valentine then made enormous strides while working solo under the tutor's care; he was an introverted bookworm, who absorbed knowledge like a sea sponge. Tom hated school, however. He was not a natural linguist. Classical literature failed to ignite him. Valentine's ease of learning only made Tom writhe the more. As he approached his thirteenth birthday at the end of 1656, Tom reminded Gideon all too much of his own unhappiness at that age.
One beam of sunlight in Tom's life was that he had expressed an interest in music. Anne and Lambert offered to pay for music lessons and Anne gave him Robert Allibone's two viols, which she had been bequeathed. Valentine refused to participate, so the music lessons were all Tom's. He grew in confidence every time he set off on his lone expeditions to his teacher, bowed under a viol case which he diligently humped on his back. He also grew closer to his benefactors. Juliana insisted that he regularly play to Lambert and Anne, to show them what he was learning. By now the boys had discovered that Lambert had been a Ranter; they viewed him as a highly exciting figure. Tom and Lambert got on particularly well. Occasionally, when there had been ructions at home, Tom would storm off and take his troubles to Lambert, who would wink to Anne, then lead off the boy to the grocery shop where they burrowed in among the spices together, taking a stock count until all unhappiness was forgotten.
From what she knew of Orlando Lovell's early life, Juliana was relieved that her son had found someone he would respond to, who would take a friendly interest. However, not even Lambert was able to prevent what happened that autumn to Thomas Lovell.
From what Juliana also knew of his father, the disaster came as no real surprise.
It was the period of elections to Oliver Cromwell's second Protectorate Parliament, the first with formal voting by the electorate, the first such voting since before the civil war. England was currently governed under the experimental Rule of the Major-Generals. A decision had been taken to reduce the numbers and cost of the standing army, but to reinforce it with local militias. In ten administrative districts, these forces were raised and led by Parliamentary major-generals, whose responsibilities included controlling Royalists and assisting the regular civil authorities in routine matters — or interfering, as it was seen by local justices and by the public at large. At least in providing an armed response to the Royalist risings of 1655 the unpopular system had worked. That partly explained why in the following year Sexby and Sindercombe took a different approach. They would concentrate first on the violent removal of Cromwell.
By the summer of 1656, the main preoccupation of the major-generals was vetting candidates for the Parliamentary elections and putting pressure on local selectors. All kinds of people were standing for Parliament. Royalists made a concerted effort to get elected, though they had to do it by subterfuge. Despite the major-generals' anxious scrutiny, almost a hundred new MPs were subsequently rejected by Cromwell's Council of State. This caused much discontent amongst those who were rejected — men whom Edward Sexby then busily courted from abroad. None the less, a kind of Parliament was put together and Cromwell was due to open it on the 17th of September. It was understood that he was personally at risk.
In August, Will Lockhart, the Commonwealth ambassador to France, held up the post by bribery and beseeching so he could pen a desperate note to Thurloe:
I am certainly informed, that Colonel Sexby is returned into Flanders, and was for many hours together shut up in a room with him that was the Spanish ambassador in England. Tho' the particulars that passed betwixt them cannot be well known, yet this much I am assured of that the Spaniards are very well satisfied with his negotiation, and promise themselves great advantages from it… He hath also given them hope, that upon their landing any forces in England, Ch. Stewart and his brother being upon their head, there will be several in the army declare for him.. Sir, your enemies have many irons in the fire at this time: I wish, that not only some, but all of them may cool.
Sexby re-emerged in Flanders after Miles Sindercombe's first idea was abandoned. Sindercombe had thought they could fire shots into Oliver Cromwell's coach as it passed through a very narrow part of King Street on his regular route to Parliament. The shop Sindercombe hired from a sempster, one Edward Hilton, had no decent escape route, however. The conspirators were not seeking to be martyrs; they always made sure they could flee after an attempt. That promising plan had been abandoned, leaving a large trunk of weapons behind in the house.
They did not give up. Sexby's obsession outlasted the setback. They were coming back when the new Parliament was officially opened in September. They dispersed temporarily. William Boyes, the mystery Royalist, was still lodging with a widow. Her husband, while participating in the second civil war, had drowned in the panic during Lord Norwich's desperate escape across the Thames from Greenwich. His name had been Bevan Bevan.
The widow's chattering drove Boyes to distraction. Her suggestive-ness offended him. Her children were a noisy nightmare. He was planning a sudden flit. Before he left, Elizabeth Bevan had attempted to: ingratiate herself by offering to have mended a tattered outfit she found hanging on the door-peg in his room. Boyes, who had arrived dressed respectably as a gentleman, hid a smile while he admitted that he used the ragged suit when he wanted to disguise himself as a struggling clergyman. He assumed, he murmured to Mistress Bevan with a rare flash of charm, he need not explain why…
Elizabeth dropped her voice. 'This is quite understood! Keep your tatters, Mr Boyes, and I wish you well in your designs.' She rearranged her mighty bosom and gave Boyes a narrow scrutiny. 'I woul
d have taken your garments to a gentlewoman with whom I have a slight connection — she is esteemed an excellent needlewoman and keeps a notions shop. Indeed she has — or, I should say she previously had — the same name as a man my husband knew in the Kentish rebellion. He was a great cavalier, very sure of himself and a determined schemer, who had fought with Prince Rupert, it was said. His name was Lovell. I believe he was a colonel in your army. Do you know him, Master Boyes?'
'I believe I do,' drawled Boyes. 'And I should enjoy renewed acquaintance with his wife. Can you tell me the lady's whereabouts?'
'Indeed I can!' smiled Elizabeth Bevan, folding her arms across her chest and looking so helpful it could hardly be taken maliciously.
Rarely for him, 'Mr Boyes' then made a bad mistake: he left the widow's house without paying his rent.
After much thought, hoping to redeem some profit, Elizabeth upped and brought herself to Gideon Jukes. She confessed what she had told the cavalier. 'You know, Gideon, I am the loyallest woman in the Commonwealth and think it my duty to warn you of this dangerous renegade…'
Gideon's voice was clipped: 'Did you tell him Juliana remarried?'
'I was a widow alone in my house with a short-tempered, armed man! I quailed from it. I feared he would kill me.' Her quailing was true, though Gideon guessed she had dropped hints.
'You have been harbouring a Delinquent,' he growled. 'Best to get down to the intelligence office with your story, and hope you are not too severely questioned. That way you may save your skin.'
And what will you do?' asked Elizabeth inquisitively.
'The man is disaffected — but no danger to me.' Still, Gideon's heart pounded.
Chapter Seventy-Eight — Shoe Lane: 1656
Orlando Lovell kept the shop under observation from a doorway for several hours. The building was narrow-fronted, one room wide, perhaps two deep, three storeys high, better maintained than those next door. It stood halfway down an alley off Shoe Lane, in a commercial district, more dingy than dangerous. There were worse stink-holes in London. A prostitute had accosted him in a desultory fashion as he turned the corner, but she made no move to follow him down the alley, nor did she curse him when he ignored her. Sparrows pecked in the gutter.
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