Sword of State: The Remarkable Story of George Monck

by Richard Woodman

  Wragg shook his head. ‘No, sir. In view of the lateness of the hour, the danger of footpads, the inclemency of the weather…’

  ‘Damn it!’ Monck swore, tearing off his robe and hurriedly ridding himself of his night-shirt as a startled Wragg looked-on. Reaching for his shirt and breeches Monck rapped out his intentions. ‘Do you wait for me below. I’ll be down directly…’

  ‘But General, Mr Humphrey has given me permission, in view of the inclemency of the weather and the lateness of the hour, to remain here the night…’

  Monck was already drawing on his heavy boots. ‘That is as you wish, Mr Wragg, and as I shall be paying for your accommodation you may avail yourself of my bed but I must tell you that I am to your master without delay.’

  ‘Then I must needs come with you, sir, for you cannot intrude alone…’ The wretched Wragg fell to a muttering of ‘oh, dear, oh dear,’ between rapid quaffings of the stiff toddy Mistress Franks had supplied. Monck polished his own off as he drew on coat and cloak. That done, and as if an after-thought, he turned to his open portmanteau and drew out a soft leather purse, stuffing it into his breast. Then, gathering up his hat, Monck turned to the clerk.

  ‘Come sir, the sooner we go, the sooner we arrive.’

  The gale met them at the inn doorway and nearly carried away Monck’s wide-brimmed hat. Behind him Wragg quailed visibly at the prospect of the walk to the City where, near the Temple church, Humphreys kept his rooms.

  ‘At least it has stopped raining, Mr Wragg,’ Monck said with an encouraging air of joviality. Was this news that Wragg had brought really true? Could it be true?

  Expectation kept Monck trudging determinedly through streets mired by the torrential rain with the wretched Wragg trailing behind him, all the while uttering imprecations under his breath. They slithered eastwards, passing the watch as midnight was called and were suffered to proceed unmolested, for it was clear by his bearing that Monck was a man of consequence that would brook no half-hearted arrest. As for footpads, the gentlemen of the night had sensibly taken themselves to their beds, whether such a place was a cold nook or a warm midden-heap. Monck sensed Wragg’s apprehension grew with the increasing proximity to his master’s door.

  By the time they arrived the sky had cleared, the thick overcast vanishing with a shift of the wind. Overhead, where the sky could be seen between the over-hanging houses, the stars shone crystal-bright, though rain still tinkled in the gutters and drain-pipes and ran across the slime and mire of the street. The change in the weather matched Monck’s mood and he was insensible to Humphrey’s protestations of outrage at having so unceremoniously been summoned from his bed. These, in any case, vanished when he realised for whom he had been woken.

  ‘General Monck…’ he began with an obsequiousness that far out-matched Mistress Franks’s servility, prompting Monck to wonder what sum Humphrey was amassing at his own expense.

  ‘I understand you have an affidavit for me, Mr Humphrey.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Come in sir, come in. Mr Wragg do you…’

  ‘Do you find it Mr Humphrey,’ Monck broke in. ‘Mr Wragg has done all in his power this night and the poor man will be beyond serving you if he wants another minute to his bed-time.’ Monck’s tone was peremptory and he turned to Wragg. ‘Be off with you sir. I shall not forget your service this evening.’

  Thus so uncertainly dismissed, Wragg withdrew and vanished into the darkness.

  ‘Of course…of course…’ said Humphrey waving Monck inside and leading him to his office where he transferred the flame from his bedside taper to a muster of half-consumed candles standing upon his desk. Taking a key from about his neck, the lawyer unlocked a drawer and lifted a paper from the pile that lay within, handing it to the General.

  ‘There sir. That should satisfy thee.’

  Monck took the paper with a grunt and read:

  I, Jacob Harbottle, lately Mate of the good ship Peter of Harwich do most solemnly swear that of my certain knowledge one Ratsford, rated landsman aboard the said ship Peter of Harwich is deceased in this wise: that he did contract a fever at the Turkic port of Smyrna, from which he took a fatal contagion and expired soon thereafter. This occurring, as best my memory serves, at or near the beginning of February last.

  ‘Over a year ago,’ Monck said, looking up at Humphrey.

  ‘Indeed, General.’

  ‘And how did you locate this man Harbottle?’

  ‘Through an extensive enquiry in every ale-house, whore-house, stew, rookery, nook, cranny and crevice all along the Ratcliffe Highway from The Tower to Limehouse and beyond,’ Humphrey said before succumbing to an eloquent yawn.

  ‘And how did you snare him?’ Mock persisted.

  ‘By advertising a reward for news of this Ratsford for whom, it was put about, we were holding a legacy. And before you ask,’ Humphrey said presciently, ‘we had a dozen or more claimants whose spurious stories we dismissed before Harbottle turned up. They were,’ Humphrey chuckled, as if to emphasise the superiority of his lawyer’s intellect and its ability to penetrate a fraud, ‘easy to discover, General.’

  ‘And Harbottle?’

  ‘Was genuine, I have no doubt. He spoke of satisfactorily corroborative circumstances and seemed more intent upon divulging the information than gaining the reward.’ Monck nodded and was about to speak when Humphrey added, ‘in fact he came to us, having heard that we were searching for this Ratsford through a third party, a former ship-mate, I think.’

  ‘So he wasn’t pulled out of a brothel by the diligent Wragg?’ remarked Monck with a relieved grin.

  ‘Goodness me no sir, though Wragg proved a man of uncommon diligence, not to mention discretion, in this delicate matter General Monck.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it, Mr Humphrey, but let us continue to keep the entire matter as quiet as we may, though word of it will rattle like enough…’

  ‘I doubt it, General. The populace frequenting the purlieus of the Highway are either feckless or shifting. Such enquiries are, I understand, common enough: mothers of bastards enquiring for the men who impregnated them, the indebted seeking debtors, cheated seamen after revenge for one reason or another. Indeed the ferment among the crimps and pimps, the whores and the whore-masters, to say nothing of the floating population must tend to an universal amnesia – at least I cannot conceive otherwise if one recalls that this is accompanied by such quantities of gin and other potent liquors. In fact I doubt the matter is recalled even now among those to whom the question was directly addressed but a short while past.’

  ‘I am not so sure. In my experience such things gain an impetus of their own…’ Monck fished for the purse and withdrew it, provoking a reaction from Humphrey, who held up his right palm in a gesture of denial.

  ‘Goodness me, no sir; I must draw up your account properly.’

  Monck grinned again. ‘Of course you must, Mr Humphrey, but this,’ and here he laid five sovereigns on the desk, the glint of the gold gleaming in the candle-light, ‘this is for Wragg. Do see he receives at least three of them and all five if your sense of honour permits.’

  Discomfited, Humphrey gave a thin giggle. ‘You jest, General, of course.’ Then he recovered his composure. ‘Oh, by-the-by, General Monck, Harbottle said that he had come to speak with us because he thought this Ratsford had a wife. Is that why you have an interest in him?’

  Monck looked at the lawyer, whose expression wore none of the cunning his words suggested. He leaned towards Humphrey and fixed him in a cold glare. ‘The man was a thief,’ he said. ‘His fatal distemper saves us the bother of hanging him.’

  ‘Ahhh,’ responded Humphrey, unconvinced. As Monck folded the affidavit up and placed it inside his purse, Humphrey purred: ‘And where shall I send your account, General Monck?’

  ‘To Potheridge, Mr Humphrey, in Devonshire, whither I now go. I give you good day.’

  ‘Well good-night, General Monck, good-night,’ Humphreys replied.

  And a moment later George
Monck was striding happily along the Strand under the brilliant canopy of the stars.

  *

  Monck’s intention to clear out of London the following morning was frustrated when Mistress Franks interrupted his breakfast with the news that he had another visitor. Monck had never before set eyes upon the man who came into his room, yet there was something familiar about him, a mystery that evaporated the moment the fellow introduced himself. Monck dismissed Mistress Franks and turned to the new-comer.

  ‘I am Tom Clarges, sir.’

  ‘Anne’s brother?’ Monck rose from the table.

  ‘Just so, sir.’

  ‘And I am very pleased to meet you.’ The two shook hands and Monck appraised his visitor. He knew Anne to have had a brother, a man she had told him had served in the Royalist Army, but her own humble circumstances were such that Monck had thought nothing of the fellow other than Monck knew him to be married. Yet Tom Clarges stood before him as a man of self-confidence, soberly but well-dressed, a man one would have passed in the streets of London without comment, beyond acknowledging that he had made something of himself. No doubt that in spite of being on the wrong side, civil strife seemed to have given him opportunities. Their eyes met and Monck sensed concern in the other’s expression.

  ‘This is not a social visit, Mr Clarges, that at least I can tell.’ Monck sat down again and pushed his platter aside. The younger man was left standing.

  ‘No, General…’

  ‘And if it is to hector me on my having spirited Anne out of London…’

  ‘It is partly upon that matter that I come, sir, but not to hector you, though my sister does run some risk from your co-habitation.’

  ‘Co-habitation, eh?’ Monck mocked. ‘You sound like a lawyer. No, Anne is under my protection…’

  ‘You need not attempt to deceive me, General. I am fully acquainted with your domestic arrangements because Nan has confided in me and it is upon her personal service that I am here. I mean not to make an enemy of you, sir, and hope to make of you a friend, if that is not presumptuous on my part.’

  Monck held his peace, relying upon the other’s awkwardness to induce a loose-tongue. He thought of his own ill-judged loquacity with Conway in self-justification and awaited the younger man’s explanation for his visit.

  ‘Hearing that you were ill in Scotland, my sister bespoke me to come hither and make enquiries as to the whereabouts of her husband. She was desirous of coming to you but durst not stir from Potheridge until the way became clear and the risk of exposing yourselves to accusations of a capital offence from your adultery… forgive my frankness, sir, but please hear me out…’

  ‘Pray do go on, Mr Clarges,’ Monck said coolly as Clarges faltered before the sudden chill in Monck’s ice-blue eyes. Anne had warned him of her lover’s capacity to freeze a man with his mere glare.

  ‘My sister wished me to carry out enquiries which, I find, have coincided with your own…’

  ‘What manner of man are you, Mr Clarges? Eh?’ Clarges seemed suddenly lost for words, as Monck had intended him to be. ‘Come, sir, tell me something of yourself. You have the discourse of an attorney, yet I know you to be the offspring of a horse-farrier, like your sister. I know you to have served in the King’s forces during the late war…’

  ‘As you did yourself, General,’ Clarges interposed with bold rapidity in attempt to turn the tables on the older man.

  ‘As I did myself, Mr Clarges,’ responded an unfazed Monck, secretly amused and pleased at the other’s quickness which so reminded him of Anne. ‘But you were what? An apothecary? And now… Why you seem to possess the wits of your sister and that is not entirely an easy thing for me to appreciate when you come a-talking of capital offences. You forget I have risked allegations of high treason and I have a suspicion of those who address me in terms of such familiarity as claiming you come on an errand…’

  Clarges had had enough. He coloured and held up his hand. ‘You utterly misunderstand me, General Monck! I come in hope of your friendship but chiefly I come because Anne asked me to undertake the discovery of whether or no she is a widow. I should have thought the consequences of that and the future happiness of you both would be pleasing to you. That you had recovered from your distemper, quit Scotland and come to London on a congruent errand I only heard about two days ago. It has taken me the interval to find your whereabouts.’

  Monck’s expression softened, encouraging Clarges to go on. ‘Should I discharge this duty to your mutual satisfactions I should feel I had acquitted myself of a brotherly obligation. Should I find you hostile to my interference I should be disappointed, the more so if we are to be in the future related. As for myself you are correct; I was nothing but an apothecary and served in the King’s infantry. I was wounded for my pains at Naseby and was in consequence left aside. Thereafter a chance acquaintance enabled me to better myself in the service of several gentlemen, undertaking matters of a personal nature involving the recovery of estates, the discovery of the whereabouts of lost souls and the like. In doing so I have thus picked-up something of a legal cast-of-mind…’

  ‘Tell me, Mr Clarges,’ Monck broke in, satisfied with this man’s biography, ‘how came your father to marry Anne off to a man of Ratsford’s stamp?’

  Diverted from his explanation, Clarges floundered for a second, expelled his breath and readjusted his train of thought.

  ‘I never understood it myself, but ’twas our mother who persuaded father ’twas a good match. She was apt to descant on the man Ratsford’s good-looks in a besotted manner, and seemed beguiled by the notion that Ratsford was a perfumier, though he was as much employed as a farrier as was our father. Ratsford called himself such and indeed he appeared to be so, at least when he first paid court to Anne, being full of the promise of something. He was nothing, and was worse than nothing when he descended into his cups, which was too often for my liking, though he concealed it well from our parents and, indeed Anne herself. I know her to have repented of her ignorance since.’ Monck recalled the bruised face she had confronted him with after her husband had beaten her. Clarges went on: ‘Ratsford was, it turned out, nothing but an occasional purveyor of cheap perfumed waters that he claimed, with some extravagant flourishes, to have mixed himself from attar of roses, ambergris, and so on and so forth. He was a common, idle fellow who could, when he wished, turn a pretty phrase, all of which turned Anne’s head as it turned our mother’s. It seemed that with Anne’s millinery and his alleged perfumery they might improve on the prospects of a farrier’s lot. It was too late when Anne discovered he hawked his so-called perfumes chiefly to the whores and drabs along the Ratcliffe Highway and the strongest waters he brewed were intended to hide the stench of piss and pox…’

  ‘And so she came to washing and darning the linen of the prisoners in The Tower,’ Monck conjectured.

  ‘Just so, sir.’ Clarges looked down, troubled, then raised his head to look directly at Monck. ‘She is better than that, sir.’

  Monck smiled. The ice had melted from his eyes. ‘I know,’ he said softly in his pleasant burr. ‘I know.’ He paused a moment, then went on: ‘And you, did your services to others lead you to undertake this present duty for your sister?’

  ‘In a way,’ Clarges replied, brightening, ‘though it was her letter to me that revealed her whereabouts and requested that I paid her a visit.’

  ‘I see. Well, you had better sit down, sir.’ Clarges looked about the room and Monck gestured to the foot of the unmade bed. ‘There is my portmanteau. Please…’ Clarges closed the open chest and sat as Monck went on: ‘And you came to tell me all this?’

  ‘In part, General, but more particularly – since your landlady tells me you are leaving for the West Country today – to tell you that I would treat the evidence of Harbottle, which I know you to have been informed of from Wragg, with some caution.’

  ‘What? What are you saying? How do you know Wragg? And what is wrong with Harbottle’s evidence.’

  ‘I
have been chasing the same trail as yourself, General. Your sister…’

  ‘Yes, yes, I understand that…’

  ‘It led to Harbottle,’ Clarges said, making a gesture of obvious assumption. ‘Harbottle led to Wragg and Wragg was not difficult to purchase. Humphrey is not a man I should trust far, and Wragg is his creature. In short, General, they bribed Harbottle to state what may yet prove rumour.’

  ‘Then the affidavit I have is useless,’ Monck growled, rising from his chair and leaning on the table.

  ‘Well, not entirely,’ responded Clarges, his tone carrying a hint of worldly cynicism. ‘It has the standing of any legal document; it declares Anne to be a widow and would allow you to marry in good faith.’

  ‘Then why come here with this tale of doubt and uncertainty?’

  ‘Because I know from Anne that you are a man of impeccable rectitude, and I know that she would fret if there was any doubt in the matter which – I am afraid – there is.’

  Monck sat down again, frowning, his right hand rubbing his jaw. ‘Tainted evidence, eh?’ Clarges nodded. ‘I wish you had not told me all this, Mr Clarges.’ Monck stared at Clarges across the abandoned wreckage of his breakfast, fixing the younger man with a steady, inquisitive look. ‘What do you intend to do now?’

  ‘It was my intention to return to Potheridge, to tell Anne that the train had run out upon this equivocation. Then I heard, as I suppose I might have guessed, that you were about the same business and in town…’

  ‘From Wragg?’ Monck asked and Clarges nodded as Monck asked: ‘And what will you do after you lay this commission aside? Has Anne promised to pay you?’

  Clarges smiled. ‘She has offered to defray my expenses but I am possessed of some funds of my own.’

  ‘And you can subsist upon them for…how long?’

  ‘For as long as may be necessary, General.’

  ‘How long, Clarges?’ Monck’s tone was sharp.

  Clarges looked up. ‘Six months. Perhaps a little more… or less.’ He paused under Monck’s scrutiny. ‘Why do…?’