by Simon Parke
Cromwell sat in silence.
‘This is a winding road, Mr Cromwell, a twisting thing. We see only our journey to now and note it well.’
Oliver felt a passing sense of despair, liking journeys that were plain and clear to the eye some miles ahead.
‘You do not bring me good news, Mr Wood.’
‘That is not my job, Oliver. I simply tell you the truth.’
‘And you tell me we deal with a dissembler.’
*
‘You can’t let them push you about, Robert! You always get pushed about.’
‘No one is pushing me about, Mother.’
Ruth Hammond was in his doorway again, making all things public when his study should be a private place.
‘They’re pushing you about, anyone can see that. The scullery maid, Josephine, she says it!’ Mrs Hammond indicated down the corridor. ‘You’re the governor, Robert! You do as you will, not what that parliament wills.’ She spat the ‘parliament’ word. ‘That shower want only for us all to become Presbyterians, that’s their plan – which would be worse than the king of Spain!’
‘I am simply in their employ, Mother, not some despot from the east.’
‘You’ll never be mistaken for one of them. Despots are not so lily-livered.’
He wished his mother would stay with the cakes and gooseberry creams and keep away from politics and loud references to himself.
‘So what do they say?’ she continued.
‘Who?’
‘And hurry, Robert, don’t flannel, because I need to get back to the kitchen.’
He would like to help her there. ‘They’re just tightening the net a little,’ he said. ‘Some new orders to make the Isle more secure.’
‘What manner of orders?’
‘It needn’t concern you.’
‘I am a member of staff.’ Hammond sighed. ‘And your mother.’ She paused for a moment as Hammond shrugged. ‘Be wary of those who never held a sword against the king, Robert, that’s all I say. They will be the ones snuggling inside his royal pocket.’
‘Parliament is some way from the king’s pocket, Mother. They wish the king safe; but kept here.’
‘You need your old regiment with you, that’s what you need.’
‘Mother, this is not army business.’
‘Not army business? It was General Fairfax who sent you here.’
‘Yes – and parliament who authorized my arrival . . . and pay me.’
‘You will have to decide, Robert, that’s all I say: is it parliament or the army? As our Lord said, you cannot serve two masters.’
And Charles makes it three, thought Hammond gloomily.
*
Meanwhile, Charles is writing to Jane. Her spirit so reminds him of his dear wife Henrietta, some years in France now. Had the two women met, he fancies they would have been like sisters; he is quite certain of that.
I am daily more and more satisfied with this governor, sweet Jane. Everything is being done to ensure my comfort, which gladdens me. My furniture from Hampton Court has arrived, with only minor damage in the move. I have also been free to choose my servants, so the lively Firebrace is here with the melancholic Dowcett, as well as my barber Michael and many Scottish voices round about me, beautiful to my ears; and correspondence can continue, through our established channels, so do write.
God has also blessed me with the arrival of my royal coach, shipped, I am told, with some difficulty. So now I travel more freely on this fine island, observing much, if you understand my meaning. I wave to my subjects from the coach window, as I make a circuit of the place, and many look on with much wonder. I do not believe they have seen a king in his coach before, and it’s a fine coach, as well you know. This warms my heart, to be among my people. They say I look most handsome in my coach; I trust you would say so too.
I have been deer hunting and hawking, of course, and visited the chalk columns called the Needles on the western tip. These quite stir the spirit. They say it once linked this island with the county of Dorset, which is a wonder I can scarce comprehend. While on another day, I travelled to Yarmouth to be entertained at a banquet given by Mrs Urry, and the food was most passable. Truly, the people here are gladdened to see me, and kneel often before me in joy and reverence.
I should also make mention of my visit to the church at Bonchurch on the south of the island, where I discovered a funeral party. When I enquired who had died, I was told that it was Sir Ralph Chamberlain. During his life, they said, he had fought and bled for my cause. I then discovered that he carried wounds from my service in his body – wounds he could not survive, causing death. When I heard it was so, I stepped out of my carriage and joined those mourning. They beheld this act of humility and gentleness in a king, and it gave them consolation, I believe.
You must come to this isle, Jane, when the time is propitious. This is a royal command. I have privacy for the warmth of friendship and I will seek to make it so. You can bring me much comfort.
From your grateful and sore celibate majesty,
Charles
January 1648
‘His flight was less innocent than we thought, Oliver.’
‘Oh? It felt all so innocent to me, Mr Wood! ‘
‘Sarcasm, Mr Cromwell? It suits you as well as a dress.’ Cromwell shrugged. ‘And means your anger grows,’ added Wood.
‘I am not angry.’
‘Sarcasm is anger’s bastard son, Oliver. It announces a silenced rage.’
Perhaps his anger did grow . . . for a man he’d trusted had clearly lied about his intentions. Oliver had entreated with the fellow in honest discourse – and been made a fool of. The army had mocked his negotiations, and clearly Charles had laughed with them.
‘It suited you to believe it good,’ said Wood. ‘And when something suits, we notice not its wiles.’
That jibe again.
‘I learn slowly of the man’s dishonesty. Others race ahead in that discovery.’
They sat together in his damp parlour at Drury Lane, with its thin green rug and large Bible on the side.
‘The fires deal slowly with the damp,’ he’d said when Wood commented on the musty air. ‘It is a great deal more favourable than it was.’
Elizabeth did not allow Wood in their home; but she was away, helping the needy spinsters of Southwark, with whom she spent considerable time these days, sewing clothes for the poor south of the river. Cromwell had returned here from the army camp at Newmarket, to listen better to the converse of parliament. Archbishop Laud – that awful man so loved by Charles – had called parliament ‘that noise’, and Cromwell understood the sentiment. It was clear the Presbyterians were talking to the king without reference to the army, their faces drenched in smug.
‘What have you uncovered, Wood?’
‘Me?’ He posed as the innocent schoolboy.
‘You are restless as a bear who waits on the dogs.’
‘We have a letter, Oliver.’
‘You always have a letter. What sort of letter?’
‘Left behind by the king in Hampton Court.’
‘And we hear of it only now?’
‘It was found only when his furniture was removed, to be taken to the island. He has his royal coach now and travels extensively.’
‘And what do we learn from the letter?’ He asked without wishing to know.
‘We learn, to speak his words, that when he left, he was “retiring himself for some time from the public view both of my friends and of my enemies”.’
‘He did not intend the Isle of Wight.’
‘It appears not.’
‘So where did he intend?’ Wood shrugged. ‘Is he Elijah, flying in his chariot to heaven?’
‘I have informed Hammond,’ said Wood.
‘A man busier than he would have liked, I fe
ar. I am told he looks quite ill and now regrets his retirement to the Isle.’
‘I have relayed the simple facts to him, Oliver: that the island was not the king’s first choice, nor the care of the army his desire. The letter he left behind, as he sneaked down the unguarded stairs’ – he paused for a moment to allow time for shame – ‘indicates other intentions, another purpose. He would like to have got more cleanly away.’
The terrible significance of that occurrence hung between them.
‘Perhaps no ships arrived to take him,’ said Oliver.
‘They say Henrietta is presently off Jersey. A boat has lingered there a while, declaring itself bound for the Americas when the wind changes; but the wind has changed several times to my knowledge and the boat still remains.’
‘Then you need to find out.’
‘He is well served by ciphers at present. Many different codes, the royal bedroom must be awash with secret lists. And lemon juice.’
‘Lemon juice?’
‘He writes a great deal in lemon juice . . . not the ink of those with nothing to hide.’
‘Hell’s bells! Does the man do anything straight?’
‘But his codes we will crack like eggs; and we have a friend there.’
‘Where?’
‘Close to the king.’ Like a magician, Wood liked his revelations.
‘How close?’
‘Is it true you threw a cushion at Ludlow?’ How did Wood know that? ‘Many have wished to, of course.’
‘It is time to go, Mr Wood.’ He did not wish to speak of the cushion – but did wish to go to the theatre. He was going to the theatre this evening, to see a play by Mr Shakespeare.
*
‘The king has made a secret agreement,’ said Jane.
Why had she come back to the Strand? She had no wish for a continued relationship with Mr Lilly, no desire at all. An irritating fellow and somewhat cold . . . though intriguing, and she had to tell someone. She held too much inside, too many secrets and it made her ill; some suggested this. She suffered headaches, sometimes monstrous in their power and never once helped by leeches fixed on her neck, and found occasional release in speaking of the matter.
‘An agreement?’ said Lilly, apparently bored.
‘It is secret,’ said Jane, ‘and need not detain us.’
He had offered her wine and she’d turned him down but accepted some elderflower cordial and sipped like a sparrow.
‘With whom is this secretive agreement made?’ asked Lilly.
‘I cannot say.’
‘But it is a secret that you know.’
‘I am included, yes.’
Of course she knew. She was an important person, after all; this was not always appreciated by some of the king’s more lordly supporters.
‘Then it is not so secret.’
‘It is completely secret!’
‘Known by the king, the king’s mystery bedfellows – and you. That’s quite a crowd.’
‘But no one else knows, and I will tell no one.’
Lilly poured a little more wine into his glass and more cordial into Jane’s.
‘It is hard to hold a secret; this is my experience. I always tell someone.’
‘It is not hard for me.’
‘Perhaps you flatter yourself, Mrs Whorwood.’
‘Even the king’s advisors left the room,’ she boasted. ‘No one must know.’
‘Yet you know.’
‘And there the story ends. Do you find that so hard to believe? Is my sex so talkative?’
She mocked him. Did he not realize that she was more loyal than any man and would never betray the king?
‘Though as I say, you speak of it now,’ said Lilly, sipping his wine.
‘Speak of what?’
‘The secret.’
‘I speak of it . . . but I do not speak it.’
‘You edge round its circumference,’ said Lilly with a smile. He grew fond of this woman; sympathetic at least. Her appearance deteriorated with the months, her skin pasty, her eyes more hollow . . . attractive all the same through the scarring.
‘I need to know where this secret will lead,’ she said.
‘The stars don’t deal with secrets.’
‘So the stars need secrets unravelled? They know the future – yet need the present explained?’
‘The stars like facts, Mrs Whorwood. Without facts, they can only mumble like an old man, incoherent.’
‘You have clearly met my husband.’
Jane sipped her elderflower cordial. She wished to keep the matter to herself, and she would; yet this afternoon, she could discover everything. The truth of future things lay at her feet. Imagine if she could give that to the king!
‘There will be war,’ she said.
She would say nothing else.
‘Another war?’
‘There is no other possible path.’
‘There is always another path.’
‘Not now.’
‘Then he has not made agreement with parliament,’ said Lilly, more stirred than his demeanour showed. ‘I do not need the stars to tell me that.’
What was Charles planning? His mind was busy; he must calm himself.
‘There shall be a second war,’ said Jane. ‘They will invade from the north and sweep down to London.’
She looked him in the eyes, testing him. Lilly only sighed.
‘And it is signed and sealed?’ he asked.
‘Two copies. One is kept by the king, hidden in his writing desk.’ She had to speak, to affirm the facts, to give the stars the facts – and to reveal the full cleverness of the king to this sneering man. ‘The king has done all this, while his captors thought him servile and silenced!’
‘You know your way round the king’s bedroom.’
Jane looked at him with blank surprise. ‘And what if I do?’
‘I am concerned only with your safety, Mrs Whorwood. People can be unkind.’
‘My safety does not matter.’
‘Perhaps it should.’
He did fear for her; he foresaw a woman badly used.
‘And anyway, many servants know their way round his bedroom. He is the king; they serve him as I serve him.’
‘And the other copy?’
Jane paused, but only briefly. It was good to speak of these things – she felt better.
‘Encased in lead and buried in the castle garden. It will be collected later by their agents.’
‘By the Scottish agents?’ Who else was there? ‘I suppose they could not have been discovered with it, when leaving.’
‘I believe that would be awkward.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘And it was signed on Christmas Day, Mr Lilly: a good omen surely? Signed on the birthday of our Lord! What do the stars think of that? Shall the Scots reach London, Mr Lilly?’
*
Oliver returned home after an evening with the Drury Lane Players, and their performance of Macbeth. He walked now in some wonder at the telling; and noted a writer not much mistaken about the Scots! He liked the theatre and would attend when Elizabeth was absent, for she was not a stage-lover herself.
‘Theatre is the chapel of Satan, Oliver, and the sanctuary of harlots.’
‘You overstate, wife.’
‘Do you not see what goes on around you?’ she’d said. ‘Are you so blind?’
‘I see the play.’
‘Few others do. It is little more than a pit of assignation. It attracts that sort, common strumpets waiting only for the play’s closing line – and some not even until then! And then it’s back to The Cockpit.’
‘Men take their wives, Elizabeth, I see them. You describe a fiction in your head.’
‘No man takes his wife to the theatre, Oliver. He takes his mistress.’
/> ‘You do not wish to join me then?’
They had not spoken again on the matter; he went to the theatre when she was away.
But the play disturbed his sleep, waking him in the early hours, dark forebodings of future gain, the complicity of king and queen and the evil that spilled from them. In the deep dark of the pre-dawn, he wrote two letters.
The first was to Hammond, in which he called the king’s flight and subsequent events ‘a mighty providence to this poor kingdom and to us all’. He closed with this exhortation:
We shall prevent the king’s dark visions of the future and calm his ambition with steel. More soldiery shall soon arrive on the island – proper soldiery, fit for the fight. In the meantime, I urge you to search out any juggling undertaken by his majesty. He is a clever juggler and has ciphers in his room, with which to disguise his correspondence. We ask that you make a visit to his lodgings privately, and see if this list might be discovered?
He wrote also to his son-in-law Henry Ireton, at army headquarters, with unusual brevity:
We close the net around the wild bird and send extra guards. We tell Hammond to have the king’s bedroom locked every night, with the keys taken to him and him alone. Parliament may speak with the king – but we can hold him. We do not wish him sailing in his sleep to France.
February 1648
‘I can assure you, Mr Hammond, I am here at Carisbrooke out of choice rather than necessity.’
The king seemed most certain in the courtyard at Carisbrooke, where Hammond had waylaid him.
‘I pray that is so, your majesty, and that you speak plain; for we are both men of honour and must deal with each other as honour dictates.’
‘And this suspicion is not necessary, really not.’
‘Only I believe it is.’
A brave remark from Hammond, placing a marker in the sand. Hammond would not be the king’s stooge. But Charles would explain. He could always explain.
‘When I left Hampton Court, as I had to do, I had no other intention but to come here. Indeed I would prefer this place to any in all three kingdoms – excepting perhaps Whitehall – to conclude a treaty with my friends in parliament.’