by Michael Ward
‘It’s simple, Tallant. My job is to stop the rot and settle this problem for the City. Make it go away before Parliament sits and the Puritan members start taking an interest, and things get out of hand. I tagged along with Petty while he dithered around, trying to establish your connection. I did believe he was on to something when he found you were known in that Valkenswaard place but no one would come forward to connect you with the attack on Venell. Complete waste of time. Now Swofford is dead and there’s talk of devil’s work. Don’t you see? Belief is becoming more powerful than proof and that suits my purpose. Satan can be summoned by an evil, tainted mind, so why not yours, eh? If I can get enough people to believe that, your goose will be well and truly cooked, young sir.’
Franklin spat on the ground and strode off, leaving Tom in a daze. He took a minute to regain his composure then left the yard and its putrid stink. Walking back to King Street, his worst fears were realised. The crowd ahead of him had thinned, so the procession must have entered the Abbey. He could not go in after the monarch. He would have to miss the service.
Cursing his luck, Tom skirted left across Old Palace Yard and walked towards the Commons in St Stephen’s Chapel. The ancient edifice of Westminster Hall reared up on his left as he approached the entrance to the chapel. He would wait here for the service to end. Away from the Abbey it was quieter with small knots of people gathered in conversation and clerks scurrying back and forth, manuscripts and ledgers in hand. He looked for shade and found a low wall to the right of the chapel entrance. He sat down and closed his eyes to block out the image of Franklin’s revolting mouth and broken yellow teeth, flecked with spittle. Slowly he relaxed and allowed his mind to drift.
‘My dear fellow, are you well?’
Tom opened his eyes to see a stranger’s face, quizzical but full of concern, examining him closely. How long had he been sitting there?
‘I watched you sitting against the wall, taking your rest, and said to myself I wager this gentleman is a fellow traveller arrived to claim his seat in the new Parliament after a long, weary journey. I will see if I can be of assistance. Allow me to introduce myself: Sir Bartholomew Hopkins from the county of Oxfordshire, at your service.
The stranger was shorter than Tom and a good deal broader around the girth. His bright eyes danced with humour. Tom rose and bowed.
‘My name is Thomas Tallant, and I am indeed a new Member of the Commons, but no stranger to London. However, I am a complete stranger to these proceedings. I did not anticipate such a press of onlookers and have been unable to take my seat for the service in the Abbey. Instead I was knocked over and dazed in the crush.’
Tom had no wish to mention his meeting with the magistrate.
‘God’s wounds, sir, not set upon by a footpad, I trust?’
‘No sir, only pushed around by an unruly mass of enthusiastic Londoners, impatient to see the King and the new Parliament.’
‘Yes, I too was caught out by the crowds. Ah well. I suggest we get you registered with the sheriffs while you’re here. Would you like to look inside the chamber? It will be strange to return to the old place again after so many years. What, you say? Surely I am too young to have been a Member of the previous Commons? An understandable mistake my dear Tallant, given my youthful vigour, but I was underage at the start of the last Parliament… and I was not the only one, I can tell you.’
Tom looked carefully at his new acquaintance with his hefty stomach and caught a twinkle in his eye. Is he mocking himself? Yes, I rather think he is. Tom was warming to Bartholomew Hopkins.
They entered the lobby of St Stephen’s and waited to be signed in as Members of the Commons before stepping into the chapel itself. Sir Bartholomew looked around with an air of satisfaction.
‘It is good to be back. I wondered if I would ever see the inside of St Stephen’s again, but his Majesty has need of us once more and I, for one, am honoured to serve. Come, let me show you the commons chamber.’
He led the way further into the building. Tom appreciated the cool temperature after the heat outside. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor below the vaulted roof high above. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, picking out dust swirling softly through the air. Tom took a deep breath. So this was it! The House of Commons. It still looked and felt like a church, particularly in the silence that surrounded them.
‘We appear to have arrived after the preparations have been made but before the guests arrive,’ Sir Bartholomew said. ‘That brief moment of solitude. Or rather the… umm… calm before the storm? Let me explain how it works, Thomas. May I call you Thomas? Please call me Barty, everybody does. As you can see, there are two sets of choir stalls lining the chapel on both sides, facing each other. This is where the Members sit. A word of warning, there are never enough seats when the chamber is full; many have to stand. But on quieter days you can usually take the weight off your feet. When you address the House, you stand in your seat to talk.’
Barty pointed to the other end of the chapel. ‘There, where the choir stalls end, you can see a raised area. That was the church altar but now it’s where the Speaker’s chair resides. Look, you can see it in the middle.’
Barty looked around the room.
‘I see the last of the wall paintings are boarded over and most of the stained glass removed, otherwise it feels like I have hardly been away. Let us sit for a while and enjoy the peace, while it lasts!’
Barty and Tom climbed into one of the choir stalls and sat quietly for some time, listening to the footsteps and quiet voices echo around the stone walls. Tom tried to imagine it packed with Members in full debate. His thoughts were interrupted by a young man’s voice.
‘The service in the Abbey will shortly be concluding. The King and his retinue will then process with members to the House of Lords. Please clear the chamber.’
‘Ah, time for us to go, Thomas,’ Barty announced, standing up and ushering him towards the door.
Tom was reluctant to leave the calm of St Stephen’s. Old Palace Yard was now bustling with activity as crowds lined the route to the House of Lords, waiting for the short procession from the Abbey to get underway.
‘This is something, is it not Thomas? The King, all his lords and leading commoners, once again gathered together! The fascinating thing is you cannot tell, by looking at them, who has the power. Some of the lords, in all their finery, are complete boobies. But other plainly dressed fellows like the small man who walked past us as we left St Stephen’s, did you see him?’
Tom nodded.
‘Well, appearances can be deceptive. Did not look much, did he. But my money is on John Pym becoming powerful in this new Parliament. And if you were not so new to this game, I would suggest a small wager and offer you odds you could not refuse—and I would win.’
Barty ended the sentence with a wheezy laugh and a knowing wink.
‘I just want to see the King,’ Tom declared, like a small boy peering through the crowd.
‘Oh, I’m afraid that is unlikely, Thomas. As we have missed the service, you will have to wait here behind the crowds until the procession has entered the Lords and then wait to slip in at the back. You will see very little, and afterwards the Commons will be busy with registration and setting up committees. The real business will start tomorrow. And I must go, to secure my lodgings. It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Thomas. I look forward to us working together in the House.’
With a small bow Sir Bartholomew Hopkins disappeared into the throng of people milling around Old Palace Yard.
Tom sighed. His disappointment was complete. He looked down at his new clothes, his polished shoes now scuffed and muddy. What a waste of time this had been. He could have been in the Exchange instead, trading and making some money. If this was the life of a Member of Parliament, he was not impressed.
A movement to his right caught his eye—the distinctive auburn hair and broad shoulders of Henry Jermyn, the Queen’s favourite. To Tom’s surprise, a man talking to
Jermyn was pointing in Tom’s direction. Jermyn moved his head to the left and fixed Tom with a cold look before turning on his heel and stalking off towards the entrance to the Lords.
Jermyn's abrupt departure revealed a small bearded man who immediately ducked his head and turned away from the crowd, before heading towards King Street.
Chapter 10
Two days later
The Manor House, Clerkenwell
Tom knocked on the front door of Elizabeth Seymour’s house, his heart beating heavily in his chest. That afternoon a letter had arrived at the Tallant warehouse. Elizabeth had some good news to share. Could he visit at his earliest convenience?
Tom was shown into the long dining room. It was thick with swirling tobacco smoke, the dying sunlight struggling to penetrate the rich, sweet fug. Outside, the garden was alive with early evening birdsong. At the end of the room two figures sat by a fire reduced to glowing embers, looking out of the window.
‘Elizabeth?’ Tom called hesitantly.
Both figures turned towards him.
‘Thomas Tallant, is that you?’ Tom heard the soft voice, with a trace of huskiness, and his heart swelled. He didn’t know why, but he found Elizabeth’s habit of using his full name deeply attractive.
‘Yes, Elizabeth. I received a message you wanted to see me.’
‘And so I do.’ Elizabeth stood and turned to the figure next to her. ‘Come, Nicholas. The spell is broken. Let me call for lamps and you can meet my friend Mr Tallant.’
Tom was taken aback. What did she mean, ‘The spell is broken’? Who was this man?
‘Thomas, allow me to introduce Master Nicholas Culpeper. Nicholas, this is Thomas Tallant, a city merchant and curer of addictions.’
The man stood and approached Tom.
‘I vouch he will not cure my particular love, which friends tell me is an addiction,’ Culpeper replied. In the gloom his voice sparkled with life.
Elizabeth laughed. ‘You two get to know each other while I get one of the servants to provide some light and restock the fire.’
‘She is extraordinary, is she not?’ Culpeper said, when Elizabeth left the room. ‘I never believed I would find another person with my passion for the best tobacco. And now I have, by God, it is a woman!’
Tom said nothing as Culpeper drew on his pipe, one of the largest Tom had ever seen, a red glow illuminating his face in the fading light. He felt threatened by Culpeper’s familiarity with Elizabeth.
‘That is how we met. I purchased a consignment of prime, rich Virginian, fresh from America. Elizabeth came into my shop in Threadneedle Street. She had been scouring London to find it.’
A servant entered the room with two lit church candles, placed them on the table and left for more. There was no sign of Elizabeth. Tom could now see Nicholas Culpeper’s face more clearly. His brown hair was fashionably long, falling in light curls onto his collar, framing his young face with a luxurious moustache and mischievous, twinkling eyes.
‘You have a shop?’
‘Yes, an apothecary shop. Well, it’s not exactly mine. I share it with my partner, Samuel Leadbetter; it’s somewhere to make up my medicines and administer treatments.’
‘You are a trained apothecary?’
‘Samuel is, but I abandoned my apprenticeship. In five years I had three separate masters and I doubt I learned much from any of them, and I was certainly not a farthing richer. Faced with two more years, I decided to find my own way.’
‘Is that not both dangerous and illegal, dispensing cures without full training?’
‘The world of medicine is changing, Mr Tallant. My dear Mama died last year. The licensed doctor who attended her used methods handed down over hundreds of years, since Galen’s time, but his treatment didn’t help her a jot. We need new thinking—in medicine, in our government, in faith… in life itself.’
Tom considered Nicholas Culpeper, his eyes burning bright with conviction. Elizabeth re-entered the room but Culpeper seemed not to notice.
‘London is alive with a hunger for change,’ he continued. ‘Everywhere you look. Have you been to Coleman Street, Mr Tallant, in the north of the city? No? You should seek it out. A most singular neighbourhood. Not the safest, I grant you, but it is… it contains an alchemy of new thinking.’
Elizabeth laughed and clapped her hands with delight.
Tom bridled. ‘What type of new thinking?
Culpeper grinned at Elizabeth and continued. ‘Well, take matters of religion. Archbishop Laud commands people should kneel at the altar rail to receive the sacrament. But our local minister, John Goodwin, prefers to take it to the congregation in their seats. The Anabaptists and Millenarians have set up nearby. Even Thomas Lamb, the soap boiler, has opened his own church in Ben Alley!
‘But surely you can’t allow just anyone to set up a church?’ Tom exclaimed.
‘Why not?’ Culpeper countered. ‘People walk off the street and preach about a New World. Not surprisingly the King’s men are in Coleman Street from morning until night, sniffing around for sedition and blasphemy. I find it a most stimulating place to visit.’
Again Culpeper grinned and winked at Elizabeth.
‘Nicholas will treat anyone who needs help,’ Elizabeth said, her eyes sharing his excitement. ‘He makes remedies in his shop and offers them to all, even those without money.’
Tom relaxed. He was unsettled by Culpeper’s sway over Elizabeth but clearly the man was a dreamer. He would be destitute within three months giving away expensive remedies. He began to smile indulgently at the young philanthropist when he noticed Culpeper looking at him searchingly.
‘A New World… a New World.’ Culpeper mused aloud. ‘By God, I have it’, he exclaimed and slapped the table. ‘Tallant, you say. You have a relative called Peter?’
The smile froze on Tom’s face. ‘Why yes, he’s my brother.’
‘Well I must say there is a family resemblance now we can see each other across the room!’ Culpeper laughed.
‘How do you know Peter?’
‘Through his work with the Coleman Street Puritans. They have strong links with the Massachusetts Bay Company which is establishing colonies in New England. Two expeditions have sailed to New Haven to found churches beyond Laud’s interference. Your brother Peter is leading the effort in London. Surely you knew?’
Tom looked at Nicholas then Elizabeth, lost for words. Nicholas Culpeper paused then turned to Elizabeth.
‘Anyway, I must be gone. I have a list of remedies to put together for tomorrow. There will be a queue waiting when we open for business. A great pleasure to see you again, Elizabeth.’ He turned to Tom. ‘Mr Tallant, I am frequently in the Exchange, sampling and buying tobacco, spices and other ingredients. I hope to meet you there sometime.’
Before Tom could reply, Culpeper bowed and swept out of the room, followed by Elizabeth.
The servant returned with more candles. What was Peter doing mixing with the radicals? Was he being watched by the archbishop’s men? Perhaps they were spying on the rest of the family. He thought of the bearded man on the Thames.
Elizabeth returned, laughing to herself. Tom had never seen her so happy and a pang of jealousy rose in his chest.
‘Is Nicholas not wonderful?’ she exclaimed.
‘He certainly thinks you are,’ Tom retorted.
Elizabeth stopped and gave him a querying look.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All that grinning and winking, it was as clear as day… even in this smoke-filled cave!’
Tom’s attempt to turn his complaint into a jest sounded even more contrived than it was. The previous atmosphere of companionship vanished, and was replaced by hollow awkwardness. He looked at Elizabeth’s expressionless face and regretted his words immediately. This was not going the way he had planned.
‘And what is it to you if he does think I am wonderful?’
He squirmed inside. What was it to him? How could he tell her? He was talking like a jealous hu
sband when in reality he and Elizabeth barely knew each other. He remembered her cold fury at the masque ball and braced himself for a withering dismissal. He looked at the floor and sensed her approach. Holding his breath, he felt time stop to witness his humiliation, and then Elizabeth Seymour’s slim arm slipped inside his.
She guided him out of the room, her gown rustling as it brushed against his side. He smelt her fragrance of roses and saw her chest rise and fall with each breath. Finally she spoke as they entered the hall. Her tone was soft.
‘Nicholas Culpeper is a new friend. I like having friends who value what I hold dear and share my love of discovery. Nicholas studied at Cambridge and has offered to improve my Latin. I struggle with the books essential for my learning. Anyway, he is recently married and is greatly attached to his new wife Alice.’
Thomas heard Elizabeth’s voice from afar. He was dizzy from this first experience of touching her. It shocked him to be so affected. She paused and looked up at him.
‘Thomas, I would like you to be a friend. I am anxious to finally hear your secret of the box, the reason why you came today. Is that not what friends do, share their secrets?’
They had arrived at a heavy oak door.
‘Do you want to know one of mine, Thomas?’
Elizabeth stepped ahead of him and, using an iron key on her belt, opened the door into a chamber lit by a single candle. She picked it up and carefully lit another candle, and another, until the entire room shimmered with light. She turned to face him.
‘Welcome to my sanctuary.’
She stood among the sea of small flames dancing in the light and smiled. Tom was transfixed.
‘Despite my flirtations with gambling, my real indulgence is candlelight. The best beeswax. No tallow. It costs my father a small fortune, but he kindly provides. Strange when, outdoors, I crave total darkness to view the stars.’
Tom looked around the room. A leaded window in the opposite wall looked onto the garden. Beneath, glass vessels and stands covered a bench next to a table where a row of small knives were carefully laid out. Elizabeth’s telescope stood in the corner by the bench, next to a fireplace stocked with wood. He turned to his right to see the plant he had given her, standing on another table surrounded by books, their leather covers creased with age. A jug and two mugs were placed next to the plant. Behind the books, Tom spotted a rack of clay pipes of different sizes. More books lined the wall above. Tom’s attention returned to his plant. It had grown a further four inches and was crowned with a single extravagant bloom, each petal a crimson red splashed with white.