by Michael Ward
Chapter 19
Later that day
The garden at Bolton Hall
Lady Beatrix turned around, clay pot in hand.
‘Oh, Tom, what a surprise you gave me.’
Her son was standing behind her, hand raised in apology. She smiled and showed him the plant she was carrying. It was tall, about two feet, and covered in small deep pink flowers.
‘Clematis?’ Tom ventured.
Lady Beatrix nodded.
‘Yes. It’s like a pink variation of the common blue we know as virgin’s bower. Your Uncle Jonas brought it back from his last voyage to Japan. It’s taken me a little while to learn how to cultivate it successfully. Look at this beauty, still flowering in September, and what colour! So pleasing. I was just thinking of your father and saying a prayer for his safe return.’
Sir Ralph was in Amsterdam for a series of meetings with Uncle Jonas and a group of new clients. Tom knew this was his best chance to talk to his mother alone and confidentially.
‘Mother, I need to speak with you. I need your advice.’
Beatrix placed the plant carefully on the path and straightened her back.
‘Ooof! I am getting no younger, Thomas. Too much weeding over the years has taken its toll. Come, let us sit by the glasshouse and you can tell me what is on your mind.’
They walked arm in arm. The September sun was still warm, bathing the garden in glowing, pale sunlight under a peerless blue sky. Swallows swooped and chattered, gathering insects. As he did every year, Tom wondered where they hid, sleeping, through the winter. They reached a bench and sat down. Tom paused, not wanting to break the garden’s spell, but then told his mother all he had seen and heard at New Prison: Matty’s story, what Caleb had done to the boy, the curious circumstances of the theft.
She shook her head and murmured, ‘Men, they are worse than animals.’
When Tom had finished, Beatrix sighed and looked around the garden.
‘And how old is this boy? Fifteen years?’
Tom nodded. Beatrix's eyes glistened in the sun.
‘I know, Mother. Our Matthias, my brother. He would have been the same age now if I hadn’t —’
Beatrix put her hand on Tom’s arm. ‘Please, Tom, stop. Matty’s death was an accident. You weren’t to know.’
The desperate images, so long buried, returned to Tom. Twelve years old, standing by a frozen pond. Two-year-old Matty with him. A voice, his father’s, a distant echo. ‘Tom, keep off the ice.’ His feeling of wanton disobedience still vivid as he stepped on to the frozen surface and walked, then ran to the centre of the pond, laughing. His father’s voice, now shouting with alarm. A crack, another, then the ice giving way beneath him. Tom’s feet sinking into freezing water. A smaller voice. Matthias: ‘I help you, Tommy, I’m coming.’ Then silence. Just pictures. Matty moving forward, stepping on a crack and suddenly disappearing beneath the surface. Tom on his knees, not daring to move. A small wet hand rising from the water, grasping for the edge of the ice. Then gone.
‘Father warned me to keep off the pond, but as always headstrong Thomas took no notice. I know he still blames me for Matty’s death.’
His mother squeezed his arm.
‘No, Thomas. You must understand it was a dreadful shock for us all, but particularly your father who saw it all happen but couldn’t save Matthias. He’s never got over it, but he doesn’t blame you. You were just twelve. There is not a day when I do not think of Matty and little Mary, when I do not talk to them, here in my garden, where I feel closest to them. I think of what… of who they might have become. But that cannot be, and we cannot change that.’
Beatrix took a lace handkerchief from her dress pocket. She dabbed her eyes and straightened her back.
‘However, we can do something about your Matty. We cannot see another life laid to waste, can we?’
Tom reached over and hugged his mother. She had understood his need to try, in some way, to atone for that dreadful winter day when his brother was swallowed up in a second and taken from them forever. For the guilt he still felt. He had prayed this would be her response and it released a flood of hope that banished the cold, dark memories.
‘First we must help him with his trial. Then I would like to apprentice him to the company. I can show him how to write and some mathematics. He can read a little, apparently, and—’
‘Tom, Tom, slow down!’ Beatrix smiled. ‘We must take this one step at a time. You must get him out of prison before we can consider anything else. You have not long met the boy. We need to find out more about him and, Tom…’ and his mother squeezed his arm tight, surveying him with her grey eyes, ‘you cannot make him the younger brother you lost. That would not be fair on the boy. He has to make his own choices.’
Tom nodded.
‘I know, Mother, but if you had met him… ’ Tom saw the pain on his mother’s face and stopped. ‘At least we must help him if we can.’
His mother reached over and tucked a wisp of loose hair behind her son’s ear.
‘And so we shall, Thomas. So we shall.’
They walked towards the rear of the house.
‘Mother, thank you for your understanding. I could not have asked Father. I seem to be a constant disappointment to him, not living up to his standards.’
Beatrix stopped and turned.
‘Thomas. Your father is not trying to make you be like him. In fact, he would be the first to say people must live according to the code they choose. They cannot follow the path of another, even their father. They must follow their own star.’
‘What code does father live by?’
‘Oh, that is easy, Tom. Family and business guides your father. Family and business.’
Tom smiled and resumed walking. His mother's brow furrowed.
‘Yes, family and business, but not necessarily in that order,’ she murmured
As they approached the house, Sam Barnes was walking towards them. He bowed to Tom’s mother.
‘Good morning, Lady Beatrix. Good Morning, Master Thomas. I have news from Sir Ralph.’
Beatrix looked anxious. The message must have landed with a morning boat. Why the urgency to seek her out?
‘Is he well?’ she asked
Samuel looked bemused. ‘Err, yes my lady, as far as I know, his health is excellent. No, the news is for Master Thomas. Isaac told me to ride here immediately to inform you.’ Sam turned to Tom. ‘Sir Ralph requires you to join him in Amsterdam for an important meeting with your Uncle Jonas and a group of Moluccas traders. They have agreed terms to provide a monopoly supply of mace to us, but will only sign the deal if they can first meet the merchant they will be dealing with in the future.’
Beatrix clapped her hands and smiled.
‘Jonas and your father must have decided it will be you, Tom! Finally this is good news after the disaster of those damned tulips. No?’
Tom did not share her pleasure.
‘When does father want me to travel, Sam?’
‘On the first available ship, Master Thomas. We’re not putting a boat out for another week but Isaac has secured you a berth on the Grey Heron from the Jackson fleet. She sails on the tide tonight, Master.’
‘That will not be possible,’ Tom replied. ‘I have to help young—’
‘Nonsense,’ Beatrix interjected. ‘I can sort out the matter we discussed.’
She pulled Tom to one side.
‘Tom, if you think your father is disappointed in you, why would he offer this opportunity? Here’s your chance to prove you’re finally ready to make your mark in the family business.’
She turned back to Sam.
‘Let us travel to the warehouse in one of Sir Ralph’s carriages so we can plan what needs to be done on the way. Sam, perhaps you could ride Meg back? Good, that’s settled then. Let me get my cloak. We do not have a moment to lose!’
Sam looked anxious.
‘My lady. Please have a care if you propose to come into the city. The streets are aliv
e with news of a Scottish victory. The King has forbidden any public support for the rebels but people are cheering for the Scots, saying they do not mean fellow Protestants in London any harm. Last night the Apprentice lads gathered near Whitehall, hundreds of them shouting that the Queen’s mother was gathering a Catholic army. “Filthy Papists”, they shouted, and worse. People are afraid her army will be used to take over London. They say Archbishop Laud is in the plot, right up to his neck. They were all set to burn down the Queen’s private chapel but providence intervened.’
‘What do you mean, Sam?’
‘It started to rain. Pouring down, it was. That soon sobered them up. But there will be more trouble, you can count on that. The fire is stoked.’
‘Well, Sam, I thank you for your concern but I am travelling to the warehouse in daylight, and I will have my son with me in the carriage and your good self riding escort. I could not be in better hands. Come, we must leave if you are to be on that boat sailing tonight, Thomas.’
Journeying to the city, Tom was troubled. He knew better than to swim against the tide of his mother’s will when in full flood, but he was not prepared for this, being away when Matty needed him and leaving the warehouse during so much unrest. However his mother reminded him of the debt he owed to Jonas and his father. In any case, Matty’s trial would not be for weeks, if not months, so Tom should be back in plenty of time.
They made plans for Matty’s welfare while Tom was away. Then he packed a bag and two hours later was sailing out of the Thames Estuary as darkness fell.
Chapter 20
4th October 1640
Southwold, on the Suffolk Coast
Tom and Sir Ralph walked along Southwold quay. The early morning sun was burning off the sea mist, revealing a river running from the rear of the port’s harbour into the distance.
‘Is that the way, Father?’
‘No, that’s the River Blyth. We want the Dunwich, which branches off to the left. The boat will be waiting there.’
They took a path along the left bank and spotted a small skiff moored near the mouth of the Dunwich. They settled onboard and sent for their baggage, still on the quayside. Tom was about to visit his parliamentary constituency for the second time.
‘Easier to hire a boat than a pair of horses in these parts,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘Quicker too, like as not.’
The skiff set off and its shallow draught was soon making light work of the river’s twists and turns under the owner’s skilful hand. The sun was now bright in the sky and Sir Ralph stretched in his seat.
‘It was inconsiderate of the King to recall Parliament while you were in Amsterdam, Tom. It will convene in less than a month, so now we have the Moluccas contract agreed, we must confirm your election at Dunwich as soon as possible. Isaac has been in the village for the past two days making sure all is prepared. Let’s get your seat secured so we can return home to London, a warm fire and a decent meal.’
Return to the city. Tom had considered little else since he had heard the King’s decision. Home to Elizabeth. But first to Matty. He would go straight to New Prison on his arrival.
Sir Ralph shifted in his seat to face his son.
‘It is important you attend the new Parliament as often as possible, Tom. I know I have complained about the King of late but events at home appear to have taken a serious turn for the worse. I am told the militia has refused to muster to fight the Scots in Wiltshire and Lincolnshire. The Lord Chamberlain has been forced to intervene personally. Soldiers have turned on officers they suspect are Papists. I read an account of an officer in Farringdon. His troops believed him to be Catholic and attacked him in his lodgings before leaving him for dead in a ditch, like a dog. The unfortunate man crawled to a friend’s house and was being treated for his wounds when his soldiers burst in and beat him to death. They put his body in the pillory as a trophy. That is not indiscipline, Tom. That is mob rule.’
Sir Ralph surveyed the flat, featureless landscape as it slipped past. An offshore breeze stiffened the skiff’s single sail. They were making good time.
‘The soldiers who agree to serve are little better. Their route to Scotland was littered with broken altar rails, smashed statues and burned communion tables. No church has been safe. They see Archbishop Laud and the Catholics as one and the same, all part of a popish plot to take over England… Archbishop Laud, the head of the Protestant church!’ I hear the Queen Mother’s carriage has been attacked and pelted in Surrey and her guards roughed up. I fear for our country, Tom. The King must get a grip of the situation. The treaty he’s signed with the Scots at Ripon is ruinous. They now sit tight on English soil until Parliament, mind you, not the King, agrees their terms for returning to Scotland. This will be nothing less than the abandonment of Laud’s reforms for the Scottish Church. Pym and the Scots have the King pinned from both sides in a crab’s claw, exactly where they want him. And where is the Earl of Strafford? In his sick bed, I am told.’
‘What do they make of our turmoil in the United Provinces, Father?’
‘Your Uncle Jonas is not surprised. He says most of Europe has been fighting religious wars for over twenty years and it is a miracle England has escaped until now. But it does not make sense, Tom. The wars in Europe pitch Protestant against Catholic. But in England it’s Protestant against Protestant, the Puritans against Laud’s Anglican Church. And in the middle of this, we are meant to run a business!’
Sir Ralph banged the side of the skiff in frustration. Tom did not know what to say. His father was usually more prone to anger than despair. It was unsettling to see him so troubled. They fell into a ruminative silence. Twenty minutes later, the village of Dunwich came into view.
They disembarked at a small wharf and walked to the only tavern, the Swan, where Isaac had arranged to meet them. Tom was glad to see a wood fire burning in the parlour. The early sunshine had been swallowed by a bank of cloud and the air was cold. His father stopped to talk to a group of men as Tom walked to the fire. He turned his back to the blaze to warm his legs and saw Isaac walking towards him.
‘How fare you, Isaac, and what news of London?’
Sir Ralph was now sitting at a table, deep in conversation with the men.
‘Master Thomas, I hardly know where to begin. So much has happened. The city is in turmoil. The Apprentices are on the march, the trained bands of militia are mustering on Moorfields and there are gangs walking the streets at night, hunting Papists and spoiling for a fight.’
‘I know, Father told me. And what news of Matty Morris, Isaac? How is he faring in New Prison?’
Isaac beckoned Tom away from the fire and they sat together at a table.
‘He is not in New Prison, Master Thomas.’
‘He has been transferred? Not to Newgate, I hope, although that would mean his trial is close.’
‘He is not in any prison, Master.’
Tom felt a lump in his throat. ‘Isaac, he is not… not—’
Isaac’s troubled face cleared. ‘Dead? Oh no, Master. Quite the opposite. He is free. Free as a bird. But the bird has flown.’
Tom looked across the tavern and saw his father approaching. Isaac stood up.
‘Here you are Isaac, good man,' said Sir Ralph. ‘Was your carriage to Suffolk comfortable? Is all arranged?’
Isaac nodded and bowed stiffly.
‘Excellent. Thank you. Tom, I am retiring to my room as I have correspondence to conduct. I have spoken to the mayor and he will meet us presently outside the tavern for the election. Be sure you are there—and looking respectable. Until later.’
He gave them a mock salute and headed for the stairs at the back of the parlour, bending to pass under the doorframe. Isaac sat down and Tom ordered food and ale for two, eager to hear more about Matty.
‘It was about a week after you left, Master Thomas. Matty had been moved to a different cell with clean rushes, a bucket to piss in and regular food, like you ordered. Your mother, God bless her, insisted on coming with me when
I delivered the neck verse. It had been carefully written by Miss Ellen on a piece of cloth, English on one side and Latin on the other, exactly as you instructed, in case the judge tried to pull a fast one. Lady Beatrix said they would have embroidered the words if there’d been time but Miss Ellen’s lettering was beautiful. I told Lady Beatrix that prison was no place for her but she would not hear of it. She sat with Matty until he could read the verse on both sides. She told him to practise every day, as his life would depend on it, and not allow the cloth into the hands of anyone else, lest it be taken from him. She slipped him a piece of her game pie and asked to leave. I could see she was upset. I paid him a visit a few days later and he was in better spirits. Said he had learned the verse but would keep practicing it, and was there any more pie? Then, while we were talking, the jailer came in and told him to be ready to move. He was off to the Bailey that night!’
‘But how could that be, Isaac? What about all those awaiting trial before him, if Newgate was full?’
‘That’s what I said to the jailer, Master Thomas, but he shrugged and said orders were orders. Matty was frightened but I told him not to worry and keep practising his verse. I went straight to your parents’ house. Your mother was surprised but soon got to organising.’ Isaac smiled. ‘She said she would take lodgings in the city to make sure she did not miss the trial and would I ask Mr Edmund to accompany her, as you and Sir Ralph were away. Again I said the Old Bailey was not the place for a lady of her standing but she scolded me and told me to do as she said, as there was no time to lose. Mr Edmund was wonderful, Master Thomas. As soon as I explained the situation, he visited the Bailey and was told Matty's hearing would be in two days. On the day, he arranged for Lady Beatrix to enter through a side entrance to avoid the crowd and have her own seat in the courtroom.’
Once again Tom was in Edmund’s debt. He must find some way to express his gratitude. Something from India, perhaps.
‘Did you give evidence at the trial, as we agreed, Isaac?’