London in Chains (14 page)

‘Oh,' she said stupidly. After a moment she added, ‘How did you get in? The door was locked!'

‘Loose board,' he said simply. ‘You thought me an escaped lunatic, did you?'

‘Aye,' she said, glad of the excuse. She took a deep breath and forced herself to take a step back towards the barn, then another and another. Hudson stood aside for her, then followed her in. His coat and hair were decorated with straw, but he managed an air of respect despite it. She was grateful for it.

Inside, everything was as it should be: the press sitting quietly, the printed sheets drying on their lines, the scents of paper and ink vying with the smell of damp and old straw. She pushed a stray lock of hair up under her coif and wiped her hands on her apron. Hudson went to the press and looked at her expectantly.

‘Nay,' she told him. Her voice was unsteady, but only slightly. ‘We've done enough
Declarations
; now we're to print more petitions. Mr Chidley gave me the text yesterday. I'll set the type. You can go find yourself some breakfast if you've a mind to it. We'll start printing when you get back.'

‘I've a sour stomach this morning,' he told her, ‘but, if there's time, I'll find myself a drink of plain water.'

She nodded, glad of a little time to settle her nerves again.

When he came back he was carrying his coat over one arm and his shirt and hair were wet. She looked at him in surprise.

‘Since I need not lie in either a distillery or a privy tonight,' he said solemnly, ‘I thought I might safely wash my shirt.'

‘My nose thanks you,' she said with equal solemnity.

They smiled at one another.

She hesitated, then said determinedly, ‘It would be well if you drank less and had a stomach for breakfast.'

His single remaining eyebrow rose.

‘It's heavy work!' she pointed out. ‘You need more in your belly than last night's ale –
if
you kept that down!'

He cast his eye towards Heaven. ‘God save me from nagging women!'

‘I am in charge of this press, Mr Hudson, and I've a
right
to worry that you'll faint at your work!'

Unexpectedly, he smiled. ‘I promise not to faint.'

Walking home that evening, she found herself smiling again. For the first time, it seemed that she really might succeed in setting what had happened behind her.

When she looked back on the weeks that followed, they seemed to her to be ordinary. There were events, yes, but they formed a pattern she regarded as
normal
: they gave shape to her ordinary life. That sense of ordinariness exasperated her, however: in truth, nothing about that spring and summer was ordinary. Power and authority were shaken to the foundations, and her unlicensed press was in the centre of things. She printed John Lilburne's
Rash Oaths Unwarrantable
; she printed the Army's
Humble Representation of the Dissatisfactions of the Army
and their
Solemn Engagement.
Print streamed around the city, to the Army and back again, a torrent of protest and demand that battered against the floodgates of Parliament.

The Army mutinied. The common soldiers rose in defence of their rights, and their officers bowed to their will or were swept aside. Parliament's orders were disobeyed and its frantic pronouncements were treated with contempt. The king, whose consent Parliament had hoped to win for its Presbyterian settlement, was suddenly snatched from his luxurious captivity in Northamptonshire – escorted off by a very junior officer, a mere cavalry cornet. Next heard of, he was with the Army. Cromwell fled London, leaving behind parliamentary outrage for his broken promise that the Army would disband; soon he, too, was with the Army and negotiating with the king for quite a different settlement. The Army assembled near Newmarket and began a slow march towards London.

All of this was exhilirating and thrilling, but – at first – none of it had much real effect on Lucy's life. The arrival, at long last, of a lodger at Uncle Thomas's house was a much bigger change.

Mrs Penington was a
gentlewoman
, the well-bred wife of a Royalist whose estate had been sequestered because of his support for the king. The gentleman himself was in France, but he had sent his wife to ‘compound' for his ‘delinquency' – in other words, to pay a hefty fine and get his lands back. Mrs Penington had taken both the empty rooms – Mark's for herself and Hannah's for her maidservant – and, though she paid eight shillings a week rent and not the hoped-for ten, Agnes was in awe of her and determined not to lose her. In consequence, Lucy was exiled from the house during the hours of daylight: Agnes was terrified that if the gentlewoman discovered that the niece of the house was a seditious printer, she'd lodge elsewhere. Agnes didn't like Thomas's opinions, either, of course, but she couldn't give orders to him; Lucy was another matter.

‘I don't want you speak to the lady!' Agnes ordered her. ‘If you must, confine yourself to
decent
topics. If she asks you what you do, you are to tell her you print
wholesome
and
lawful
things!' Agnes took to serving supper early in the evening, before Lucy got home, so that there would be no chance for her and Mrs Penington to converse. The scoldings for returning after dark were replaced by encouragement to stay away; Agnes even gave up one of Lucy's two shillings, so that Lucy could buy herself a frugal supper in the City. The result, of course, was that Lucy worked late more and more, often going directly from the printing press to The Whalebone, where she could hear the latest news. The house became only the place she slept: her life was centred elsewhere.

She got to know many of Ned's other customers, particularly the Chidleys and William Walwyn; she grew comfortable enough with Ned to joke with him and his staff. Jamie Hudson no longer seemed the least bit alarming: a quiet, steady presence that made the barn feel safer. He still drank, but – perhaps because she nagged him about it – less and less. He began to gain some weight and lost his surliness.

She bought some cloth from Uncle Thomas – a pretty chestnut-coloured worsted, with hints of red to it – and she and Susan spent several pleasant Sabbath afternoons discussing gowns before she cut the fabric, and then more pleasant afternoons tacking it together and adjusting it. The actual sewing, however, went very slowly as she seldom had time while there was daylight enough to stitch.

As May gave way to June, however, the public events had private effects: Lucy finally had her long-threatened encounter with the law.

She was at The Whalebone at dinner-time when there was shouting outside. A moment later a party of soldiers burst into the room with their swords in their hands.

Nancy Shorby, who'd been at the bar, screamed; everyone jumped up, instinctively recoiling from the edged metal. A tin plate fell to the floor, spilling its contents in an ugly smear. Lucy was jostled back into a corner, and the low-ceilinged room filled with noise.

‘We've come by order of Parliament to search this tavern!' yelled one of the soldiers. ‘Where's the keeper?'

Ned thrust his way through the packed mass of his customers. ‘Here! If you have a warrant, show it!'

One of the soldiers waved a sword before his face. ‘Here's my warrant, you son of a whore!'

Ned angrily thrust the sword aside; at this the soldier struck at his face with the hilt. Ned yelped and staggered, and there was a gasp of outrage. Somebody kicked the soldier, who turned angrily in the direction of the kicker. Ned at once grabbed the sword-hilt and tried to wrestle the weapon away. The soldiers' leader drew his pistol and fired it at the ceiling.

In the confined space the noise was deafening, and in its wake the room fell silent. ‘Stand quiet!' ordered the officer. ‘We'll do no violence to those who offer none!'

‘Whoreson Reformadoes!' called James Hudson from somewhere nearby. ‘Is Parliament paying you thirty pieces of silver?'

Lucy finally understood who the men were. There were many discharged soldiers in London; there had been disturbances when they demanded their pay, which, like that of the soldiers still under arms, had long been denied. Parliament had just the day before decided to make use of them, offering them the money they were due if they re-enlisted in new, ‘re-formed' regiments.

The officer sneered. ‘Thirty pieces of silver? Nay, the New Model can sue for pennies:
we're
getting full arrears of pay! Five pounds each!'

That provoked a growl of anger. Ned, dishevelled and wild-eyed, his chin flecked with blood, cried, ‘I asked to see your warrant! You've no right to conduct a search without you have a warrant!'

‘You're one of Lilburne's get all right!' sneered the officer. ‘I'll tell you your
rights
, tavern-keeper: you've a
right
to life and limb if you give us no trouble. Hinder us, and I swear you'll suffer for it. This house is notorious, and no one will question what we do.' He gestured for his men to begin searching.

By great good fortune, there was no stash of pamphlets at the tavern that day: the previous day's output had already been distributed, and the new sheets were still drying on the lines in the barn. Lucy was silently thanking God for that, and wondering what to say if anyone noticed her ink-stained hands, when she recognized the face of one of the searching soldiers.

For a long minute she stood frozen with shock. The man felt her eyes: he looked at her, frowned, looked back, then grinned toothily. She realized that he did not even recognize her.

The scream was in her throat again, and for once there seemed no point at all in swallowing it. ‘
You THIEF!
' She shrieked it, and suddenly every eye in the room was on her. She elbowed a customer aside and advanced to confront the soldier face to face. ‘
Thief
!' she cried again. She was shaking with rage and loathing. ‘Foul cruel rogue! I never thought to see you again! What's your
name
?'

The soldier cast a look of bewilderment at his officer. ‘What ails you, wench? I've not met you before in my life!'

Lucy spat in his face. His look of confusion became one of indignation, and he raised his hand to hit her; she caught the hand and fended off the blow. He tried to shake his hand loose, and she caught it with her other hand as well. He swore, jerking her from side to side. Angry exclamations sounded on all sides, and then there was a ring of steel. James Hudson stepped beside her, his sword drawn. ‘Let her go!' he ordered the Reformado.

The Reformado couldn't: Lucy was the one holding
him.
He tried to draw his own sword, but couldn't get his hand free. One of his friends, however, swore and drew; Hudson turned towards him, there was a ringing clash, and then the Reformado's sword was on the floor.

‘Peace, peace!' shouted the officer. He was alarmed, despite his claim that no one would question what he did. Presumably it would reflect badly on him if he couldn't even search a tavern without bloodshed.

‘Keep peace yourself!' Hudson snarled, turning on him; the officer recoiled a little at the sight of his face. ‘Do you think to come here and misuse the keeper of the place and this young gentlewoman, and have no one check you for it?'

‘This man is a
thief
!' Lucy repeated. She realized she still had hold of his hand and flung it off with revulsion. ‘What is his
name
, sir?'

‘Symonds,' said the officer, blinking.

‘Symonds!' hissed Lucy, turning back to the man. Her father might want to forget he'd ever had a daughter but he would still be glad to know that name. ‘May God curse you for ever! May you burn in Hell!'

‘You say he is a thief, Lucy?' Ned asked from across the room.

‘Aye!' she agreed, turning to him. ‘One of the three who came to my father's freehold, two years ago last month, and drove off all our cattle and . . .' she almost told the whole truth, but retained enough sense to change it to, ‘and
beat
me when I tried to hinder them!'

‘I don't . . .' began Symonds – and recognized her. The whole room saw his shock as he did. Any suspicion that Lucy was mistaken collapsed.

‘He was of the King's party then!' Lucy said, glaring at him. ‘Sir, have you brought a
Cavalier
here, to tyrannize us?'

‘He's no Cavalier,' said the officer. ‘He fought in Colonel Massey's regiment.'

‘Then the more shame to him!' said Lucy. ‘To come to a farm and steal cattle from Parliament's own supporters!' She drew a deep, outraged breath. ‘My brothers were with the militia when he came!
They
were fighting for Parliament, and he took advantage of their absence to steal our cattle!'

‘This–this is nothing to the point!' protested the officer, embarrassed and angry. ‘There is to be an indemnity for acts done for furtherance of the war, so whether he stole your beeves or not—'

‘
Milch
cows!' Lucy cried. ‘Not beeves! Good milch cows, and it grieves me to the heart to think of this stinking knave slaughtering them for meat! We'd supplied cheese to the militia, many times, but after that, how could we? How did that
further the war
?
Symonds
! What's the rest of your name? What were the names of your friends?'

‘Silence, you slut!' ordered Symonds, sweating and afraid.

‘You dare not even give your name, do you? A brave soldier indeed!
Thief
!
Robber!
Somebody seize him! If there's any justice in England, he'll
hang
for what he did!'

‘
We
are the law here!' bellowed the officer and slapped a table. ‘We were sent to search this place for evidence of sedition!'