Rebels and Traitors (107 page)

Colonel Orlando Lovell was no longer a shadowy figure who could be ignored. He was here. He was in London for a reason. It might not be primarily to find his deserted family, but he had said that he came for them.

The man had intelligence and courage; he exuded menace. He was also better-looking than Gideon had imagined. The haughty expression and rakish tilt of his hat would haunt Gideon annoyingly

His decision to keep quiet was overturned. Gideon had to confess everything that very night. A disaster occurred. When Catherine Keevil went out to fetch Tom from his music lesson, she was followed. On Fleet Street, as they were passing Sergeants’ Inn, a man approached them.

‘Thomas Lovell! Well, my boy — do you remember me, I wonder?’

Tom stopped dead. Catherine saw the boy’s young face light up. She tried to drag him on their way but he shook her off, crying with joy, ‘It is my father, come home!’

The man embraced him, seeming to wipe away a tear of emotion. ‘Why Tom! My dearest son, this is a lucky accident — now I have found you, come with me and I will tell you of adventures we can share —’ He then turned to Catherine and, changing his manner, muttered with deadly earnest, ‘Scamper off home, wench. Tell Mistress Juliana Lovell not to feel anxiety. Her son has come to his father, who will take the most loving care of him —’ Then, as he caught Catherine by the arm with a grip that bruised her under his fingers, Lovell dropped his voice further so the boy could not hear. ‘And tell that meddler Captain Jukes, not to do anything! He will understand.’

The last Catherine saw was the pair of them walking away towards Temple Bar. Tom was still bowed under the weight of his cased viol, which he wore slung on straps on his back. The man had his arm around Tom’s shoulders and was carrying his music bag. To Catherine, the boy looked like a prisoner. To anyone else who noticed them, they were the picture of a happy father and his son.

At first, this was the most exciting thing that ever happened to Tom Lovell. He had achieved his troubled adolescent dream and run away from home.

He no longer had to go to school. He had dumped his tiresome younger brother and could avoid having to decide how he felt about his new baby sister.

He missed Hero, his dog. His father promised him another, though had not produced one.

Thomas now lived among men, who congregated in smoky taverns. They gave him beer, not troubling to water it, or ale, which was stronger, and sometimes even sack. They never went to church. Nobody said grace when they ate. They rarely sat down all together in any case, just took food individually when they felt like it. No one told him to change his shirt. If he needed a privy, they gestured where to find it and left him to go on his own.

He lived with his father in a rented room in an inn. His father was just as he remembered, careless and casual, the product of staggering adventures, bright-eyed with mischief, brimful of fascinating secrets. He had brought Tom amongst tough, tense, mismatched men who said little but, when they did, obsessively spoke of the day that was to come. They were planning a grand venture that would rescue the country from anarchy. This was all about as wonderful as a boy could want.

Orlando Lovell behaved like a loving father. He made sure there was food, he teased, joked, chased and scuffled; he even shared confidences — priceless ones. When the boy dropped from exhaustion, he tucked him up to sleep with unexpected tenderness. He never even poured blame on Juliana, but spoke to Tom of his mother with courteous gallantry. If Orlando expressed regret that she had chosen another man, he measured it with what appeared to be understanding of her predicament. If any of this was fake, the boy hardly saw it.

For Lovell the situation was perfect. He had been spared a decade of colic, vomit, shitty napkins, squalling, screaming, anxiety, the tedium of endlessly repeated infant’s questions, the fractiousness, rashes and snot of childhood illnesses; instead, fate presented him with a fully formed loyal companion. Thomas came as a respectful schoolboy, ready for anything, yet still young enough to be obedient. Lovell romanticised his firstborn’s birth and early years, in retrospect remembering his own role in Oxford and at Pelham Hall as much busier than it ever had been. Juliana was gradually washed out of the picture. Lovell behaved to Tom as if throughout the past twelve years they had been close comrades and best friends.

Tom wanted to write to tell his mother he was safe. Lovell let him prepare a letter, then secretly destroyed it. Tom never imagined his father would do that; indeed, he saw no reason why it should be necessary. When no answer came, he was troubled and unhappy. At first he blamed his mother for not caring, then, because he had her questioning intelligence, he wondered.

Thomas knew that Juliana would be heartbroken to have lost him. She had always encouraged Tom and Val to think affectionately of Lovell, yet Tom realised how much she would hate his going off to his father. He became very nervous of her anger; he knew he had behaved thoughtlessly and ungratefully. He wanted to be with Lovell, yet from the first he suspected that the reasons he had been taken up were not simple. His father seemed to want him here — yet Tom sometimes felt that he was being used. He disliked the pressure. He knew he was among people who had secrets, but he began to resent the faint sensation that there was more going on than he yet knew.

Thomas felt he must not be seen watching the conspirators too closely. But they fascinated him. Miles Sindercombe took the lead and controlled the funds, an ex-soldier — cashiered for plotting — and a Leveller. Sometimes they spoke of another man. Colonel Edward Sexby was providing them with weapons and ammunition. He was overseas, exiled, though they reckoned he still came to England, despite the spies looking for him. It was said Sexby might arrive here later. Until then, Sindercombe acted as their leader, Sindercombe devised the plans.

There was a man called John Sturgeon, who had prepared the way for their attempts by strewing copies of a pamphlet in the street. It was called
A Short Discourse of His Highness the Lord Protector’s Intentions against the Anabaptists,
highly critical of Cromwell; the printer had been arrested and Sturgeon only narrowly escaped. (Tom said nothing, but he had already heard about this from Gideon; the printer’s arrest had caused a sensation — more than the book itself.)

Others were on the fringes of the plot. A couple of times Lovell had supper with a Royalist called Major Wood, who was acting as go-between, travelling to London from the Continent. Tom noticed that his father talked to Major Wood in a completely different tone from that he used among the conspirators. Lovell and Wood had a natural ease together, speaking in catchphrases and laughing; their behaviour together was open and relaxed. If Sindercombe or one of the others arrived, Major Wood smoothly closed down this intimate conversation. In private, Wood and Lovell referred to the others sneeringly as Levellers. It was a term Tom knew from Gideon and Lambert, but he had never before heard used as an insult. Tom soon gained an impression there were two groups of plotters, the Royalists and the Levellers, cobbled together extremely awkwardly.

In closest cahoots with Sindercombe was another dissatisfied Parliamentary soldier, John Cecil. He was no longer in service, but still had army contacts, men whom they met from time to time in taverns. Loosely attached to the group, though vital, was John Toope, one of Cromwell’s Lifeguards, who gave them information of when and where Oliver Cromwell would be. Miles Sindercombe had known him in the army too. He seemed extremely nervous. Every time Toope left them, the others would go into a huddle to discuss whether Toope was burdened by misgivings, whether they could trust him, how good his information was, whether he was liable to let them down.

Tom’s father worked on John Toope, with Sindercombe. Tom saw them pass over coins. ‘There’s five pounds again, John, on top of the five we gave you before and when the tyrant is properly taken away, there will be fifteen hundred. You are sure to be made a colonel of horse, with your own troop, when the deed is done.’ There was no idealistic talk of rights and liberty, only bleak bribery that promised money and honours.

The boy took a risk and asked about this plot they had. Miles Sindercombe told him there was a design to alter the government, for which they were being paid by the King of Spain. He said it was better to have Charles Stuart rule here than the tyrant Cromwell. But, according to Sindercombe, it would never come to that. ‘When the Protector is killed, there will be confusion. The King’s men will never agree who should succeed, so they will fall together by the ears. Then the people will rise, and things will be brought to a true commonwealth again.’

Tom Lovell listened to Miles Sindercombe seriously. He showed no reaction to this wild information. His father was watching him. When they were alone, Orlando asked him outright what he thought; Tom only wriggled and played the bored twelve-year-old who had no opinions.

‘Has the man Jukes ever spoken to you about the nation’s affairs?’

Tom denied it, though when his father stopped questioning him, he thought much about past conversations he and Val had had, not only with Gideon but Lambert too. When out on expeditions, the boys had asked about when the Jukes brothers were soldiers, especially whether they had killed people. Both men had answered gravely, emphasising that to cause another’s death — and to risk your own life — was not to be undertaken lightly. Asked about the King’s execution, Gideon had said, ‘He caused us to do it by not answering the charges. Always remember, King Charles was given a trial, where he could have defended himself. The court was established by Parliament, acting for all the free people of England. It was not assassination; that would be plain murder.’

‘My mother went to see the King’s head being cut off

‘I know she did!’ Gideon had given a little sweet smile. Thomas understood that smile; he believed it was good, which meant a shadow was now cast by his father upon what had been a sunny relationship. He saw that his mother was caught in the middle — and that so was he, Thomas.

What are you thinking, boy?’ demanded Lovell. ‘Is it about that Jukes?’

‘He is a good fellow, and always kind to us,’ Tom replied steadily.

‘Your good fellow tried to shoot me!’ Lovell rounded on him. ‘You keep away from him — in case he shoots you!’

To which Tom sensibly made no answer.

He was shocked, however. In his mind he had already built a picture of his mother’s reaction to his leaving her; now he had another, more terrifying, image of Gideon full of wrath. Tom was not a prisoner; he could have gone home to Shoe Lane — but he became frightened to do it. Lovell knew that. Lovell used this fear to hold the boy.

Tom mulled things over often, for he was often left alone. His father kept them in lodgings privately, apart from the others. It was one reason he enjoyed having Tom with him, for company in the evenings. But the plotters were frequently active. On five or six occasions they lay in wait in ambushes but failed to assassinate Cromwell — when he made trips to Hampton Court, to Kensington, Hyde Park or Turnham Green. On those occasions Tom would be left to his own devices at the lodgings for hours. Lovell said he must not venture out, but must wait there in case something happened and they had to leave in a hurry.

Tom diligently played his viol.

Halfway through September the plotters hired a house beside Westminster Abbey, right by the east door. Sindercombe took out a lease, using the alias of ‘John Fish’. Their landlord was Colonel James Midhouse, who knew nothing of their plot. He kept a couple of rooms in the house himself, so he was always likely to stumble upon them, which they found an inconvenience. They talked about making him a prisoner, so he could not inform on them.

Sindercombe, Cecil, Boyes and the lad went to the house together to check its suitability. There was a yard at the back, which overlooked the route the Lord Protector’s coach would take as he travelled the short distance from hearing a sermon in Westminster Abbey to the House of Commons when he formally opened Parliament. Toope had said Cromwell would be escorted by his mounted Lifeguards, in their gleaming back-and-breasts, but the coach would travel so slowly that it would also be accompanied by his Lifeguard of Foot, who wore grey livery faced with black velvet and were popularly called Cromwell’s magpies; the foot guarded him indoors, the horse went everywhere he travelled. In formal processions, the commander of the foot walked on one side of the coach and the commander of the horse on the other. Processions were unhurried.

‘Time to get off a shot then!’ gloated Sindercombe.

‘But not to linger afterwards,’ Toope warned him. ‘The Lifeguards are chosen as the best cavalry — the most proper men on the best horses, and best governed. Once they start a chase —’

‘Fear not. We shall be long gone.’

As a response to Royalist plots the previous winter, the Lifeguards had been purged of dissidents; this occasioned laughter amongst Sindercombe’s group. Lifeguard numbers had been raised from 40 to 160 — significant, though still many less than Charles I had used as a bodyguard. The Protector’s troopers were all carefully selected by Major-General Lambert. Toope got past Honest John somehow!’ sniggered the plotters — though not when the turncoat Toope was present.