Rebels and Traitors (109 page)

‘Thomas is in no danger. Tom is his own boy …’ As Gideon tried to reassure her, Juliana only became even more anxious. She hoped that the charm Tom could deploy if he wanted to — especially with strangers — would help him gain his father’s liking and so preserve him. But then Gideon was wrong; there
was
a danger: Tom might be won over to Lovell’s ways and Lovell’s thinking. Her boy would certainly be changed. Even if they ever managed to fetch him back, the Tom Juliana had loved and nurtured was permanently lost to her.

Gideon took Catherine out to show just where Tom went missing. ‘Stay here — Juliana,
stay here
! Someone must be in the house, sweetheart —’ Gideon dropped his voice. ‘In case any word comes.’

There would be no word. Lovell would want her to suffer.

Catherine returned home alone eventually; Gideon, his apprentice and his brother stayed out searching.

Eventually Gideon came in, empty-handed. It was late, dark in the streets. Juliana had put Valentine to bed and cradled the new baby. Catherine had fled to her garret room, still weeping, and in fear that she would have the blame.

Gideon swallowed some of the food he found left out for him, then came stumbling to bed. Juliana was already lying rigid between the covers. He fell onto his side, turned away, two feet from her. He always slept on her right; he had chosen it to save pressure on his bad shoulder. It happened that Orlando had always lain to her left, so although Juliana had not consciously chosen to have a difference, it suited her. She and Gideon had never spent a night apart since the first time they were lovers. Quarrels between them were normally settled in the best way to end quarrels, by lovemaking. Tonight they were too exhausted, too shattered emotionally, and it would have been inappropriate.

Normally they slept close, always with a head or an arm touching, foot against shin or knee against knee. Often they fell asleep in each other’s arms, or came together later. Always when they woke they turned to each other with tender greetings. Never had they been in bed like this, silent, for hour after hour, making no contact, each withdrawn into brooding and bitterness.

Juliana thought she had lost Gideon. She knew no way to break the impasse.

Only after many hours did she stop pretending that she was asleep. She moved a little. Then she heard Gideon turn towards her.

‘What are we to do?’ she whispered.

At first, Gideon only breathed a kind of rueful laugh. After longer reflection, he asked in a dead voice, ‘Will you go back to him?’

Juliana was amazed. ‘No!’ It had come out firm and fast. Will you leave me?’

‘Never.’ Gideon rolled towards her. ‘I will not leave you, nor will I let anyone take you from me against your will.’

He gathered Juliana into his arms, where she shed a few tears against his neck, though her weeping was brief, for she knew that too much lay ahead of them to take any solace yet.

After a while she confessed that she had never really believed Orlando had died. Then Gideon sighed and admitted he too had never relied on it. He even had a plan, that if Lovell ever reappeared, they would emigrate to Massachusetts. Gideon had obtained details of how to take a ship, long lists of the items that colonists should carry out to America, a secret savings chest…

They could not go while Thomas was missing. Juliana would never leave without him.

Well, I, for sure,’ Gideon declared, ‘would not have had my life any other way than this. Nor will I change it now — so we must face out events.’

Juliana would not be the first woman who had left one husband to live with another, whatever the law said and however much the public enjoyed railing against such behaviour. ‘I care nothing for my own notoriety, but I do not want our daughter to be stigmatised as a bastard.’

Gideon replied sadly, ‘Celia will not be the first daughter of mine to have that distinction.’ Celia was the name Juliana had given to the infant. Even after just one day, this puckered, red little creature exerted a greater tug on Gideon’s heart than poor baby Harriet had ever managed.

That was when Juliana decided to say, ‘Catherine told me once what happened to her sister.’

Gideon growled. ‘Everybody knows but me!’

‘Oh I think you do know, sweetheart… When she was working at Elizabeth Bevan’s house, your great-uncle would follow the poor girl everywhere. He hung at her heels, so she could hardly do her work. Elizabeth his wife was very great with child and I suppose did not welcome her husband’s attentions. So he threw the girl upon the bed one day and forcibly enjoyed her; when she cried out, he bade her hush, saying he was her master and paid her wages, so could do as he wished. Once Lacy fell pregnant, Elizabeth searched for signs, and questioned her.’

‘I always suspected Bevan was the culprit. Perhaps it had happened before,’ Gideon speculated. ‘Perhaps he was known for meddling with the servants.’

‘It seems likely. Catherine says the Bevans kept Lacy away from her family; they promised to arrange a marriage, saying it would prevent ruin — though it was for their own protection, clearly’

Gideon nodded in the darkness. He was bitter. ‘They concealed the scandal, saved Bevan’s reputation — and saved themselves the costs, if Lacy had named him the father.’

He wanted to think he could have shown Lacy more tolerance, and her baby more love. But given a choice, with a young man’s hard-heartedness, he would have spurned the marriage. Had he been certain that Lacy’s child was not his own, he would have refused to rear her. Lacy must have always realised it.

Providence had granted him second chances. So despite all Orlando Lovell’s threats, in deference to Juliana and in fear for her son, Gideon made up his mind
not
to inform against Lovell.

However, his brother intervened. Lambert had developed a special liking for Tom Lovell. He had even been mulling hopes to offer Tom an apprenticeship as a grocer. After he was called by Gideon to help in the search, Lambert marched to the Tower of London where he reported, to Sir John Barkstead, Colonel Orlando Lovell’s presence in London, together with his probable designs against the city and the government.

Barkstead was one of the old-style London Parliamentarians. By background a goldsmith, he had joined up when the civil wars began. He was one of the Army officers who had sat in the court which tried the King, and he signed the death warrant. Recently appointed Lieutenant of the Tower, he worked closely with Secretary Thurloe and was guarding many political prisoners.

Sir John Barkstead took down Lambert Jukes’s examination, which he sent within hours to Whitehall. Next day, Gideon was himself summoned. For the first time he was to meet Secretary John Thurloe.

The palace at Whitehall was a rambling conglomeration, built at various times. It contained between one and two thousand rooms, many in a state of dilapidation. The palace had been both royal home and formal seat of government since the time of King James, though it was much older, parts dating back to the thirteenth century. The Commonwealth Council had met there. When Cromwell was appointed Lord Protector, a number of royal palaces were assigned to him, to demonstrate publicly that he was the sovereign leader of a powerful state. This was his main London home.

Much had been stripped bare in the immediate aftermath of the King’s execution, when royal possessions, the hated trappings of monarchy, were auctioned off. After great expense of time, money and embarrassment, several buildings and their auctioned adornments were bought back for Cromwell. Ancient royal pensioners in grace-and-favour quarters were kicked out. Apartments were opulently prepared; Cromwell moved from the Cockpit by the Tiltyard, where he had lived since he returned from Ireland, into Whitehall Palace proper, taking members of his family: his uneasy wife and his more eager children — except for his octogenarian mother. Madam Elizabeth was too suspicious to live in a palace and remained in a simpler house in King Street, near the Blue Boar Inn, until she died in 1654 and was — in defiance of her wishes — given a state funeral.

The Protector’s household was equipped with all domestic equipment and ornaments: tapestries, carpets, suites of beds and chairs, feather mattresses, bedding and hangings, clocks, books, globes, pictures, garden fountains, household implements, table plate and a red-velvet-covered commode or close-stool, which was specially moved from Greenwich to be ‘in His Highness’s service’. Similar comforts were installed at Hampton Court, his weekend retreat, along with an organ from the chapel at Magdalen College, Oxford. Oliver also had the use of the Banqueting House to receive ambassadors.

As he applied for admission, Gideon reflected that this princely state demonstrated that the ‘Lord Protector’ was a monarch in all but name. It only differed from past royal display in that there were neither excesses nor sinecures. No favourites were given spurious titles and salaries; instead, the Commonwealth’s courtiers and household servants had to do their jobs, without taking bribes. Whitehall appeared to be comfortable, though not visibly extravagant. Although Gideon knew that the palaces could and did host impressive functions, and although he himself was formally admitted by Lifeguards, daily life here seemed not to be ceremonious.

Some offices of state that previously occupied Whitehall had been moved away to other buildings. But Gideon knew from Marchamont Nedham that the intelligence office remained within the maze of old Tudor staterooms, as an adjunct to the quarters that Thurloe used as secretary to the Council of State and Cromwell’s chief minister. Gideon was led there down ancient winding corridors, past rooms hung with recovered tapestries and furnished with suites of upholstered chairs. It was clear that many paintings from Charles I’s enormous collection, which had once hung flamboyantly at least three-high on every wall, had gone. Madonnas, mythical nudes and unpleasantly martyred Roman Catholic saints had all been bought up cheap by soldiers and foreign ambassadors, astonished to be able to grab a Titian for a mere sixty pounds; even his brother Lambert had snaffled a rather dull Dutch watercolour, just for the say-so. At the refurbished palace, seemly pictures were retained, in discreet numbers. Fine hangings and furniture were acceptable comforts and in moderation they lent
gravitas
to the staterooms.

Thurloe worked in these handsome surroundings. It was said he was the only state servant who knew everything, and was never far from the Protector. However, he conducted much political business himself, judging the fine line between which papers must be shown directly to Oliver or what could be said and done without troubling him. On arrival, Gideon thought Thurloe’s staff seemed content, always a good sign -and a sign, too, of an efficient office.

It was clear he would not be meeting Thurloe immediately. When he first arrived, Gideon was assigned to a secretary who pleasantly showed him around and explained what was done here. The main purpose of the office was legitimately diplomatic. In came long letters from private overseas correspondents and the official English Residents, accredited ambassadors, who reported from different courts of Europe and even wider afield almost weekly. They sent details of foreign wars, treaties and alliances, lists of ships, prices of goods, births, marriages and deaths of royalty. They reported the movement of known English Royalists, the location of Charles Stuart and his brothers, and what negotiations the princes had, or tried to have, with foreign governments. ‘We have our own business abroad — with France, Spain, the Netherlands, Sweden, Poland, Russia, Constantinople, the Americas …’

And you have spies?’ Gideon asked bluntly.

His guide smiled and gestured to the salaried agents who were working at tables and desks — a small number, all relaxed in manner. Their pens moved unhurriedly. One read letters with the aid of spectacles, which he took off, then rubbed his eyes and massaged the pressure marks along his nose as if he had been reading with great concentration for a long time. ‘The major-generals send the Protector statements about suspicious local characters.’

‘You intercept letters.’ Gideon spoke mildly. ‘I imagine that is a curious science.’ He had noticed that some of the clerks were not simply reading, but made notes on the documents in front of them.

The reply was equally frank. ‘Many of the letters we receive have important names and places replaced with pseudonyms or number codes. A mathematician deciphers them if necessary. Some passages are written in white ink, which is supposed to be invisible.’ Gideon noticed ‘supposed’.

‘Do people not spot it, when private letters you retrieve are not delivered?’

‘Some must be aware of us, for they number their letters sequentially, so their correspondents can tell if one is missing. They may realise delays and omissions are not always the fault of letters being lost at sea or dumped in a ditch by a half-hearted carrier. But, Master Jukes, the letters we read generally
are
returned to the post office and sent on their way’

‘Yes,
concealing
that you have read them is the point — I see that!’

Gideon was no fool and it struck him that even this guided tour was deliberate. He was encouraged to feel at home. Everyone was pleasant; everyone seemed at ease in their work and welcoming to him. He guessed this was normal. Visitors were never treated confrontationally All comers were coerced, if possible, whether they were supporters, Royalists or virulent republicans. The Commonwealth government — and Cromwell — hoped to be inclusive. Gideon was fascinated to observe how tolerance pervaded these staterooms. Enemies called the Protector a tyrant, yet what he was experiencing was not repressive.

Being Gideon, as they kept him kicking his heels, he asked openly about the Protector’s attitude to his enemies.

‘Oliver is as tender-hearted as a man could be. He yearns to make the nation godly, yet his wish is to allow all opinions freely. If he can, he will mercifully pardon horse-thieves and whores, equally with Royalists, Levellers and Fifth Monarchists.’

‘Levellers?’ Under the brim of his hat, which he had so far kept on, Gideon raised his eyebrows.