Rebels and traitors

Chapter Forty-Six — Carisbrooke to Goldsmiths Hall: 1648

Some stories of the King's captivity at Carisbrooke Castle were confided to Juliana by Sir Lysander Pelham. She knew that her husband was on the Isle of Wight at the end of 1647 and that he left in the early months of 1648. She was never told what part, if any, he played in the escape attempts. Not much, she thought. To give him credit, Lovell was competent. He would have managed better results.

The castle was a stalwart Norman motte-and-bailey affair, with stone walls, towers and a keep added to fortify it against possible invasion by the Spanish or the French. It made a strong prison but had never been used defensively. Nevertheless, it would be from here that King Charles launched the second civil war whilst, ironically, sanctioning a foreign invasion for his personal assistance.

At first the prison regime was lax, although his room did have barred windows, just as Royalist broadsheets depicted. They showed him looking out through the bars forlornly while wearing a full crown and a glimpse of ermine, which Juliana thought unlikely. The King's pursuits were those of a gentleman with endless leisure; she reckoned he would require smart, warm daywear which had plenty of room for movement, plus hat and gloves.

His carriage was brought over the Solent for taking the air; he went out sightseeing and even attended a funeral of a man he had never met. Colonel Hammond had a bowling green created in the castle for him. Reading material was available. As well as sermons, Latin for translation and Bacon's Advancement of Learning, Charles read Tasso and The Faerie Queene. Fiction should provide solace, but it was characteristic of the man to bury himself in romantic escapism just when he should have been most grounded in reality. Socially, his usher was busy. Political negotiators approached him gingerly. Isle of Wight gentry from time to time were permitted to kiss their sovereign's hand and, as Sir Lysander growled, 'piss themselves with the thrill of being in the same room as the blood royal'.

The courtiers who had assisted with the flight from Hampton Court stayed only briefly. Parliament ordered Will Legge's arrest. By January he had made his way to the Channel Islands though Juliana would learn later that he returned to the mainland to join Royalist activitists in Kent. Berkeley was again employed as a messenger from the Parliamentary generals to the King in April 1648, but he feared prosecution and thought it wise to retire abroad.

Royal servants of lower rank who had been left behind at Hampton Court faithfully followed what was now routine; they packed up trunks and traipsed after their master. He soon had his page, barber, tailor, coal-carrier and laundress; the laundress's assistant was one of several women who brought in letters from the Queen and supporters outside. Correspondence was passed to the King at dinner or hidden under carpets in his room. Royalist agents were everywhere — actually inside the castle or waiting ready to help in nearby towns, both on the Isle of Wight and the mainland. A flame-haired female devotee called Jane Whorwood, who had previously hung about Holdenby House, turned up in the Isle of Wight and affixed herself to the castle. The governor was too polite to send a woman packing — or preferred perhaps to keep her under observation.

Using guidance from the astrologer William Lilly, Jane Whorwood made numerous attempts to help the King escape. The stars proved unreliable on logistics: one plan was for the King to escape through the window bars, which Charles had tested for feasibility by poking his head out. The plan failed when his body would not follow (something he had not rehearsed) so, as the wind changed and his ship sailed away empty, he became ignominiously stuck. Jane Whorwood then fetched from London a consignment of aqua fortis, which was nitric acid; she spilled much of it on the long bumpy journey down to Hampshire though she managed to carry some, together with a file, as far as the King's stool-room. Her scheme was to weaken the window bars so they could be removed from their sockets. Unfortunately, the castle governor became aware what was going on and intervened. Other, wilder ideas were abandoned: to cut a hole in the ceiling of the King's bedroom; to fit him out in a crazy theatrical disguise; to set fire to a heap of charcoal stored near the royal chambers, as a diversion… As Colonel Hammond routinely uncovered these stratagems and routinely blocked them, he reduced the number of the King's attendants; after his barber was dismissed, Charles balked at having a Parliamentarian come anywhere near him with sharp implements, so he had to grow his hair.

Meanwhile in London a daring plan to free the King's second son, James, Duke of York, did come off. A woman called Anne Murray was enlisted by her lover, Colonel Bampfylde, to provide female clothing; after a convenient game of hide-and-seek, the young duke successfully bolted for freedom. Disguised in a dress with a crimson petticoat and fortified by Wood Street cake, he was whisked away to his mother in France, safe from being made a puppet-ruler in his father's stead.

As these ludicrous stories surfaced through Sir Lysander, Juliana became ever more annoyed with Lovell. She could have been just as willing, inventive and brave as those women. Her grandmother had worked for the court and although Juliana had never been compelled to declare formally whether or not she was a Royalist, she would certainly have made an indomitable partner. She shared Lovell's clear-eyed understanding of the King's faults and the limitations of the King's chosen advisers; her husband should have seen she could have done better. Juliana knew her own value; she thought Lovell knew it too. Being excluded left a chill in her heart.

Work was found for her, none the less. Early in 1648 Lovell wrote instructing her to go up to London, to face the notorious Committee for Compounding. Her task was to beg, plead, apologise, promise, rend hearts, screw favours and if needs be perjure herself in order to obtain the release of Lovell's property in Hampshire.

Sir Lysander sent her with a groom, and allowed her to live in his elegant London town house in Covent Garden. He had been a member of Parliament, though had ceased to take his seat at the Commons when the war began; as a result his London home was rather sparsely furnished and staffed — it had been ransacked in 1642 by Parliamentary officers. Juliana offered to organise an inventory of what survived and a list of work needed, in return for her keep.

Her departure for London was much approved by Bessy Sprott, nee Pelham, who had recently come home to live at Pelham Hall because her husband died. The death of so young a man would once have been occasioned by pox or plague; nowadays, wounds were a more common cause. In fact Jack Sprott, the livelier of Sir Lysander's sons-in-law, died of an ague, caught on the malarial Essex marshes. It was a while before Juliana worked out what he had been doing there — Royalist plotting — and she reckoned his wife never did understand. The baffled Bessy returned to her childhood home, eager to annoy her sister by strengthening her hold over their father as gout and general bleariness took him towards the grave. Both sisters viewed Juliana's presence with jaundiced eyes. The more Sir Lysander admired Juliana, the more leery they became. Although entirely innocent, she was glad to leave.

She stayed in London for a month and a half, a time made the more tedious because she had left her children behind in Sussex. She had not realised how long this might take.

Delinquents had to present themselves at the Committee for Compounding of Malignants, which sat at Goldsmiths Hall. How appropriate! thought Juliana, as she became aware of how much money this committee was extorting. Successful appellants swore an oath not to bear arms against Parliament again, and they took the Covenant. They had to declare the full value of their estates; any misstatement or fudging rendered them liable to heavy fines. Juliana knew that the rates of assessment varied, depending on how strong a supporter of the King the victims were deemed to be. Sir Lysander, as an MP and a full colonel, had been fined half his estate. Lovell reckoned he might get away with the general rate, which was only a sixth.

Among Royalists there was much conferring about how to manage the committee. It was believed that sending a wife to plead was more likely to work than appearing in person. The more pregnant and sickly the wife looked, and the greater the number of her dependent children, the better. Lovell had written that he hoped he had left Juliana pregnant for this purpose; he had, but she suffered a miscarriage. 'Use your grief!' Bessy Sprott had advised her, which was cynical but sound.

Goldsmiths Hall was less than twenty years old, a large foursquare building with a lofty entrance, pillared and fanlighted in grandiose style. The monumental livery hall stood in the traditional heart of the City of London, occupying an enormous block between Foster Lane and Gresham Street. In close proximity to Guildhall and St Paul's, this was an area of great bustle and commerce, peopled by aldermen, clergymen, booksellers, jewellers and cut-purses. Juliana had lived in London for a while with her grandmother, though not since she was a child. The frenzy and noise now came as a shock.

Appellants had to mingle with goldsmiths and silversmiths bringing work to the Assay office, and the tough servants who acted as their bodyguards. When Juliana presented herself there was a queue, mainly of other women, most of them looking strained, some definitely viewing this occasion as beneath them. One extremely haughty lady in yards of black figured silk came stalking in, took a fraught look at the situation, then left again as if she could not demean herself. Juliana had been brought up to do whatever was necessary to survive. She quietly ascertained the system from a man she assumed to be a clerk, who nodded to the line of other supplicants. 'You will catch a strong whiff of lavender, for they have all dug into chests for finery, in order to seem more important… the sensible ones come looking as poor as possible.' His eyes lingered on Juliana; she had no finery to draw upon. 'You may present yourself first, madam.'

Despite this good start, the process was long and slow. The papers Juliana had obtained from the Hampshire committee the previous year were out of date; new enquiries had to be made about the rents. This was done by correspondence, but she needed to wait in London until answers came, and nobody seemed to hurry. Then there was a question whether, while he was a prisoner after Naseby, Lovell ever gave his parole, an officer's word that he would not try to escape. Records had gone missing. If he had not bound himself, escape was allowed and even admired; otherwise, Lovell had perjured himself fatally when he wriggled out of Lambeth Palace. Juliana stuck to her guns: 'My husband assured me particularly: he did not give his parole.' Did the committee read her thoughts as she wondered whether he had told her the truth?

'Where is your husband now, madam?'

Juliana saw she must fudge the fact that Lovell had been on the Isle of Wight. Fortunately, in news from Sussex she learned that Lovell had since transferred to 'an errand' in Kent. She could honestly deny any knowledge of what he was doing there, though she was starting to suspect. 'He works now; he is an estate manager for Sir Lysander Pelham, who has retired from all active support of His Majesty, due to old age, physical infirmity and heartbreak after losing all his sons in the late war.'

'Oh we know Sir Lysander Pelham!'

Not a good answer. After Sir Lysander was fined heavily, he refused to submit, but sued the tenants of his confiscated lands in the civil courts for rents they had paid to Parliament. He knew of other Royalists who had used the legal process in this way, some of whom won favourable rulings; this encouraged him. Both the courts and the members of Parliament who served on committees were so respectful of the law that they could be persuaded to uphold Royalists' claims. It was thwarting Parliament's plans to pay off the New Model Army using confiscated property — and it was embarrassing. Ruefully Juliana acknowledged that the situation worked against families like hers; Lovell had no resources to start risky lawsuits. If wealthier Royalists overturned decisions, larger fines would be levied on others.

As the weeks dawdled by, she began to fear that their request to compound would be refused. Then perhaps the question would be remitted to another, more shadowy body called the Treason Trustees, who met at Drury House. Lovell's chances there were nil. Juliana had been instructed not to court attention from that body. In her worst moments she dreaded finding out just why Lovell wished to be unobtrusive. His absences had always made her fearful, but now she grew more anxious about the consequences for her and the boys.

The Committee for Compounding liked to delay until they had made supplicants despairing and submissive. Juliana was now sick of looking humble. She was becoming resentful of the position in which Lovell had placed her. She had assumed he was comparatively unimportant but the degree of suspicion his name aroused was starting to alarm her. The committee seemed obsessed with where he was and why he was seeking to compound now. Thinking on her feet, Juliana fed them excuses about family needs and Orlando's desire to settle down. She managed to conceal her own despair at just how little he really wished for quietness and domesticity.

As she was constantly questioned about her husband's activities, Juliana scrutinised the news-sheets. Sir Lysander had told her, in strict confidence, that in December at Carisbrooke the King had formally signed an agreement with the Scots. Charles had committed to a promise that in return for an armed invasion to restore him to the throne, he would institute Presbyterianism for three years. He would then outlaw free-thinking sects, a colourful cliche collection of: 'Anti-Trinitarians, Anabaptists, Antinomians, Arminians, Familists, Brownists, Separatists, Independents, Libertines and Seekers'. Although the 'Engagement' with the Scots had been secretly buried in a lead casket in the grounds of Carisbrooke Castle, Parliament discovered what had happened. They broke off all negotiations. Members passed a 'Vote of No Addresses', refusing any further contact. How the nation was settled would now be decided by Parliament alone — at least, it would be unless a new Royalist rebellion changed everything. Such a rebellion was in hand.

The King had been christened a Man of Blood by the New Model Army; he was proving it. The Scots began to prepare their invasion force. A countrywide new civil war was being co-ordinated by the King from Carisbrooke.

Dreading what it meant to her personally, Juliana noticed how even in London there was increasing Royalist support. Whether it was enough to achieve anything, she doubted. In a clampdown on troublemakers, John Lilburne and John Wildman had been arrested after addressing a large Leveller meeting in Smithfield, whilst a regiment of foot soldiers was now billeted in Whitehall to control Royalist demonstrations. By April the apprentices were rioting and the Lord Mayor took refuge in the Tower of London. As Juliana made her trips to Goldsmiths Hall, she was aware of the disturbed mood on the streets. Although she was missing her children, she was grateful she had left them in the security of Sussex. In mid-May she heard musket fire when pro-Royalist petitioners from Surrey and Essex tried to force their way into the House of Commons; guards who were pelted with missiles responded with bullets. Juliana heard that ten people were killed and a hundred more wounded.

Upheaval became country-wide. Rebellions began in Wales, where Parliamentary officers refused orders. In the north, the King's devoted supporter Sir Marmaduke Langdale took Berwick while Sir Philip Musgrove took Carlisle, in order to provide a clear invasion route for the Scots. They had been promised that the Prince of Wales would sail from Holland to join them. Rioting occurred in Norwich. Then throughout Kent — where Lovell was — a major uprising flared: Rochester, Sittingbourne, Faversham, Chatham, Dartford and Deptford were seized and the fleet was restive in the Downs, its anchorage off Kent. In May, nearby at Deal, a strange youth appeared, 'on foot, and in an old black ragged suit, without any companions but lice'. Keen locals welcomed this unlikely pretender, accepting his claim to be the Prince of Wales. Thomas Rainborough, then Parliamentary Vice-Admiral of the Fleet, rightly believed him to be an impostor, but the incident led to outright naval mutiny in which Rainborough was refused boarding of his own flagship. Although the sailors conceded he had been 'a loving and courteous colonel to them', they paid to send him (at the cost of sixpence) in a Dutch fly-boat, back to London with his wife and other relatives. The mutineers took nine warships and sailed to the Netherlands.

There were rumours that a large Royalist army, ten thousand men, had gathered in Kent. Juliana Lovell now believed Orlando was there, organising. If so, he probably wanted his estate back so he could sell or mortgage it to raise funds. He had deceived his wife, using her to achieve this for him, planning that if she succeeded, he would bankrupt them and destroy whatever inheritance their children might have had. Juliana seethed.

As the atmosphere in London became tumultuous, Juliana almost hoped the committee might refuse her plea. She wanted to return to Sussex. After a fruitless wait at Goldsmiths Hall one morning, she walked out for air and instead of taking her usual route to the bookshops around St Paul's, where she habitually window-shopped, her steps took her along Lothbury. It was a main thoroughfare, though notorious for its racket of metal-workers. She turned off for more peace into Basinghall Street, a narrow, winding cut-through that bent around Guildhall. From an overhead window, the measured notes of a tenor viol playing an air like a love song caught her attention. Attracted by the music, she entered a small print shop.

It was slightly dark and extremely busy. The great press dominated, with a tall desk for compositing. Papers were hung to dry on long wires. On the walls were large, faded publications, nailed up like posters, most of them about two years old as if someone had decorated the shop then: lists of two or three hundred victories ascribed to General Fairfax, surrounding large equestrian portraits of him or smaller busts of all the Parliamentary generals; memorials and elegies for the Earl of Essex, who had died in September 1646; she read: flnnals and most remarkable records of King Charles' reign… Wherein we may plainly see how the Popish, Jesuitical and Prelatical Malignant party have endeavoured the ruin of this church and kingdom but was by God's mercy most miraculously prevented…' There could be no doubt where the printer's sympathies lay.

They were selling a news-sheet called The Public Corranto. Juliana began to read the front page. The big-eared, buck-toothed apprentice clearly thought her a time-waster. Deeply suspicious, he operated the big press slowly as he watched her. He was eating slices of fruit pie from a delft plate. In a corner, almost unnoticed at first, a good-looking, dark-eyed woman in her late thirties was giving him a fractious look, as if she wanted him to save the pie. She was stitching together pamphlets; it was hard work, hardly a dainty thimble job. She had to press down the eye of the needle on a piece of slate to force it through the pages. Her fingers were red and sore, though she seemed to know what she was doing.

Juliana approached and smiled. She preferred doing business with a woman. They got into conversation, pleasantly enough, though both were wary. Holding a copy of the Corranto, Juliana asked after the latest news.

'Cromwell has been sent to Wales; the Lord General is taking men to Kent. The Earl of Warwick has succeeded Rainborough as admiral and gone to deal with the navy.'

'Do you think they will be successful?' Juliana asked, wondering what would happen to Lovell. 'It sounds as if the King has very great support now.'

'War will be short and brutal, so says Robert Allibone, the printer here.'

'Your husband?'

'No, no!' The woman blushed, and seemed conscious of the apprentice listening in. Before she looked down quickly, she glanced up to the ceiling, whence the sounds of the viol could still be heard, now playing a fugue. 'My name is Anne Jukes.'

'You work here?'

'I run my husband's grocery business, while he is away' In the New Model Army, thought Juliana nervously. Then, looking at the woman, and hearing that soulful music, she wondered on a whim, Perhaps her husband being away is convenient for her and she loves another… 'I come here to help with certain publications.'

Juliana nodded to the pamphlet Anne Jukes was now putting into piles. 'Revolutionary publications?'

Anne had identified this customer as a Royalist. Long-faced, despondent women in faded gowns often came into the print shop alone, after they had taken a bruising in committees. 'In the City, women are allowed to think!' And preach if we will, and make petitions, and pay our fees and join the Levellers… 'This is a discussion of Leveller principles, for those who sympathise. Our new newspaper called The Moderate will start next month.'

Since it was so heavily implied that Juliana would not want a Leveller pamphlet, she bought it anyway, and also The Public Corranto. Surprised, the woman offered her a slice of pie; it was of her own making and extremely good. She told Juliana the recipe. As Juliana walked back to Goldsmiths Hall, she continued to wonder for whom at the print shop Anne Jukes had brought in the pie.

Astonishingly, right at that moment when it seemed as plain as day Lovell must be engaged in the Kent rebellion, the Committee for Compounding agreed a fine and gave him back his lands. Juliana had been authorised to arrange the fine through Sir Lysander's bank, so she spent the rest of the afternoon making arrangements; she obtained a certificate of exemption from sequestration and as dusk fell she left Goldsmiths Hall for the last time.

Approaching the town house, she was trying to remember Anne Jukes's recipe for sweet pastry until she had a chance to write it down. She became aware of a young woman keeping step with her, a little too close behind her shoulder. Juliana's purse was empty, though to lose the hard-won land certificate would have been tedious after months of work to get it, and she would have been even more annoyed to have The Public Corranto snatched before she had read it. She could see the front doorstep of Sir Lysander's house, which she knew was a dangerous position where many householders were mugged as they struggled with their keys. Abruptly, she turned round and stared out her shadower.

It was a thin, pale urchin, dressed in a ragged shawl over a dirty yellow petticoat. The creature affected innocence and walked off. A man who had been following her then caught up and spoke. Safe from the intended theft, Juliana lost interest.