The King's Chameleon Read online

  Hannah shook her head. ‘No, Father, only old Captain Lamont who came to pay his respects … Something to do with a mortgage …’

  ‘Lamont!’ Faulkner thundered in sudden comprehension. ‘By all the devils in hell! Lamont!’

  ‘What of Lamont?’ said a pained Gooding, turning from the table.

  ‘Where is his damned bilander, Nathan?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know? You laded him; you must know!’

  Gooding rubbed his brow. ‘I … he … I think he was due to clear outwards yesterday or perhaps this morning …’ Gooding’s mind seemed to clear. ‘No,’ he said decisively, gathering his wits, ‘it was Tuesday, the day before yesterday, but he had not sailed yesterday for I saw his mate with a boat at Wapping stairs.’

  ‘What’s the wind been?’

  ‘A light easterly … That would explain Lamont’s still being in the river.’

  ‘The devil it does!’ exclaimed Faulkner dismissively, his mind racing. ‘Get off your arse, Nathan, at once! D’you hear? Hie you to the counting-house and order Hargreaves to go at once to the Gun Wharf. Tell him to hire a wherry – give him a guinea for his trouble – and get aboard the Hawk. Have them make her ready to slip the mooring, then get him back with his wherry to Wapping Stairs. I’ll join him within the hour. While he does that, have two barrels of water, some biscuit and a barricoe of beef sent to the Stairs.’

  ‘You are going in chase of Lamont?’

  ‘Of course! Now move, Nathan; you have no idea what hangs upon this.’ He turned to his daughter as Gooding hauled himself to his feet and went out. ‘Hannah, mind the house. Let no-one unfamiliar across the threshold. No-one, d’you understand?’

  Despite her confusion, Hannah nodded. ‘Will you be gone long, Father?’

  ‘If I am lucky, no. If not …’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  Faulkner went upstairs to the room he and Gooding used and sat for a moment considering what he had set afoot. If he was wrong in his guesswork, and it was only guesswork, he would be wasting precious hours. But he was confident that if Henry was as implicated as he feared, he would be making for the Low Countries where, as half of London knew, a handful of the Regicides now lived in exile just as, but ten years earlier, the Royalists had done. What was extraordinary was that Judith had gone with the boy. They were close, it was true, both being of firm Puritan conviction, but for Judith to throw up everything and follow him into exile made no sense to Faulkner. Had his sudden summons to the King’s presence had some influence on her thinking? He considered the matter for a moment; it was certainly possible. She was a woman of intelligence, if of little imagination, but – a sudden alliance with Lamont?

  He should have asked Gooding whither Lamont’s cargo was consigned, and he chid himself for the lack of forethought. It was too late to worry now. Instead, he cudgelled his brain to recall the time of the tides and found himself too out of joint to recollect with confidence. He could not remember the phase of the moon, not even by reference to his recent night’s ride to Oxford, for the sky had been cloudy and his mind had been on other things.

  Other things! Great heavens, but Katherine was in London! He stood up with an oath, picked up his bag and made for the staircase. Ten minutes later he was at Wapping Stairs, awaiting a sign of Hargreaves and his hired wherry. He looked across the river; it was thick with shipping, most of which was moored, but several were under way: a pair of collier-brigs and a stumpie or two. A few wore ensigns or pendants at their mastheads. The wind, what there was of it, seemed no longer in the east, but appeared to be lifting the bunting from the westwards. Boats crabbed across the stream like so many giant beetles; the tide was ebbing fast. ‘Damn,’ he muttered under his breath.

  ‘D’you want a boat, Cap’n?’ a voice enquired. Faulkner turned round. A couple of seamen lounged at the head of the Stairs. Both men were chewing tobacco, and the man who spoke loosed a squirt of juice into the river.

  ‘I have one coming, I thank you.’ He turned away, searching for a wherry heading upstream against the tide. He could see three or four, but none seemed to be heading towards Wapping Stairs and none had a passenger. He could, of course, hire a boat and drop down stream on the ebb in the hope of meeting Hargreaves. In fact it would not matter if he did not meet Hargreaves, only that he got aboard the Hawk without delay. He was about to engage one of the loungers, neither of whom was a licensed waterman by the look of them, and would charge him what they liked if they sensed his haste, when he heard a hail.

  ‘Cap’n Faulkner!’ A wherry was coming upstream inshore, two boatmen pulling vigorously at their oars. In the stern, waving his battered hat, sat Charlie Hargreaves.

  Faulkner lifted his hand in response when a thought struck him. He turned to the two loungers. ‘D’you want a day or two’s work?’

  ‘What’d you pay?’

  ‘Two sovereigns if you come at once for no more than a week.’

  ‘All found in victuals and a donkey’s breakfast if there is anything on board,’ said the taller of the two.

  ‘And the sail-maker’s locker if there ain’t,’ said the other.

  ‘Just so.’ Faulkner held out his hand. Both men shook it. A moment later Hargreaves and the double-banked wherry pulled in towards the Stairs, the watermen drew in their oars with a clatter and handed the boat alongside. The three men tumbled smartly in, the watermen shoved off and shipped their still-dripping oars. Faulkner settled himself in the stern-sheets alongside Hargreaves. ‘Well?’

  ‘I used the money Mr Gooding gave me to engage a double-banked boat, sir. I hope—’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s fine. What of the Hawk?’

  ‘She’ll be ready. Mr Gooding sent off two extra hands to help old Toshack. He was taking advantage of the wind and tide to dress the mains’l, so she’s only to be cast off.’

  ‘Good. Now, tell me. Cap’n Lamont … what of his bilander?’

  ‘The Mary, sir? Why, I know she was on the mooring at noon of yesterday because I saw her, but she is gone this morning.’

  ‘What o’clock was high-water slack?’

  ‘About six, I think, sir.’

  ‘A quarter before seven, Cap’n,’ growled the nearer of the two watermen as he leaned forward to make his stroke.

  ‘So, it’s after half-ebb, then,’ he mused.

  ‘This westerly’ll soon pick up,’ the waterman added. ‘If yer outward-bound you’ll likely ’ave a dusting off the Nore by the time yer get there.’

  ‘Very likely.’ Faulkner turned again to Hargreaves. ‘Charlie, d’you recollect where the Mary is loaded for?’

  ‘She’s got a part-cargo for Flushing, and part for Leith, including passengers.’

  ‘How many passengers?’ The presence of passengers could complicate matters.

  ‘I don’t know, sir. Not many though. I heard Lamont say there wouldn’t be much baggage to Mr Davey.’ Davey was a clerk in the counting-house.

  ‘Were they for Leith, d’you know?’

  Hargreaves shrugged. ‘Couldn’t say for certain, sir, but Davey didn’t leave any tally-chits. Usually passengers for Leith leave a dozen tally-chits; not that we see that many passengers, sir, so don’t take my word for it.’

  ‘I won’t, Charlie,’ said Faulkner, unable to restrain a smile despite his preoccupations.

  They pulled on in silence and, as they approached Greenwich, Hargreaves, who had been craning his neck to see ahead, exclaimed, ‘Old Toshack’s got her off the mooring, sir!’

  ‘You’m in an ’urry then, Cap’n,’ the waterman observed.

  ‘Just pull, if you please.’

  ‘Sir?’

  Faulkner turned to Hargreaves.

  ‘May I come with you sir? To lend a hand; I’ve never been afloat other than in a wherry or aboard a ship at the moorings.’

  ‘What’d your mother say when you don’t arrive home this evening?’

  ‘But we won’t be away long, will we, sir?’

&nbs
p; ‘Very well.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Fifteen minutes later they had clambered aboard the little Hawk and Faulkner was shaking the hand of the grizzled old seaman who leaned on her tiller. ‘Welcome aboard, Cap’n Faulkner. Do I understand we are a-goin’ after the Mary?’

  ‘Aye. Did you see her going?’

  The old seaman shook his head. ‘’Fraid I don’t keep early watches nowadays, sir. Not that I mind getting this little beauty off the buoy now an’ again.’

  Faulkner smiled. The Hawk was the one indulgence he had allowed himself when she had come on the market. Built as a pinnace for a Royalist gentleman who had been killed at Naseby, she had lain in a mud-berth for several years during the dull decade of Puritan rule. Towards the end of Cromwell’s Protectorship, Faulkner had heard of her, and she had been knocked down to him at a candle-sale by a penurious widow with four children to support. From time to time she had been useful as a tender to ships waiting for a wind in The Downs. Old Toshack had been engaged as her master on the recommendation of Brian Harrison. An old seaman who had seen service under Blake as a quartermaster, he was a fine skipper of the smart little craft as he proceeded to demonstrate.

  ‘This westerly’ll pick up afore sunset, Cap’n.’

  Faulkner nodded. Now he was aboard the Hawk with time on his hands he began to worry. He paced up and down as the pinnace – her mainsail, staysail and jib gradually filling under the influence of a strengthening breeze – gathered speed. He spared a glance for the Duchess of Albemarle on the stocks at Blackwall, but the sight of the new ship, whose revised name had greatly pleased him, now seemed to mock him for his self-satisfaction. If he failed to apprehend Henry and spirit him out of harm’s way, he could forget his ambitions where the Honourable East India Company was concerned.

  He found himself aft, almost alongside Toshack who was teaching Hargreaves how to steer the pinnace. Faulkner remembered doing the very same thing with the young Prince Charles at his side. Then he rounded on Toshack. ‘I can’t afford to miss the Mary in the dark, Mr Toshack,’ he snapped with unnecessary harshness.

  ‘Don’ worry, Cap’n. She can’t have got far.’

  He could not explain to Toshack why they were in pursuit of the Mary, but he did not share the old man’s confidence. Indeed, now that they were embarked upon this wild goose chase he was beginning to regret starting it. Once darkness fell there was little chance of their sighting the bilander, and while they might sail directly to Flushing and lie-to off the island of Walcheren, the Mary could still slip past them in the dark.

  Pacing up and down he began to curse the King’s summons. His thoughts were in a turmoil; if the King had not sent him to Lord Craven’s house only to find that he must needs travel to Oxford, he would have come directly home, confronted his wife and laid the whole matter to rest. By now Henry would have been safe aboard an outward-bound merchantman, even if he, Faulkner, had had to charter one. But then he would never have known Katherine was in London and—

  And what?

  Failure to catch Judith and Henry meant that he would feel the King’s displeasure. All the bright prospects that had been dangled before his eyes in recent hours would be like morning dew. As for Katherine, what possible chance was there for him now?

  For one idle moment it seemed as if fate had laid all the advantage in his hand, that Judith had played him false and in doing so gave him the chance – the excuse – to take up again with Katherine as his mistress. Katherine could not leave her confidential position, but she could – damn it! She had as good as said so – entertain him at Leicester House.

  He turned by the mast and stumped aft again. A grey bank of cloud massed above the smoke hanging over London. On either side the river banks were green, the low land falling back in marsh and creek. He could see a distant church tower, squat and square, on the northern horizon. He supposed it to be Barking, for he had been pacing the deck for some hours. The tide had turned against them, and although the freshening wind set them downstream with a great bone in their teeth, the opposing force slowed their speed over the ground.

  Suddenly, Faulkner felt his age and his lack of sleep. He was a pot-bellied old fool! His legs still hurt, his arse ached, he was dog-tired and in no condition to keep the deck later without some rest. He went aft and spoke to Toshack. ‘The Mary is bound for Flushing,’ he said. ‘That much I know. Do you go out by the Swin and perhaps we shall sight her. There’s a crown to the first man who does. Now I intend to get some sleep.’

  ‘There’s blankets below, Cap’n,’ said Toshack. ‘And a bottle for some comfort,’ he added.

  Faulkner paused at the companionway and turned to the old man, still with an eager young Hargreaves by his side, leaning on the heavy tiller and trying to look like an old hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Toshack. Perhaps, when I come on deck next, you will advise me whether we must make a seaman of young Charlie, or whether we should keep him in the counting-house?’

  The Chase

  June – July 1661

  Faulkner was back in Wapping by early June. After chasing the shadow of the Mary out of the Thames estuary and across the North Sea, the Hawk had bobbed for a week off the Schelde but seen nothing of her quarry. Faulkner had decided not to enter Flushing or Breskens for fear of involving himself with the Dutch authorities; he had no Jerque Note for leaving London and, even if he pleaded a voyage of pleasure, he knew from past experience that this would result in seemingly endless delay with the authorities. Besides, he knew that Judith and Henry would have landed as soon as possible, to disappear in the safe lodgings of their friends.

  If the impromptu voyage yielded anything, it was clarity of mind for Faulkner, though no lessening of his anxiety. True, his wife and son had escaped him and he had failed insofar as the King had advised him; he hoped that the King’s agents would know the truth of the matter, or God alone knew the consequences. He resolved to speak of it with Albemarle as soon as convenient, if only to under-write his own liberty. As to the birds which had flown, he had – at least to his own satisfaction – determined why Judith had absconded with their son. The evidence had been plain and might have been plainer had he had a previous whiff of suspicion, but he was now convinced that Judith was deeply implicated in whatever conspiracy Henry had been caught up in. Perhaps, he thought, she may have been the main-spring and inspiration for Henry and if so had played a devilishly subtle game. A woman of strong religious, moral and political opinions, she had never shrunk from expressing them. His fault was not to have taken notice of them, or recognized them for what they were: no mere female railings, but the visible sign of a deeper involvement with the Republicans, forced underground at the restoration of King Charles. The implications of this for himself and his other children made his blood run cold, for both Henry and Judith risked indictment for high treason! No wonder she had fainted at his reminder of the grisly process of execution for such a heinous crime, for she stood already condemned by her own foolish conduct.

  And in the tortured conjectures of his mind there wormed an intimate, private and insidious thought that Judith had committed a betrayal that surpassed his own earlier marital infidelity and wiped it clean off the slate. Judith’s treason – and whatever consequences it produced – could be construed as leaving him free to consort with Katherine.

  Then he checked himself; neither he nor Katherine were young: this required a cool head. The King – while he might tolerate the stupidity of a young man who might be brought to heel by his father – would not look kindly on one of his senior sea-officers whose wife actively pursued a treasonable course intended to culminate in God knew what mischief! Indeed, if he were to maintain his own liberty and not be caught up in the meshes of his wife’s outrageous action, he would need all the influence he could muster from Katherine and Craven and, God help him, both Albemarle and Rupert of the Rhine.

  The concrete sign of Judith’s commitment was the buying into Lamont’s bilander, which Faulkner had taken for nothi
ng more than a shrewd piece of business on her part. She had invested on her own account before and he had no objection to the liberty this gave her, but now matters lay under a different light. It was clear that she was, at the very least, a party to all of Henry’s clandestine comings and goings; at the very worst their very root and foundation. It called into question his supposed reconciliation with his son, but by now he was prepared to add this to the catalogue of their deception. Perhaps Henry had meant something in it, perhaps not. Either way the pair of them had fooled him.

  Of course, Judith had lost control of herself when confronted by Faulkner. Having gulled him for so long, his sudden appearance apparently armed with all the facts must have shocked her. He knew that, for all her strength of character, she was afraid of him, and this had overwhelmed her when combined with the stark and awful facts of the process of hanging, drawing and quartering, the stench of which had most recently begun again to drift over London with the execution of Thomas Harrison.

  It was not something easily forgotten. On Saturday the thirteenth of October last, Thomas Harrison had been lashed to a hurdle and drawn from Newgate to Charing Cross. He had been hanged by his neck and while dancing the dido of death had been cut down, gasping for breath. Hardly had he gained this than his breeches were cut away prior to his being castrated and disembowelled. While the shock of this ran through what remained of his body, his mind contemplated the outrage perpetrated upon his person as his genitals and intestines had been burned before his very eyes, the stink of it filling his nostrils as his eyes watched the blood pour from his mutilations. Harrison had then been beheaded and his body quartered, his several parts carried away for display in prominent places as a warning to others.

  Perhaps it was the prospect of this happening to her darling son that had, quite simply, turned Judith’s reason and made her desperate. Whatever her motive, whether in support of Henry or at the root of his involvement, Judith had left her husband in a serious predicament.