came to it, he had often been there as Edmund's saviour.
She grieved for her friend. Edmund turned away from her, hiding his head, and wept openly. Juliana laid her arm gently across his back to comfort him.
She gazed up, into the deep indigo of midsummer twilight, lost in her own melancholy thoughts.
Chapter Sixty — Lewisham and London: 1649
Parliament retrieved the body of Dr Dorislaus and gave him a state funeral in Westminster Abbey.
The States General investigations were thought by the English to be cursory and ineffective; certainly no culprits were brought to justice. Various suspects were touted. Scots supporters of the Marquis of Montrose, perhaps. Montrose was appointed to negotiate with European states in the new King's name; he had sworn his loathing for those who killed Charles I and had threatened to write an epitaph in blood. Colonel Walter Whitford, a bishop's son, and Sir John Spottiswood were implicated. Sir Henry Bard, later Viscount Bellemount, was arrested but released. Montrose and also Lord Hopton were questioned. Later it seemed that others had organised the deed, with the new King's connivance. The murder became notorious and continued to rankle with the Commonwealth, being one of the excuses for trade wars with Holland. When other Parliamentary ambassadors were threatened or killed in foreign countries, it began to look like a campaign, not a spur-of-the-moment action by rogue cavaliers but a concerted plot that was approved by and directly linked to Charles II.
Juliana Lovell kept Edmund Treves's confidence. As far as she knew, he never spoke about Dorislaus to anyone again. Certainly she had warned him not to. Once he had unburdened himself that evening, his spirits visibly lifted. He returned to good humour, although the image of Dorislaus, sprawled on the inn table among his vinegar- soused herrings, would trouble Juliana herself for a long time.
The danger in which Edmund put himself by returning to England became clear, especially in Kent. Walter Breame, a Kentish cavalier, was arrested that month and sent to the Tower for possessing letters which referred to the ambassador's death. Ferdinand Storey was imprisoned in the Gatehouse the following year. There was a hue and cry for Captain Francis Murfield, who had been heard supporting the murder. A Captain Norwood was ordered to pay a bond of five hundred pounds a year to the Sheriff of Kent, against future good behaviour..
During Edmund's visit, there were more immediate concerns: he was travelling without a permit. Juliana knew this was far too dangerous. She herself would only risk it where she could claim to be going about ordinary business if soldiers stopped her; Royalists not allowed to travel beyond a five-mile radius of their homes.
Edmund was intending to throw himself upon the mercy of an uncle in London who had supported Parliament throughout the war. 'Merry Uncle Foulke; you will find him exceedingly pleasant'. Leaving Edmund to stay out of sight at her house, Juliana took a letter to the man, a member of the Merchant Taylors Company and brother of Edmund's ailing mother; he knew how urgently Alice Treves longed to see her 'dearest Ned' before she died.
The reception was friendly; promises were made for Edmund. Juliana was less taken with his uncle than her eager friend had foretold, but she found Foulke Adams apparently sympathetic to his Royalist nephew. He claimed numerous contacts who would ease Edmund's compounding and pardon, then help him obtain a pass to go to Staffordshire. It proved correct. Foulke Adams rode out to Lewisham in person, flourishing paperwork. He took Edmund away with him, then some time later Edmund wrote to say that he had satisfied the relevant committees, and was leaving straight for home.
Before he was removed, Juliana had urged good advice upon him. 'You have to accept the Commonwealth, Edmund. Do not waste your life with believing the popular song — 'All things will be well, when the King enjoys his own again'. Kings may never return to England. Build yourself a life, my dear. Bow to Parliament and button your tongue. You should marry. Marry for kindness, not money — though I admit, money will help.'
She wanted to add, do not write bad love lyrics to unobtainable women, but she knew Edmund saw poetry as the noble expression of his most romantic spirit.
After he had gone, Juliana considered her own future. If this Commonwealth continued, she wondered whether Orlando would ever return to England. How long would Prince Rupert keep the Royalist fleet at sea? Would Lovell one day settle in exile, in Holland or France? If so, would he send for her? Would it be her fate to uproot herself and her children? He husband's seafaring gave her some breathing space; she let herself defer worrying.
She went on with her isolated, quiet life, bringing up her sons. The countryside was ruined, bad harvests had increased the price of corn by half as much again and expensive fodder made meat go up twofold. Wood for fuel was in short supply. Work was scarce. But there was one great benefit: it was peacetime.
For some, however, peace was an imperfect state. Three months after Edmund left, Juliana was forced to learn exactly what her position was, as the wife of a known Royalist officer.
It was mid-morning. For an hour or two earlier, she had been sewing in her tiny parlour, lost in her work, though at that moment she had gone to prepare food. She was peeling a yellow carrot. This mundane action was brutally interrupted.
A commotion disturbed her. She walked to her door. Soldiers were throwing open outhouses and shouting at the boys. They pushed past her and began searching her house. Tom and Val were terrified; Juliana was too, though she had to hide it for their sakes. Before she grasped the situation properly, rude men were asking angry, noisy, sometimes stupid questions about her absent husband. They demanded his whereabouts; they wanted to know all his recent movements. They ordered her to name his associates. Finally they told her she had to go with them. With a sinking heart, Juliana realised that she was being arrested.
Given warning, she could have found a safe place for Thomas and Valentine. Alone with them at the cottage, she could not now send them running to the farm; she never let them go so far without her. So, given barely time to snatch cloaks, Tom and Val were taken up with her. Ruefully, Juliana hoped the presence of loudly crying children might help in whatever ordeal she faced.
They were all roughly put upon horses behind hard-faced cavalry. Nothing was said about their destination, though it became clear it was London. Trying to call out reassurance to her weeping boys, Juliana faced the terrible fear that she, and they, were about to be incarcerated in the Tower of London.
It had happened to others. Lady Carlisle had been shown the rack, when she was obdurate in refusing to give details of Royalist plots.
In the event, Juliana was not in penal custody. She was merely brought before the Committee for Investigations at Haberdashers Hall. This shadowy body, mainly composed of civilians, some of them members of Parliament, was much feared among Royalists. It dealt with hard cases — men whose delinquency was considered too serious to be left to local county committees. Men who were defined as soldiers of fortune, subject to firing squad if captured. Men with unforgivable war crimes listed against them. Men of stubborn and recalcitrant Royalist opinions. Men like Orlando Lovell.
'Has your husband, Colonel Lovell, compounded for pardon?'
'His particulars were accepted by the Committee at Goldsmiths Hall last year. I handed them his fine myself — '
'That is superseded. Has he presented himself for compounding since he took part in the revolt in Kent?'
'He is beyond the seas.'
Juliana knew from news-sheets that Parliament had laid down a timetable for Royalists to compound: the 20th of April for those who lived within eighty miles of London and the 3rd of May for those residing farther away. Delinquents living beyond the seas had to file their petitions by the 1st of June. After giving particulars, everyone had six weeks more to pay their fines. Keeping estates compelled returning to England. Anyone who neglected to render himself for compounding would lose his land to the Commonwealth. Juliana had taken particular note of that rule, because it was added that no further allowance would then be made for wives and children.
Even those whose estates had not been formally sequestered, but who merely suspected — or knew — they were liable, had to present themselves by the 1st of July. There was another rule, even worse for Juliana, that:
All who have or shall adhere to, or assist, Charles Stuart, Son of the late King, or any of the Forces in Ireland, against the Parliament of England; are, and be adjudged to be, Traitors and Rebels to the Commonwealth of England; and all their Estates shall be confiscated, and their Persons proceeded against as Traitors and
