'Yes, dear heart, you have married an incorrigible Royalist with sinister connections. I thought you were aware of it!'
If their opinions were sought, both boys were young enough to fall either into silly behaviour or into secret deep anxiety. No child of that age is in a position to know his mind on his future. It had to be discussed, however. The legacy had caused more complications than it solved. If Valentine was to go to university he had to be prepared for it, starting now. Money for school must be found. With two incomes coming into the household, that was less a problem than it might once have been. But if Valentine was to be educated, Thomas must have the same opportunity — and so the discussions about schools began.
Juliana knew Edmund Treves had attended Merchant Taylors' School, but that was in St Lawrence Pountney away in the City of London; since lessons started at six or seven in the morning, it would only be feasible if the boys boarded. Besides, Gideon heard the headmaster at Merchant Taylors' had been examined as a 'malignant schoolmaster' — thought to have Royalist tendencies; the man was a member of the Stationers' Company, who had recently been in trouble for publishing Roman Catholic material. Next, Juliana liked what she heard about Westminster, Ben Jonson's old school, until Gideon discovered that it still occupied abbey premises and the headmaster had locked in the boys during the King's execution to prevent their going to watch; Juliana was horrified to hear that boys sometimes climbed on the high roof to get a view of Parliament. They settled on St Paul's School, where all the teaching was done in Latin or Greek. To stand any chance of survival, the boys had first to be sent to a private tutor and given a grounding in the classics.
Marchamont Nedham, the editor, had given them a tract, On Education, by John Milton, the Secretary of Foreign Tongues. Milton, like Gideon and Lambert, had been brought up in Bread Street, where his father was a scrivener, highly musical, and a great believer in education. Milton had even kept a school himself, though primarily for his own nephews. Gideon took a look, then left Juliana to plough through his essay.
'Gideon, he recommends establishing an academy where the whole process can be undertaken, from the years of twelve to twenty-one. The day's work should be divided into study, exercise and diet. The study should begin with good grammar and clear enunciation, then: Latin, Greek, Arithmetic, Geometry, Religion in the evenings after dinner, authors on Agriculture, use of Globes and Maps, Geometry, Astronomy, Trigonometry, then Fortification, Architecture, Enginery and Navigation. To illuminate their studies they should be exposed to 'the helpful experience of Hunters, Fowlers, Fishermen, Shepherds, Gardeners, Apothecaries, and in other sciences, Architects, Engineers, Mariners and Anatomists'. Poetry. Ethics. The knowledge of virtue and the hatred of vice. Scripture, politics, law, Hebrew, then perhaps Chaldean and Syrian… I particularly like how he throws in, 'And either now, or before this, they may have learned at any odd hour the Italian tongue' — I fail to see him mention French, however. That must be a fault.'
Gideon and Juliana gazed at one another in trepidation, as parents who read widely but neither of whom had had long formal schooling. 'It is a wondrous chance that Val has been given, though Tom may kick out against it.' Gideon's tone was almost humorous. 'Never fear, sweetheart. I dare say even Val will still want to sit with us sometimes for a dish of fricassee, while his dog Muff gently licks his fingers.'
Marchamont Nedham urged that the boys also be sent to a writing school to be taught a good hand; he spoke wistfully of a system called 'Zeiglographia, or a new art of short writing never before published, more easy, exact, speedy, and short than any heretofore. Invented and composed by Thomas Shalton, being his last 30years' study.'
The upshot was that the boys were taught the classics by a private tutor for a couple of years, until Thomas was enrolled at St Paul's when he was twelve. Valentine then made enormous strides while working solo under the tutor's care; he was an introverted bookworm, who absorbed knowledge like a sea sponge. Tom hated school, however. He was not a natural linguist. Classical literature failed to ignite him. Valentine's ease of learning only made Tom writhe the more. As he approached his thirteenth birthday at the end of 1656, Tom reminded Gideon all too much of his own unhappiness at that age.
One beam of sunlight in Tom's life was that he had expressed an interest in music. Anne and Lambert offered to pay for music lessons and Anne gave him Robert Allibone's two viols, which she had been bequeathed. Valentine refused to participate, so the music lessons were all Tom's. He grew in confidence every time he set off on his lone expeditions to his teacher, bowed under a viol case which he diligently humped on his back. He also grew closer to his benefactors. Juliana insisted that he regularly play to Lambert and Anne, to show them what he was learning. By now the boys had discovered that Lambert had been a Ranter; they viewed him as a highly exciting figure. Tom and Lambert got on particularly well. Occasionally, when there had been ructions at home, Tom would storm off and take his troubles to Lambert, who would wink to Anne, then lead off the boy to the grocery shop where they burrowed in among the spices together, taking a stock count until all unhappiness was forgotten.
From what she knew of Orlando Lovell's early life, Juliana was relieved that her son had found someone he would respond to, who would take a friendly interest. However, not even Lambert was able to prevent what happened that autumn to Thomas Lovell.
From what Juliana also knew of his father, the disaster came as no real surprise.
It was the period of elections to Oliver Cromwell's second Protectorate Parliament, the first with formal voting by the electorate, the first such voting since before the civil war. England was currently governed under the experimental Rule of the Major-Generals. A decision had been taken to reduce the numbers and cost of the standing army, but to reinforce it with local militias. In ten administrative districts, these forces were raised and led by Parliamentary major-generals, whose responsibilities included controlling Royalists and assisting the regular civil authorities in routine matters — or interfering, as it was seen by local justices and by the public at large. At least in providing an armed response to the Royalist risings of 1655 the unpopular system had worked. That partly explained why in the following year Sexby and Sindercombe took a different approach. They would concentrate first on the violent removal of Cromwell.
By the summer of 1656, the main preoccupation of the major-generals was vetting candidates for the Parliamentary elections and putting pressure on local selectors. All kinds of people were standing for Parliament. Royalists made a concerted effort to get elected, though they had to do it by subterfuge. Despite the major- generals' anxious scrutiny, almost a hundred new MPs were subsequently rejected by Cromwell's Council of State. This caused much discontent amongst those who were rejected — men whom Edward Sexby then busily courted from abroad. None the less, a kind of Parliament was put together and Cromwell was due to open it on the 17th of September. It was understood that he was personally at risk.
In August, Will Lockhart, the Commonwealth ambassador to France, held up the post by bribery and beseeching so he could pen a desperate note to Thurloe:
I am certainly informed, that Colonel Sexby is returned into Flanders, and was for many hours together shut up in a room with him that was the Spanish ambassador in England. Tho' the particulars that passed betwixt them cannot be well known, yet this much I am assured of that the Spaniards are very well satisfied with his negotiation, and promise themselves great advantages from it… He hath also given them hope, that upon their landing any forces in England, Ch. Stewart and his brother being upon their head, there will be several in the army declare for him.. Sir, your enemies have many irons in the fire at this time: I wish, that not only some, but all of them may cool.
Sexby re-emerged in Flanders after Miles Sindercombe's first idea was abandoned. Sindercombe had thought they could fire shots into Oliver Cromwell's coach as it passed through a very narrow part of King Street on his regular route to Parliament. The shop Sindercombe hired from a sempster, one Edward Hilton, had no decent escape route, however. The conspirators were not seeking to be martyrs; they always made sure they could flee after an attempt. That promising plan had been abandoned, leaving a large trunk of weapons behind in the house.
They did not give up. Sexby's obsession outlasted the setback. They were coming back when the new Parliament was officially opened in September. They dispersed temporarily. William Boyes, the mystery Royalist, was still lodging with a widow. Her husband, while participating in the second civil war, had drowned in the panic during Lord Norwich's desperate escape across the Thames from Greenwich. His name had been Bevan Bevan.
The widow's chattering drove Boyes to distraction. Her suggestive-ness offended him. Her children were a noisy nightmare. He was planning a sudden flit. Before he left, Elizabeth Bevan had attempted to: ingratiate herself by offering to have mended a tattered outfit she found hanging on the door-peg in his room. Boyes, who had arrived dressed respectably as a gentleman, hid a smile while he admitted that he used the ragged suit when he wanted to disguise himself as a struggling clergyman. He assumed, he murmured to Mistress Bevan with a rare flash of charm,
