Cecil's black mount screamed quality. It drew the eye, compact and refined in build, with strong limbs, an expressive face, a clean- cut head, well- defined withers, laid- back shoulders and a well- arched neck. It looked around eagerly with large, intelligent eyes. Clearly it would go superbly. Anyone who knew anything about horses could see this was an astounding animal. The Lord Protector, a cavalryman to the core, immedately noticed it.
Oliver descended from his coach. To the plotters' horror, he called John Cecil over, to ask who owned the horse.
Soldiers were everywhere, but Cecil now came as close as he could ever hope for. Face to face with Cromwell, he could have shot him point- blank. Here he was: the unmistakeable general. Now fifty-seven years old, sturdily built like the Huntingdon farmer he had started out; the florid complexion with the famous great wart under the centre of his lower lip; the high forehead from which lank hair straggled back, straight to ear level then slightly curled; the undistinguished grey moustache; the open face enlivened by that bright, hard stare.
As Cromwell talked about the horse admiringly, Cecil nearly collapsed. He had dressed in thin clothes that day, to make himself lighter in the getaway, so at the end of September he was very cold, which hampers courage. Cold-blooded murder was not for everyone. Most soldiers had killed opponents, but enemy troops were often indicated only by a puff of matchsmoke up ahead beside a hedge or by shadowy movement behind fortifications.
Now here was the Protector, once Cecil's commander. Cromwell's face was resoundingly famous from news- sheet, portrait and coinage. He had no royal hauteur; he was quite approachable. In the rhetoric of Sexby and Sindercombe he might be a tyrant, but for John Cecil at that moment Oliver Cromwell was flesh and blood, unarmed, out of uniform, completely vulnerable to unfair surprise.
Cecil could not do it. He excused himself later by saying that escape would have failed because the fabulous horse had a cold that day.. Cecil and Sindercombe slunk away like disappointed ferrets.
On the Continent, Sexby grew ever more agitated. Sindercombe and his group were taking too long. It reflected badly on Sexby, whose extravagant Spanish bankers expected results. His fragile accord with Charles IFs Royalists was also at risk. Boyes and Major Wood reported back scathingly on the London bungles. Sindercombe and the others realised that Sexby harboured doubts about their competence. They set up a new plan, which had to be carried out quickly, to show that they were serious and not idle.
They were going to blow up Whitehall.
Chapter Eighty- One — Shoe Lane and Whitehall: 1656
The night her husband stole away her son was terrible. Juliana had been awake and feeding the baby when she heard Catherine return home, screaming. After a short exchange of words below, where Gideon — her other husband — was still minding the shop for her, he thundered up the stairs two at a time. He told her, as calmly as possible, everything that had happened.
Her mind in turmoil, Juliana tried to understand: first, that Orlando had been here — here — and second, that he had lured away Thomas. Terrifying Catherine, Orlando had made clear threats of what would happen if they tried to get Tom back. Juliana saw there could be no advantage in having a twelve-year-old boy at his heels. But he regarded Tom as his property. Snatching Tom was also a weapon against her. It showed that Orlando still governed her life; he could harm her just as easily and carelessly as he might have once done good.
Lovell had always treated her well, when he was present. Though he gave the impression he could be a wife-beater or otherwise dissolute, Juliana knew he wanted to look virtuous. He had chosen her in the first place because she had no means to threaten him — neither family, money, influence, nor even the kind of beauty that attracts attention — while he knew she was tenacious enough to stand up to life, with him or alone. In the King's court at Oxford, possessing a wife and family had made Lovell appear stable and reliable, better than a mercenary. Juliana's friendship with Nerissa provided an entree to royal circles; later, his young family gave Orlando a lever with the Compounding Committee, even perhaps with his father. She guessed he might hope that she and the boys could be his cover now, in whatever schemes he had.
Until Sir Lysander Pelham sent him into Kent, Orlando had seemed generally content. Juliana knew, however, that there was another side. Obtaining a wife's affection meant very little to him. He expected his dues, on his terms. Their contract was supposed to be for his advantage. Anyone who tried to get the better of him might find his reaction vicious.
'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
