London in Chains (34 page)

The courier had said he was taking letters to
Dover
, which probably meant across the Channel to France – to the Queen, to the Prince of Wales. They'd been trying to raise a foreign army to invade England in the king's name – but they'd been trying
that
ever since the war started, and if no army had been forthcoming when Charles was free and in power, it didn't seem likely that one would be offered now. Most likely, the letter informed the Queen that Charles had finally made that long-feared agreement with the Scots.

Lucy wondered whether she'd been right to agree to silence.
She
could see no good reason to publicize what she'd heard, but that didn't mean that others couldn't. There was such a fog of suspicion and ugly rumour over everything now, though, that she dreaded the thought of adding to it.

She arrived at the Overtons' house shivering and spattered with mud. She had no key and was forced to knock on the door. It was opened surprisingly quickly by Mary. She was fully dressed and she hugged Lucy and drew her into the house. ‘Where've you been so late?' she asked, bolting the door on the cold night. ‘We were on the point of setting out to look for you!'

‘I'm sorry,' said Lucy, surprised and remorseful. ‘It–it took longer than I thought. There was . . .'

Richard came in, in his coat, with a sword at his side. ‘Back safely!' he said in relief. ‘Did that rogue Nedham try your virtue?'

‘Aye!' she said, surprised that, if he'd suspected trouble, he'd left her to defend herself.

Mary looked dismayed, but Richard raised his eyebrows appreciatively. ‘Did you draw blood?'

‘When I hit him I did.'

Richard laughed, and Lucy understood, with a surge of pleasure, that he'd
expected
her to defend herself successfully. Mary gave her husband a look of reproach and hugged Lucy again. ‘I should have come with you.'

‘There was no need.' She wasn't sure whether or not she should tell the Overtons what she'd heard, but she
was
sure, quite suddenly, that she was desperately tired and wanted to go to bed.
In the morning
, she thought,
when my head is clearer
. ‘We agreed, in the end,' she told the Overtons. ‘Six shillings a week and he's to keep his hands to himself.' She hesitated, then steeled herself. ‘I can move out as soon as I've found another place to stay.'

‘Oh, as to that, there's no haste!' replied Richard. ‘Six shillings a week! That's a handsome wage for any unlicensed printer, let alone a woman! Mary . . .'

‘I've had my fill of unlicensed printing,' said Mary quietly. ‘Dick, let's to bed! This is matter for the morning.'

Fourteen

‘The Fleece in Covent Garden' was not actually
in
Covent Garden, but on a side street adjacent to the market piazza. Lucy had trouble finding it – she'd rarely been west of the City proper – and arrived slightly late, flustered and out of breath. Nedham wasn't there, and she was miserably afraid that he'd already left. The tavern keeper refused her permission to wait inside unless she bought a drink, so she stood shivering by the door and hoped Nedham would come back.

Just as the clock in the church on the marketplace struck eleven, Nedham turned up, rumpled and unshaven. He stared at Lucy in surprise. ‘Why not wait indoors?'

‘To spare my purse,' she said sourly.

‘Ah, well! Come in while I have my morning draught.'

‘You've not had it?'

He belched. ‘I had but poor sleep. Come on; I'll no further until I've put something in my belly.'

When they were seated inside the tavern and Nedham had his mug of ale, he gave her a thoughtful look. ‘Did you keep quiet, as you promised?'

‘I made no promise,' she replied, ‘but I kept quiet.'

He gave a snort of appreciation. ‘Promise now.' He reached in his purse, took out a coin and held it low beside the table, so that the rich gleam of gold would attract no attention from anyone else.

She hadn't been certain that the offer of a gold angel for her silence was serious. She had never even touched one; the thought of a single coin worth half a pound seemed almost sinful. She licked her lips unhappily. ‘Nay.' It was an effort to say it, but she felt better when she'd got it out. She might compromise her principles by printing his newsbook but she wouldn't abandon them completely.

He stared at her incredulously. ‘Nay? When you're keeping silent already?'

‘I will not promise,' she told him fervently. ‘I told you plainly, I will keep silent because I think it best for my friends, but if ever I think it would be better to speak, speak I will!'

‘God save me from Puritan Levellers!' groaned Nedham. He stared at her a minute, then grimaced. ‘Very well. I doubt it will do much harm even if you do speak out. Be sure, though, that if you do, your days printing for me are done!' He put the coin away and drank his ale. She watched him, struggling not to regret her honesty. She suspected that she'd just thrown a very expensive sop to her conscience.

He finished his bread and ale, and they went back out into the chill damp of the November day. There Nedham halted. ‘Will you promise this?' he asked. ‘That you'll not betray the location of my press?'

‘That I can promise,' Lucy said, relieved. ‘I will do all I can to keep it safe.'

Nedham nodded in satisfaction and turned left, towards The Strand.

Covent Garden was a new part of London: the big market piazza had been laid out just before the war, and several of the mansions that had been springing up nearby had been confiscated by Parliament before they were even complete. Nedham led Lucy round the back of one of these – she wasn't even sure which one – and unlocked a door which led into a garden overgrown with winter-shrivelled weeds. He unlocked a second door, into what seemed to be a scullery or laundry – and there was the press.

It was half the size of Nicholas Tew's press; the oak beams that formed its structure were slender but reinforced with iron braces, making it altogether the most elegant machine Lucy had ever seen. It had clearly been designed so that it could be moved from one place to another quickly and easily, but this gave it the additional advantage that it was light enough to be operated by a woman.
Mine!
she thought delightedly.

‘There it is,' said Nedham. ‘My press – or the king's, which comes to the same thing.' He stroked its side. ‘It travelled with the Royalist Army the last year of the war. When the war started, armies would have laughed at the notion that they should carry about a printing press! But now no commander feels complete in his provisioning unless he can bang out tracts and proclamations to keep the soldiers happy.
Aulicus
was sometimes printed on this.'

‘
Aulicus
?'

‘Did you never read it? His Majesty set up
Mercurius Aulicus
to trumpet his cause and vilify Parliament's; John Birkenhead, he wrote it. I owe my career to that witty knave, because Parliament set up
Britanicus
to counter him. We shot poison at one another every week.' He sighed nostalgically at the memory. ‘I'll have no such merry sport again. Your friends Mabbot and Overton are honest, righteous fellows, though I'll grant you that Overton writes like a charge of cavalry and has a lively taste for bawdy. Will he trouble you over this?'

‘Nay,' said Lucy, blushing a little. ‘He urged me to speak to you. He believes in the liberty of the press and, besides, he says it does his heart good to see Cromwell pricked. Yet I do plan to lodge elsewhere, now I can afford it.'

‘Excellent!' said Nedham with satisfaction. ‘Now, I have leave to be in this house – but only from the rightful owner. Those who've seized it know nothing of our presence here, and it is important that they not learn of it. All the caution you used for John Lilburne, you must employ again. Cold though it is, you can have no fire here – smoke would give the game away – and you must take care coming and going. I have an informant who should give me warning of any unwished-for visitation, but still you should be careful.'

Lucy nodded, and they proceeded to thrash out details: she would be responsible for finding paper and ink but Nedham would pay for it; the text for the newsbook would be supplied the evening before it went to press; he would see that the printed copies were supplied to the mercury-women but she would keep track of the money. He would also supply a ‘rascal boy' who would do the inking: he seemed well aware of how much having only one worker slowed things down. He wanted Lucy to start printing the following day, as soon as she could find paper, since there was none in the printwork-scullery.

‘Well, then!' said Nedham genially, when all this had been arranged. ‘Will you come and have a cup with me, fair sweet printer?'

She gave him a hard look. ‘Nay. If I'm to print tomorrow, I must be busy today. Give me the money for the paper, please you.'

He rolled his eyes in disgust, but dug in his purse. He found two shillings and four pence, and frowned at them: it wouldn't be enough. He glanced at Lucy, who was waiting patiently, then handed her the gold angel and a shilling. ‘Take your first week's wage from that,' he said, ‘and buy paper and ink. Bring me the receipts.'

The weight of the gold in her palm brought another moment of regret, but it vanished quickly. She had her six shillings and tomorrow she would start to earn it.

When she returned to the Overtons' that evening, she was cold but happy, looking forward to the morning. The door opened to a smell of tobacco, and Richard Overton called, ‘Mary?'

‘Nay,' she replied, coming through into the kitchen. ‘Lucy.'

Lilburne was there again, but with a flood or relief she saw that this time John Wildman had joined the pair. All three men were sitting around the kitchen fire, Lilburne and Overton smoking their pipes, Wildman holding a notebook. He stared at Lucy in bewilderment.

‘Tom Stevens is dead of the smallpox,' Richard explained, ‘and my wife offered Lucy houseroom until she could find her feet again.'

Wildman set down his notebook. ‘I am sorry for your loss.'

‘Thank you, sir.' There was an awkward pause and then she blurted out, ‘Sir, do you know if—'

‘Jamie Hudson is alive and well, but under arrest,' said Wildman. ‘He and the others accused have been sent to Windsor, where the Army is to set up new headquarters.' He glanced at the other two and explained, ‘This is a man, formerly of my troop, who assisted Mistress Wentnor on the press last summer.'

‘What will be done to him?' Lucy asked unhappily.

Wildman hesitated. ‘That I cannot tell. There will be a court-martial set up within the next few days. Technically, Jamie should not be subject to it – he's no longer a soldier but merely a blacksmith who chances to be working for the Army. I might apply to have his case transferred to a civil court – only I'm not sure whether it would benefit him.'

Lilburne snorted. ‘That's no easy choice! A court-martial would punish him for mutiny; a civil court, for belonging to the Army and being a Leveller and a friend of Agitators.'

‘If he's not a soldier, then he can't be guilty of mutiny,' said Lucy hopefully. Despite Leveller denials, it was pretty clear to her that there
had
been a mutiny at Ware. Two regiments had arrived there contrary to orders, and one had driven off all the officers who tried to stand in its way. She had every sympathy for the men's reasons, but they'd given Cromwell a strong case against them.

‘An argument which should have protected him,' Wildman acknowledged, ‘except that when his friend John Harris was arrested, Jamie struck one of the arresting officers. Under military discipline that's a flogging offence.' He noticed Lucy's expression and added, ‘A court-martial might well choose to be lenient! The question is whether Cromwell intends it to crush or to conciliate.' He rubbed his face wearily.

‘This business with the Council of the Army . . .' began Richard.

‘We can conclude nothing from that,' said Lilburne. ‘It's a thing he's wished to do ever since the Agitators first sat down on it. To him, democracy is but a hair's breadth from anarchy.'

‘The Council of the Army no longer includes Agitators elected by the men,' Wildman explained to Lucy. ‘Officers only.'

‘You say that what happens to Jamie now depends on Cromwell?' asked Lucy.

Wildman nodded. ‘And that is one of the weary questions we've been circling about this evening.'

‘I still believe he will do his utmost to break us!' Lilburne declared. ‘He knows that he has wronged us and he will not want to leave our supporters in place to work against him.'

‘But the men were
deceived
,' argued Wildman. ‘That trick he used, of replacing the
Agreement
with his own declaration and acting in the name of the Council of the Army – that gave his actions a veil of legality. If he sets out to crush us, he will strip that veil away and offend many.'

‘Then he will strip it away and offend!' said Lilburne. ‘I
know
the man, remember: I fought beside him and shared a camp. He's never been one to turn back when once he's set his hand to the plough.'

‘But he has others to think of besides us!' protested Richard Overton. ‘Enemies in Parliament, and a storm gathering to the north! He can't
afford
to offend the Army!'

Lilburne shook his head gloomily. ‘An agreement with the king would give him strength enough to outface them all, and he hopes that now he's put down the faction that were crying out against Charles Stuart, he will get one.'