Thus was his state when he travelled down to Newmarket for the season’s races. The Duke of York was with him and they were seen together, the best of friends, the most loving of brothers. Charles wanted the whole country to know that, now that he had given up all hope of getting a son, his brother James was the only man who could follow him to the throne.
They planned to leave Newmarket on a certain day, and the journey home would be, as usual, through Hoddesdon in Hertfordshire and past the Rye House.
At the Rye House a group of men eagerly awaited the coming of the coach in which the royal brothers would be riding. All plans were completed. There was the cart which would be set across the road. There were the conspirators waiting in the Rye House. In London the Duke of Mon-mouth waited. He could scarcely contain his impatience.
But the conspirators waited in vain for the coach to ride into the trap, for the day before Charles was to leave Newmarket there was a great fire in that town and many houses were burned down. That in which Charles and James were staying did not escape, and the King decided that they might as well set out for London a day before they had intended to.
Thus, when they came to that narrow stretch of road through which it was only possible for one coach to pass at a time, they went straight through, having no idea that, in the house close by, their enemies were preparing to murder them on the following day.
It was some weeks later when important documents were brought to Charles. It appeared that a letter from a certain Joseph Keeling to Lord Dartmouth had been discovered, and in this letter was set out an account of the conspiracy which had been planned to bear fruit near the Rye House. Some of the minor conspirators, then feeling that it might be gainful to expose the plotters now that the plot had failed, were ready to come forward, explain all that had been planned, and incriminate those who has taken part in the plot.
There had been much talk of such plots. Only a short while ago the country had been roused to fury by the Meal-Tub plot, which had been concocted by the Papists as a retaliation for all the Popish plots which had grown out of the fevered imagination of Titus Oates. In that case papers relating to the plot, which was to raise an army and set up a Presbyterian republic, were supposed to have been discovered in a meal-tub. Therefore it was felt that the King would laugh to scorn this discovery of a new plot unless there was really tangible evidence to support it. Fortunately some letters of Algernon Sydney, as well as that of Keeling, were discovered, and when these were brought to Charles he could not doubt the existence of the Rye House plot.
Essex, Russell, and Sydney, with others, were arrested. But there was one name concerned in this which filled Charles with horror. There was no doubt that murder had been intended, and Jemmy was involved; Jemmy was one of the conspirators who had plotted the murder of his father.
The country was roused to fury. The death of all the traitors was demanded. The King was as popular now as he had been on the day of his restoration. Easygoing and affable, his people delighted in him, for he was never too proud to speak to the humblest of them, man to man; that was what they loved best in him. They laughed at the gay life he led. Why should he not? they demanded. Who would not support a seraglio if it were possible? All feared his death, for it was realized that he had but driven the threat of civil war underground. It was Charles with his disregard of Parliaments, his determination to keep England at peace, and living on the bribes of Louis, who was responsible for the peaceful state now enjoyed.
Russell and Sydney were executed. Essex took his own life in prison, and a new Lord Chief Justice was appointed to mete out justice to these men. His name was George Jeffreys and he had a reputation for severity.
The Rye House plot sealed Charles’ triumph, for the Whig party was now completely out of favor. Nothing could have been more opportune than the discovery and frustration of such a plot.
Charles was safer than he had been since the early days of his Restoration; but his triumph was a bitter one.
He could not keep his eyes from that name which occurred again and again in the documents: James, Duke of Monmouth. James … Little Jemmy … who had plotted to murder his own father.
On the failure of the Rye House plot, Jemmy had hastily gone into hiding, but he was writing appealing letters to his father. “I was in this plot, Father,” he wrote, “but I did not understand they meant to kill you.”
Then how else, my son, said Charles to himself, could they have put you on the throne?
He knew that, had he cared, he could have drawn Jemmy out of his hiding place. He could have put Jemmy in the Tower with those other would-be murderers. But he could not bring himself to do it. He could not shut out of his mind the memory of little Jemmy, bouncing on his mother’s bed, holding up imperious arms to his father.
He did not want to know where Jemmy was. If he did he must take him from his hiding place and put him in the Tower.
It was to Nell he turned for comfort. Nell was ashamed and angry because at one time she had helped “Prince Perkin;” she had kept him in her house and asked the King to see him. Now she realized she had preserved him that he might live to attempt to take his father’s life.
“I want no more of him,” said Nell; yet she could understand the King’s grief. He loved the boy. He was his son. He was as dear to him as little Lord Burford.
Louise expressed anger against Monmouth, but the King sensed her pleasure. There were secrets in Louise’s eyes, and Charles knew that at one time she had entertained hopes that her son, the Duke of Richmond, might be a possible heir to the throne. Louise was afraid because he had come near death, but that fear was really for the security of her own position.
Hortense expressed horror in her serene way. But Hortense was too careless of the future even to ponder what would become of her should her benefactor die.
And there in Charles’ hands was the letter from Jemmy.
“What good can it do you, Sir, to take away your own child’s life that only erred and ventured his life to save yours?”
That made the King smile. It was Jemmy’s assurance that he had entered into the plot only to save the conspirators from violence. He would never have agreed to murder the father who had done everything for him.
“And now I do swear to you that as from this time I will never displease you in anything, but the whole study of my life shall be to show you how truly penitent I am for having done it. I suffer torments greater now than your forgiving nature would know how to inflict.”
The Duke of York came to him as he sat with the letter in his hand.
“James,” said Charles, “I have here a letter from Jemmy.”
James’ face hardened.
“Oh, I know you find it hard to forgive him,” said Charles. “He is but a boy. He was carried away by evil companions.”
“Evil, indeed, since ’twas murder they plotted.”
“He had no intention to murder. He was there to restrain the others from violence.”
“Then,” said James grimly, “he knew not the nature of the plot.”
“I like not to see this enmity between you two, James. I think of when I am gone. Why, brother, if you persist in your religion, I give you but four years as King—and mayhap then I am being over-generous. Peace between you and Jemmy would be a beginning of better things.”
“You would call him back?” said James incredulously. “You could find it in your heart to forgive him when he has stood beside those who plotted to take your life!”
“He is my son,” said Charles. “I cannot believe he is all bad. He was led away. And I do not think he intended to murder his father.”