I was relieved.
“Then this will be an end to this tiresome matter,” I said.
“I pray so. Though Danby will be reluctant to let it go. At the moment people have turned their attention from him. After all, what is a defaulting minister compared with a plot to murder the King?”
IN SPITE OF DANBY’S EFFORTS to keep the Popish Plot the issue of the day, the appearance of Titus Oates before the Council and the errors into which he had fallen discredited him to a certain extent and the conclusion that he was a cheat began to be expressed.
Then there was a change. It came about through Coleman, who had been one of those men whom Titus Oates had accused and who, on Oates’s evidence, had been arrested. Coleman was indeed a spy; he had received a pension from France; he was in the service of Père La Chaise and letters from the French priest were found in his possession. The sum of twenty thousand pounds had been offered to him for his continued services to France and for working to bring the Catholic faith to England.
This was one of those unfortunate coincidences. I had no doubt that Coleman had been in the pay of France for many years, for they had their spies everywhere. He was a Catholic, of course, and that was known and was the reason why Titus Oates had named him as one of the suspects.
What luck this was for Titus Oates! In the eyes of the people he was vindicated. He had brought a dangerous spy to justice.
There was something else — and I believe this was less fortuitous — in fact a part of the plot.
It concerned the Justice of the Peace Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey.
It appeared that on Saturday morning he left his home at nine o’clock to go to Marylebone to see one of the church wardens at St. Martin’s in the Fields on parochial business. Later he went to St. Clement Danes, calling at Somerset House. After that no one knew where he had gone, but when he did not return, his servants became alarmed, for he was a man of regular habits.
It was Lady Suffolk who told me what had happened. I think my friends were all growing a little uneasy since Titus Oates had sprung into prominence, for the very fact that the so-called plot was directed against Catholics would mean that I could not escape suspicion. I had had my enemies before, but this was a particularly dangerous one.
It was Friday, I remember, six days after Sir Edmund had last been seen.
Lady Suffolk could not hide her consternation, and I demanded to know what was wrong.
She said: “Your Majesty, they have found Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey.”
“I am glad of that,” I said. “What had happened to him?”
“He is dead, Madam. He had been run through with his own sword.”
“Killed himself?”
She shook her head. “It is believed that the wound was not self-inflicted.”
“But why…?”
“There is great excitement. There are crowds in the streets. They are saying…”
“What are they saying?”
“That he was the one who laid the information before the Privy Council. They are saying it is the papists’ revenge.”
I held onto a table for support. I felt dizzy. It was not enough that Coleman had been proved to be a spy. Now this would be further evidence.
Catholics in this country were in acute danger — not least myself.
THERE WAS TENSION EVERYWHERE. People wanted to know how the Justice of the Peace had been murdered and by whom. I knew a great deal hung on the answer. He it was who had brought the plot to the notice of the Privy Council, which had resulted in the arrest of certain spies — one of whom was Coleman who had been caught red-handed.
And now…what?
Charles himself told me what had happened at the inquest which had been held at White House on Primrose Hill in Hampstead, as it was in that neighborhood that Sir Edmund’s body had been found. The doctors declared that he had not died through the stabbing but had been strangled first. He had died of suffocation. He had not been murdered on Primrose Hill, but his body had been taken there after the deed was done…several days after, probably five. There was money on him so it had not been a crime of robbery.
It was clear that Fate was working in Oates’s favor. First Coleman and now Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey.
For some days I lived in a state of trepidation, wondering what the outcome would be. I knew what rumors were going round the city. People were saying that the murder had clearly been the work of Catholics. It was their revenge on Sir Edmund for putting the case before the Council. Titus Oates was once more the hero of the day. They said that it was now quite clear that in our midst were those who would stop at nothing to bring the country back to the faith it had rejected.
There followed attacks on the houses of well-known Catholics. Everywhere there were cheers for Titus Oates.
I dreaded the day of Sir Edmund’s funeral. People crowded into the streets to pay homage to the martyr, as they called him. They shouted anti-Catholic slogans. “No Popery!” “Down with the devils of Rome!” I knew that among these they included the Duke of York and myself.
Charles came to see me. He was assiduous in his care for me during that time. I cannot imagine how I could ever have lived through those days without him. I tried to forget his preoccupation with Nell Gwynne and Louise de Keroualle. I saw him as my best friend…unfaithful husband though he might be.
But I understood him now. He had been born with those sexual needs and they were insatiable. No woman would be enough for him. But what a loyal friend he was!
He said: “There is chaos in the streets.”
“It is the funeral,” I said.
“Why did this have to happen now? This…and Coleman. There could have been an end of it.”
“And was Godfrey really murdered?”
“There does not seem a doubt of it.”
“By whom?”
He hesitated. “Oates is a fraud. It may be that he and his friends have done this. He has some knowledge but he cannot resist the impulse to embellish. Remember how I caught him out. He is brimming over with eagerness to present his case…and this is for his own glory. I would dearly love to be rid of the fellow.” He lifted his shoulders. “But what can I do? The people love him…at the moment. They see him as the savior. They could as easily turn against him, though.” He was melancholy for a moment. “None knows more than I how quickly the people can turn. At the moment Oates is exalted. He is the exposer of plotters. This is how the people see him and, for the time being…we must needs go along with them…up to a point.”
“What shall you do?”
“Our first duty is to discover who murdered this man. If it could be proved that he was a robber…”
“But whoever killed him did not take his money.”
“That’s true. If we could prove he was murdered by friends of Oates, that would finish the matter once and for all. I am offering a reward of five hundred pounds for the discovery of the murderer of Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey.” He turned to me. “Be of good cheer. These villains shall not harm you while I am here to defend you.”
I was filled with apprehension, but I could not express how happy those words made me.
THE KING’S OFFER of five hundred pounds brought a new figure into the drama. This was William Bedloe, an ex-convict, adventurer and a man practiced in dishonest business.
He came forward and announced that he had been aware of a plot which was brewing among Catholics. He had made many discoveries and would have put them before the Council himself if Titus Oates had not been just a little ahead of him.
He knew who had murdered Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey. The deed had been done at Somerset House.