Plaidy, Jean - Royal Sisters - The Story of the Daughters of James II

It was amusing to while away the weary hours of captivity formulating a plan which should be foolproof. All the men he intended to involve were already suspect; but of course Marlborough was the one who was going to cause the greatest stir.

This document had to be put in the house of one of the suspects, and then attention called to it so that it could be discovered there. But how operate all this from prison?

Young’s agile brain enjoyed nothing more than working out an involved and seemingly impossible scheme; and as he was searching for the solution he thought of a disgruntled prisoner named Stephen Blackhead.

Blackhead had suffered badly in the pillory and as a result part of one of his ears was missing, the other being badly mauled. He hated society on account of this injury.

Young began by talking to him about his wrongs—a subject Blackhead was always ready to discuss.

“You have been cruelly treated, my friend. Society is against people like us.”

Blackhead was mollified by the attention of the apparently well educated Robert Young, particularly when he was allowed to talk of his early days, of his poverty and of all he had suffered in an unsympathetic world.

Blackhead was only in prison for a short while, and Young had no idea when he himself would be released; so Blackhead was the man for the job.

“There is a way of getting your revenge on them,” said Young. “They are worse criminals than you, my dear fellow. You are trying to get enough to eat; they are trying to make wars and bring rebellion into the country.”

“Who?” asked Blackhead.

Young appeared to consider. Then he said: “I know I can trust you with an important secret. This is a matter which concerns the state. Will you swear to secrecy?”

Blackhead swore.

“I happen to have a document in my hands which could bring important people to the scaffold.” Blackhead looked incredulous. “You think I’m mad. What if I showed it to you?”

“You would?”

“I trust you my friend.”

Young brought the document from inside his jacket and showed Blackhead. Blackhead could not read, but he was impressed by the writing.

“You see that name,” Young pointed. “That is Marlborough. And you see that—that is Thomas Sprat, Bishop of Rochester. That is the Archbishop of Canterbury and those are Lord Salisbury and Lord Cornbury.”

“All those famous people! But how did you get it?”

“Never you mind. I make it my business to discover these plots and help the government. In this it says they’ll kill the King and Queen and bring back James.”

“The King and Queen ought to know about it.”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“But you could send it to them.”

“Do you think they would believe me? I’ve tried to help them before, but I’m a poor man, wrongly accused. What chance have I against them?”

“There’s one law for them, another for us. Why, I wasn’t given a chance …”

Young interrupted; he wanted no further meandering through the wrongs suffered by Stephen Blackhead.

“The only way to get this brought to light is to put it in one of their houses and then let it be known that it will be found there.”

“How’d you get into one of their houses?”

“I would if I were free.”

“But you’re here and so you can’t.”

“No, but you’ll be free next week.”

“Me?”

“You want a slice of the reward, don’t you? I can tell you it will be a big one.”

Blackhead licked his lips and although he had turned pale he said: “What would I have to do?”

“It’s easy. You go to the Bishop of Rochester’s house to take a letter.”

“What letter?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll give you the letter. It will have been sent by your master.”

“What master?”

“Some Doctor of Divinity. You’re his manservant and he has sent you to deliver the letter. When you get there you’ll be in need of refreshment and it will be given to you. You’ll be taken to the kitchens by the servants. You will talk to them, tell them how honored you are to be in a Bishop’s house; you can ask to see where the Bishop works. You’ll touch his table with reverence. ‘Is this where His Honor does his writing? Is this where His Honor sits?’ you’ll ask. You’ll flatter them. Lucky people to work for a great bishop. You’re just the servant of a humble priest. Then, when none of them is looking you slip the document somewhere … behind a picture … in a drawer, pushed well back so that it won’t be easily discovered. You’ll have to find the place when you get there. All you have to do is to make sure it is somewhere where the Bishop is not going to find it for a little while. Once you’ve done it, we shall inform the government that the document is in the Bishop’s house and where it is. They will find it and we shall be rewarded.”

Blackhead was staring at Young

“Suppose they won’t show me into his rooms?”

“Then you’ll put it somewhere else. I can see you’re a man of resource. Think what your reward will be. The state owes you something in my opinion.”

“In mine too,” grumbled Blackhead; but he was bemused.

Young was slightly anxious. Would Blackhead have the sense to work this thing? He wasn’t the accomplice he would have chosen. But how else was the plan going to work? Young was accustomed to taking chances. Well, he had to take a big one now.

Stephen Blackhead arrived at the Bishop of Rochester’s house in Bromley, hot and dusty.

Could he be taken to the Bishop for he had a letter to deliver from his master and he had been told he must himself put it into the Bishop’s hands.

He was taken into the study of the Bishop who received him cordially.

“A letter for me from your master?”

Stephen Blackhead handed over the letter which Robert Young had given him.

It was a beautifully written letter complimenting the Bishop and asking his advice on a matter which, the writer pointed out, would seem trivial enough to him but was of some importance to a humble deacon.

The Bishop glanced at the signature. He did not know the name but the letter had come from some little distance. He was pleased with the terms in which it was couched, and the subtle flattery put him into a good humor.

“I will answer your master and in the meantime you will be refreshed. I see you have traveled far.” He sent for his butler and told him to take the messenger to the kitchen and give him food.

This was working out exactly as Robert Young had said it would and Stephen’s spirits began to rise. He had never been inside such a magnificent house; he had never tasted such food as the butler was putting before him.

“This is a grand house,” he said, for Young had told him he must admire the house and he could do it with sincerity.

Yes, it was a fine house, agreed the butler and the Bishop was a good master. It was a comfortable living serving such a man.

Stephen looked wistful. “I have never been in such a fine house.”

The butler was clearly proud of it.

“I’d like to see a little more of it,” said Stephen. “I’d like to see the Bishop’s study.”

“The Bishop’s study! But he’s working there.”

This was where the plan was going wrong. How was he going to plant the document in the Bishop’s study if the Bishop was working there; and how was he going to put it somewhere without the butler’s seeing?

“The Bishop,” said the butler, “is very fond of his gardens. He plants things himself. You see those flowerpots all along the windowsill; he’s got his special plants and things in there. Would you like to see the gardens? I could show you them.”