Tales From the Tower of London (22 page)

In London, Blood was seen hanging around Petty Wales, a seedy neighbourhood with a bad reputation that ran from the River Thames to Tower Hill. It is likely that he was rounding up his old gang while he hatched his next plot, and it didn’t take the resourceful Blood long to put his new plan into action. On 6 December 1670, James Butler, Duke of Ormond and Blood’s old nemesis, was snatched from his carriage while on official business in London. The kidnapping took place on a busy London street, in the middle of the day. It had all the earmarks of bad, bold Thomas Blood.

Whether Blood planned to hold Ormond for ransom, or simply kill him, has never been determined, but within days of the kidnapping Blood could sense the law closing in on him, and Ormond was released unharmed. Once again, Blood and his comrades slipped through the government’s fingers, but another £1,000 was added to the price on his head.

Deciding it was time to leave England for a while, Blood went to Scotland, where he involved himself in a rebel uprising and was sighted at the Battle of Pentland Hills on 27 November 1666. Like all Blood’s previous plans, Pentland Hills went awry. Vastly superior English forces gunned down more than 500 rebels and the rest, including Blood, ran for their lives, scrambling across the rugged Scottish landscape.

With three failed plots behind him, Blood was broke and desperate. He had to make one final play that would net him enough money to escape England forever. In a plot as bizarre as it was bold, Blood decided he would steal the new Crown Jewels of England. Gathering together his old comrades Desborough, Perrot and Kelfy, Blood now added two more members to his gang. One of them was a young woman whose name remains a mystery and the other was Thomas Hunt, a pleasant-looking, well-spoken young man who would play a central role in Blood’s latest far-fetched scheme.

It had been easy for Blood to find out where the Crown Jewels were kept, for then, like now, they were on public display; King Charles wanted his subjects to be able to see the grandeur of the restored monarchy. The warden in charge of the jewels was Mr Talbot Edwards, a retired military officer who lived in apartments on the upper floors of the Martin Tower, by now called the Jewel Tower. In a room immediately below Edward’s apartment the royal regalia was stored in a cage made of heavy iron bars. Although the cage was large enough to walk around in, no one was allowed access except Edwards and official representatives of the king. Visitors were allowed to enter the room and peer at the crown, orb and sceptre through the bars, paying Talbot Edwards a few pennies for his time and trouble in showing them around.

In April 1670, one of Edward’s visitors was a country preacher accompanied by his wife. Paying Edwards his modest fee, the couple followed the old man into the jewel room. As they stood admiring their king’s ceremonial gear, the parson’s wife slumped against the wall, insisting she was completely overcome at the sight of such magnificence, complained of a ‘qualm upon her stomach’ and asked for a glass of wine to calm her. Concerned and compassionate by nature, Edwards invited the parson and his wife upstairs to his quarters where the lady could lie down until she felt better.

Leading the pair up the winding stone stairs, Edwards handed the woman over to his wife and provided wine for her and her husband. After a short rest, the lady insisted she was fully restored and again apologised for being a nuisance. Her husband, too, expressed his thanks and the pair left. The kindly country preacher and his wife were, of course, none other than Blood and his female accomplice, and Blood now knew all he needed about the layout of the jewel room, the access route through the tower and the location of Edwards’ apartments. He also knew that on a table near the iron jewel cage there was a brace of unpleasant-looking pistols in a heavy wooden box.

Several days later, ‘Parson’ Blood returned to the Martin Tower. This time he had several pairs of finely embroidered gloves, which he gave to Mrs Edwards in gratitude for her kindness to his wife. Thrilled at such a thoughtful gesture, Mrs Edwards invited the Reverend and his wife to dinner. It was the beginning of a friendship that Colonel Blood would milk for all it was worth. The two couples became close friends, dining together often and sharing confidences. Sometimes the Edwards’ daughter, Elizabeth, who lived with her parents in the tower rooms, joined them. The parson and his wife quickly became familiar faces around the Tower of London. All the guards knew them by sight and their comings and goings became accepted in the heavily guarded fortress. One evening after dinner, Blood and Edwards strolled the grounds of the Tower’s inner ward. As they did so, Edwards confessed that he was worried about his daughter’s future. He was over seventy and could not expect to live much longer. When he died, his wife would get a small widow’s pension that would see her through, but what would become of his daughter? Already near thirty and not yet married, how would she survive?

With the concern expected of a man of faith and a close friend, the ‘Reverend’ Blood said he might be able to help. He had a nephew, who was also his ward, and the boy was both single and had a yearly income of nearly £200 a year. It was not a lordly sum, but certainly provided the life of a gentleman. Blood went on to explain that he had been thinking the pair would make a fine match but had been reticent to mention the matter for fear of overstepping his bounds. Accustomed to living on a soldier’s pay, Edwards must have been dumbfounded. Immediately he agreed. The next time the good parson and his wife came to dinner, they should bring their nephew with them and if he and Edwards’ daughter liked each other, the matter would be settled. Blood agreed. Edwards later recalled Blood’s words: ‘If your daughter be free, and you approve of it, I will bring him hither to see her and we will endeavour to make it a match.’

Only days later Blood, his ‘wife’ and their ‘nephew’, in reality the newest member of the gang, Tom Hunt, gathered at the Martin Tower for dinner with the Edwards family. Handsome and charming, Hunt quickly won the attention of Elizabeth Edwards. After a pleasant dinner filled with laughter, wine and good conversation, Blood asked Edwards if his nephew could be allowed to see the Crown Jewels. Talbot Edwards was delighted to show off the jewels and while the women cleared the table, the men descended to the jewel room.

While Hunt peered dutifully at the hoard of gold and gems, Blood mentioned that he had noticed a fine brace of pistols next to the jewel cage and said they would make a fine gift for his neighbour, a nobleman who collected guns. Would he consider selling them? Edwards hesitated, but Blood’s offer of considerably more than the pistols’ actual value was enough to convince him to part with the weapons. By the time Blood, Hunt and their female accomplice left the Tower, Hunt was fully familiar with the layout of the Martin Tower and Talbot Edwards had surrendered his only means of defence.

Blood and company again dined with the Edwards on 8 May 1671. Over the course of the meal, Blood mentioned that he had two friends staying with him and they would love to see the Crown Jewels. The problem was, they had to leave London early the next morning and would be gone by the time the Tower was open to the public. Ever ready to help a friend, Talbot Edwards said he would be glad to let Blood and his companions in earlier than usual if they would meet him at the main gate at seven o’clock the next morning. Obviously, Blood agreed.

In the grey hours before dawn, Blood and his accomplices made their final preparations. Each man armed himself with a short dagger, Blood had the newly purchased brace of pistols hidden beneath his long travelling cloak and Desborough, Perrot, Hunt and Kelfy had one pistol each. John Kelfy also had a leather travelling bag in which Blood had placed a wooden mallet, a file and a gag to silence Talbot Edwards. Shortly before six on the morning of 9 May, the group set off through the London mist towards the great Tower complex and the Crown Jewels of England.

Just before seven o’clock they reached the main gate of the Tower where Talbot Edwards was already waiting for them. Greeting everyone warmly, Edwards led Blood and three of the men towards the centre of the Tower maze. Desborough remained behind with the horses safely outside the Tower walls. As the group reached the inner ward, Tom Hunt excused himself, saying he would like to stay in the courtyard. He had already seen the crown, and he would rather wait outside in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Elizabeth. Smiling at the thought of young love, Edwards said it would be perfectly all right and led the rest of the group into the Martin Tower and down the narrow stairs to the jewel room. Hunt could now serve as a lookout without arousing any suspicion.

Leading the way to the jewel room, Edwards approached the massive lock on the jewel cage door. As he bent down to put the key in the lock, Colonel Blood threw his long cape over the old man’s head and held his arms tight at his sides. Kelfy opened his travelling bag and Perrot pulled out a nasty-looking wooden plug with a leather thong attached to it. Shoving the plug roughly in Talbot Edwards’ mouth, he tied the thongs behind his neck to hold the gag tightly in place. Before releasing his struggling captive, Blood told Edwards that if he didn’t cause any trouble, he wouldn’t be hurt. Perrot then smashed the old man across the back of the head with the wooden mallet and Blood let him slide to the ground.

Entering the cage, the three men went to work. Blood grabbed the wooden mallet from Perrot and began hammering away at the crown until it was flat enough to fit, unseen, beneath his loose-fitting cassock while Perrot shoved the orb of state into his balloon-bottomed knee breeches which made him walk as though he was holding a cantaloupe melon between his knees. In order to fit the massive sceptre into his travelling bag, Kelfy began sawing it in half with the file. While the men were busily stowing away the king’s treasure, Talbot Edwards roused himself enough to begin moaning and puffing against the wooden gag. In a fury, one of the men, probably Perrot, waddled out of the cage as fast as his orb-filled trousers would let him, drew his dagger and stabbed the keeper of the jewel house in the belly.

Outside in the courtyard, things were not going any better. As Tom Hunt stood guard, a young man who introduced himself as Wythe Edwards, son of Talbot Edwards, approached him. He said he had just come home on leave from the Royal Navy and wanted to see his parents and sister, and did the young man know if they were at home? Panic-stricken, Hunt began saying anything he could think of to detain Wythe from entering the tower. He was Elizabeth’s fiancé, and he was very glad to meet his future brother-in-law and no, he had not seen the Edwards all morning. Of course there was a limit to how long he could detain the man and eventually he had to step aside and let him enter the tower. Fortunately Wythe Edwards mounted the stairs to his family’s apartment, totally unaware of the plot unfolding only feet beneath him. As he rounded the stairs, Hunt ran down to the jewel room, grabbed Blood and told him they were about to be exposed. The four dashed up the stairs, leaving the half-ruined sceptre and the bleeding Talbot Edwards lying on the floor of the jewel house.

They hustled across the inner ward as quickly as they could without looking too obvious. Just as they rounded the corner of the Byward Tower, they heard loud, confused shouts coming towards them from the rear. Wythe Edwards’ mother had told him that his father was showing some friends the Crown Jewels and Wythe had gone to the jewel room to find his father lying in a pool of blood mumbling: ‘Treason! Treason! Thief!’

Wythe rushed up the stairs towards the courtyard shouting for the guards, where Captain Beckman, head of the day’s watch, quickly joined him. The two rushed towards the Byward Tower and the main gate, calling for help as they ran. In less than a minute there were guardsmen streaming in from every direction. As more and more Beefeaters poured into the yards and alleyways of the Tower, Blood and his companions realised they had been discovered. In an attempt to divert attention from themselves, they pointed to the main gate and began shouting ‘Stop! Thief!’, running madly as though they, too, were chasing some imaginary thieves.

As they rounded the corner of the Byward Tower, one of the warders blocked their path with his long-handled halberd. Blood drew one of his pistols, aimed and fired, sending the man tumbling to the ground screaming. The chase had escalated into a running gun battle. In the confusion, one of the guards narrowly missed shooting Wythe Edwards who was an unfamiliar face in the close-knit Tower community.

In the forecourt, as the quartet of thieves headed for the main gate, John Kelfy was tackled by a Beefeater who wrestled him to the ground where two more guards held him down. Seconds later Edward Perrot, still encumbered by the orb sloshing around in his breeches, reached the edge of the wharf outside the gate, only to be wrestled to the ground. While three burly warders ripped off his pantaloons, pulled out the orb and pawed through his clothes for more treasure, Thomas Blood and Tom Hunt crossed the drawbridge and headed across the wharf to freedom. As Hunt, the youngest and most agile of the gang, dashed through the outer gate, Captain Beckman caught up with Colonel Blood.

Drawing his second pistol and aiming it at Beckman’s head, Blood pulled the trigger; but the gun misfired. Frantically trying to recock his piece and run at the same time, Blood hesitated just long enough for Beckman to land a swift kick in his groin. Even as he was dragged to his feet coughing and gasping, Blood remained defiant. Staring directly into Beckman’s face, he smiled and arrogantly said, ‘It was a gallant deed, even if it failed. It was, after all, to gain the crown.’

Hunt actually made it beyond the outer gate where he joined the frightened Desborough, who had remained with the horses. The pair jumped on their horses and raced through the narrow streets surrounding the Tower. Hurtling down St Katherine’s Lane, Hunt failed to duck in time to avoid a low-hanging barber’s pole projecting into the roadway. Torn from his horse, he lay stunned in the gutter where he was recognised as a wanted criminal by a shopkeeper and held for the warders. Only James Desborough managed to escape. Within minutes of leaving the Martin Tower, the other four gang members found themselves being hustled back into the Tower to more permanent accommodations.