The Great Trappaner: How a Goldsmith Became England’s Most Notorious Schemer

The true story of Thomas Violet—government spy, economic manipulator, and anti-Semitic conspirator who betrayed everyone he knew in pursuit of gold

London in the 1630s was a city intoxicated by its possibilities. The Thames bustled with ships carrying Mediterranean silks, Baltic timber, and East Indian spices. At the same time, the Tower Mint coined over £3 million in silver and £700,000 in gold—a glittering testament to England’s surging prosperity. By the decade’s end, visionaries already imagined London as “the General Emporie of the World.”

Yet beneath this commercial triumph lay deeper currents of transformation and tension. The goldsmiths of Lombard Street were evolving from craftsmen into “the bankers of early modern England,” managing merchants’ wealth and wielding unprecedented financial power. Colonial tobacco from the Chesapeake generated “great Summes of money” for the Crown, while new regulations attempted to subordinate colonial interests to the mother country’s economic ambitions.

This was a city where opportunity and danger walked hand in hand. In neighbourhoods like Houndsditch, London’s foreign quarter, merchants from across Europe mingled with English traders, creating a cosmopolitan atmosphere that both enriched and unsettled the established order. A small but significant community of Sephardic Jews had quietly established itself in London since 1604, their wealth and international connections making them valuable to commerce but suspect to authorities.

Political tensions simmered beneath the surface of prosperity. King Charles I’s decision to rule without Parliament had created a constitutional crisis that would soon explode into civil war. His desperate attempt in April 1640 to seize £130,000 in bullion from the Tower Mint—followed by a proposal to debase the silver coinage by 25%—revealed a monarchy lurching toward financial collapse. The public outcry forced him to return the money, but the damage to royal credibility was irreparable.

In this volatile environment, traditional loyalties were breaking down. Sir John Wollaston, a prominent goldsmith knighted by Charles I, aligned himself with Parliament partly due to the King’s arbitrary financial measures. Liberal Parliamentarians took control of the City by 1641, signalling the approaching storm.

It was into this world of extraordinary opportunity and mounting instability that Thomas Violet launched his career. The son of a Dutch musician and an Italian woman, he would never quite belong to London’s established hierarchies. But he possessed something perhaps more valuable: an intuitive understanding of how to exploit the gaps between traditional loyalties and new realities.

London in the 1630s was a city where fortunes could be made or lost on a single trade, where religious orthodoxy competed with commercial pragmatism, where foreign birth was both a liability and an asset. It was a place where a clever man with flexible principles could rise from goldsmith’s apprentice to government advisor—or destroy himself in the attempt.

This is the story of such a man, and the city that both made and unmade him.

Thomas Violet entered the world of London’s goldsmiths in 1627; his mark—a heart containing ‘T V’ with a star below—was officially entered at Goldsmiths’ Hall. However, Violet was unlike his English contemporaries. His father, Peter Vyolett, was a Dutch musician from Antwerp; his mother, Sara Dyamont, was an Italian woman whose dark complexion prompted whispers that she might be of “Moorish” or even African descent. In the insular world of London’s guilds, this foreign heritage marked young Thomas as an eternal outsider.

The goldsmith trade was built on trust; artisans handling precious metals had to be beyond reproach. Violet learned the technical skills: assaying gold and silver, crafting delicate wire, and working with mercury to separate precious metals from base ones. But he also learned something more valuable: how to read people, how to gain their confidence, and how their secrets could be worth more than gold itself.

In 1634, Violet made his first miscalculation. Caught exporting overweight English gold and silver coins in exchange for French gold, a serious crime that undermined the realm’s currency, he faced twenty weeks in prison and financial ruin. But where others saw disaster, Violet saw opportunity.

The authorities offered him a devil’s bargain: betray your fellow criminals, and we’ll reduce your punishment. For most men, this would have been an impossible choice. For Violet, it was simply a matter of business.

He paid his £2,000 fine and agreed to become a government informant. Almost immediately, the guilt overwhelmed him. He had betrayed Timothy Eman, his former master—a man who had trusted him, taught him the trade, and treated him almost like a son. The shame was unbearable.

Alone in his workshop, surrounded by the tools of his trade, Violet made a desperate choice. He swallowed mercury—the same substance he used daily to refine precious metals. Mercury poisoning was agonising but an inevitable death.

His mother found him writhing in pain. She and a physician worked frantically through the night, forcing remedies down his throat, fighting the poison that was eating through his organs. Against all odds, Thomas Violet survived.

Lying in his bed, weak but alive, Violet interpreted his survival as divine intervention. God had saved him for a purpose. If providence wanted him to live as an informant, then he would become the most effective informant England had ever seen.

The guilt disappeared. In its place came something far more dangerous: a sense of destiny.

The Systematic Destruction of Trust

What followed was a masterclass in manipulation. Violet didn’t simply inform on criminals he happened to encounter—he actively cultivated relationships with the express purpose of betraying them.

His method was devastatingly effective: he befriended potential targets, encouraged their illegal activities, gathered irrefutable evidence, and then delivered them to the authorities for massive fines. His cut of the proceeds made him wealthy beyond what any goldsmith could earn through honest labour.

The Symonds brothers, Joseph and William, learned this the hard way. Violet socialised with them, won their trust, encouraged their schemes to defraud the government, then methodically documented everything. When he finally struck, the evidence was so overwhelming that their arrests and imprisonment were swift and decisive.

By 1635, Violet’s work had led to several merchants being heavily fined by the Star Chamber for coin exporting. He claimed to have spent £1,960 of his own money on these investigations—an investment that paid enormous dividends. King Charles I himself acknowledged Violet’s services, effectively legitimising his transformation from criminal to crown agent, with one letter from the King stating, “We acknoledg you did Us good and acceptable serVice, for which (when God shall enable Ms) We do hereby promise to give you full satisfaction”

Success bred ambition. In the late 1630s, Violet purchased the post of surveyor to the gold and silver wire-drawers for £1,500—a fortune that demonstrated just how profitable his informant work had become. This position gave him regulatory power over an entire industry, and he wielded it with ruthless efficiency.

Wire-drawers who had previously operated with minimal oversight suddenly found themselves under constant scrutiny. Those selling adulterated or plated wire faced massive fines. But this wasn’t simple law enforcement—it was a protection racket with legal backing.

Violet’s ultimate goal was even more audacious: he wanted to establish the Wire-drawers’ Company as a separate guild, breaking their traditional subordination to the Goldsmiths’ Company. This would have given him unprecedented control over a crucial industry while simultaneously destroying the power of those who had once looked down on him as a foreign-born outsider.

The goldsmiths fought back viciously. What ensued was a five-year war (1635-1640) of legal challenges, parliamentary petitions, and economic sabotage. Violet had declared war on one of London’s most powerful guilds, and they responded by trying to destroy him entirely.

By 1640, Thomas Violet had achieved something remarkable: he had made systematic betrayal a profitable endeavour. He had turned informing from a desperate act of self-preservation into a sophisticated business model. He had accumulated wealth, regulatory power, and the protection of the crown itself.

But he had also created a legion of enemies. Timothy Eman, his former master, would never forgive the betrayal. The Symonds brothers and dozens of other merchants he had destroyed harboured deep resentments. The Goldsmiths’ Company viewed him as an existential threat. Even those who had never been directly harmed regarded him with suspicion—if he could betray his own master, his friends, whom would he not betray?

Sir John Wollaston, a prominent goldsmith who would later become Lord Mayor of London, emerged as Violet’s most dangerous enemy. Violet had accused Wollaston of illegal gold transport, creating what contemporaries described as “eternal enmity” between them. This was not merely professional rivalry—it was personal hatred that would shape both men’s futures.

As the 1630s ended, Thomas Violet stood at a crossroads. He had proven that betrayal could be extraordinarily profitable. He had shown that systematic manipulation could elevate a foreign-born goldsmith’s apprentice to a position of absolute power.

But he had also learned a darker truth: in a world built on trust, the man who destroys trust becomes indispensable to those in power—and utterly isolated from everyone else.

The stage was set for even greater betrayals to come. And as political tensions mounted across England, Thomas Violet prepared to apply his hard-learned lessons about the profitable nature of treachery to the highest stakes of all: the loyalty owed to kings and kingdoms.

Civil War Opportunism (1640s)

In 1640, King Charles I made a catastrophic miscalculation that would reshape Thomas Violet’s world. Desperate for funds to combat a Scottish Presbyterian rebellion, the king seized £130,000 of gold and silver bullion from English merchants at the Tower Mint. He called it a “loan,” but everyone knew it was theft.

The public outcry was immediate and devastating. Within days, Charles was forced to return the bullion, but the damage to his reputation among London’s merchant class was irreparable. When he then contemplated debasing the silver coinage by 25%, the goldsmiths turned against their sovereign entirely.

Thomas Violet watched this unfolding disaster with the calculating eye of a master opportunist. Where others saw a political crisis, he saw a business opportunity. The king had alienated the very people who controlled England’s wealth, and Violet knew precisely how to exploit that rift.

Violet’s decision to support King Charles wasn’t driven by loyalty or ideology—it was driven by mathematics. The London goldsmiths had always viewed him as an outsider, a foreign-born troublemaker who threatened their monopolistic practices. Parliament represented these same merchant interests that had opposed his regulatory reforms.

But the king? The king shared Violet’s enemy: the entrenched goldsmith establishment. If Charles could break their power, Violet might finally achieve his dream of controlling London’s precious metals trade entirely.

Before the war fully erupted, Violet had even testified before Parliament in 1641, offering to prevent goldsmiths from illegally exporting gold and silver. But as the constitutional crisis deepened, he recognised that Parliament would inevitably side with the merchants who funded them. The king, desperate and isolated, would be far more willing to reward those who served him faithfully.

By 1642, Parliament’s war machine demanded enormous financial resources. Tax rates increased dramatically, placing unprecedented burdens on London’s residents. When Violet received his assessment, £70, a substantial sum, he made a characteristically calculated decision: he refused to pay.

This wasn’t mere tax avoidance. It was a public declaration of allegiance designed to establish his Royalist credentials while simultaneously expressing his contempt for parliamentary authority. He had grown accustomed to operating above standard rules, protected by royal favour. Why should he fund a war against his patron?

Parliament’s response was swift. On June 20, 1643, Violet was arrested for “delinquency” and initially imprisoned in Peter’s House jail, before being transferred to the King’s Bench. For the first time in years, Thomas Violet found himself genuinely powerless, subject to the mercy of authorities he had antagonised.

But even in prison, Violet was planning his next move.

The Conspiracy Takes Shape

King’s Bench prison proved to be an unlikely networking opportunity. Among his fellow inmates were committed Royalists: Sir Basil Brook and Colonel Read, men with genuine political convictions and connections to the king’s cause. Violet befriended them, presenting himself as a merchant with influence in London’s commercial community.

Together, they devised an audacious scheme that went far beyond simple military support for the king. They planned to undermine Parliament’s financial foundation by severing its crucial relationships with London merchants and goldsmiths, who provided the loans that funded the parliamentary war effort.

The conspiracy had international dimensions: they intended to provoke wars with Holland, Spain, and Hamburg, forcing Parliament to fight on multiple fronts while simultaneously cutting off their funding sources. It was economic warfare disguised as royalist loyalty.

But the plan required someone who could move between the commercial and political worlds, someone who understood both the goldsmith trade and government finance. Thomas Violet was perfect for the role.

The conspirators’ first breakthrough came when they arranged a prisoner exchange that would give Violet legitimate cover for travelling to Oxford. Parliament agreed to trade several Royalist prisoners for Sir Arthur Haselrig, a valuable Member of Parliament captured by royal forces.

In December 1643, Violet found himself face-to-face with King Charles I himself. The meeting must have been intoxicating for a man who had spent his career manipulating others—here was the ultimate patron, desperate enough to listen to any proposal that might save his cause.

Charles drafted a letter for Violet to deliver to London’s merchants, ostensibly seeking reconciliation and commercial cooperation. But the letter was condescending and insulting, clearly written by a king who had never understood the merchant mentality. Violet must have known it would fail to achieve its stated purpose.

Perhaps that was the point. A failed diplomatic overture would only deepen the rift between crown and commerce, creating precisely the kind of chaos that Violet’s conspiracy required.

On January 6, 1644, Violet presented himself at Guildhall to deliver the king’s letter to John Wollaston, who had risen to become Lord Mayor of London. The irony was exquisite: his greatest enemy would be forced to receive him as the king’s messenger.

But Wollaston’s reaction revealed the trap that had been set. Instead of treating Violet as a diplomatic envoy, the Lord Mayor immediately ordered his arrest for high treason. Parliament-loyal goldsmiths, possibly including Wollaston himself, had identified Violet as a dangerous spy whose mission threatened their financial relationship with Parliament.

The man who had built his career on entrapping others had walked directly into the hands of his greatest enemy, carrying evidence of his guilt. Whether this was Wollaston’s revenge for years of accusations or simply a clever counterintelligence move, the result was devastating: Thomas Violet found himself imprisoned in the Tower of London, with his £11,000 estate seized and sequestered.

The Tower of London became Violet’s unwilling classroom in powerlessness. For nearly four years—”score days and nine hundred” as he obsessively calculated—he experienced what it meant to be entirely at the mercy of others.

His fellow Royalist prisoners found his situation darkly amusing. They composed satirical songs about “Tom Violet”, who “swears his injuries are scarcely to be numbered” and who “counted every day he was incarcerated and whined to everyone who spoke to him that he hoped the people who owed him money would pay him back.”

Even in captivity, Violet remained fundamentally transactional, treating his imprisonment as a business loss to be recouped rather than a political punishment to be endured. He meticulously documented every financial consequence, including his seized estates in Essex and Shropshire, bonds and documents worth thousands of pounds, as well as the king’s acknowledgment of his expenses from the Star Chamber prosecutions.

But Violet was also learning crucial lessons about political survival. The Civil War was “arguably the worst war in English history,” destroying lives, treasure, and traditional loyalties. In such chaos, rigid ideological commitments became liabilities. Flexibility, opportunism, and the ability to serve new masters would be essential for survival.

By 1649, when Violet was finally released as part of a prisoner exchange involving Arthur Haselrig, the political landscape had been utterly transformed. King Charles I was dead, executed by the very Parliament that now controlled England. The monarchy was abolished, the House of Lords dissolved, and England declared a republic under parliamentary rule.

Most former Royalists faced exile or submission. Thomas Violet chose a third option that shocked even his cynical contemporaries: complete ideological transformation.

This wasn’t gradual political evolution or a crisis of conscience. This was the same calculated opportunism that had defined his entire career, now applied to the highest stakes possible. The monarchy was dead; Parliament controlled England’s wealth and power. Therefore, Thomas Violet became a passionate supporter of the English Republic.

His transformation was so shameless, so complete, that it became a masterclass in political survival through systematic betrayal. The imprisoned Royalist spy emerged as a republican economic theorist, publishing sophisticated pamphlets that advocated for free trade policies perfectly aligned with the interests of parliamentary merchants.

The man who had conspired to destroy Parliament’s financial foundation now offered to strengthen it through better commercial regulation. The foreign-born outsider who had once dreamed of controlling the goldsmith trade now presented himself as a visionary economist whose Dutch connections could benefit English commerce.

By 1650, Thomas Violet had achieved something extraordinary: he had proven that political loyalty was merely another commodity to be bought and sold. He had survived civil war, imprisonment, and the execution of his former patron by demonstrating that principles were less valuable than adaptability.

But this transformation came at a cost that went beyond mere reputation. Violet had become the perfect mercenary—available to any cause that would pay him, trusted by none. His former Royalist allies viewed him as the ultimate traitor. Parliamentary supporters questioned his sincerity and suspected his motives.

Even his family relationships reflected his growing isolation. He complained about visiting his dying mother, treated his former master, Timothy Eman, as a permanent enemy, and maintained relationships only with those who might be helpful to his schemes.

As the 1640s drew to a close, Thomas Violet stood at the centre of England’s commercial policy debates, his ideas taken seriously by men like John Bradshaw, President of the Council of State. But he had also become something more dangerous than a simple opportunist: he had become a man whose loyalty could never be trusted because he had proven it could always be purchased.

The stage was set for even greater schemes involving international conspiracies, Spanish treasure ships, and vulnerable communities that could be exploited through the same systematic manipulation that had carried him from goldsmith’s apprentice to government advisor. The 1650s would test whether Thomas Violet’s genius for betrayal could overcome the growing suspicion that surrounded every move he made.

Four Years in the Tower

The Tower of London had held kings and commoners, saints and traitors. Thomas Violet would spend the next four years within its walls, experiencing a type of powerlessness he had never known.

His fellow Royalist prisoners found his situation grimly amusing. They composed a satirical song about “Tom Violet”, who “swears his injuries are scarcely to be numbered” and who “counted every day he was incarcerated and whined to everyone who spoke to him that he hoped the people who owed him money would pay him back.”

Even in prison, Violet remained obsessed with money. He meticulously calculated his losses: “score days and nine hundred” (928 days) of imprisonment, his seized estates in Essex and Shropshire, bonds and documents worth thousands of pounds, including the king’s acknowledgment of his Star Chamber prosecution expenses (£19,068). Every day of captivity was another item on his balance sheet of grievances.

But Violet was also learning valuable lessons about survival. In the Tower, he cultivated relationships with guards, gathered intelligence about parliamentary activities, and began planning his subsequent transformation. If the Royalist cause was failing, then perhaps it was time to reconsider his allegiances.

Violet’s release came around mid-1649, part of a prisoner exchange involving Arthur Haselrig, a prominent parliamentary figure. By then, King Charles I had been executed, the monarchy had been abolished, and England had declared itself a republic under parliamentary rule.

Most former Royalists faced a stark choice: flee into exile or submit to the new regime and hope for mercy. Thomas Violet chose a third option: he became a turncoat.

This wasn’t a gradual political evolution or a crisis of conscience. This was the same calculated opportunism that had defined his entire career. The monarchy was dead; Parliament controlled England’s wealth and power. Therefore, Thomas Violet became a passionate supporter of the English Republic.

His transformation was so complete and shameless that even his contemporaries were shocked. He didn’t simply submit to parliamentary authority—he actively promoted their cause, writing pamphlets that advocated for free trade policies to benefit the merchant classes, who now controlled the government.

In 1651, Violet published “The Advancement of Merchandise,” a sophisticated economic treatise that advocated for imitating Dutch mercantile practices and granting foreign merchants equal trading privileges. This wasn’t the work of a simple opportunist—it was a calculated attempt to rebrand himself as an economic theorist whose ideas aligned perfectly with parliamentary interests.

He even claimed to have drafted portions of the Navigation Act, the cornerstone of English mercantile policy. Whether this was true or another of his fabrications, it demonstrated his remarkable ability to insert himself into the centre of political developments.

But Violet’s past haunted his present. His support for James Steneer, a Dutch merchant who was later exposed as a spy, tainted everything he advocated. Parliamentary leaders found his “Dutch connections certainly were out of step with the mainstream opinion in 1651–52.” His ideas might have been sound, but his reputation ensured they would be “actively forgotten by contemporary writers and historians alike.”

By the early 1650s, Thomas Violet had achieved another remarkable transformation. The imprisoned Royalist traitor had become a republican economic theorist. The man who had once carried the king’s letters now wrote pamphlets praising the wisdom of parliament.

But this transformation came at a cost that went beyond mere reputation. Violet had proven that he possessed no fixed principles, no unshakeable loyalties, no lines he would not cross for personal advantage. He had become the perfect mercenary—available to any cause that would pay him.

His fellow Royalists viewed him as the ultimate traitor. Parliamentary supporters suspected his motives and questioned his sincerity. His former victims in the goldsmith trade watched his political maneuvering with knowing cynicism.

Even his family relationships reflected his isolation. While he claimed to care about his mother, Sara Violet, he complained about having to visit her during her final illness. His former master, Timothy Eman, whom he had once betrayed for gold, remained permanently estranged.

Only his cousin, Paul Smith, a Royalist agent, maintained any relationship with him. Smith later testified that Violet had “several times assisted me, to make me my escape, when there were warrants upon a charge of High Treason… for my apprehending, and hath gotten me passed beyond Seas by a wrong name.” But even this family loyalty would prove conditional.

As the 1640s drew to a close, Thomas Violet had mastered the art of political survival through systematic betrayal. He had learned that ideological flexibility was more valuable than principled consistency, that economic expertise could rehabilitate even the most damaged reputation, and that in times of political upheaval, yesterday’s enemies could become tomorrow’s patrons.

But Violet’s ambitions extended far beyond mere survival. He had identified new opportunities in the chaos of post-war England: international conspiracies involving Dutch spies and Spanish treasure ships, regulatory positions that could generate enormous wealth, and vulnerable communities that could be exploited through clever manipulation.

The 1650s would prove that Thomas Violet’s appetite for betrayal was matched only by his genius for identifying exactly whom to betray next.

The Silver Ships (1650s)

By 1652, Thomas Violet had achieved the impossible: complete political rehabilitation. The former Royalist traitor had become a trusted advisor to the English Republic, his economic treatises circulating among parliamentary leaders. But rehabilitation wasn’t enough for a man of Violet’s ambitions. He needed a spectacular triumph that would secure his fortune and cement his position in the new order.

The opportunity came from an unexpected source: war with the Dutch.

The First Anglo-Dutch War had created a silver shortage that threatened England’s monetary system. High taxes funded the naval conflict, but the country desperately needed precious metals to maintain its currency. When three Spanish treasure ships were captured in December 1652, they represented more than just a military prize—they were England’s financial salvation.

But first, someone would have to fight for them.

The Samson, Salvador, and St. George had sailed from Cadiz laden with tobacco, wool, and most crucially, an enormous quantity of silver. They had stopped at Sanlucar—notorious as a hub for Spanish smuggling—before heading toward the Netherlands. Captain Reynolds intercepted them near Ostend and brought them to Tilbury Hope on the Thames, where their cargo would either enrich England or slip away through legal manipulation.

The stakes were immediately apparent. This wasn’t just about three ships—it was about £276,702 worth of treasure, enough to fund England’s naval war effort for months. But multiple parties had competing claims: the Spanish ambassador demanded their release, Dutch merchants produced documents proving ownership, and English officials struggled to determine which claims were legitimate.

Dr. Walter Walker, judge advocate for the Admiralty Court, found himself at the centre of an international conspiracy involving forged documents, diplomatic pressure, and substantial bribes. The captured silver had made London a battlefield where legal proceedings became weapons and every decision carried strategic consequences.

Thomas Violet watched the proceedings with the keen eye of a master manipulator. He attended Council of State meetings, parliamentary sessions, and Admiralty Court hearings, studying the players and identifying their weaknesses. What he saw convinced him that England was about to be systematically defrauded.

The Spanish ambassador stormed through government chambers, demanding the immediate release of what he claimed were Hamburg-based neutral vessels. Dutch merchants, led by their London agent James Steneer, worked behind the scenes to influence the legal process. Intercepted letters revealed Steneer’s plan to bribe “great ones” in the English government to secure the release of the silver.

Most disturbing of all, Judge Walker seemed suspiciously accommodating to Dutch-connected business people. Rumours circulated that he had already released fifty-eight ships, claimed to be neutral and Dutch-owned, costing England “many hundred thousand pounds” in lost prize money.

Violet realised he was witnessing a sophisticated international conspiracy designed to steal England’s most fabulous wartime prize. And he knew exactly how to stop it.

The Spymaster’s Network

On December 7, 1652, Violet petitioned the Council of State’s Committee on Foreign Affairs, requesting permission to present evidence that would expose the conspiracy. His argument was simple but devastating: the silver belonged to Dutch merchants, not neutral Hamburg traders, and London merchants were creating “counterfeit Bills of lading” to help them “cozen the State of this Treasure.”

The government, desperate to secure the silver but fearful of provoking war with Spain, agreed to let Violet “assist” the Commonwealth in prosecuting their case. Rather than accepting a salary, he negotiated for a percentage of the prize, an arrangement that aligned his interests with England’s financial needs.

Violet’s investigation methods were characteristically thorough and morally flexible. He employed Dutch-speaking spies, plying them with “Brandywine, strong beer, rum, and Spruce beer, pickle Herrings and Holland cheese” to loosen the tongues of captured mariners. Through careful questioning of crews and passengers, he confirmed that the silver was indeed Dutch-owned and that key witnesses had systematically lied about their nationalities.

His spies also uncovered evidence of extensive corruption: “Spanish Gold and Silver was plentifully bestowed on some in the Admiralty.” The Dutch weren’t just forging documents—they were buying judges.

December 16, 1652, marked the culmination of Violet’s investigation. The Admiralty Court was preparing to release the ships, convinced by Dutch documentation and Spanish diplomatic pressure. The most fabulous prize of the war was about to slip through England’s fingers.

Thomas Violet had spent his career perfecting the art of dramatic timing. He burst into the courtroom just as Judge Walker was about to render his decision, demanding that the proceedings halt until his witnesses could be heard.

“Your judgment will harm the Commonwealth!” he declared, presenting evidence that both Dutch merchants and Spanish diplomats were manipulating the court. The silver legally belonged to England as a war prize, and any decision to release it would constitute a betrayal of national interests.

The Council of State Confrontation

That afternoon, Violet was summoned before the Council of State to defend his interference. Rather than apologising for disrupting legal proceedings, he launched into a comprehensive indictment of the entire Admiralty system.

He argued that the King of Spain had no legal claim to unregistered silver captured by English forces. The Dutch were experts at forging documents to support false claims. The Admiralty Court had been systematically compromised, releasing dozens of ships that should have been impounded as enemy vessels.

His evidence was overwhelming. He presented testimony from Dutch mariners who had revealed their true origins under the influence of alcohol. He cited Sir Sackville Crowe’s account of Philip Burlamacke, a Royal Mint bookkeeper, confirming the silver’s Dutch ownership. He even offered hearsay and circumstantial evidence, building a case so comprehensive that denial became impossible.

The Council of State was convinced. The St. Salvador, St. George, and Samson were officially declared Dutch vessels subject to impoundment.

But Violet’s public triumph concealed a deeper, more dangerous game. In November 1652, he had secretly met with “King Charles I’s old Trusty Servants”—Thomas Davis, Humphrey Painter, and David Ramage—revealing his true motivation for securing the silver ships.

His goal wasn’t to strengthen Parliament but to “destroy the present Parliament and Council of State” by drawing them into a multi-front war. By forcing England to fight Holland, Spain, and Hamburg simultaneously, he hoped to create the chaos necessary for the restoration of the monarchy.

Violet even claimed that his actions convinced Oliver Cromwell to dissolve Parliament on April 20, 1653, portraying the entire silver ships affair as a singular triumph for the Royalists. Whether this was true or merely post-Restoration self-promotion, it revealed the extraordinary complexity of Violet’s manipulations.

His cousin Paul Smith, a Royalist agent, later corroborated that Violet had helped multiple Royalists escape parliamentary surveillance during this period. The man publicly serving Parliament was secretly working to destroy it.

In May 1653, Oliver Cromwell ordered the silver transported to the Royal Mint under heavy guard. The total value—£276,702 from these ships and two others—became the most significant single contribution to England’s silver supply for the entire decade. £239,560 was allocated directly to the navy budget, significantly aiding the war effort.

Sir John Wollaston, Violet’s longtime enemy, was stripped of his position as melter after attempting to influence Cromwell’s decision. Violet found himself responsible for overseeing the investigation of possible embezzlement, finally achieving control over the processing of precious metals that he had sought for decades.

But victory brought no satisfaction. Despite his crucial role in securing England’s most fabulous wartime prize, Violet received no immediate reward. He claimed to have spent £765 of his own money on investigation expenses and demanded the return of his entire pre-Civil War estate, valued at £11,000, based on alleged verbal agreements with the Council of State.

Throughout 1653 and again in 1657, Violet bombarded Cromwell and his subordinates with petitions seeking compensation. He secured support from John Bradshaw, former President of the Council of State, who confirmed Violet’s crucial role in the silver ships affair.

But Cromwell’s death in September 1658 ended any hope of reward. The committee reviewing Violet’s claims dissolved with the Protectorate, leaving him with nothing but documentation of services rendered and promises broken.

The Silver Ships controversy had demonstrated Thomas Violet’s extraordinary capabilities: his ability to uncover international conspiracies, his talent for dramatic intervention at crucial moments, and his skill in building comprehensive legal cases from fragmentary evidence. He had saved England’s most fabulous wartime prize through superior intelligence work and political manipulation.

Yet he had also revealed the ultimate futility of his methods. His success required betraying everyone—Parliament, the Royalists, Dutch merchants, Spanish diplomats, and Admiralty officials. He had become so skilled at deception that even his allies couldn’t trust his motives.

By 1658, Thomas Violet was perhaps the most effective investigator in England and certainly one of the most hated. His reputation as a “trappaner” was now supported by documented evidence of his willingness to “accuse a hundred Merchants and Goldsmiths of treason” to gain their forfeiture.

The stage was set for his final and most vicious campaign: the systematic persecution of London’s vulnerable Jewish community, where his talents for manipulation would find their most morally reprehensible expression.

The Jewish Conspiracy (late 1650s-1660s)

By the late 1650s, Thomas Violet had achieved professional recognition but remained financially desperate. Years of living on loans while pursuing compensation for his Civil War losses had left him deeply in debt. As he walked the streets of Creechurch Lane, he was confronted daily by a sight that filled him with both envy and opportunity: the success of his neighbour, Antonio Fernandez Carvajal.

Carvajal was everything Violet was not—wealthy, respected, and genuinely welcomed by both the merchant community and government officials. The Spanish Jewish merchant had established London’s first synagogue blocks from Violet’s home, and the sight of Londoners frequenting the services, the “terrible racket” of Jewish worship, and the apparent prosperity of the congregation became a constant reminder of Violet’s failures.

But Violet saw more than just a personal affront. He saw a vulnerable community that could be exploited through the same methods that had brought him success before: systematic entrapment, legal manipulation, and the exploitation of existing prejudices for personal gain.

The Jewish community’s legal status in England was deliberately ambiguous. They had been officially expelled in 1290, but Oliver Cromwell had quietly allowed their return through a policy of calculated tolerance. Fewer than 200 Jews lived among London’s 375,000 inhabitants, many of them “Crypto-Jews” who had hidden their identities for decades.

Menasseh ben Israel’s mission in the 1650s had sought formal readmission, but the Whitehall Conference of 1655 had produced no clear legal ruling. Instead, Jews existed in a grey area—tolerated but not legally protected, prosperous but perpetually vulnerable to accusations of illegal residence.

Violet understood that this precarious status made them perfect targets. English views of Jews were “entirely created by European popular culture,” depicting them as “greedy, dishonest moneylenders who probably wanted to kill Christians.” In a nation still recovering from civil war, anti-Jewish sentiment could be a “useful tool to bring the divided nation back together.”

For a man whose career had been built on exploiting legal ambiguities and social prejudices, London’s Jewish community represented the ultimate opportunity.

Violet’s first major anti-Jewish scheme demonstrated his characteristic ability to pursue multiple goals simultaneously. He wanted to destroy Richard Pight, a Royal Mint official whose position he coveted, while simultaneously entrapping Jewish merchants in a criminal conspiracy that would justify their expulsion and enrich him through confiscated assets.

His plan was diabolically clever. He recruited Tobias Knowles, a pewterer, to manufacture counterfeit foreign coins. Knowles would then approach London Jews, claiming the coins were needed for purchasing goods in the Holy Roman Empire—a plausible cover story given Jewish merchants’ international connections.

Simultaneously, Knowles would offer Pight a bribe to overlook the illegal coin production. When both Jews and Pight were caught “red-handed,” Violet would dramatically reveal the conspiracy, presenting himself as the vigilant investigator who had uncovered threats to both England’s currency and Christian society.

The scheme’s beauty lay in its multiple payoffs: Violet would gain Pight’s job, receive half of the Jews’ forfeited assets, and establish himself as the defender of English interests against foreign subversion. The targeted Jews would likely flee the country after paying substantial fines, removing them as competitors while enriching Violet.

The Scheme Unravels

But Violet had underestimated both his co-conspirator and his target. Tobias Knowles, fearing prosecution for counterfeiting, melted down the coins and exposed Violet’s plot at the Old Bailey court in February 1659. Even more embarrassing, Pight had been attempting to entrap Knowles in a separate scheme, turning Violet’s manipulation into a three-way contest of competing betrayals.

The exposure of the Pight Plot should have ended Violet’s anti-Jewish campaign. Instead, it only convinced him that more sophisticated methods were needed. If he couldn’t entrap individual Jews in criminal conspiracies, he would appeal to national prejudices and governmental interests.

Charles II’s return in May 1660 created new possibilities for Violet’s anti-Jewish ambitions. Cromwell’s “personal protection” of Jewish merchants would end with the establishment of the Protectorate. A new king, eager to consolidate power and reward loyalty, might be persuaded that expelling Jews would demonstrate both religious orthodoxy and political strength.

Violet approached Justice Tyrell in December 1659, arguing for legal action against Jews because their settlement under Cromwell had been illegal. Tyrell advised patience until the monarchy was restored, but Violet was already preparing his most comprehensive anti-Jewish petition yet.

In December 1660, Violet presented his masterpiece of manipulative rhetoric to King Charles II and Parliament. The petition was a calculated appeal to every prejudice and fear that might motivate governmental action against London’s Jewish community.

His religious arguments drew heavily on William Prynne’s virulently anti-Jewish tract, portraying Jews as a “cursed nation of blasphemous Christ killers” whose religious rituals resembled “Popish superstitions.” He compared allowing Jews to flourish with tolerating Catholics—a devastating accusation given widespread anti-Catholic sentiment.

His economic arguments appealed to merchant fears of competition and working-class concerns about job security. He accused Jews of “usurious and fraudulent practices” and of being “adulterers of all manner of merchandise.” He propagated false rumours that Carvajal had offered Cromwell £1,000,000 to allow 2,000 Jewish merchant families to settle in England, with the alleged goal of taking over English trade and destroying the Christian faith.

Most insidiously, he raised fears of “miscegenation, of Jewish seed adulterating Christian blood,” appealing to racial anxieties that transcended economic concerns.

Violet’s proposed solution was characteristically self-serving. Rather than simple expulsion, he suggested “ensnaring London’s burgeoning Jewish community within the ‘net of the law,'” ransoming them to pay off the national debt, and ultimately banishing them. He hoped to receive a percentage of any ransom collected, potentially making him wealthy beyond his wildest dreams.

The scheme’s genius lay in its appeal to governmental interests. Charles II faced enormous debts fromthe  the civil war andthe  the costs of restoration. Jewish merchants were known to be wealthy, and their legal vulnerability made them attractive targets for what amounted to legalised extortion.

Violet presented his campaign as patriotic service: protecting Christian England from foreign subversion while solving the nation’s financial problems. It was the same combination of religious, economic, and nationalist appeals that had made his earlier schemes successful.

Despite Violet’s sophisticated arguments and careful timing, his anti-Jewish campaign ultimately failed. Charles II had been “generally well treated” by Jews and their continental connections, who had facilitated funds for his return. The new king was predisposed to treat them well, not as threats to be eliminated.

More importantly, Violet’s reputation preceded him. His “odious personality” and history of manipulation made officials suspicious of his motives. The government recognised that his anti-Jewish campaign was driven by personal greed rather than genuine concern for national interests.

The Jewish community remained “undisturbed” for years after the Restoration. In 1664, Charles II formally permitted Jews to reside in England, providing them with legal security and religious toleration. Violet’s years of scheming had accomplished nothing except to establish him as England’s most prominent anti-Semite.

Violet’s anti-Jewish activities created a new category of enemies while alienating potential allies. Richard Pight commissioned pamphlets attacking him. Jewish merchants and their Christian supporters viewed him as a dangerous threat. Even those who shared anti-Jewish prejudices were disturbed by his blatant opportunism.

His targeting of Antonio Carvajal was particularly self-destructive. Carvajal was a valuable government asset, providing intelligence about Royalist activities in Holland and maintaining crucial trading relationships. By attacking him, Violet positioned himself against both commercial and governmental interests.

The campaign also revealed the ultimate emptiness of Violet’s worldview. His systematic exploitation of religious and racial prejudices demonstrated that no principle, however sacred, was immune to his manipulations. He had become a man who would weaponise any belief, exploit any fear, and betray any community if it served his financial interests.

By 1662, Thomas Violet’s anti-Jewish campaign had become a case study in the limits of manipulative politics. He had correctly identified vulnerable targets, skillfully exploited existing prejudices, and crafted sophisticated appeals to governmental interests. His methods were as thorough and clever as any of his previous schemes.

But he had also demonstrated why systematic betrayal ultimately fails. His reputation for opportunism made his motives suspect. His history of switching sides made his loyalty worthless. His willingness to exploit any prejudice made him dangerous to everyone, including those who might have shared his goals.

The Jewish community’s survival and eventual legal recognition represented more than just the failure of one man’s schemes. It demonstrated that societies could resist systematic manipulation when the manipulator’s methods became too well-known, his motives too transparent, and his reputation too damaged.

Thomas Violet had perfected the art of betrayal, but he had also revealed its ultimate futility. The stage was set for his final act: the desperate isolation of a man who had become too skilled at deception to be trusted by anyone, including himself.

The Final Betrayal (1660-1662)

By 1660, Thomas Violet’s ledger told the story of a life consumed by financial calculation and frustrated by perpetual failure. He owed over £2,000 from various loans—£1,500 to acquaintances and business associates like goldsmith Alexander Holt and printer William Dugard. His grand schemes had generated enemies but no lasting wealth. His reputation as a “trapper” preceded him into every negotiation, making him both useful and untrustworthy.

The man who had once dreamed of controlling England’s precious metals trade now faced the humiliating reality of chronic debt. His foreign parentage—”born at sea to a Dutch musician and a Moorish woman”—made him perpetually suspect in a society that valued English birth. At sixty-one, Thomas Violet was running out of time, opportunities, and hope.

But he had one final scheme, one last chance to achieve the fortune that had eluded him for decades. The restoration of Charles II would create new vulnerabilities among London’s Jewish community, and Violet intended to exploit them with all the cunning he had accumulated over a lifetime of systematic betrayal.

In December 1659, even before Charles II’s return, Violet had approached Justice Tyrell with a carefully prepared legal argument. The Jews’ settlement under Cromwell had been achieved through administrative tolerance rather than parliamentary legislation, making their legal status vulnerable to challenge. A new monarch, eager to demonstrate religious orthodoxy and political strength, might be persuaded that expelling Jews would serve both spiritual and practical purposes.

Tyrell’s advice was characteristically cautious: wait until the monarchy was restored, then proceed with official petitions rather than vigilante actions. But Violet was already planning something far more sophisticated than simple legal challenges. He intended to present the Jewish community’s wealth as a solution to the crown’s financial problems while positioning himself as the indispensable agent for extracting that wealth.

When Violet returned to Tyrell in June 1660, he discovered that he wasn’t alone in his anti-Jewish sentiments. English merchants, led by Sir William Courtney, were preparing a petition demanding the expulsion of Jews. Their arguments focused on economic competition and religious orthodoxy, claiming that Jews had “renewed their usurious and fraudulent practices” and were causing “ill-dealings” and “oppressions” of English people.

The merchants’ petition also propagated the false rumour that Jews had “endeavoured to buy St. Paul’s for a synagogue”—a lie designed to inflame religious sensibilities while suggesting that Jewish wealth posed a direct threat to Christian institutions.

Violet saw an opportunity in this merchant opposition. If he could present himself as the expert investigator capable of documenting Jewish crimes and extracting compensation, he might finally achieve the financial recognition that had eluded him for decades.

On December 18, 1660, Violet presented his masterpiece of manipulative rhetoric to King Charles II and Parliament. The petition synthesised decades of experience in exploiting prejudice, combining religious arguments, economic accusations, and proposed solutions that would benefit both the crown and himself.

His religious arguments drew heavily on William Prynne’s virulently anti-Jewish tract, “A Short Demurrer,” which recycled medieval accusations including the Blood Libel, well-poisoning, and disease-spreading. Violet denounced Jews as a “cursed nation of blasphemous Christ killers,” comparing their religious rituals to “Popish superstitions”—a devastating accusation in a nation that had experienced decades of anti-Catholic hysteria.

His economic arguments played on merchant fears and working-class anxieties. He accused Jews of “usurious and fraudulent practices” and of being “adulterers of all manner of merchandise.” Most audaciously, he propagated what he knew to be an “outrageous lie”: that Antonio Fernandez Carvajal had offered Oliver Cromwell £1,000,000 for 2,000 Jewish merchant families to settle in England, with the alleged goal of taking over English trade and destroying the Christian faith.

Violet’s proposed solution revealed the ultimate sophistication of his manipulative methods. Rather than simple expulsion, he suggested “ensnaring London’s burgeoning Jewish community within the ‘net of the law,'” ransoming them to pay off the national debt, and ultimately banishing them. He hoped to receive a percentage of any ransom collected, potentially making him wealthy beyond his wildest dreams.

The scheme’s genius lay in its appeal to governmental interests. Charles II faced enormous debts from the Civil War and the cost of restoration. Jewish merchants were known to be wealthy, and their legal vulnerability made them attractive targets for what amounted to legalised extortion. Violet presented his campaign as patriotic service: protecting Christian England from foreign subversion while solving the nation’s financial problems.

It was the culmination of everything he had learned about manipulation: identifying vulnerable targets, exploiting existing prejudices, appealing to authorities’ self-interest, and positioning himself as the indispensable agent for achieving desired outcomes.

The Silence of Power

The parliamentary journals record no debate on Violet’s petition. This silence was more devastating than any refutation could have been. After decades of schemes that had generated attention, controversy, and occasionally success, Thomas Violet had finally produced a proposal so transparent in its opportunism that it warranted no response.

Charles II’s reaction was equally dismissive. The new king had been “generally well treated” by Jews and their continental connections, who had facilitated funds for his return. He had knighted Augustine Coronel-Chacon, who negotiated his marriage settlement. The Jewish community represented valuable international connections and financial resources, not threats to be eliminated.

More importantly, Violet’s reputation preceded him. His “odious personality” and history of manipulation made officials suspicious of his motives. The government recognised that his anti-Jewish campaign was driven by personal greed rather than genuine concern for national interests.

Violet’s final campaign succeeded only in creating new categories of enemies while alienating potential allies. Richard Pight commissioned pamphlets attacking him. Jewish merchants and their Christian supporters viewed him as a dangerous threat. Even those who shared anti-Jewish prejudices were disturbed by his blatant opportunism.

His targeting of Antonio Carvajal was particularly self-destructive. Carvajal was a valuable government asset, providing intelligence about international affairs and maintaining crucial trading relationships. By attacking him, Violet positioned himself against both commercial and governmental interests.

The campaign also revealed the ultimate emptiness of Violet’s worldview. His systematic exploitation of religious and racial prejudices demonstrated that no principle, however sacred, was immune to his manipulations. He had become a man who would weaponise any belief, exploit any fear, and betray any community if it served his financial interests.

By 1662, Thomas Violet faced the final accounting of his life’s work. His debts exceeded £2,000. His reputation was so damaged that even his printed works were dismissed as the products of a “common and most Horrid Swearer, a debauched Drunkard, especially upon Sabbath days, an Epicure and an abominable Liar.” His schemes had generated no lasting wealth, no secure position, and no meaningful relationships.

The Jewish community he had tried to destroy remained “undisturbed” and would soon receive formal legal recognition. The merchants he had betrayed continued to prosper. The government officials he had attempted to manipulate had moved on to other concerns. Even his family connections had withered—he complained about visiting his dying mother and had alienated most of his former associates.

On April 5, 1662, Thomas Violet made what he called a “Roman Resolution”—a decision to “put an end to all worldly troubles.” The phrase revealed his grandiose self-conception even in despair. He saw himself as a classical figure, choosing an honourablee death overa  shameful defeat, a tragic hero destroyed by lesser men’s failure to appreciate his genius.

The reality was more prosaic: he was a chronically indebted manipulator whose methods had become so well-known that they no longer worked. His systematic betrayal of others had created a web of enemies that made further schemes impossible. His reputation for opportunism had made his loyalty worthless and his expertise suspect.

On Sunday, April 20, 1662, Thomas Violet committed his final act of betrayal—this time against himself. He swallowed poison, the same method he had attempted in 1634 after betraying his master, Timothy Eman. The symmetry was perfect: the man who had built his career on systematic betrayal ended it by betraying his physical being.

As he died in agony, he begged “Christ Jesus forgiveness” for his “great crying sin.” But there was no mention of the Jews he had tried to “trap, blackmail, ransom and banish.” No acknowledgment of the goldsmiths he had destroyed, the political causes he had betrayed, or the communities he had exploited. Even in his final moments, Thomas Violet remained fundamentally transactional, seeking divine mercy while offering no human reconciliation.

Violet’s suicide was kept secret to ensure he could be buried in consecrated ground—one final deception in a life built on betrayal. He was interred in St. Katherine Creechurch, the same church where his Jewish neighbour Antonio Carvajal had been mourned with special bell knells just three years earlier.

The contrast was telling. Carvajal’s death had been marked by genuine grief from Christians and Jews alike, a testament to relationships built on trust and mutual benefit. Violet’s death required concealment, reflecting a life that had systematically destroyed the very foundations of human connection.

Thomas Violet died believing history would vindicate him. Instead, he became exactly what his enemies had called him: “The Great Trappaner of England”—a cautionary tale about the corruption of ambition unchecked by conscience.

His life revealed the ultimate futility of systematic betrayal. Each successful manipulation had required greater deceptions to maintain its success. Each betrayal had created new enemies, limiting future opportunities. Each scheme had damaged his reputation until his very expertise became a liability.

He had proven that in a world built on trust, the man who destroys trust becomes temporarily indispensable but permanently isolated. His methods could achieve short-term success but never lasting security. His genius for exploitation could generate wealth, but never respect; influence, but never loyalty; fear, but never love.

The great manipulator had manipulated himself into a corner from which the only escape was death. The man who had spent his life betraying others ultimately betrayed the one person he could never escape: himself.

Thomas Violet’s story ends not with triumph or tragedy, but with the quiet recognition that a life built on systematic betrayal inevitably betrays itself. In the end, the master of deception had become his final victim.