‘That merely demonstrates the limits of your observation. The father was shot for mutiny or something, the mother is a witch, and the girl lived in a hellish society, giving herself freely to anyone who wanted her from the age of ten. I’ve heard of these people and the sort of things they got up to. I tell you, I shudder even at the thought of talking to her.’
‘I’m sure having you chant psalms and pray for deliverance would do wonders in winning her over,’ I said. ‘Are you sure of this? I have met the girl, and the mother. For a witch’s daughter she is very pretty, and for a devilish slut unusually civil.’
‘I make no mistake.’
‘Did you talk to her?’
‘I had no chance. They are very peculiar, these meetings. We all sat around in a circle, with this Blundy girl in the centre.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. It seemed as though all were waiting for her to say something, but she just sat there. This went on for about an hour. Then we heard shouting from outside, and everyone ran in panic.’
‘I see. Even if this belief of yours is true, you are hardly going to get her to tell you,’ I said. ‘Why should she? It obviously doesn’t bother her and she must need the money. Why should she risk her position to do you a favour?’
‘I believe she must secretly despise him. I thought that if I gave her a promise that there would be no consequences, she would see her duty.’
‘I think a few coins might sway her better. Thomas, are you sure this is not a mistake? Dr Grove was my tutor, you remember, and I detected no sign of lustfulness about him in all of four years.’
I am persuaded that Thomas was convinced of the selflessness of his actions. He genuinely wished the parishioners of Easton Parva to have the very best minister possible and was certain that he was that person. Naturally he wanted the stipend and the wife and dowry that went with it, but that merely to make him a better servant of his flock. He was motivated by righteousness, not greed. That was why matters fell out so badly in the end. Simple selfishness causes less harm than desperate virtue.
For my part, I freely confess the selfishness of my own actions. I needed a supply of money, and for that I needed Thomas to have some. Besides, he was my only friend at the time, and I felt beholden to him. For my sake as much as his, I decided that he needed the sort of assistance only I could provide.
‘Listen, my friend, go back to your studies, and abandon this meddling because you are not at all suited to it. I will deal with the Blundy girl for you and will soon have her singing like a canary.’
‘And how will you do that?’
‘I will not tell you. But if you pray for the forgiveness of my sins, then you will be working hard in the next few weeks.’
As usual, he looked shocked at my irreverence, which was just as I hoped. It was so easy to upset him in that way. Laughing happily, I left him to sleep, went back to my college, climbed over the wall undetected and crept softly into the room of my snoring tutor.
Chapter Seven
* * *
I WENT TO see John Wallis, mathematician and man of God, as Thomas had urged; at this stage I knew little of that grand divine except that he was not well liked, although this I put down to the fact that he had been foisted on Oxford by Cromwell. Much of his unpopularity was due to the fact that, at the general purge of Puritans when the king came back, Wallis had not only kept his position but had even received signs of official favour. Many of those who had suffered for the king and had not been so rewarded resented this bitterly.
Rather presumptuously, I visited him at his home, for he was a rich man and kept rooms in his college, a substantial house in Merton Street and also, I gathered, a place in London. His manservant assumed I was a student wanting instruction and it was only with some difficulty that I gained an audience.
Wallis saw me immediately, for which favour I was impressed; lesser lights in the university had, in the past, kept me waiting for hours for no reason. Consequently, I went into his presence with some rising hope in my heart.
I suppose everybody has in their mind now an idea of what these people look like. The cleric, rosy-cheeked from too much high living; the natural philosopher, absent-minded, a little unkempt with the buttons of his tunic done up in the wrong order and his wig all askew. If there are such people, then the Reverend Dr John Wallis was not one of them, for he was a man who, I believe, never missed or forgot anything in his entire life. He was one of the coldest, most frightening people I ever encountered. He sat perfectly still and watched me as I came in, indicating only by a slight nod of the head that I should sit down. Now I think more about it, there is something about quietude which is very eloquent. Thurloe, for example, sat very still as well, but the contrast could not have been greater. It may sound strange for me of all people to say it, but Thurloe’s stillness had a humility about it. Wallis had the immobility of a serpent as it eyes its prey.
‘Well, sir?’ he said in an icily soft voice after a while. I noticed that he had a slight lisp, which made the impression of the serpent even stronger. ‘You want to see me, not the other way around.’
‘I have come to ask you a favour, sir. On a personal matter.’
‘I hope you don’t want instruction.’
‘Oh, Lord no.’
‘Do not blaspheme in my presence.’
‘My apologies, sir. But I’m not certain how to start. I was told you might be able to help.’
‘By whom?’
‘By Mr Ken, an MA of this university and . . .’
‘I am aware of Mr Ken,’ Wallis said. ‘A dissenting priest, is he not?’
‘He is trying desperately to be obedient.’
‘I wish him well. He no doubt realises we cannot afford less than total compliance in these days.’
‘Yes, sir.’ I noticed that ‘we’. It was only a short while, after all, since Wallis had been a dissenting priest himself, and done handsomely out of it.
Wallis still sat impassively, helping me not at all.
‘My father was Sir James Prestcott . . .’
‘I have heard of him.’
‘In which case you also know that he was accused of dreadful deeds, which I know he did not commit. I am convinced that his fall was a plot organised by John Thurloe to hide the identity of a real traitor, and I intend to prove it.’
Again, Wallis made no move, either of encouragement or disapproval; rather he sat there, staring at me with his unblinking eyes until I felt a hot flush of foolishness come over me, and I began to sweat and stammer in my embarrassment.
‘How do you intend to prove it?’ he said after a while.
‘Somebody must know the truth,’ I said. ‘I had hoped, that as you were connected with Mr Thurloe’s office . . .’
Here Wallis held up his hand. ‘Say no more, sir. You have an overblown notion of my importance, I think. I deciphered letters for the Commonwealth when I could not avoid doing so, and when I was sure my natural loyalty to His Majesty’s cause would not in any way be compromised.’
‘Of course,’ I muttered, almost admiring the smooth way the blatant lie dripped from his thin lips. ‘So my information was wrong, and you cannot help me?’
‘I did not say that,’ he continued. ‘I know little, but perhaps can find out much, if I wish. What papers do you have of your father’s from that period?’
‘None,’ I said. ‘And I do not think my mother has any either. Why do you want them?’
‘No box? No books? No letters? You must find out where he was at all times. For if it was said he was in London, communicating with Thurloe, and in fact you can prove he was elsewhere, then your cause is advanced greatly. Did you not think of such a thing?’
I hung my head like a recalcitrant schoolboy, and confessed I had not. Wallis continued to press me, asking me the most absurd questions about particular books, although I do not recall the details now. My way was the more direct one of confrontation, not nit-picking through documents and books. Perhaps, I thought,
Mr Wood’s skills would turn out to be useful after all.
Dr Wallis nodded in satisfaction. ‘Write to your people, and find out what they have. Bring it all to me, and I will examine it. Then perhaps I will be able to connect it with things I know.’
‘That is kind of you.’
He shook his head. ‘It is not. If there is a traitor at court it is best to know of it. But rest assured, Mr Prestcott, I will not help you unless you can provide proof that you are correct.’
It was now well into winter; in my mind time was pressing, and my task daily bore in on me, the memory of my father urging me to action. So I began to prepare my travels, and from then on voyaged almost without a break for the next few months, until all was resolved. I was on the move through one of the worst winters I can recall and out again into spring, driven by my duty and my desire for the truth. I travelled on my own, with little more than my cloak and a pack, walking for the most part, trudging up road and tracks, skirting the huge puddles that swamp all byways at that time of year, finding rest where I could in villages and towns or under trees and hedges when there was no alternative. It was a time of the greatest anxiety and fear; until the last I often doubted I could be successful and was concerned that my many enemies would prove impossible to defeat. And yet, I also remember that time fondly, although that is perhaps merely the rosy glow that age always puts on the memory of youth.
Before I set out, I had to honour my promise to help Thomas. Coming across Sarah Blundy was easy, although engaging her in conversation was more difficult. She would leave her lodging at six in the morning to go to the Woods’ in Merton Street, where she worked as a servant every day except Monday, which was devoted to Dr Grove. Here she stayed until seven in the evening. She was given four hours off every Sunday, and one day every six weeks to herself. Most particularly, on Wednesdays she went to do the marketing for the family at Gloucester Green, a wasteland on the outskirts of town where farmers were allowed to sell their produce. She would buy whatever the family needed and (as Mrs Wood was a notorious miser) had to carry it back herself as she was not given the money for a hired hand.
This, I decided, would be my best opportunity. I followed her at a discreet distance to the market, waited while she made her purchases, then made sure I encountered her at the very moment she was struggling past with two enormously heavy baskets of goods.
‘Miss Blundy, is it not?’ I said with a look of pleasure on my face. ‘You don’t remember me, no doubt. I had the good fortune to consult your mother some months ago.’
She tossed the hair out of her face and looked at me quizzically, then nodded slowly. ‘That’s right,’ she said eventually. ‘You did. I trust you found the money well spent.’
‘It was very helpful, thank you. Most helpful. I’m afraid I did not behave as well as I should have done. I was very concerned and upset at the time, and this no doubt came through in my lapse of manners.’
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘It did.’
‘Please,’ I said, ‘let me make some small amends. Allow me to carry your baskets. They are far too heavy for you.’
Without any pretence of protest, she instantly handed over both of them. ‘That is kind,’ she said with a sigh of relief. ‘It is the part of the week I like the least. As long as I am not taking you out of your way.’
‘Not at all.’
‘How do you know where we are going?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said hastily to cover my mistake. ‘I have nothing at all to do, and I would willingly carry these all the way up Heddington Hill for the pleasure of your company.’
She tossed her head back and laughed. ‘Then you certainly don’t have much to do. Fortunately I will not impose on your good offices so much. I am heading only for Merton Street.’
They were formidably heavy, and I half-resented the girl for being so willing to hand them both over. One would have been more than sufficient. What was worse, she looked at me with scarcely concealed amusement as I struggled with what she carried as a matter of course.
‘Are you treated well there?’ I asked as we walked – I panting along, and she walking with a light and easy step.
‘Mrs Wood is a good mistress,’ she replied. ‘I have nothing to complain about. Why? Were you about to offer me a position?’
‘Oh, no. I cannot afford a servant.’
‘You are a student, is that right?’
I nodded. Considering that my gown was flapping in the sharp wind, and my cap in constant danger of being blown into the gutter, it was not a greatly perceptive remark.
‘You aim at the Church?’
I laughed. ‘Dear me, no.’
‘Do you disapprove of the Church? Am I talking to a secret Catholic, perhaps?’
I flushed with anger at the remark, but remembered in time that I was not passing the morning for my own amusement.
‘Far from it,’ I said. ‘Sinner I may be, but not to that extent. My non-conformity comes from a different direction entirely. Although in action I am blameless.’
‘I congratulate you.’
I heaved a sigh. ‘I do not congratulate myself. There is a group of God-fearing people I would like to associate with, but they wouldn’t even consider accepting me. And I cannot say that I blame them.’
‘And who is that?’
‘I had best not say,’ I said.
‘At least you could risk telling me why you are so unwelcome.’
‘Someone like me?’ I said. ‘Who would have such a person, so steeped in every monstrosity. I know it, I sincerely repent it, but I cannot erase what I have been.’
‘I always thought that many groups of people welcomed sinners. There hardly seems much point in only welcoming the pure. They are already saved.’
‘That’s the idea they put about, of course,’ I said with a great show of bitterness. ‘In truth they turn from the people who really need them.’
‘They told you this?’
‘They didn’t need to. I certainly would not accept someone like myself. And if they did I have no doubt they would constantly fear I would disrupt them.’
‘Has your life been so wicked? It is difficult to imagine, as you can be no older than myself.’
‘You were no doubt brought up in a righteous and pious family, though,’ I pointed out. ‘I, unfortunately, did not have such good fortune.’
‘It is true I was blessed in my parents,’ she said. ‘But you can be certain that any group which would turn you away would not be worth belonging to. Come, sir. Tell me whom you have in mind. I might be able to find out something for you. Ask whether you would be welcome, if you are too timid to approach them yourself.’
I looked at her with gratitude and delight. Would you? I hardly dare ask. It is a man called Tidmarsh. I have heard he is a saintly preacher, and that he has gathered around him the few people left in Oxford who are not corrupted.’
She stopped and stared at me. ‘But he is a Quaker,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you aware of what you are doing?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘God’s people they may be, but He is giving them sore trials. If you become associated with them, you will lose whatever protection your birth gives you. You will be jailed, and beaten, and spat on in the street. You may even have to give your life. Even if you are spared, your friends and family will shun you and you will be held in contempt by the world.’
‘You will not help me.’
‘You must be certain you know what you are doing.’
‘Are you one?’
A momentary suspicion passed across her face, then she shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I am not. I was not brought up to invite troubles. I think that as prideful as gaudy dress.’
I shook my head at the remark. ‘I do not pretend to understand you. But I am sorely in need of help.’
‘Find it elsewhere,’ she said. ‘If God commands it, you must obey. But make sure you know what He wants first. You are a young gentleman, with all the a
dvantages that brings. Don’t throw them away on a whim. Think and pray hard first. Theirs is not the only route to salvation.’
We had been walking awhile down St Aldate’s, then along Merton Street and had paused outside the door of her mistress’s house while she delivered this last injunction. I imagine she was merely trying to shield herself, but even so, her advice struck me as wise. If I had been some impetuous youth on the brink of making a grave mistake, she would have given me pause for thought.
I walked away slightly discomfited, which now I understand. I was deceiving her, and she gave kindness in return. It made me very confused, until I later learned how much greater her trickery was than mine.
Chapter Eight
* * *
IT WAS NOT difficult to contrive several chance meetings with her in the few weeks that followed, and I slowly won her friendship. I told her that I had decided to take her advice but my soul was still tormented. All the sermons in the world could not reconcile me to the Established Church. I had learnt that her father had been an extremist of the worst sort, so busy advocating the murder of property owners and the establishment of a republic that he had no time for Christ. Accordingly, I had to modify my approach.
‘When I think of the hopes that existed in the world only a few years ago,’ I said, ‘it makes me grieve. What were common aspirations are now cast out and despised, and the world is given over to greed and selfishness.’
She stared at me solemnly as though I had uttered a profound truth and nodded. We were walking down St Giles, I having managed to meet her as she was coming back from a cookshop with the Woods’ dinner that evening. It smelt delicious, hot and tasty, and the odours made the juices turn in my stomach. I could see that she also was hungry.
‘What do you do after you have delivered this?’
‘Then I am finished for the day,’ she said. It was already dark, and cold in the air.
‘Come with me. Let us eat together. I can see you are as hungry as I am, and you would do me a favour to keep me company.’