‘Yes. And what’s better is the people there have known him since he was a boy. They all grew up together in the parish. But they turned against him once he took up with papists. Now they want him out.’ Relief had loosened Will’s tongue and he was burbling again. He sensed Dancer’s body stiffen and cursed himself for a third time.
Dancer’s head dropped and he stared at the floor. ‘Will, who did I say I was looking for?’
‘You said priests. You said God had instructed you to rid us of these filthy papist priests.’
Dancer didn’t look up. ‘No, Will. I said I wanted Jesuit priests in hiding. So your man in Moorfields must be a Jesuit, otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me, would you? How long’s he been a priest? How did he get his training if he’s always lived in the parish?’
Will was struggling. ‘They just told me he was a priest, well, learning to be one. That’s why he’s gone into hiding. He told them he was an acol…acoly...’
Dancer’s shoulder sagged, and he slowly raised his head. ‘An acolyte?’
Will nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yeah, that’s it. A filthy papist, like you said.
Jack Dancer sighed as he gripped Will’s coat and effortlessly lifted him off his feet with a single hand. He looked to the ceiling, his voice pleading: ‘Why do they not listen? Why make me do this?’, and his head butted Will’s face repeatedly, his voice ascending to a roar with each impact. ‘An acolyte...is a fucking… apprentice… priest…you arseworm.’
It was over in seconds. Dancer stood, panting, Will hanging like a rag doll in his grip.
‘I need Jesuit priests, not apprentices, Will. Not even parish priests who’ve taken Holy Orders. I need the top dogs. The missionaries. Have you got that? Eh?’
Dancer examined Will’s destroyed face. There was no response. He grunted with disgust and dropped him on the floor. ‘Billy, take this rubbish out and get me an ale.’
A giggle sounded in the gloom, from the corner of the room. ‘You do ‘em a service you know that, Jack Dancer. You really do.’
Chapter 6
Old Palace Yard, Westminster
The grey sky released a sharp rain shower as Thomas and his brother Peter stepped from the entrance of St. Stephen’s Chapel into the Old Palace Yard.
The House of Commons had completed yet another busy sitting, the latest of many, as John Pym pushed through reforms to weaken the King and strengthen his Puritan cabal. Tom had arranged to meet Peter in the lobby afterwards and, after such a lengthy session he needed refreshment.
The two brothers hurried out of the Yard to the nearby Bull Inn and, once inside, found seats in a corner near the fire, and Tom ordered pottage and ale
‘Peter, I wanted to see you first and foremost to thank you for your intervention outside the warehouse.’
Peter was momentarily bemused but then remembered: ‘Oh that! I’m afraid the Apprentice Boys forget themselves from time to time, and become a little overheated. I’m glad I was on hand to bring them to heel.’
‘So was I. It was about to turn very nasty. Someone could have been killed.’
‘I’m not sure about that! You must understand, passions are running high on the streets. My brethren suffer insults and hatred each day. As Puritans, we see evil everywhere. It is understandable if some become angry.’
‘Well, whatever you say, I was very grateful you appeared at that particular moment.’
‘We must continue to oppose the King’s attempts to meddle with our religion, but I would never let any of my family be harmed in the struggle. Fortunately, I have risen to a position of sufficient seniority that allows me protect you when I can. But I can’t know everything and I urge you all to be vigilant, and if you see trouble, walk the other way.’
‘You feel the tide is turning here?’
‘The signs are clear. When I returned from New England, I realised this country was changing, and so it has continued. Archbishop Laud and his odious reforms are in retreat and the Puritan voice can finally be truly heard in Parliament.’
Tom considered his brother. Seven years ago Peter had been introduced to the teachings of John Calvin by his Dutch uncle. Peter had seized on Calvin’s belief that only a pre-ordained few were destined to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. By his twenty fourth birthday Peter Tallant was convinced that he was one of the chosen. From that day, his life was devoted to joining with others like him to form communities where they could live as they believed God had ordained.
‘One day I will return to New England for good, but for the moment my place is here. I can carry the fight to the ungodly in this very city and ensure the victory to come, bringing an end to our persecution.’
‘Now you sound like a Catholic!’ he laughed. ‘If you really want to know persecution, be a Jesuit! God’s Bones, what has this country come to? Is nobody safe to worship as they wish?’
‘We have to follow God’s word, wherever it may take us,’ Peter responded, his voice becoming strident. ‘As the Lord said: Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred and from they father’s house, unto the land that I shall show thee.’
Tom leant forward with a sigh. ‘Come here, brother’ and he hugged Peter hard, slapping him on the back.
A familiar face appeared by their side. ‘Father! Good to see you’, Peter exclaimed.
Ralph gave Peter another hug, and sat at their table. ‘I have escaped your mother’s shopping expedition, so thought I would join you briefly.’
‘I told father I would be here with you when the Commons session finished.’
‘Well, I’m glad you came now as I only planned a brief meeting with Tom. I must leave in a few minutes for an important session of our church council.’
‘That’s a pity, but I know you are busy. Has your brother passed on my thanks for your help outside our warehouse?’
‘Yes he has, and I explained that feelings are running a little high but I was happy to be there to restore order. And talking of which…’
The sound of raised voices and then a cry of pain came from outside. They left their table and walked into the street to find two men fighting. One was taller and appeared to have the upper hand, landing a heavy punch that knocked his opponent to one knee. The taller man then aimed a kick but the grounded man grabbed his foot and hauled him over. Papers fluttered from his bag to join others strewn across the ground.
‘Stop that!’ Peter shouted. ‘Desist!’
The two men turned to see the three Tallants walking towards them. They scrabbled to their feet and ran off in opposite directions. Ralph picked up the sheets of paper. ‘Hah, political pamphlets. I should have known it’, he exclaimed, scanning the papers in his hands. ‘I have two here, one describing the execution of the Earl of Strafford in grisly detail. The other is the usual driveling nonsense about another supposed papist plot to blow up the Commons.’
‘Well, it appears I have once more been called upon to do my civic duty, keeping the peace, but now I must be off.’ Peter said. ‘I’m sorry it’s been such a fleeting meeting father, but trust I will see you soon. Give my love to mother and Ellen,’ and with one more embrace, Peter was gone.
Ralph and Tom walked back into the tavern and returned to their table.
‘Have you noticed how brazen they have become?’ his father asked.
‘The pamphlet sellers?’ he replied. ‘Yes, they seem to have lost their old furtive ways. No more pulling you into a corner and producing their wares from a secret cloak pocket. I’ve never seen them so near the Commons.’
‘I thought it would happen when Pym abolished the Star Chamber, but not this quickly. With the power of the censor removed, the Stationers’ Office has lost its teeth. Dozens more presses are setting up across London as we speak. And now they are fighting over the best places to pedal their lies!’
‘Are you sure it is all lies?’ Tom asked and held up a news sheet he had recovered from the tussle.
‘Well I never,’ Ralph exclaimed, his scowl transformed into a gri
n. ‘A pamphlet that is in favour of the King! Saying he is in Scotland, calming their fears over his religious reforms. Now that’s more like it. You see? Freedom to publish can cut both ways. The King’s supporters are finally realizing the importance of public opinion. They’re making their voice heard.’
‘I feel it in Parliament also. The wind is changing direction. I say it softly, but resistance to John Pym and his cabal may be growing. They have been unstoppable in recent months in their drive to make the King abandon Strafford. But his death has woken some from their dream, or should I say this nightmare. Now they’re shouting ‘Enough!’
‘Look how Pym is being thwarted in his attempt to remove the bishops from the Lords,’ Ralph responded. ‘He knows their votes are blocking his reforms, but they have said: ‘No. We do not want any further change’. I am not always fulsome in my praise of his lordships but, on this occasion, I applaud them!’
Tom considered the Lords, the two pamphleteers fighting in the street and the angry mob who attacked the warehouse. Battle lines were being drawn. And that would benefit nobody.
His thoughts were disturbed by Andrew Lamkin who pushed through the door of the tavern and ran towards their table. He gave a hurried bow to Tom’s father.
‘Begging your pardon, Sir Ralph. Lady Beatrix told me where to find you. It’s Bolton Hall, sir. You’ve been robbed…and the house proper turned over!’
Chapter 7
Bolton Hall
Tom picked up the shattered remains of a Delft plate, a present to his mother from Uncle Jonas in Amsterdam, now broken beyond repair. He surveyed the wreckage in his parents’ living room - tables upended, chairs broken, cupboards prised open, contents strewn across the floor.
His father strode in, his face tight with fury. ‘It’s the same in every room. Even your mother’s glass house has been ransacked, her plants scattered everywhere.’ He was struggling to retain his composure.
‘How is she?’
‘Not saying much. She feels violated. When I discover who is responsible, and I will, they will sorely regret this wanton destruction.’
Tom picked up his mother’s shawl and walked into the garden. Beatrix was sitting on a bench staring at a broken plant, the Venetian primula he had given her. He placed the shawl around her shoulders and sat next to her. ‘Mother, this is terrible. I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?’
Beatrix Tallant looked at the damage and shook her head. ‘In my heart, yes, but otherwise intact. Thankfully we were not here when our unwelcome visitors arrived.’
‘What happened?’
‘We’re still trying to find out from the staff. One or two have been beaten quite badly. Your father has sent for Robert Petty. We’re hoping he can find whoever is responsible,’
‘Oh my God. What about Ellen?’ Tom said with a start.
‘Visiting friends, thank goodness. She’s on her way home. This could be her now…’ Beatrix continued, turning her head towards the sound of voices coming from the house.
But it was Elizabeth, striding across the lawn towards them, her arms outstretched. She embraced Beatrix and stood back to examine her. ‘Sir Ralph has told me what has happened, Lady Beatrix. If I may suggest, you should be inside after such an alarm. You could get a chill.’
Beatrix shook her head. ‘There is nowhere to go. They have ruined every room. I’m not ready to see it again.’
‘Will you come to my parents’ house? It won’t take two minutes in our coach. It’s here, waiting in your drive. You can stay while Bolton Hall is restored to some order.’
Tom appreciated Elizabeth’s kind offer but thought it would be politely declined. However, Beatrix nodded and reaching over to hug her, the tears finally came, coursing silently down her face. He mouthed his thanks to Elizabeth who gently guided Beatrix to the driveway. Then he headed for the kitchen where he found the cook, bathing Mark’s face, her hands shaking as she gently wiped crusted blood from his nose and mouth. His left eye was heavily swollen and already half shut, and he was pressing a cloth inside the front of his mouth.
‘Loose teeth?’ Tom asked. Mark nodded. ‘Don’t speak then. Let me talk to Cook, when she’s finished cleaning you up.’ He walked into the pantry and opened the tap of an ale barrel. Filling three mugs, he returned to the kitchen, placing two on a table. ‘Mark, here’s some ale if you can manage it. Cook, you need to drink this too.’
He righted an upturned stool and sat by the kitchen hearth. Usually its fire gave off a fearsome heat but today it had been left untended since early morning. He raked the glowing embers in the grate and added fresh kindling and timber from the log pile. Within minutes, flames were licking the brittle bark of the crackling firewood, smoke and sparks disappearing up the broad chimney entrance.
Tom sat back and minutes later was joined by Cook. He told Mark to retire to his cot in the servants’ quarters and rest his head, then let Cook slowly drink her ale.
‘Does that feel better? Do you want another?’ Cook shook her head. ‘So, tell me what happened. Slowly, from the beginning.’
Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the kitchen to see his father talking to Robert Petty and Elizabeth. Order was slowly being restored as members of household put the furniture back into place. Anything beyond repair was being piled in the coach house.
‘How is mother?’
‘She is resting. I have given her a herbal draught to calm her and, if possible, help her sleep a little.’ Ralph thanked Elizabeth as he led them to a table in the corner of the living room. As they sat, he nodded to Robert Petty to speak first.
‘First Sir Ralph, may I express my outrage at the destruction of your property. I’m only glad that you and Lady Tallant were absent. You may wish you’d been here to repel the raiders and mete out summary punishment. But seeing the damage they have caused, I am relieved you were not.’
‘You believe they would have harmed mother and father?’ Tom asked.
‘At first sight, it appears they were a desperate, violent and large force. You did well to miss them. Tom, you’ve had an opportunity to question one of our key witnesses? Good. So, let’s pool our knowledge.’
Tom started first, recounting the cook’s information, gathered from what she witnessed and what other staff had told her.
‘About 30 minutes after father and mother left for London there was a knock at the front door. A young man stood alone. He was walking to the city and could he possibly have a drink of ale and a crust of bread, as he hadn’t eaten for more than a day? This was not an unusual occurrence and staff knew the family would not turn someone from their door, if they were in need and appeared to be harmless.
‘He was directed to the kitchen at the side of the house. As one of the kitchen maids walked into the yard with his food and drink, two other men appeared from behind a stack of barrels, jumped on the girl, one holding a knife to her throat. Both were wearing black hoods with eyeholes, covering their faces completely.
‘They told Cook to let them in, or the maid would suffer. She had to agree. The man with the knife whistled loudly and another seven masked men walked into the yard and they entered the kitchen together. Within ten minutes all the staff were captured. Several, like Mark, put up a fight, but were overwhelmed by the force of numbers.
‘The men tied the staff up in the kitchen. Two stayed to guard them while the rest proceeded to ransack the house. The staff could hear crashes as the gang moved from room to room. They didn’t seem in a hurry. Eventually the noise stopped, there was a shout and the two guards left the kitchen. All remained quiet for some time, then one of the staff managed to free himself and raised the alarm.’
‘Sir Ralph, may I now turn to you?’ Petty said. ‘Having inspected the damage, what are your initial thoughts on why the men raided your house and what they were looking for?’
‘It appears that valuables have been taken – jewelry and silver plate- but these men were intent on destruction as much as theft. Several expensive pieces of furniture were broke
n up instead of stolen. Valuable paintings were also ignored. These were not professional thieves. I can only think some kind of a message was intended. Perhaps the gang were falsely informed we were supporters of the King, or even closet papists.’
‘What about those people who tried to attack the warehouse?’ Tom asked.
‘Yes, of course, I had forgotten,’ his father replied. ‘Maybe they had unfinished business, wanted to teach us a lesson. And while they were about it, some couldn’t resist pocketing the jewels and silver to make the trip into the country worthwhile. The current political unrest is causing all kinds of lawlessness.’
There was silence in the room. Petty turned to Tom’s father, his voice lowered. ‘If what you say is true Sir Ralph, this represents a new and very troubling phase of the current public unrest in London…for we’re not in London. As I say, if true, the ambition of the mob is growing, and their range of targets with it.’
‘What about your murder investigation? How is that progressing?’ Tom asked. ‘Do you think those killings could also be related to this mob?’
‘Everything has gone quiet, I’m afraid. I have no new information to speak of but I’m inclined to agree with your boatman Dibdin. The red haired man we found on the foreshore at Wapping – his killing had all the hallmarks of a professional assassin, not an angry crowd. I will continue to pursue it, as well as today’s attack on your family’.
The meeting ended and Tom wanted to check on his mother, so Elizabeth sent the coach back and together they followed on foot to her home nearby.
As they walked, a gentle breeze stirred the top of the Queen Anne’s Lace lining the road’s edge. Bright clumps of red campion peeped out from the foliage beneath. Elizabeth linked her arm with Tom as they strolled along, the sun warming their backs. He could smell her perfume of lavender and rose and once again wondered at her ability to create another world for him, within minutes of leaving the destruction at Bolton Hall. Why couldn’t more of his life be like this?
The Wrecking Storm Page 4