He cracked the heavy wax seal and unfolded the paper. Disbelief shot through him. “I’m to meet with Laud.” What would he want with me? He knows me less than the king does.
“Why?” Sara demanded.
“That’s the same question I’ve asked meself.” David folded the paper. “He wants to see me as soon as I can reach his home.”
“But that’s at Lambeth Castle. The Bridge is a nightmare of congestion. It will take thee until after supper to get there.”
“Not if I take a wherry.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m off. Don’t want to keep His Grace waiting. I’m already in a troublesome brew with the king.”
Sara stood with her arms akimbo and glared at him. “What did you do to His Majesty?”
He tucked the missive into his doublet. “’Tis hot out-of-doors. I shall not take me cloak.” He removed his house cap and put on his hat.
“I asked you a question.” Sara stood in front of him, blocking the way.
“I do not know. It was all very strange.”
“You will tell me.”
He kissed her forehead. “When I return, Twig. Don’t wait up for me.”
Anger rattled in her throat but he could not take the time to mollify her. He walked out of the house and with quick strides, headed to the river.
* * *
The tide ran high, the stink of the river less upstream where they rowed. Wind whipped the wherry almost onto the pilings but the wherriman knew his business. Across the river from Westminster, David carefully climbed the wet Lambeth Castle stairs. He made his way onto the castle grounds and to the gatehouse, where a guard stood at attention.
David removed Laud’s letter from his doublet and waved it at the man. “I am David Kirke, Knight. I’ve been called hither by His Grace.”
The guard glanced at the letter then waved him through the wicket gate. “Morton’s Tower is to the left, milord.”
Holding onto his hat the winds wanted to sweep away, David followed the stone path. He rounded a corner of the ancient building where two black studded doors stood, one with large double panels and immediately to the right, a single door, where another guard stood.
David showed the archbishop’s letter and repeated what he had said to the guard at the front gate. The man nodded then lifted the iron knocker, banging it several times. After what seemed an interminable time, the wind swirling debris in the corner where they stood, the door opened.
The guard turned slightly. “Sir David Kirke to see His Grace Archbishop Laud.”
The panel swung wider. David crossed the threshold into a grand structure of red brick and mullioned windows.
“This way sir,” said a gentleman fitted in a finely cut black cloth suit trimmed with green ribbons. He took David through corridors and chambers, finally stopping in a room, the walls lined with books. The scent of old leather and pipe tobacco filled the air.
Laud sat at a table tucked before a window and a large, blackened hearth where a fire roared on this hot, windy day. Wearing a Canterbury cap and spectacles secured with ribbons around his ears, Laud peered at a large bound book. Whenever he turned a page, brittle paper crackled. A smoking pipe sat in a dish near his hand.
The gentleman announced, “Your Grace, Sir David Kirke.”
David tucked his hat under his arm and bowed, showing a leg. His brain whirled with questions. His belly clenched with fear.
Archbishop Laud looked up. “Ah then, I’m glad you could come.” He nodded and the gentleman removed himself from the chamber. The door closed.
The portly Laud heaved himself to his feet, took up the pipe and puffed on it. He came around the table to David and stretched out his hand.
Still in a bow, David kissed Laud’s ring, a magnificent gold piece set with diamonds and emeralds. “Your Grace.”
“Come, let us sit afore the fire. Although it is hot out-of-doors, warmth does not venture into this old house.” He motioned toward a table filled with pitchers of wine, new beer and ales. “Have what you will. I shall have Canary. Chipped sugar is at the ready if you like it sweet.”
“I will have Rhenish, no sugar.” David waited for Laud to sit, all the while filled with uncertainty. Mayhap, the king informed the archbishop of his dudgeon toward David and ordered him to withdraw his knighthood. He grimaced.
A servant bearing a tray bowed before Laud, who took his goblet. He moved quietly around the back of the chairs and extended the tray to David.
“You may leave us,” Laud ordered, “but do not go far.”
The man backed from the chamber. The door latch clicked and Laud sighed. “Drink Kirke. Enjoy this good wine.”
Too ruffled to drink, David waited for the axe to crease his neck.
Laud puffed on his pipe then drank. He stared at the log fire for several moments as if he must gather his words. David’s heart thundered in his ears. His breaths became shallower. Soon, he would collapse like a sobbing female on the floor.
“I like you, Kirke, and called you here because I feel you are owed an explanation.”
David leaned forward. “Why would you think this?” This cherub fellow had done nothing of ill regard toward him.
The archbishop wheezed with each breath. He sipped his wine. “His Majesty the King.”
David’s hand shook and he rested his goblet on the wooden arm of the chair.
“As a babe, he was ignored, left alone in Scotland,” Laud began in a low voice, almost a whisper. “Frail as a young ‘un. Rickets. He never grew above the height of a woman.”
David reflected the king was not much taller than Twig.
“Once it was resolved the king would live, he was brought to England where he followed his brother around like a heartsick puppy. When Prince Henry died, King Charles was inconsolable.”
At a loss why the archbishop should tell him this, David stared at Laud’s blunt fingers that stretched beyond his lace cuffs.
“He’s a good man, our king is.” Laud continued to stare at the fire. “But stubborn.” His gaze moved to David. “Won’t be moved from his belief in the divine right of kings. His decisions are because he considers himself God’s representative on this earth.”
David’s hand tightened around the goblet. Laud would now tell him why he demanded his presence.
“He has high tastes, loves fine art and luxurious things but money’s an issue. God hasn’t supported him in this instance.” He drank his wine to the dregs. “Money was the reason for his quarrel with the queen’s brother, Louis XIII.”
David’s mouth went dry. He drank from his cup.
“And you fell into the middle of this quarrel, Sir David. You were one of the king’s pawns in the attempt to bludgeon his cousin into paying the balance of Queen Henrietta’s dowry, four-hundred thousand Crowns. Your successes of conquering Québec went according to his plan.”
David was stunned. “The letters of marque?”
“Every move was orchestrated.” Laud thumped his empty goblet on the chair arm. “The treaty of Susa was signed by proxy, the terms finalized. King Charles gave his soul to Louis for what should have already been in the royal coffers.”
Light began to dawn. “The prizes?”
“The French king forced His Majesty to return everything you had gained; Québec and all the surrounding land, including the rotten beaver pelts.” His grace ran a thumb along the goblet’s gold and silver filigree. “Our king did not expect your unwillingness to part with the furs. You angered him when you did not bend to his divine will.”
He heaved himself to his feet and gazed down at David. “All because of the dowry.”
Chapter Thirty
London, March 1634
Holding an open ledger, its page covered with lists, Sara had the servants at a brisk run. She was to accompany David on her second voyage to Newfoundland where they would become more deeply immersed in the sack trade.
Sara motioned to her maid, “Have the men load Hawkins’ and your trunks onto the cart.” She did not
understand why David would take his man to the wilds of Newfoundland when he was stiffer than an old cavalier. Even now, she imagined she could hear Hawkins’ whimper as he decided which shirts to pack.
Mary nodded and directed two strapping lads toward the back of the house.
Since the surrender of Québec, David had gained new partners. Together, they established Kirke, Barkeley and Company where they hired freight companies to transport the goods for trade.
This year, David’s the Abigail would sail from London with the Faith, a freight company’s two-hundred-forty ton vessel, mastered by Thomas Bredcake, putting into Dartmouth harbour where they would pick up the rest of the fleet. Armed with bills of exchange, their holds filled with goods, the fleet would then sail for Newfoundland.
Whilst David undertook that end of their business, Sara corresponded with Mister William Hill, caretaker of the Province of Avalon, and struck a deal with him that she hoped would be lucrative. They would establish a fishery in Ferryland. The new salt works Baltimore had built closer to the water had been improved by Hill, who stated the salt was as pure as one could desire.
Sceptical, Sara murmured, “We shall see about that.”
Robert, their faithful wine clerk, asked, “You said something, milady?”
Sara regarded him with sadness, for his skin held a pallor that did not bode well. His eyes were lacklustre and his gait trembled.
She forced a smile. “Are you sure you won’t come with us? To sail on a ship is exhilarating, and the air in Newfoundland is so very fresh.” She motioned toward the window where a thick fog brushed against the leaded lights. “Unlike the unwholesome swirl of this City.”
He slowly shook his head. “I shall stay right here with Madame.” His breath hitched. “Besides, I’m nearing sixty. These old bones won’t allow me to walk but a few steps these days. I could not endure a long sea voyage.”
He knows he’s dying, Sara realized with alarm. She blinked away the sudden tears that clouded her vision. “You will miss a wondrous thing,” she chirped, trying to sound joyous. “But I understand.”
David ploughed into the chamber, overbalancing Robert. He grabbed the clerk’s shoulders. “Ah there, caught you.” David’s eyes filled with sorrow as he regarded the man. “Don’t want thee hitting thy head on the flags.”
Robert straightened his coat. “I give thee thanks, milord.” He shuffled from the kitchen into the private office.
David’s troubled gaze met Sara’s, who shook her head. She could not speak of it. When they returned from Newfoundland, Robert may no longer be with them.
She cleared her throat. “Do the Abigail and Faith still sail in the morning?”
David gleefully rubbed his hands together. “With the morning’s tide. We will sleep aboard, tonight.” He started to walk away then snapped his fingers. “By the way, your sister and her new husband will travel with us.”
Sara nearly dropped the ledger. “What?”
David laughed. “Aye, we shall have a feast in the ship’s main chamber. I’ve already a barrel or two of me favourite wines in the cabin. I shall knock out the bungs.”
“When did this happen? You know I dislike surprises. How could you do this to me?” Even as she was vexed with David, her heart sang with joy Frances would be with her on the voyage.
Her eyes widened. “I haven’t prepared for extra persons aboard ship. ‘Tis too late to procure more victuals.”
“We’ll go to a cookshop for a few meals.”
He spouted rubbish. They needed far more than a few meals for the journey to Newfoundland. “That won’t do and you know it.”
“It was all very humbling.” David’s hand went to his chest, his gaze heavenward. “William Hopkins begged on bended knee. Called me ‘milord, sir, oh dear honourable sir’ so often, me feet left the cold stone floor. Me hat scraped the lower shelf of Heaven.”
She laughed. “More like the hoary lip of hell.”
He turned to her with a wide grin. “We will take them to Newport on the Isle of Wight. He’s a new post there as headmaster of the grammar school. ‘Tis in city centre but attached to the Church of England at Carisbrooke Castle.”
Although there were times she’d gladly give her husband a blow to the neck for his foolery, her shoulders softened. She’d not have to dash about and gain more victuals for the journey. “That is a nice advancement for him. His wages were quite low at Christ’s Hospital School.”
“Aye, considering his expertise in numbers and such. And he’ll have a very nice house in Newport.” Like a cur, David raised his head and sniffed loudly. “What’s to eat? I’m hungry as a bear.”
* * *
The next morning, Sara and Frances stood at the rail as the Abigail slipped its moorings at London Pool, the Faith doing the same. The winds stiff, water poured from the Bridge’s arches. Gulls screeched overhead. Bells clanged and ships’ wood creaked. The smell of animal dung wafted from where livestock were secured to the masts. In pens, chickens clucked and picked at seed, their feathers fluffing in the gusts. A goose and gander, their wings clipped, waddled about the deck.
Fishing boats and shallops rode the waves with them. They’d be part of the Kirke’s fishing fleet and left behind whence Sara and David returned to England.
From her experience in Newfoundland two years earlier, when hundreds of fishing boats plied the grand banks, Sara knew this small amount of boats would be inadequate to build a sizable fishery but she hoped that would change with time. They also needed a large storage facility to keep the salted fish dry until they were loaded onto a merchantman.
Her heart sang to be part of this growing business. Her imagination drifted down the coast of the New World to the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico, places where only the Spanish had once ruled. Their product would be traded for foreign items, then their ships would head to the Mediterranean and towns that clung to the cliffs of Iberia and Italy.
The sound of rushing water roared in Sara’s ears. The Abigail moved more quickly down river. Men cried mightily out, trying to be heard over the rushing water. Starboard, seamen loaded cannon, swabbed pitch around the plug then set it into the muzzle newly stuffed with powder and a ball.
Frances’ eyes widened as she watched this. “Why are we being armed to the teeth?”
“Because of the war in the Holy Roman Empire. Men-of-war have breached into English waters. Pirates roam along the coasts, snatching merchantmen for their goods. ‘Tis a wicked world we live in.”
“I’ve noticed Thomas and Lewis were not at our feasting table, last eve,” Frances remarked as she watched the land slip by. Tendrils of light brown hair danced upon her forehead.
“They are both with the Navy, on patrol in the Channel or the North Sea.” Thomas could rot, but Sara missed Lewis, whose humour sent her into bevies of giggles.
She watched the Isle of Dogs glide by. Old hanging posts dotted the riverbank, rusted chains snapping against rotten wood. “Men were once hanged there, and suffered the trials of high and low tides.”
Frances shivered. “Do stop. I shall have nightmares.”
The sails were partially unfurled as the vessels entered the Thames Estuary. Water slapped against the hull. With the winds so fresh, gusts took Sara’s breath away but as she had told Robert, it was exhilarating.
She knocked against her sister. “Let us go to the poop deck. We’ll feel as if we’re flying with the birds, we’ll be so high.”
Sara did not wait for her sister to follow but gathered her skirts over her arm and climbed the narrow ladder. She trod by a pile of hammock netting, then past the mizzenmast to the very farthest aft of the ship. Once atop the roundhouse, so high Sara could almost touch the low-lying clouds, she breathed in the magnificent beauty, the colours and stark contrasts of the world wherein she lived.
She leaned against the rail and considered, even on this large ship, how very small she was in the vast ocean. It was a humbling thought.
Frances stepped beside h
er and leaned over the rail. “Oh my, what a wondrous world we live in.”
Overcome with emotion, Sara’s heart sang. “’Tis indeed.”
* * *
The next day, their ships anchored in Cowes Harbour at the mouth of the River Medina. Hopkins’ household goods had been loaded onto a barge that would take them upriver to Newport. It took longer than expected and the tide had begun to turn.
Colonel William Hopkins and his son, George, were already on the barge, awaiting Frances, who stood on the main deck with Sara.
Frances looked stricken, her eyes welling with tears. “I must go.”
They’d never been apart for more than a few months the full of their lives. Frances’ move to the Isle of Wight, and David’s vision of relocation to Newfoundland would mean they may never see each other again. The very idea crushed Sara’s soul. “Please take care of thyself,” she begged.
Frances swallowed hard and nodded. “You too.”
“The tide is turning,” Captain Gerald cried. “We must be off.”
Frances and Sara hugged.
“Come along, Mistress,” Colonel Hopkins called from below. “Get thee into the rope chair and we’ll catch you.”
David hugged Frances. “I’ve always liked thee as me sister-in-law, even as you and Hopkins speak to each other in a foreign tongue of numbers and symbols.” He put her at arm’s length and stared at her as if such a thing were very strange.
Frances choked on a teary laugh. She backed onto a narrow planked rope chair. “Fare-thee-well. We will see each other again. I know it.” The chair was hoisted over the rails.
Sara and David ran to the rail as the chair reached the barge. Hopkins waved whilst Frances found a seat next to a young man with yellow hair. George Hopkins took her gloved hand and patted it.
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