Sleep was far from him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to give up conscious control of his thoughts to random dreams, not when his waking dreams were sweeter than anything the land of slumber had ever given him.
He decided on his first step of proving his love to Nell. It would have to be secret for now, but someday he hoped to be able to tell her. Taking his Bible, he searched for the necessary phrases for his message to Bishop Laud. After much searching he found them, coded them, and wrote the code on a piece of paper. It read: (10/17/3/11–15) (42/24/6/1–4) (41/3/18/2). “The man whom thou seekest, he is not here. Andrew.”
Drew looked for opportunities to be alone with Nell, but they were frustratingly few and far between. Once he asked her to take a walk with him after supper. Jenny and her father thought a walk sounded like a grand idea, and the three of them strolled across the south bridge and back, while Nell stayed at home and cleaned up the dishes. Another time Jenny was going to take a bowl of soup to Mrs. Everly, one of the town’s widows who was under the weather. But the old lady got well, and Jenny’s assistance wasn’t needed.
During this time Nell was distant and cool, showing no outward affection to Drew whenever someone was around. Occasionally, Drew would catch her at an unguarded moment looking at him. Once caught, she would turn her attention elsewhere as if he wasn’t around. The Sunday following their rendezvous was the hardest for him. It was Nell’s turn to help her father teach the children their catechism lessons. Drew tried to get her to trade off with Jenny, but she insisted in fulfilling her responsibilities. He spent an agonizingly slow Sunday with Jenny, thinking about Nell.
It wasn’t until another full week had passed that it was Jenny’s turn to help her father and Drew and Nell were alone. After lunch, while they were sitting under a tree on the village green, he suggested they climb the mountain to the castle ruins where they could be alone. She replied that it would be best if they remained on the green, where they wouldn’t be tempted to start something that could have no satisfying conclusion.
“I just want to talk!” Drew insisted.
“We can talk here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know precisely what you mean, Master Morgan. That’s why I think it best we stay here.”
“Nell, if you love me—”
She shot him a warning glance that let him know he would get nowhere with that line of reasoning. He tried a different approach.
“I simply want to go some place where we can talk freely. That’s all. You have my word that we’ll do nothing that you don’t want to do.”
Nell’s stony resolve melted as she lowered her eyes.
“That’s precisely my fear, Drew. I’m not afraid of you taking advantage of me. I’m afraid that once I’m alone with you, I’ll not be able to control myself. I’m not sure you realize the depth of my love for you.”
Drew’s cheeks flushed. The thought of a woman like Nell having such feelings for him was more than he could handle.
He rose and extended his hand to her.
“I will protect you against yourself.”
Nell smiled sweetly.
“That’s like letting the fox guard the henhouse.”
But she took his hand, and they walked up the hillside.
“Why won’t you come away with me?”
Drew held Nell in his arms as they sat on an interior wall of the castle far under the tree cover. She was leaning back against him with her eyes closed. His arms were around her waist, and her hands rested on his. They rocked gently back and forth.
Their passion had ignited within moments of reaching the castle ruins. They kissed feverishly, clinging to each other desperately as if they would never see each other again. With sighs and tears they expressed their love.
“I just can’t go away with you. It wouldn’t be fair to Poppa.”
“Has he told you that?”
“No. Poppa would never tell me something like that. He’d tell me to go; whatever would make me happy, that’s what he’d want. And I have a feeling he’d be very happy if I married you.”
“Let’s make your poppa happy.”
Nell laughed.
“You just don’t understand. There are some things you just don’t know.”
“I know more than you think I know.”
She craned her neck to look at him.
“Oh, do you now?”
He nodded.
She turned forward and snuggled back against him.
“You only know what we want you to know.”
A loud commotion from the village rose over the crest of the hill. Shouts. Horses. Carts.
“What is going on down there?”
Nell broke Drew’s hold on her and walked to where she could see the village. Drew stayed where he was and watched her. How he loved to watch her move—the way she walked across a room, or used her arms and hands when she talked, and especially the way her slender fingers worked when she was making lace.
“Drew, come here! Something’s wrong!”
Drew leaped to his feet and was by her side. Below them the little town of Edenford was in a state of pandemonium. Soldiers on horses were everywhere. Women were screaming, children dashing dangerously around the mounts; everywhere they looked, people and animals jammed the narrow streets. The center of all the activity was the church building.
“Poppa!” Nell screamed, then covered her mouth with both hands.
Christopher Matthews could be seen between two burly soldiers as they dragged him from the church building. His hands were tied behind his back. Two lines of soldiers on foot held back the townspeople as they reached out to help the curate as he was loaded on a wooden cart.
“Come with me!”
Drew grabbed Nell by the wrist and pulled her through the stone doorway and down the hill. Several times she stumbled, and he had to slow his pace.
“Go! Please save him!” Nell yelled, pushing him ahead.
Reluctantly, Drew left her behind and ran down the heavily rutted path. He pushed his way through the crowd of people lining Market Street just as the cart carrying Christopher Matthews passed by.
Four guards surrounded the curate in the back of the cart; two others sat in front. Soldiers lined the street, keeping the people back. Just as Drew reached the front of the line, a boy broke through the soldiers and ran into the street. The soldier immediately in front of Drew broke ranks to chase the boy.
Drew charged through the opening and leaped onto the back of the cart. The soldiers guarding the curate were ready for him. Drew’s feet no sooner landed on the bed of the cart than one of the soldiers planted a foot in his stomach, sending him flying backward.
He hit the ground hard. Before he could get to his feet for a second attempt, two more soldiers had him by the arms. They dragged him behind the guard line and dumped him at Nell’s feet.
There was nothing he could do.
“Where are they taking him?” Drew shouted to anyone who was listening.
Cyrus Furman was just off to their right. Tears streamed down the wrinkled ravines on his aged face.
“He’s been arrested,” he said.
“By whom? On what charge?”
“For seditious acts against the crown.”
“Who had him arrested?”
Drew had to know where the order came from.
“Bishop Laud,” the old watchman replied.
Drew held Nell Matthews in his arms as they watched Edenford’s curate, Christopher Matthews, carted away across the north bridge to London.
Chapter 18
As the last of the mounted soldiers crossed the bridge out of Edenford, the townspeople flocked to the meeting hall. The room filled quickly with animated, boisterous people who milled about like frightened sheep without a shepherd. Several men pushed a reluctant David Cooper to lead the emergency meeting. Drew stood near the front with his back against the wall. Nell was on one side, Jenny was on the other.
The beefy cobbler
stood atop a wooden crate, his right arm wrapped around a support beam as he called for quiet.
“You all know what’s happened,” he shouted. “What are we going to do about it?”
Everyone began shouting at once. The cobbler waved them off with his hairy arm.
“One at a time! One at a time!” he shouted.
“We bring him back!” someone shouted.
“How? By ambushing the soldiers?” the cobbler replied.
“Then what? Are we ready to fight the whole English army?”
“We can’t just let them take him!” a woman yelled.
Somewhere from the back another man yelled, “I say our first order of business is to hang the spy responsible for his arrest! Hang Drew Morgan!” The room exploded with shouts and curses, angry voices calling for Drew Morgan’s death. The men who were closest to Drew pulled him away from the screaming, desperate clutches of the curate’s daughters. His arms were twisted behind him. A large paw grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head backward. Drew found himself face-to-face with a raging red giant, James Cooper. Drew’s screams of innocence were drowned out by the shouts for his death.
“Hold! Hold!” David Cooper yelled from his position above the crowd.
No one heard him.
Flinging himself into the crowd, the cobbler pushed his way toward Drew.
“Let him go! Let him go!” he shouted over and over.
When he reached the center of activity, he grabbed his son’s arm, which was now firmly around Drew’s neck, and pulled it away.
“Let him go, James!”
The red giant’s eyes spit anger at the one who dared break his hold on the traitor. It took both of the cobbler’s arms to pull his son’s right arm from around Drew’s neck. For a moment it was a standoff.
“I said to let him go!” the cobbler yelled.
Reluctantly, James obeyed his father.
“Listen to me!” he shouted to everyone in the room. “Would Drew Morgan be here right now if he was responsible for Christopher Matthews’ arrest? Would he?”
The cobbler had injected an element of reasoning into the situation, and the people didn’t like it. They didn’t want reason. They wanted revenge. They wanted action. They wanted their curate returned to them.
“I’ll go to London myself!” the cobbler shouted. “I’m taking Drew Morgan with me. If he is who he claims to be, he knows where they’ve taken Christopher Matthews. I promise you, we’ll bring the curate home! And if I find that Drew Morgan is responsible for the curate’s arrest, I’ll kill him myself!”
The people wanted more but didn’t know what else they could do. It was agreed to send a delegation to Lord Chesterfield. They would beg him to go to London and seek their curate’s release.
Having exhausted their scant resources, the people of Edenford filed out of the meeting hall with heads held low, comforting one another as best they could.
Following hasty preparations, David Cooper and Drew Morgan made the journey to London in three days. Along with his clothes and Bible, Drew packed his grandfather’s cutlass for protection—from highway thieves, to be sure; but if things didn’t go well, he imagined he would need it to protect him from the fury of a certain cobbler.
When they arrived in London, they learned that Matthews was being held in the tower, something of an honor for such a lowly curate. While Cooper tried to visit the curate, Drew went to London House to plead with Bishop Laud for Matthews’ release.
The round cook welcomed him at the door with overly enthusiastic delight and ushered him into the library, even though the bishop was in a meeting. Bishop Laud was seated in a high-backed chair on the far side of the room, his chin resting on his hand when Drew entered the room. The bishop’s guest was in a similar chair with his back to Drew. When the bishop saw Drew standing in the doorway, he jumped to his feet without apology to his guest and almost ran across the room. Drew found himself in a backslapping bear hug.
“Andrew, my boy! How good it is to see you!”
The bishop stepped back and looked him up and down.
“You’re still a little blue. Oh yes, I heard about that. Quite an act of bravery, I must say. My, how thin you are! We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we, cook?”
“Right away, sir!” the round cook bubbled over as he said it and went straight to his kitchen.
“Come in! Come in! I want to hear all about your adventure in Edenford!”
Drew motioned toward the visitor who had chosen to remain seated during the reunion between the bishop and his favorite operative.
“I can come back later, if it’s more convenient.”
“Nonsense. In fact, he knows all about your work in Edenford. It’s fortunate that I have you both here at the same time.”
With his arm around Drew’s shoulders, the bishop led Drew across the room.
“Introductions are hardly necessary,” the bishop gushed.
A tall, skinny form rose from the chair. He was so thin he looked like a scarecrow.
“Welcome to London, Master Morgan,” said Ambrose Dudley.
“Fine job! Excellent work!”
Bishop Laud praised his two Edenford operatives.
The three men sat in a circle facing each other. Ambrose Dudley wore a satisfied smirk on his face. The bishop was clearly relishing this victory with them.
“Ambrose and I are old colleagues from Cambridge,” the bishop explained. “He used to be a poor excuse for a professor of antiquities before he became a first-rate spy. This was his first assignment,” the bishop told Drew. “We hatched this scheme at Cambridge. We planted operatives in questionable small towns, knowing it would take them years to establish themselves as respected citizens.”
“There are men planted in other towns?” Drew asked.
“Four others,” the bishop said.
“Five,” Dudley corrected him.
The bishop rolled his eyes toward the ceiling while he counted on his fingers. “I stand corrected. There are five.”
“If you already had an operative in Edenford, why send me?”
The bishop sat forward on his seat.
“That was my idea. And it worked, didn’t it, Ambrose?”
The bishop reached over and tapped Dudley on the knee. His friend’s smirk grew larger.
“I thought if we could stir things up, introduce a firebrand into the mix, it would accelerate things. And it did! Of course, I’d intended to send Eliot, but you did just as well, maybe better!”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Dudley’s role in Edenford?” Drew asked.
“An unneeded risk,” Dudley answered him. “I had worked too long and too hard to have you jeopardize my cover. This way, if you failed, I would still be there. We would still have a foothold in Edenford.”
Dudley reached over and returned the tap he had received from the bishop.
“I was really quite hard on the boy,” he chuckled.
Drew was not amused. “You did your best to ruin me.”
“That I did,” Dudley replied. “And with good reason. If I was successful in discrediting you, it would make me look like a Puritan crusader and the people would trust me even more. As it turned out, you covered yourself well, and that too worked to our advantage.”
The self-congratulations between the two college friends lasted an hour longer. Then Ambrose Dudley excused himself. He said he was anxious to enjoy some of the luxuries of city life again.
When he was gone, the bishop told Drew how pleased he was that he was not injured seriously in the dyeing vat incident.
“There is one thing that disturbs me, though.”
The bishop walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and produced a small slip of paper. He placed it on the desk, turned toward Drew so he could read it.
Drew recognized his handwritten numbers and the bishop’s translation below it: (10/17/3/11–15) (42/24/6/1–4) (41/3/18/2). “The man whom thou seekest, he is not here. Andrew.”
“I
didn’t tell Ambrose about your last message,” the bishop said somberly. “Would you care to explain it?”
As Drew walked over to the chair he had been sitting in, he was searching for the right words to say. He knew this moment would come, and he’d given some thought to his response, but now that the moment was here all his explanations sounded hollow. The bishop followed him over to the chairs, sat down, and folded his hands in his lap, waiting for Drew’s answer.
“Christopher Matthews is not an evil man,” Drew began. “While I was there, I got to know him, lived in his house, ate with him, worked with him. He’s a good man with a good family. The townspeople love him. They respect him and need him, especially during these tough economic times.”
Drew paused. But the bishop did not argue with him.
“I know you think he spreads dangerous ideas, but he’s a fine, decent man whom I’ve come to respect.”
Bishop Laud looked at the floor as Drew finished.
He said, “Matthews has two daughters, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Beautiful daughters, as I understand it.”
“Yes. They’re beautiful.”
“Have you fallen in love with one of them?”
Drew didn’t answer immediately. The bishop waited patiently.
“Yes, I have.”
Taking a deep breath, Bishop Laud raised his head and looked squarely at Drew.
Andrew, there is always this danger whenever you go on a mission for a length of time. Do you remember Bedford? You fell in love with the minister’s daughter there too. I believe her name was Abigail, wasn’t it?”
Drew didn’t respond.
“And in Colchester you allowed yourself to get too close to that young printer and his girlfriend we apprehended. That was why I was reluctant to send you to Edenford. The assignment was longer, which made the risk even greater. Don’t you see, my boy, this has been your pattern. And in the same way that you have forgotten about these other people, you will forget about the villagers of Edenford.”
The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1) Page 29