Puritan

by David Hingley

  ‘This would be your Christian name in the same code. Let me know when you have worked it out.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘You wish to see if I am worthy myself?’

  ‘A simple riddle, that is all.’ He inclined his head. ‘Have you thought further about the code found on Meltwater’s minister?’

  ‘Oh, a little.’ Scraps of parchment in her bedroom would argue otherwise; they were full of attempts at interpreting what the code might mean. ‘Have you?’

  ‘Yes, but I am no closer to understanding it. John Lavington, Meltwater’s magistrate, is an alchemist. It may be the minister was simply carrying some workings of his.’

  ‘Lavington?’ She blinked, trying to recall where she had heard the name before. ‘Oh yes. That man from last night was named Lavington.’

  ‘That was John Lavington’s son, Perseverance. He and Clemency came from Meltwater together, on some business of theirs.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But never mind that.’

  Mercia waited for him to elaborate, but he remained silent, busying himself with his notebook. ‘Another alchemist,’ she said at last.

  Winthrop laughed. ‘We are everywhere. Indeed there is another young man in Hartford now with similar interests. Amery Oldfield. Lavington has appointed him to be Meltwater’s very first schoolmaster.’

  ‘The town is that new?’

  ‘Four years old, and on the edge of our lands. I only gave Lavington permission to found it as he wanted to search the frontier for God’s secrets.’ He scratched his cheek. ‘That, and to stop Massachusetts from sneaking round us from the north by claiming that territory for their own.’ He smiled. ‘Well, Mercia. I will write to John myself to see if he knows anything further. I do not think the constable there has much respect for him, otherwise the code paper would still be in his hands instead of mine, but I have more faith.’ Without setting a hand on her back, he held his arm behind her and shepherded her across the room. ‘Now stop talking to this old man and go and see Hartford. Take a look at what we have accomplished. I am sure you will find it good.’

  Feeling buoyant, Mercia fetched Daniel and Nathan and set off into Hartford, indulging her son by letting him skip a little way in front. But the trio did not get far before a commotion near the house arrested their attention and she called Daniel back to her side. A wild-eyed man was balancing on a picket fence, shouting down at a small crowd. His physical dexterity was impressive, his words less so.

  ‘We must be ready!’ he cried. ‘The Second Coming is nearly upon us!’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ sighed an elderly woman in his audience. ‘So you keep saying. But when will it come?’

  ‘Do not mock,’ he shrilled. ‘The Lord will appear when He is ready. He will descend from heaven and judge us. Each of us!’ He looked around him. ‘And you, lady, He will judge most of all! See, she has come, and He will find her wanting!’

  Mercia shook her head, feeling pity for the old woman who had incurred the speaker’s wrath. But then she looked up at the preacher and took an involuntary step back, for he was not pointing his shaking hand at his audience, but at her.

  ‘You bring calamity to this land,’ he cried. ‘Over the ocean you have come, and like the ancient Flood that destroyed all things, the waters you travelled will surely destroy us now.’ His whole body began to shake in rage. ‘Leave us, Mercia Blakewood, for you bring naught but death!’

  Chapter Four

  Nathan strode to the fence; with one arm he pulled the thin preacher to the ground. The young man stumbled but Nathan yanked him upright.

  ‘I should strike you where you stand. What do you mean by speaking so foully to strangers?’

  The preacher threw back his head, the mole on his neck jutting against the stiff white collar of his shirt. ‘I mean that your woman should take care what she does. She is in danger for her soul and will imperil us all.’

  ‘The only one in danger here is you.’ Nathan gripped the man’s shoulder and twisted him round. ‘By God’s wounds! How do you know who she is?’

  Recovering her wits, Mercia looked down at her son. ‘Don’t mind what he said, Danny. There are strange people everywhere. But will you run back into the governor’s house a moment while I calm Uncle Nathan?’

  Nodding, Daniel ran back inside. When she was sure he was safely in the house, she turned back round, her calm expression gone. The preacher was staring defiantly at Nathan in silence, the small crowd eagerly looking on.

  ‘Answer the question,’ she said, marching towards him. ‘How do you know me?’

  The preacher inclined his head. ‘The Lord reveals all to me who are hounded by Satan.’

  Usually she did not heed such pronouncements, but a chill came over her at his words. ‘What do you mean?’

  He looked at her as though she were a child. ‘Through witchcraft he seeks to divert God’s path. England is the home of the Devil. Many come thence to corrupt us.’

  Nathan gripped him more firmly. ‘How do you know her?’

  ‘That is probably my fault.’ A well-dressed young man stepped forward through the crowd, a sheaf of wavy blonde hair just visible under his broad-brimmed hat. ‘As is his demeanour towards you. I told him people not of these parts were staying at the governor’s house.’

  ‘And you are?’ said Mercia.

  The man bowed. ‘Amery Oldfield, lately of Boston and now resident of Connecticut.’ He chuckled two bursts of a nervous laugh. ‘I know Clemency Carter.’ He turned to the preacher. ‘As I know this man, Standfast Edwards. He has been waiting to get a look at you.’

  She frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well.’ Amery inclined his head, a bashful smile on his face. ‘Clemency told me she had met you, and I mentioned it to Standfast when I met him.’ He glanced at the preacher. ‘And as usual, he has jumped to the suspicion that anyone new here is tainted by the Devil until they prove otherwise.’

  ‘There is much sin around, Amery,’ said Standfast, still in Nathan’s grip. ‘It falls to those whom the Lord trusts to find it out.’

  ‘And you do a marvellous job. But you have been wrong before and I am sure you are wrong about these people.’

  Standfast hesitated. ‘The Devil does seek to hide the truth. I suppose you may be right.’ He looked at Mercia. ‘This is a land of hidden sin, Mrs Blakewood, of men who claim to be one thing but are something quite else. You will have to show yourself worthy if you want to receive God’s blessing.’

  ‘I think I have proved myself enough recently.’ She sighed. ‘Nathan, let him go. There is no harm done.’

  Nathan’s expression remained bleak, but he released his grip and straightened Standfast’s crumpled jacket, pulling hard on the cloth. ‘See that you learn manners in future.’ He jerked his head to one side. ‘Now go.’ Standfast looked at him in fearless challenge, then wandered away, followed by the now bored crowd.

  Amery watched him go. ‘We knew each other when we were children. He was never so devout back then, but as he grew older he decided he was one of the most saintly of we saints. But there are others, I think, more saintly.’

  ‘He should take care,’ said Nathan. ‘Do many around here think as he does?’

  ‘There are many devout people in New England, if that is what you ask.’ Amery looked at him sharply. ‘Are you with the godly, my brother?’

  Nathan folded his arms. ‘I believe in spreading the Lord’s word through English.’

  ‘So do the Anglicans. But yes, New England remains the land of we saints. There are those who worry that the arrival of the royal fleet will spell the end of us, but I hope we can live with each other.’ A gust of wind fled past and he drew tight his coat. ‘Well, good cheer, my friends. Send kind word of us to England.’

  Touching his hat, he strolled away.

  The rest of the day passed merrily in touring the town and its surroundings. Mercia was surprised by its complexity; although small, she had not thought to see a place so developed in the middle of Connecticut. But then, she tho
ught, it was much bigger than Halescott, the village where she lived back in England. Daniel had certainly enjoyed himself, still playing outside with two boys he had met during the day, ecstatic to have new friends after so many long weeks at sea.

  By the time they returned to Winthrop’s house she was worn out with the walking; removing her heavy boots gave her such pleasure that she remained in her chair for a full five minutes, enjoying the sensation of lightness in her legs. After another delicious dinner she felt deeply satisfied, and retiring to the parlour she eagerly waited for Clemency to return in the hope of good conversation. She smiled as the door opened behind her, but then her face clouded as she turned, for a different person entirely had appeared in the doorway, a grandly dressed man in a sweeping fur coat, an uncertain smile on his face.

  ‘Mercia,’ he said. ‘I hope I am not intruding on your solitude.’

  ‘Sir William.’ She rose from her seat. ‘I did not expect to see you in Hartford.’

  Sir William Calde, one of the noblemen she had sailed with on the King’s invasion fleet, entered the room. Removing his ostrich-feathered hat with his left hand he kept his right behind his back. ‘I am here on the King’s business,’ he said, more confident now. ‘His commissioners want a report on Connecticut before they make their personal survey of New England.’ His cheek twitched. ‘And I wanted to see how you were faring.’

  Mercia ran a hand through her hair; realising the gesture could be interpreted in quite different ways, she quickly lowered it to her side.

  ‘I am quite well, Sir William. But I thought you would still be in New York? Are matters there not proceeding as planned?’

  ‘Indeed they are. Now we are turning our attention to the New England colonies, but you need not trouble yourself with such tiresome concerns.’ He pulled an extravagant bouquet of red and yellow flowers from behind his back. ‘For you, to brighten your spirits.’

  She smiled out of indulgence, setting the flowers on the table by the fire. ‘Thank you. I will put them in water later.’ She sucked in her top lip. ‘Does the governor know you are here?’

  Sir William nodded. ‘His good wife told me where I could find you.’

  ‘How kind of her.’

  He paused a moment. ‘It is good to see you, Mercia.’ His gaze lingered on her face, her neck, her chest; she glanced away and he laughed, nervous again. ‘But I know you must be tired. I merely wanted to let you know I would be in Hartford for a few days.’ He hesitated. ‘Winthrop tells me you have spent the day in the town. Perhaps you would join me soon to show me what you have seen?’

  She inclined her head. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Then I shall look forward to it.’ His face faltered slightly. ‘We were never able to talk after what happened in New York. I know you must have suffered.’

  Mercia glanced at the flames in the fire. ‘You have suffered yourself, Sir William. I think of Lady Calde a lot, in my dreams.’

  ‘As do I.’ He sighed. ‘I think perhaps if I had acted sooner, some of those deaths could have been prevented.’

  ‘Perhaps. But then, perhaps I should never have come.’

  ‘You came to regain your manor house.’

  ‘True.’ She looked up at him, trying to calculate his motives. ‘But in the meantime, I am enjoying my respite here.’

  He smiled. ‘Well then, enough of this. I am keeping a lady waiting who wishes to come in. Winthrop has found me ample lodgings nearby. I shall see you soon.’ Bowing, he replaced his hat and strode from the room, bestowing her with one last, long glance. His expression seemed boyish, almost pleading; Mercia wondered what was really going through the great man’s mind.

  She did not spend long in thought. Seconds later, Clemency entered the room in a deep scarlet dress; or rather she danced in, as though she were breezing through the air.

  ‘Two questions,’ she said. ‘Is that impressive man a friend of yours, and should Nathan be as jealous of him as he clearly is?’

  Mercia laughed, regaining her spirits. ‘No, and no.’

  ‘Still, you seem out of sorts. But I have an idea to change that. If you are willing, I could take you somewhere where life always seems happy.’

  ‘Is there such a place?’

  ‘Oh yes. Your manservant has already discovered it. He seemed to think you would enjoy it too.’ She backed towards the door. ‘Will you join me?’

  Mercia was about to refuse, when a peculiar feeling came over her – a feeling of … what was it? Friendship? ‘Yes.’ She clasped together her hands. ‘If Nicholas is involved I can guess what sort of place it is. But Daniel is abed, and Sir William has irked me, so yes. Why not?’

  Expecting to be led to the tavern two streets down from the governor’s house, when Clemency turned towards the stables instead, Mercia frowned. ‘Are we not going to—?’

  ‘Samson’s place?’ Clemency scoffed. ‘I think not. They enforce the law there. Nothing worth drinking and no more than thirty minutes in the place at a time.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The penalty for being so close to the governor’s residence.’ She led a horse from a ramshackle stall. ‘No, I am taking you somewhere far more exciting.’

  Mercia looked back in the direction they had come. ‘Did you not see Elizabeth in the house? Where does she think we are going?’

  Clemency shrugged. ‘I told her I was taking you to visit a friend of mine. She seemed pleased you were showing such an interest in her town.’

  ‘Clemency!’

  ‘Clemency nothing.’ She mounted her horse, sitting aside. ‘Now, there is a horse for you in that stable there. Are you coming?’

  She paused. ‘What about Nathan?’

  ‘Nathan thinks it would do you good to have female company tonight.’

  Mercia laughed. ‘Then who am I to say no?’

  They rode out of town for about two miles. Although it was dark, the moon gave some light and the road was straight, if rutted. Clemency rode quickly but Mercia was more than a match, racing alongside her through the night. Soon a black building loomed at the side of the road, no lights shining within. Slowing her horse, Clemency dismounted, beckoning Mercia to follow her round the back. They tied their horses at a long bar where several others were already pawing the ground or nuzzling oats.

  ‘Where are we?’ whispered Mercia.

  ‘You will see.’ Clemency walked to a door in the side of the house, her boots thudding on the earthen courtyard. She adjusted her hat and knocked, four short taps followed by three longer ones. The door inched open and the women were ushered inside, the young man who had let them enter retaking his seat atop a barrel, sipping at a tankard of what smelt like rum.

  Clemency led the way down a narrow passage, halting at a thick door through which the muted sounds of conversation and laughter could be heard. Pushing it open, she stood aside for Mercia to enter, bowing in imitation of a courtier of old. They passed through into an intimate room where several other people turned to look at the new entrants. Mercia felt herself reddening, but Clemency strode forward unabashed.

  ‘Two glasses of sack, Hugh, and no excuses like last time. I know you have the good stuff, I saw it being delivered myself!’ To a drunken roar of approval she took a seat at a round table, waving Mercia over to join her. At the other end of the room Nicholas was sitting with two strange men, a collection of empty tankards cluttering their larger bench. Grinning, he raised another mug, calling out a greeting. She nodded, more curtly than she intended, and he broke off his gaze.

  ‘Those eyes,’ said Clemency, fixing Mercia with an inquisitive look as she brushed out the back of her dress.

  Removing her hood, Mercia fiddled with her topknot. ‘I had not noticed.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘He is my manservant.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  Lightly embarrassed, Mercia was glad when the proprietor came over with the drinks.

  ‘Who’s this?’ he asked.

  ‘This, Hugh, is my new friend. She has come all t
he way from England.’

  ‘From England?’ He glanced sideways at Mercia. ‘Well, Clemency, as you say, your friend.’

  Clemency shook her head as he walked back to his seat. ‘I am sorry about him. But suspicion seems to be a common trait round here at present.’

  Mercia pulled her chair closer to the table. ‘But not with you?’

  ‘Shall we say I am more willing to trust people until they prove themselves otherwise?’ She ran her finger round the rim of her glass. ‘With many it is the other way around.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Mercia took a sip of her sack and winced. ‘That has a powerful taste.’

  ‘Good, isn’t it?’ Clemency took a longer sip of her own. ‘Hugh gets it from a merchant friend in Boston.’

  Mercia took another drink, rolling it around her palate. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Nutty and sweet, as it should be.’ She set down the glass. ‘Talking of mistrust, I met Standfast Edwards this morning.’

  ‘So I heard. There is one who mistrusts by default, especially anything concerning heathen England.’ She smiled. ‘Mercia, you will tell me why you are here when you are ready to, but not now. I sense it is not an easy tale, and tonight I want you to enjoy your life.’ She called over to Hugh. ‘Two more!’

  ‘But I have hardly touched the first.’

  ‘No matter. We may as well order them across.’

  Mercia looked at Clemency, not knowing how she should feel about this forward woman she had only just met, who had brought her to a hidden, no doubt illegal, drinking den. But then Clemency smiled, her face a picture of genuine friendship, and she knew. She picked up her glass.

  ‘To New England,’ she pronounced.

  ‘To New England.’ Clemency chinked her glass against Mercia’s. ‘So who was the man in the coat? Careful!’

  Mercia set down her now drained glass. ‘That was Sir William Calde. He … well, I shouldn’t say.’

  Clemency sidled closer. ‘Now you have to.’