An Instance of the Fingerpost (36 page)

Anyway, I was walking down by the castle a few evenings later when I heard a lot of noise and the sound of running feet. For once, it seemed the magistrate had decided to do something. There were sectaries everywhere, jumping out of windows, running this way and that, like ants bestirred in their nest. Never let these people tell you, incidentally, that they sit still and sing psalms when arrested. They are as frightened as anyone.

I stood and watched the sport with merriment until I saw, with great surprise, my friend Thomas all but falling out of the window of Tidmarsh’s house, and running up an alleyway.

Instantly, as any friend would, I gave chase. Of all the stupid people, I thought, he was perhaps the stupidest. Here he was, risking his future by indulging his ridiculous piety at the very moment when absolute and total conformity was required.

He was no sportsman, and I caught up with him without any trouble. He almost fainted, poor soul, when I grabbed him by the shoulder and brought him to a halt.

‘What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’

‘Jack!’ he said with the most profound relief. ‘Thank God. I thought it was the watch.’

‘And so it should be. You must be mad.’

‘No. I . . .’

The explanation for his absurdity was cut short, however, for two men of the watch now hove into view. We were in an alley, and running would not get us out of trouble. ‘Keep quiet, lean on my shoulder and leave it to me,’ I whispered as they approached.

‘Good evening, sirs,’ I cried, slurring my words like one very much drunker than I was.

‘And what are you two doing?’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Missed the curfew again, have we?’

‘Students, are you? Colleges, please?’ He peered at Thomas, whose impression of being drunk was sadly lacking. Had he just a little experience of inebriation he might have done better.

‘Where have you been for the last two hours?’

‘In the tavern with me,’ I said.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘How dare you doubt my word?’ I replied stoutly. ‘Where do you think we were?’

‘Attending an illegal assembly.’

‘You must be joking,’ I said with a fine demonstration of merriment at the absurdity of the idea. ‘Do I look like a fanatic? We may be drunk, but it is not with the word of God, I’m glad to say.’

‘I meant him.’ He pointed at an ever-paler Thomas.

‘Him?’ I cried. ‘Oh, dear me no. Ecstasy has been his tonight, but very far from divine. I’m sure the lady concerned would vouch for his devotion, though. Don’t let the clerical air fool you.’

Thomas blushed at my words, and fortunately this was interpreted as shame.

‘I, for my part, have been playing cards, with some considerable success.’

‘Really.’

‘Yes. And I am in a splendid mood; I wish to share my good fortune with all the world. Here, sir. Have this shilling and drink my health.’

He took the coin, looked at it for a fraction of a second, and then greed overcame duty. ‘And if you are chasing Quakers,’ I continued happily once it was tucked away in his pocket, ‘I saw
two gloomy types running up the street over there not three minutes ago.’

He looked at me and grinned, showing his gaping gums. ‘Thank you, young sir. But the curfew is on. If you’re still here when I get back . . .’

‘Have no fear. Now run quickly, or you will miss them.’

I breathed an enormous sigh of relief as they ran off, then turned to Thomas, who showed distinct signs of being sick.

‘That’s a shilling you owe me,’ I said. ‘Now, let’s get out of here.’

We walked back in silence to New College; I needed to talk to him but could not possibly do so in my own lodging, crammed in as I was with my tutor – who, I imagined, was already in bed. Thomas, however, being now a senior member of a wealthy college, had the freedom to come and go without bothering about the curfews which plagued my life. Small and poky though his room was, he did not have to share it with his students – a luxurious innovation which caused much comment when introduced.

‘You must be out of your mind, my friend,’ I said vehemently when the door was closed. ‘What on earth were you doing? Indulge your sentiments in private if you must; but to advertise them and risk jail when you are trying to secure yourself a living and a wife is madness.’

‘I was not . . .’

‘No, of course not. You just happened to be amongst that band of Quakers not knowing who they were, and climbed out of the window and ran away for the exercise.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘I was there deliberately. But for a good reason.’

‘No reason is good enough for that.’

‘I went to talk to someone. Win their confidence.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I fear I may not get my parish after all.’

‘You certainly won’t if you behave like this.’

‘Will you listen to me?’ he pleaded. ‘Grove is pressing his case and is winning over several members of the Fellowship whom I assumed were on my side. And now he is talking to the warden.’

‘What can he say?’

‘Simple. That he is old and a bachelor, while I will undoubtedly
marry and have a family. His needs, in contrast, are simple, and he will hand over a third of the annual revenue from the living to the college.’

‘Can he do that?’

‘If he gets it, he can do whatever he wants; it’s his money. He is calculating that it is better to have two-thirds of eighty pounds a year than none of it. And Woodward is very mindful of college funds.’

‘And you can’t match the offer?’

‘Of course I can’t,’ he said with bitterness. ‘I wish to marry. The girl’s father is only just willing to support the match if I have the full amount. What would your reaction be if I went along and said I’d given a third away?’

‘Find another wife,’ I suggested.

‘Jack, I like her. She is a good match, and that living is mine.’

‘I see your problem. But not what it has to do with climbing out of windows.’

‘Grove is unsuitable to be in charge of a flock. He will bring scandal on to the Church, and drag its good name in the dirt. I know this well, but as long as he was kept away from a living it was not my affair.’

‘I’m still not following you.’

‘He is a lecher. I’m sure of it. He engages in illicit concourse with that servant of his, to the shame of the college and the Church. It is a disgrace. If his perfidy is proven, then the college will not risk its reputation by giving him a parish. I was trying to discover the truth.’

‘At a meeting of Quakers?’ I said incredulously. The story was getting worse and worse.

‘This servant attends sometimes, and is said to be important to them, in fact,’ he said. ‘She has a great reputation amongst them for reasons I do not understand. I thought if I attended, I could win her confidence . . .’

I’m afraid that here I burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Thomas, my dear friend. Only you could try and seduce a girl on your knees.’

He blushed scarlet. ‘I was not trying to do anything of the sort.’

‘No, of course not. Who is this creature, anyway?’

‘A girl called Blundy. Sarah Blundy.’

‘I know her,’ I said. ‘I thought she was quite a good girl.’

‘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.

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?’