An Instance of the Fingerpost (72 page)

‘I have no reason to believe that is an accurate test of such matters,’ he said.

‘Nor I. But it is a recommended procedure in such matters, and has been employed for generations. Many of the finest lawyers admit it as a useful part of examination. Should some prodigious eruption of blood occur from the corpse when Cola approaches it, then we will know of it. If not, then his name is half-cleansed of stain already. But do not let him know he has been tested in such a fashion.’

IT IS NOT
my intention to repeat what others have said, nor to retell stories which I did not myself witness. Everything I say comes from my direct encounter, or from the testimony of men of unimpeachable character. As Cola was unaware of the suspicion in which he was already held, he had no reason to distort his account of that evening when he, Lower and Locke cut up Dr Grove in Warden Woodward’s kitchen. For that reason, I understand the account he gives of it is largely truthful.

Lower reported to me that he had arranged for Cola to stand alone by the naked corpse before any incision had been made into the flesh, and seen well that the soul of Grove had not called out for vengeance, nor accused his murderer of the deed. Whether this means such examinations are in fact of no merit, or whether proper prayers must be offered, or whether (as some say) the test must take place on consecrated ground to work, I do not presume to speculate. For a while at least, Lower had the suspicions of the man he thought his friend lifted from his shoulders, and I had the leisure to pursue my thoughts and conduct my first examination of the Blundy girl.

I summoned her to my room the following afternoon on the pretext of wishing to interview her for a post in my household, for the builders, wretched idlers though they were, were at last coming to the end of their labours and there was every prospect I might once again have a home to call my own. Having risen in state somewhat in the previous year, I had decided that I would have four servants, not three as before, and give in to my wife’s ceaseless importuning by giving her a girl of her own. The prospect filled me with sadness, for I was having at the same time to consider finding a replacement for Matthew, and the weight of his loss bore the more heavily on me by contemplating the dirty, illiterate, stupid wretches who presented
themselves, and who were no more fit to clean his shoes than to fill them.

Not that I would ever have considered Sarah Blundy for any post, although in all matters of outward show I could have done a great deal worse. I am not one of those men who might allow a good Christian wife to have some French strumpet to comb her hair. A sober, hard-working girl of sense and piety is required instead, clean in her habits and unslovenly of behaviour. Such girls are hard to find and, with different antecedents and beliefs, Sarah Blundy would have been in all respects admirable.

I had not encountered her directly before, and I noted with interest the dignified subservience of her entry, the modesty of her address and the sense of her words. Even Cola, I recall, comments on these very same qualities. But the impertinence that he also detected was not hidden for long, for the moment I told her frankly that I had no intention of giving her a position, she raised her jaw and her eyes flashed with defiance.

‘You have wasted my time in summoning me here, then,’ she said.

‘Your time is there to be wasted, if that is what I choose to do with it. I will have no insolence from you. You will answer my questions, or face serious trouble. I know well who you are, and where you are from.’

Her life, I must say here, was no concern of mine. Had she foisted herself off on some unsuspecting man, who was ignorant of what she was, her good fortune would not have grieved me greatly. But I knew no man would willingly take her if her past was known, for to do so would expose him to public contempt. Through this, I could force her to comply.

‘You have, I believe, recently acquired the services of an Italian physician for your mother. A man of great standing, and high dignity in his profession. Might I ask by what means you pay for this?’

She flushed and hung her head at the accusation.

‘Remarkable, is it not, that such generosity should be offered? Few English physicians, I am sure, would be so carefree of their time and skills.’

‘Mr Cola is a good, kind gentleman,’ she said, ‘who does not think of payment.’

‘I’m sure not.’

‘It is true,’ she said, with more spirit. ‘I told him frankly I could not pay him.’

‘Not in money, anyway. And yet he labours on your mother’s behalf anyway.’

‘I think of him only as a good Christian.’

‘He is a papist.’

‘Good Christians can be found everywhere. I know many in the Church of England, sir, more cruel and ungenerous than he.’

‘Mind your tongue. I do not want your opinions. What is his interest in you? And your mother?’

‘I know of none. He wishes to make my mother better. I care to know no more than that. Yesterday he and Dr Lower conducted a strange and wonderful treatment, which cost them great trouble.’

‘And has it worked?’

‘My mother is still alive, praise be, and I pray she will improve.’

‘Amen. But to return to my question, and this time do not try to evade. To whom have you delivered messages on his behalf? I know your connections with the garrison at Abingdon, and with the conventicles. To whom have you gone? With messages? Letters? Someone must take his communications, for he sends none in the post.’

She shook her head. ‘No one.’

‘Do not make me angry.’

‘I do not wish to. I am telling you the truth.’

‘You deny you went to Abingdon . . .’ I consulted my notebook, ‘last Wednesday, the Friday before that, the Monday before that? That you walked to Burford and stayed there the Tuesday? That you have met Tidmarsh as part of his conventicle even in this town?’

She did not reply; and I could see my knowledge of her was a shock.

‘What were you doing? What messages were you delivering? Who did you see?’

‘No one.’

‘Two weeks ago, an Irishman called Greatorex also visited you. What did he want?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Do you take me for a fool?’

‘I do not take you for anything.’

I hit her for that for, though a tolerant man, I will not accept more than a certain degree of insolence. Once she had wiped the blood from her mouth, she seemed more subdued; but still she gave me nothing.

‘I have delivered no messages for Mr Cola. He has said little to me, and less to my mother,’ she whispered. ‘He talked to her a great deal on one occasion; that was when he sent me to buy him drugs from the apothecary. I do not know what they said.’

‘You must find out.’

‘Why should I so?’

‘Because I tell you.’ I paused and realised that appealing to her better nature was fruitless, so took some coins from my desk and placed them before her. She looked at them with astonishment and disdain, then pushed them back.

‘I have told you. There is nothing.’ But her voice was weak, and her head bowed as she spoke.

‘Go away now, and think well on what you say. I know you are lying to me. I will give you one further chance to tell me the truth about this man. Otherwise you will regret your silence. And let me give you a warning. Mr Cola is a dangerous man. He has killed on many occasions in the past, and will do so again.’

Without further words she left. She did not take the money still in front of her, but gave me a look of burning hatred before she turned away. She was cowed, I knew that. Even so, I was not sure it was enough.

Reading through these words, I can see already that an ignorant would consider me harsh. I can hear the protests already. The necessary courtesies between high and low, and so on. To all of which I agree without reservation; gentlemen are indeed under an obligation to give
a daily demonstration that the positions in which God established us all are just and good. As with children, they should be chided with love, corrected with kindness, chastised with a firm regret.

The Blundys, however, were very different. There was no point in treating them with kindness when they had already thrown off any acknowledgement of their superiors. Both husband and wife had scorned the links which bind each to all, and accompanied this revolt against God’s manifest will with quotations from the Bible itself. All these Diggers and Levellers and Anabaptists thought they were shedding their chains with God’s blessing; they were instead severing the silken cords which kept men in harmony, and would have replaced them with shackles of thickest iron. In their stupidity they did not see what they were doing. I would have treated Sarah Blundy, and anyone, with kindness and respect: if it had been deserved, if it had been reciprocated, if it had not been dangerous so to do.

My frustrations at this stage were gigantic; when talking to Prestcott, I had the whole affair in the palm of my hand, but it had slipped away from me through my own foolishness. I admit also that I was anxious to preserve my own life as well, and was fearful that another attack would be launched against me. It was for this reason that I took the step of informing the magistrate that, in my opinion, Dr Robert Grove had been murdered.

He was aghast at the news, and perturbed at the implications of what I told him.

The warden has no suspicions of foul play, and would not thank me for telling you of mine,’ I continued. ‘None the less, it is my duty to inform you that in my opinion there is sufficient reason for suspicion. And it is therefore imperative that the body be not buried.’

Of course, it mattered not to me what happened to the body; the confrontation with Cola had already taken place and yielded no useful result. I was more concerned that Cola know his deed was being uncovered, bit by bit, and that he felt my opposition to his aims. With luck, I thought he might communicate with his masters to tell them of all that had transpired.

For a brief while I was on the verge of having the man arrested, as now that I had lost Prestcott I was concerned the matter might slip entirely out of my hands. I changed my mind because of Mr
Thurloe, who travelled into Oxford to see me shortly after. Cola has described the way he approached me at the play in his memoir and I have no intention of repeating it. The shock he noted on my face was well seen. I was astonished, not only because I had not seen Thurloe for near three years, but because I hardly recognised him.

How changed he was from his days of greatness! It was like meeting a total stranger who yet reminds you of a person once known. In appearance there was little obvious alteration, for he was the sort of man who looks old when young, and young when old. But his demeanour bore no trace of that power which he had held so firmly in his hands. While many had bitterly resented the loss of authority, Thurloe seemed like one glad to be rid of the burden, and content in his reduction to insignificance. The set of his head, his face and the expression of deep concern had passed from him so totally that, these small details altered, the whole had changed almost beyond recognition. When he approached me, I paused awhile before making my greeting; he smiled back quietly, as if seeing my confusion, and acknowledging the cause of it.

I do believe he had so firmly placed that period of his life behind him that, even had it been offered, he would have declined to take on any public office. He later told me that he spent his days in prayer and meditation, and counted that as of more worth than all his efforts for his country. He was largely unconcerned with the society of his fellow men and, as he made clear, did not like to be disturbed by those who sought to recall what was now irretrievably past.

‘I bring a message from your friend Mr Prestcott,’ he murmured in my ear. ‘Perhaps we might talk?’

Once the play was over I went straight home (I had moved back to my domestic comforts that afternoon) and awaited him. He was not long in coming and sat down with all the calm imperturbability that was his normal mode of conduct.

‘I understand your taste for power and influence has not been slaked, Dr Wallis,’ he said, ‘which does not surprise me in the slightest. I hear you have been questioning this young man, and have enough influence to have him pardoned if you so desire. You are attached to Mr Bennet now, I believe?’

I nodded.

‘What is your interest in Prestcott, and this Italian gentleman you ask him about?’ he asked.

Even the shadow of Thurloe’s authority still blinded more than full exposure to the powers of a man like Mr Bennet, and I say that it never occurred to me not to answer him, nor to point out that he had no right whatsoever to question me.

‘I am certain that there is a plot which might return this country to civil war.’

‘Of course there is,’ Thurloe said, in that calm way with which he greeted all matters, however serious. ‘When at any stage in the past few years has there not been? What is new about this one?’

‘What is new is that I believe it to be organised by the Spanish.’

‘And what is it to be this time? Massed attack by Fifth Monarchists? A sudden cannonade by rebellious guardsmen?’