Iain Pears - An Instance of the Fingerpost

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 labors 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 behavior. 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 labors on your mother’s behalf.”

“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 Abing-don, 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 realized 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.

Thinking about my deeds once more, 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 acknowledgment 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 by 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.