Iain Pears - An Instance of the Fingerpost

“I will not fight him,” Sir William replied, more kindly this time, for he could see that his wife was concerned. “I acknowledge my inferiority in arms. Nor do I have the least doubt that my accusations are the absolute truth. Sir John Russell’s warning leaves no doubt of that at all. The letters, the documents, the notes of the meetings he had from Mor-land; I can confirm many of them from my own knowledge. I know his handwriting and I know his cipher.”

“Then the door shut, and I heard no more; but my lady spent the next few days in great distress, and Sir William was more than usually preoccupied. He left for London at the end of the week, in a most secret departure, and I imagined there communicated his suspicions and evidence to others in the king’s circle.”

I almost laughed as I heard this tale, for I remembered those times well. Sir William Compton had indeed left the house and galloped away one morning. The household had been somber indeed the previous few days, as though the body was taking a sickness from the head which rules it, and I remember again Sir William talking to me before he left and telling me that I must soon leave. It was time he said, to return to my own people, as I was old enough to attend to my duties. My childhood was now over.

Three days later, the day after Sir William rode away at dawn, I was put on a cart with all my belongings and sent to my uncle. I had not known anything of the storm that had been brewing under my very nose.

But the way I left Compton Wynyates is far from my story, and I must tell more of my meeting with Dr. Grove. On the matter I had called on him for, he refused to help. He would not perform an exorcism, for Blundy had reached into his soul ahead of me, and made his selfishness such that he was afraid to open himself to criticism at this most delicate moment of his career. Try as I might, I could not persuade him; all he would say was that, if I could provide him with better demonstration of the enchantment, then he would reconsider the matter. Until then, he would only offer that we might pray together. I did not wish to offend him, but I demurred at the prospect of spending an evening on my knees; besides, the news he had given me had galvanized my senses, and I was willing, for a while, to put all superlunary matters aside.

The important thing was that I now had a further connection in my chain of deceit, and I questioned the doctor closely on the matter. Documents he had off Morland via Sir John Russell. Which meant that Sir John had merely forwarded these materials from someone else. He was happy to spread the rumor, it seemed, but had not initiated it. Was that a fair inference? Dr. Grove said it sounded so, although he was sure that Russell had acted in good faith. But he could not help me further about the source. It was infuriating; one word from Russell would have saved me much trouble but I knew, from the way he had behaved in Tunbridge, that I would never hear that word from his lips. As I left Grove’s room in New College, I decided it was time to visit Mr. Wood.

In my haste and excitement, I had forgotten one important detail, and as the heavy studded door of Wood’s house in Merton Street was dragged open I remembered that Sarah Blundy was employed by the family. To my great relief, however, it was not the girl who opened, but Wood’s mother, who looked not at all pleased to see me, even though it was not late.

“Jack Prestcott’s compliments to Mr. Wood, and he would beg the indulgence of an interview,” I said. I could see she was half-minded to tell me to go away, and return only when an appointment was made, but she relented and instead gestured for me to enter. Wood came down to meet me a few moments later, also looking not best pleased. “Mr. Prest-cott,” he said when all the bowing was done, “I am surprised to see you. I wish I could have had more time to prepare for the honor.”

I ignored the rebuke, and told him that it was a matter of urgency. I was in town only for a short while. Wood grumbled like the fusspot he was, pretended that he had so many matters of import to deal with, then gave way and led me to his room.

“I am surprised not to see that Blundy girl here,” I said as we climbed back up the stairs. “She does work as a maid for you, does she not?”

Wood looked uncomfortable. “We discussed the matter,” he said, “and decided it would be best to dismiss her. Probably a sensible decision, and certainly the best for my family’s reputation. But I am not content with it, nonetheless. My mother was very partial to her. Remarkably so, in fact; I could never account for it.”

“Perhaps she was bewitched,” I said as lightly as possible. Wood gave me a look which indicated something of the same had passed through his mind.

“Perhaps,” he replied slowly. “Strange how we all end in thrall to our servants.”

“Some servants,” I said. “Some masters.”

A suspicious, furtive look showed he had seen the criticism but wished to deflect it. “You are not here to talk about the difficulty of hiring reliable maids, I think,” he said.

I told him of my problem, and something of my interview with Dr. Grove. “I know this evidence, presumably the same material Lord Mordaunt told me about, was made known to the world by Sir William. I now know he had them via Sir John Russell from someone called Morland. Now, who is Morland?”

“That, I think,” he said as he scurried around the room like a lost mole, searching through one pile of papers after another until he came onto the pile he needed, “that, I think is not a great mystery. I think this must be Samuel Morland.”

“And he is…?”

“He is now, I understand, Sir Samuel. Which is in itself quite remarkable, and gives much food for thought. He must have rendered a very signal service to be so favored, considering his past. Unmasking a traitor in the king’s ranks might well qualify.”

“Or passing forged documents which purported to do so.”

“Oh, indeed,” Wood said, nodding his head and snuffling. “Indeed, for Morland was noted for what you might call his pensmanship. He worked in Thurloe’s office for some time, I believe, and even tried to succeed him when Thurloe was thrown out in the last days of the Protectorate, if I remember the story properly. Then, I think, he threw in his lot with the Royalists. His timing was impeccable.”

“So the idea of forged documents does not strike you as being absurd.”

Wood shook his head. “Either your father was guilty, or he was not. If he was not then some device must have been employed to create the illusion of culpability. But the only way you will find out, I think, is to tackle Morland himself. He lives somewhere in London, I imagine. I was told by Mr. Boyle that he concerns himself with hydraulic engines for drainage schemes and suchlike. They are said to be most ingenious.”

I almost fell on my knees to thank the silly little man for the information, and had the grace to admit that Thomas had been correct in recommending him to me. As quickly as was decent, I left that house. The next morning, after a night made sleepless by my fevered excitement, I coached to London.

I had never been in a large metropolis before; Oxford was by far the grandest town I had ever entered. Most of my life had been spent either on country estates where the largest habitation was a village of a few hundred souls, or small market towns, such as Boston or Warwick, with populations of only a few thousand. London (so I am told, although I do not believe anyone knows for certain) contained then some half million people. It sprawled over the landscape like a vast, bleeding pustule on the face of the earth, sickening the land, and poisoning all who lived in it. I was at first fascinated, as I pulled up the leather to peer out of the coach window, but this amazement turned to disgust as I perceived the shocking meanness of life in such a place. I am not (as must be clear by now) much of a bookman, but there is a line in a poem which I was forced to construe by Dr. Grove in my youth, which has stuck with me. I do not recall the poet, but he was obviously a wise and sober man, for he said, “I cannot live in the city, for I have not learned to lie.” So it always will be; the honesty of the country man is at a disadvantage in the town, where duplicity is prized, and straightforwardness scorned, where all men look after only themselves, and generosity occasions only laughter.