D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

She rose without a word and we went out, across the stable yard and over the dew-drenched lawn.

‘You must not mind Master Stumgood’s manner,’ I said. ‘He is a scholar. That means he understands books better than people.’

‘He has his job to do,’ she replied expressionlessly.

‘I don’t want you to think he has taken the boys away from you but he is right that the time has come for them to learn things that you cannot teach them.’

She sighed. ‘Then there is nothing more I can do for them.’

‘That is not true. Boys are not like blank sheets of paper on which teachers simply print Latin texts and arithmetical sums.’

We were walking on the track that ran from the house to the south gate and had reached the little bridge crossing the stream from which we took our water. It was much swollen after the recent prolonged rains. It had overflowed its banks and tore resentfully at the bridge’s stonework, which forced it into a narrow channel. We paused to gaze down into the swirling current.

‘Carl and Henry need love. They think of you as their mother. Boys don’t stop needing mothers as they become men.’

‘Raffy has no mother.’

The words were spoken softly but they still stung. ‘I think he also is coming to think of you as a mother.’

‘Did he know his real mother?’

‘No, she died when he was born.’

‘Lizzie told me you were deeply upset by that.’

‘Lizzie says many things she shouldn’t. But, yes, I thought my world had come to an end. I convinced myself I would never know happiness again. That, of course, was foolish.’

Adie made no reply and for a while the only sound was the angry hiss of the surging water beneath us. At last she said, staring down into the water, ‘They’ll all three be grown up one day.’

‘Of course, and by then you’ll be married and have boys of your own to look after – and probably girls, too.’

At that moment her whole body heaved and sobs broke forth from deep inside her. She sagged against the parapet. I grabbed her arm to pull her away but she shook me off. ‘Go, go, go ,’ she cried. ‘Leave me alone!’

I ran back to the house and found Lizzie. ‘For God’s sake, go to Adie!’ I shouted. ‘She’s down by the bridge. I’m worried that-’ But Lizzie had already rushed from the room.

I followed as far as the stable yard gate. There I loitered for several minutes looking anxiously towards the trees that lined the stream. At last, to my intense relief, I saw the women coming back, Lizzie supporting Adie with an arm round her waist. Adie was brought indoors and taken to her bed. Ned went to her and later he and Lizzie came to find me in the parlour.

In answer to my enquiry, Ned said, ‘I have given her a tiny dose of tincture of opium. Generally I have little liking for it. It has come only recently into England and its efficacy is not proven. However, ’tis something I carry to relieve pain and induce sleep. I find it helps to calm sufferers and makes it easier to examine them in order to get to the root of their problems.’

‘And have you determined the root of Adie’s problem?’ I asked.

Lizzie scowled. ‘She fancies herself to be with child.’

‘And is she?’

‘’Tis too early to be certain but I don’t think so. In the whorehouse, it was always something the younger, inexperienced girls feared. That fear sometimes fired their imaginations.’

‘What matters at the moment,’ Ned said, ‘is what she believes, rather than what is the reality. I can apply all the usual tests and do my best to reassure her, but if she is convinced, nothing will dispel the fear until she fails to produce a baby. That, of course, will take several months.’

‘A curse on Black Harry and his lecherous rakehells! God grant we come face to face again!’

‘I’m almost inclined to say “Amen” to that,’ Ned responded,‘but, for now, we have Adie to think of.’

‘Can your nostrums keep her calm?’

Ned shook his head. ‘A long stupor can be very injurious and, in any case, it will not dispel her fears. Adie will have no peace until she faces her worries and conquers them. The Bible tells us fear is a demon that can only be cast out by love. The best cure we can administer is to show that we love and appreciate her.’

Lizzie agreed. ‘She is convinced that she is worthless. The children adore her and everyone else likes her but she cannot or will not see it.’

I said, ‘We must all keep a close watch on her. Meanwhile, I think it is time I wrote to her brother. I’ll see if he will come down to visit her. Perhaps we can discover things about her past that may help us to understand her better.’

The next morning it was almost with relief that I set out for Hadbourne to assist with the archbishop’s commission.

The hall had been cleared for the inquiry. A table stood on a raised dais at one end. It was covered by a Turkey carpet and a row of chairs was set behind it. High on the wall above and behind them two large images dominated the room. One was Archbishop Cranmer’s coat of arms. The other was a lifelike portrait of King Henry, who seemed to survey the proceedings with a fierce gaze. A bench set crosswise halfway down the hall marked off the area where those being .examined were to stand. It seemed that Legh had modelled his commission chamber on the royal courts at Westminster Hall, where only men of the law, called ‘benchers’, were permitted within the hallowed enclosure before the judge’s seat. Apart from these, all furniture had been removed. Guards in the archbishop’s livery stood at the doors and two more were stationed at either end of the commissioners’ table. Several men were already present when I entered, standing in small clusters. It was evident that they were going to have to remain standing until Legh dismissed them. A secretary was arranging papers on the table and indicated the place at one end where I was to sit. Minutes later Legh and his entourage entered and took their places. James was seated next to me and beside the chairman. The other half of the table was occupied by Ralph Morice, two other local JPs and the commission secretary.

Legh began the proceedings with a speech. ‘This is an archiepiscopal commission convened under royal charter for the examination of alleged irregularities concerning the preaching and teaching of certain parish clergy within the dioceses of Canterbury and Rochester. When your names are called you will be sworn to give true testimony. You will answer all questions put to you by members of the commission. Anyone we deem to be guilty of holding opinions contrary to those established by the laws of this realm will be sent to Canterbury for further examination by the archbishop’s court. The same will apply to anyone perjuring himself or attempting to conceal information from the commission. Those of you who preach or cause to be preached the true doctrine of the English Church by law established and who answer truthfully all questions put to them have absolutely nothing to fear from today’s proceedings.’

It immediately became obvious that Legh had skilfully arranged the order of business for maximum effect. The first to face the flight of verbal arrows was Peter Perks, vicar of Sandling Parva, a slight, elderly priest who was already sweating.

The chairman demanded sharply, ‘You were for many years sub-prior of the Benedictine house at Laxford, were you not?’

‘I was.’

‘Speak up, man! Don’t mumble!’

‘That is correct.’

‘You must have been pleased to be offered a benefice after the surrender of your house.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘And you were presented to that benefice by Prebendary Cooke of Canterbury Cathedral.’