A Crowning Mercy (27 page)

London, a city sympathetic to Parliament, filled with Puritans of all descriptions, seemed ungrateful for this decision. Parliament declared that on Christmas Day businesses were to be open as usual, shops selling what little there was to be sold, watermen plying for hire where the encroaching ice allowed. Parliament ordered in vain. Christmas could not be abolished so easily, not even with the passionate pleading of the Scottish ministers who had brought the light of truth from their cold homeland. London insisted on its Christmas, pagan or not, but the celebration was half-hearted, the gaiety subdued. The Presbyterians stolidly ignored the lawbreaking and consoled themselves that godliness would come in time.

Sir Grenville Cony, in public, espoused the Presbyterian faith. Most members of the House of Commons now did, but Sir Grenville would not allow political Presbyterian-ism to affect his celebration of Christmas. On Christmas Day itself, once he had made an obligatory appearance at Westminster, and scowled at the evidence of shuttered shops and open ale-houses, Sir Grenville went back to his house on the Strand where a huge fire roared in the great marble fireplace beneath the unshuttered picture of the naked Narcissus. Sir Grenville had secured a swan, that was even now being roasted, but he began his Christmas feast with goose and pork. He gorged himself throughout the afternoon, washing the delicacies down with his favourite claret, and not once did his stomach protest. Even when he was forced to loosen the top of his breeches, fumbling with the laces that joined them to his coat, his stomach was free of pain. He could feel great bubbles of air moving upwards, erupting in his throat, but that was usual and there was no pain. He rubbed his hands with glee as the roasted swan, filled with a forcemeat stuffing, was brought to his fireside table. 'My dear Ebenezer, let me carve for you. Pour yourself wine! Please! More!'

Life was good for Sir Grenville again. He had weathered the storms of autumn, and now he could see the end of the struggle. The Covenant would be his. He lifted slices of swan breast on to Ebenezer's plate. 'There are turnips on your left, dear boy, and giblet gravy. Do cut the new loaf. A wing? You're sure?'

They ate for a moment in companionable silence. Ebenezer would have been as unrecognizable to his sister as she would have been to him. He had aged for a start, his darkly shadowed face seeming to possess a bitter wisdom far beyond his few years. His hair was longer too, swept back in a great wave to fall at the nape of his neck. It gave him a predatory look, a look enhanced by eyes that seemed to glitter with an inner fire.

He was crippled still and would always be so, yet now he had found the power that was within him, a power that gave him mastery over the whole-bodied. He was dressed, not in black, but in ecclesiastical purple, and he would have liked the thought that his clothes were the colour of religious vestments. He, like his sister, was happy, though where his sister had found happiness in love and generosity, Ebenezer had found it in darker, bloodier pathways. He had harnessed his religion to pain and he had discovered, thanks to Sir Grenville Cony's influence, a vocation.

In the name of God, and in the service and employ of Parliament's Committee of Safety, Ebenezer tortured the truth from those suspected of disloyalty. The screams of women torn on the rack, the moans of those who fainted as the iron boot was screwed tight on their feet, crushing all the bones, those sounds were joy to Ebenezer. He used the blade, the fire, the pulley, the hooks, the needles, the pincers of his profession, and in the infliction of pain he had discovered a freedom. He was above the law, man's law or God's law, and he knew himself to be a special person, unfettered by the moral constraints he would impose on others. He was different, he had always been different, but now Ebenezer knew himself to be superior. Yet he still acknowledged one master: Sir Grenville Cony.

Sir Grenville sucked on a bone, then tossed it into the fire. 'Barnegat was right,' he chuckled. Barnegat was Sir Grenville's astrologer and he had forecast good news at Christmas. Sir Grenville ladled more gravy on to his plate. 'You were right about that priest. I'm glad we helped him. What's he like?'

Ebenezer had finished his meal. He leaned back, his dark eyes giving no hint of his thoughts. 'Ambitious. He feels cheated.'

Sir Grenville grunted. 'You're describing half of Parliament. Can he be trusted?'

'Yes.'

There had been a strange pair of visitors to Sir Grenville's house that Christmas morning. The Reverend Faithful Unto Death Hervey and Goodwife Baggerlie had stood, cold and tired, in the alley porchway. Sir Grenville had been at Westminster, but Ebenezer had received them, listened to their tale, and then sent them to lodgings in St Giles. Ebenezer had then greeted Sir Grenville with the glad tidings of great joy.

Sir Grenville had savoured the news all afternoon. It had wiped out his pain, it had given him comfort. He still savoured it. 'Why did the woman come?'

Ebenezer shrugged, sipped his wine. 'She hates Dorcas. Hervey wanted her to show him where you lived.'

'Does she want twenty pounds as well?'

'No.' Ebenezer put his wine glass carefully on the table. He was precise in all his movements. 'I suspect Goodwife knows there's small future with Samuel Scammell.'

Sir Grenville laughed. 'Sensible Goodwife. Mind you, she'd have saved us all a deal of trouble if she'd been able to tell us who that bastard was who took the girl. Still, it's no matter now.' He smiled.

Sir Grenville knew he had been fortunate. Just four months before, he had known real fear. Lopez was in Amsterdam, the girl vanished, but his fears had been groundless. The Jew, it seemed, was in Amsterdam merely to be closer to the war in England. Doubtless, Sir Grenville reflected, Mordecai Lopez had money with both sides, though Sir Grenville had only heard of money lent to the King. Lopez had done nothing that suggested he knew of Matthew Slythe's death, and the girl, evidently, had not attempted to reach Lopez. Sir Grenville would call his watchdogs back from Holland the next day.

He pushed his plate away, belched quietly and smiled at Ebenezer. 'Shall we move to the window?'

They sat staring at the Thames. It was almost dark. A single boat, a lantern at its prow, was rowed upstream. It was hard work for the oarsman because the current was compressed by the ice on both banks. Soon, Cony knew, there would be no boats on the river till the ice loosened its grip. He would have to put more guards into the garden, for the frozen Thames would give easy access to his property.

There were grapes on the low table between them and almonds from Jordan wrapped in sweet French marzipan. Sir Grenville's office had been transformed into a room fit for this feast, and the day's news had made the feast perfect. Sir Grenville bit an almond in half and smiled. 'We have been lucky, Ebenezer, we have indeed been lucky.'

'We have.' The unsmiling, thin face nodded gravely.

The girl was at Lazen Castle. The priest, Ebenezer said, had been utterly certain, certain enough to brave the winter roads to London. Sir Grenville chuckled, his bulging, frog-like eyes surrounded by happy crinkles. 'And she was wearing the seal!'

'She was wearing a golden cylinder on a chain of gold,' Ebenezer corrected his master pedantically.

Sir Grenville's spirits were rising higher. He seemed to giggle in his pleasure, a strange sound, and then he poured more wine for himself. Ebenezer's glass rarely needed filling. Sir Grenville drank.

'Lazen Castle. Lazen Castle. We have been luckier than you know, Ebenezer.'

Ebenezer said nothing, just watched the small, grossly fat man. The flap of Sir Grenville's breeches lay on his thighs, the cloth greasy from fat dripped from the roast meats. Sir Grenville looked at Ebenezer. 'They're going to fortify Lazen, so my man in Oxford tells me.'

Ebenezer frowned. 'Shouldn't we take her before they do?'

'No, Ebenezer, no!' Sir Grenville seemed filled with delight. 'It would be difficult at the best of times to snatch her from that house, but I think a word from Sir Grenville Cony would send troops against it. We shall besiege it, we shall take it, and we shall take her. And much more besides.' He laughed, pouring more wine. 'Do you know the castle?'

'No.'

'It's very fine, very fine.' Sir Grenville nodded happily. 'Half of it goes back to Elizabeth, and there's a splendid modern wing designed by Lyminge. I'm told the plasterwork in the long gallery is quite exquisite. There's a good acreage of forest, over a thousand in plough and twice that in sheep.' He laughed silently, his shoulders heaving. When he spoke his voice was curiously gleeful, like that of a small, naughty boy. 'I think the County Committee for Sequestration would look happily on awarding the property to me, don't you think?'

Ebenezer gave one of his rare smiles. He knew that Sir Grenville, using his position on the Parliamentary Committee that oversaw the fate of captured enemy property, was amassing land for himself throughout southern England. 'Who owns it now?'

'Sir George Lazender. A painfully honest man. He has a formidable wife. Sir George has seen fit to join our enemies, Ebenezer, so I think we can punish him with a clean conscience.'

'Amen.'

'And amen. And he has a son, I can't remember the boy's name. I presume that is why your dear sister is there?'

Ebenezer shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'Not that it matters, so long as she is there.'

He laughed as he heaved himself out of his chair, holding his unlaced breeches with one hand while, with the other, he unlocked and opened a great iron chest. He took from it a piece of paper which he presented, with a flourish, to Ebenezer. 'Do the needful, dear boy.'

Ebenezer took the paper, holding it in his fastidious way as if it might infect him. It was the marriage certificate of Samuel Scammell and Dorcas Slythe, signed by James Bollsbie, Clerk in Holy Orders. Ebenezer looked at Sir Grenville. 'You're sure?'

'I am sure, dear boy, I am certain, I am filled with certainty and with sureness. Proceed!'

Ebenezer shrugged, then held the brittle, browned paper into the flame of the closest candle. The certificate flared up, curled, burned, and Ebenezer dropped it on to a silver plate where the flames died. Sir Grenville, chuckling, leaned over and pounded the ash into unrecognisable powder.

'Your sister has just been given her divorce.' He sat down again.

'Will you tell her?'

'Dear me, no. Nor him! Nor the world! They must think themselves married to the end of time itself, till eternity is old. Just you and I know, Ebenezer, just you and I. So!' He pointed with a blackened finger to the ash. 'Your sister is no longer married to Brother Scammell, so who now is the guardian of the seal?'

Ebenezer smiled again, but said nothing.

'You are, Ebenezer, you are. Congratulations, you have become rich.'

Ebenezer raised his glass and sipped. He drank little, preferring to face the world sober.

Sir Grenville moulded marzipans and almonds into a ball. 'And your father's will, moreover, says that if your sister should be so unfortunate as to die before she is twenty-five and without children, then the monies of the Covenant must be used for the spreading of the gospel. I think we could spread the gospel most effectively, don't you, Ebenezer?'

Ebenezer Slythe smiled, nodded. 'What about Scammell?'

'You tell me, dear boy.' The lawyer's bulging eyes watched Ebenezer closely.

Ebenezer steepled his fingers. 'He serves no purpose for you any more, if he ever did. He's an inconvenient witness to a marriage you don't now want. I think it is time Brother Scammell crossed the River Jordan.'

Sir Grenville laughed. 'Indeed. Let him await the resurrection in the peace of his grave.'

In the last of the daylight a great raft of yellow-grey ice lurched in the river, lodged against more ice, then came to rest. The unfrozen stream, black in the near darkness, foamed briefly white, then settled. Far off Sir Grenville could see dim splinters of light from the miserable hamlet at Lambeth. 'So, Brother Scammell must die, but at whose hand?'

The dark eyes showed no emotion. 'Mine?'

'It would be a kindness to me, dear boy. There is, unfortunately, another witness to this now inconvenient marriage.'

Ebenezer shrugged. 'Goodwife will say nothing.'

'I do not mean Goodwife.'

'Ah.' There was a flicker of a smile on Ebenezer's face. 'Dear Dorcas.'

'Dear Dorcas, who will be most inconvenient should she live to be twenty-five.'

Ebenezer stretched out his legs, the one long and thin, the other twisted and bent inwards beneath his full-length purple robe. 'It would also be inconvenient, surely, if your name or mine were connected with her death. You tell me Lopez could still be a nuisance.'

'So?'

Ebenezer again smiled, a smile of satisfaction, of cleverness. 'We never spoke of the priest's reward.'

'The Reverend Faithful Unto Death Hervey? He wants more than his twenty pounds?'

'Maybe he's deserved it. He did not, after all, tell Scammell. He told no one, except Goodwife, and he needed her to reach you quickly.'

'What does he want?'

'Fame.'

Sir Grenville gave a short, braying laugh. 'Is that all? That's easy. I'll have him in St Paul's Preaching House this Sabbath, and every Sabbath if he wants.'

'No.' Ebenezer contradicted Sir Grenville without embarrassment. His self-assurance, since he had come to this house, was extraordinary. 'He has his own ideas about fame.' He told Sir Grenville quickly, concisely, seeing the pleasure on the older man's face.

Sir Grenville thought about it, staring at the dark window in which the room's candles were now reflected. He smiled. 'So the courts will finish her off?'

'Yes. And there'll be no blame attached to us.'

'You could even plead for her, Ebenezer.'

The thin, ascetic face nodded. 'I will.'

'While Faithful Unto Death -- what an apposite name -- will make sure she dances on a rope.'

'Or worse.'

'How very fitting it all is.' Sir Grenville rubbed plump hands together. 'You'll have to go to Lazen, Ebenezer. I'll make sure the Committee of Safety releases you from your services.' Ebenezer acknowledged the order with a grave nod. Sir Grenville, despite the drink in him, was thinking clearly. 'Take the priest, and I'll make sure Scammell is there. Let me know when it's about to fall, I'll come down.'