An Instance of the Fingerpost (48 page)

Collop heaved with a brief, private amusement for a moment. ‘That he is,’ he said eventually. ‘And I cannot help you, as we do not use his machines.’

‘I rather gained the impression he was crucial to the project.’

‘He is the sort of man to give himself airs of importance he does
not deserve. In fact, he is an investor only. Sir Samuel has some three hundred acres at Harland Wyte, which will be worth ten times its purchase when the land is drained. Of course, it is insignificant compared to My Lord’s interest, which is ninety thousand acres.’

I gasped in astonishment, which Collop observed with satisfaction.

‘Yes, it is a mighty undertaking. Some three hundred and sixty thousand acres in all. Barren land, which by the ingenuity of man and the grace of God will yield plenty. Already doing so, in fact.’

‘Not so barren, surely? What about the inhabitants already there? There are very many of those, I think.’

He shrugged. ‘Some, who scratch a living. But they are removed when necessary.’

‘It must be hugely expensive.’

‘That it is. And many men have put money into the venture, although the reward is so certain it presents little risk, except where villagers or landowners delay the work.’

‘So it is not certain, then?’

‘All problems can be overcome. If squatters object, they are ejected; if landowners refuse to co-operate, then ways are found round their objections. Some straightforward, others –’, here his eyes twinkled with amusement, ‘– others less straightforward.’

‘But surely no landowner objects?’

‘You’d be surprised. For all sorts of mean and ignorant reasons, people have put obstacles in our way for upwards of thirty years. But most are seen to now the Prestcott problem has been solved.’

My heart quickened at the words, and I was hard put not to make some exclamation. Fortunately, Collop was not an observant man and Kitty, seeing my shock, diverted him for full ten minutes with inconsequential court gossip.

‘But I interrupted you, dear sir,’ she said brightly after a while. ‘You were telling us about your battles. Who was the man you mentioned, Prestwick? Was that it?’

‘Prestcott,’ Collop corrected her. ‘Sir James Prestcott. A thorn in our side for years.’

‘He did not see the advantages of being rich, did he? Strange how some people require some convincing.’

Collop chuckled. ‘Oh, no. He knew the advantage of wealth. It was his jealousy that was the problem.’

Kitty looked enquiringly, and Collop was more than happy to oblige, little aware of how he was condemning himself and others with every filthy word he uttered.

‘He did not benefit as much from the division of land and feared the arrival of greater men than he in an area his family had dominated for generations. So he incited the local inhabitants to damage our works. We built dykes, the rabble came out at night and drove holes in them, flooding the land again. We brought cases against them and he, as a magistrate, found them all not guilty. It went on for years.

‘Then came all the troubles, and this Sir James went into exile. But the war also made the money dry up, and in any case, part of his land cut straight across the line of a river we needed to dig, and he would not sell it us. Without it, an entire river would have to be diverted, or some fifteen thousand acres abandoned.’

‘Surely then it would have been wise to offer more?’

‘He would not take it,’ Collop wagged his finger with a smirk on his face. ‘But then the goodness of the Lord shows itself,’ he said, ‘for what do we eventually discover when we are on the point of despair? That all the while good Sir James is in fact a traitor. My Lord’s cousin, Sir John Russell, had it from Sir Samuel Morland himself, and he provided all the information we needed to make Prestcott flee abroad once more. The trustee of his property was forced to sell up to avoid bankruptcy, and we had our river dug just where we wanted it.’

I could not bear even to look at his gross, smug face any longer, and was seriously afraid that, if I heard much more, I would run him through on the spot. A red haze spread over my eyes and my head spun with dizziness as I walked to the window. I could barely think, so powerful was the pain that gripped my head, and I felt the beads of sweat running down my forehead and on to my clothes as I fought for breath. To be forced to listen as this dirty man of no name encompassed the downfall of my father to gain a profit made my soul revolt. I had no appetite to exult in the fact that I was so much closer to my goal, for to find motives so mean and tawdry made me tremble with sorrow. Now, at least, I knew why Sir John Russell had refused even to cast eyes
on me at Tunbridge Wells; he could not have borne the shame and lived.

‘Are you not well, sir?’ I distantly heard Kitty anxiously enquiring, as she must have seen my face pale as I stood by the window trying to control myself. It was as if she spoke from a great distance; she had to repeat the words several times before I could attend to them.

‘Yes, thank you. It is a migraine, to which I am prone. I think it must be the city air, and the heat in your apartment. I am not used to it.’

Collop at least had the grace to offer instantly to withdraw. I heard the ceremonious and courteous way in which she thanked him for calling, and summoned the servant to show him out. It was some considerable time, I think – it could have been minutes but just as easily hours – before I was able to leave that window. She had, by then, produced a cold compress which she placed on my forehead, and a glass of chilled wine to restore my senses. She was, in fact, a naturally kind woman, one of the kindest I have known.

‘I must offer you my apologies,’ I said eventually. ‘I fear I must have caused you grave embarrassment.’

‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘You lie there until you feel able to move. I did not understand the import of the words entirely, but I could see they were a grave shock to you.’

‘That they were,’ I said. ‘Worse than I imagined. I should have known, of course, that something this mean was behind everything, but I have looked so long that its discovery took me entirely by surprise. I am not, it seems, a man for a real crisis.’

‘Would you like to tell me?’ she said as she bathed my forehead once more. She was close to me, and her perfume no longer repelled me, but had the precise opposite effect; the warmth of her bosom against my arm similarly excited hidden feelings deep inside me. I held her hand as it rested on my chest and drew it close, but before I could make my desires known further, she stood up and walked back to her seat, giving me a sad, and I think regretful, smile.

‘You have had a shock,’ she said. ‘It would be best not to follow it up with a mistake. I think you have more than enough powerful enemies already without seeking to make new ones.’

She was right, of course, although I could have answered that
with so many, one more would make little difference. But she was not willing; that would have made no difference with the Kitty I originally knew, but I was as under the spell of the times as much as anyone. Despite everything, I could not but treat her as a woman of standing, and so desisted, even though to continue would have brought much-needed release.

‘So? Are you going to explain why you turned so pale?’

I hesitated, then shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘This goes too deep. It is not that I do not wish to confide in you, but I am anxious lest anything be known of my progress. I do not wish to forewarn anyone. But please tell your Lord of my gratitude, and my intention to act on his words speedily.’

She agreed to this, and reined in her curiosity with dignity. For my part, my business was done, and I prepared to leave. Again and again, I thanked her for her kindness and her usefulness, and wished her well in her fortune. She kissed me lightly on the cheek on our parting, the first time, I believe, a woman had ever done such a thing to me, for my mother never touched me at all.

THE JOURNEY BACK
to Oxford gave me time to consider everything I had heard and learned, although the malevolence which had dogged me for so long continued to swirl all around. The horses slipped their harness and had to be recovered by the coachman; a sudden and unlikely storm blew up out of nowhere and turned the road into a sea of mud; most frightening of all, a huge crow flew into the carriage when one of the passengers lifted the blind, and fluttered around in panic, pecking and beating its wings against us – myself most of all – before being strangled and its corpse hurled out again. It was not only myself who saw these mishaps as more than mere accident; a minister also travelling to Oxford was similarly concerned, and even remarked how the ancients viewed such birds as evil portents, and the emissaries of malevolent spirits. I did not tell him he was nearer the truth than he knew.

This reminder of the darkness to which I was returning weighed on my mind, but I put it from me enough to turn over again and again the catalogue of misdeeds that my enquiries had brought to light. By the time I arrived in Oxford it was all laid out and the case was as clear and lucid as any presented in a court of law. A fine speech, it would have been, although I never had cause to deliver it. I fear that I was a source of some consternation in the coach as we lumbered towards Oxford, for I became so involved in my thoughts that I must have talked aloud on several occasions, and made dramatic gestures with my arms to emphasise the points I was making to myself.

But for all the bravado of my mind, I knew that I was not yet finished. A perfect argument, flawless in its conception and its development, leading towards a conclusion that is unavoidable in its logical progression, is all very well in disputation, where power of structure will carry all before it. It is of less use in the courtroom,
whatever the rhetoricians say of their art. No; I needed testimony as well and, what was more, I needed it from someone who would match the standing of those gentlemen I would be accusing. I could hardly, after all, rely on Morland or Lord Mordaunt to speak truth, and Sir John Russell had made his partialities perfectly clear. Thurloe would not speak for me, and Dr Grove could do me little good.

Which meant I had to see Sir William Compton. He, I was still sure, was as upright and honest a man as could be, and the thought that my suspicions about him were certainly wrong came as the greatest relief. It would have been impossible to persuade him to act dishonourably, and I was certain he consented to the sale of my lands only when he was convinced my father’s sin was so great that no further consideration need be given my family. To consider yourself betrayed by a man you called friend, this would have been a bitter blow indeed. And if he believed my father, his closest comrade, a traitor, then others would as well: that surely, was why he was chosen to disseminate the information.

I could not go to see him directly as the weather was so bad the roads were all but impassable and, in any case, my obligations at the university were pressing. I had missed much of the term, and was forced to make amends like a snivelling schoolboy before I could go off once more. Not much was required other than my presence, but there was little I could do about it. And a week or two of quiet reflection was no bad thing, I think, even though at the time my fiery temperament naturally wanted to bring the matter to an end as soon as possible.

My few friends, by this stage, were abandoning me, so preoccupied were they by their own petty affairs. It grieved me greatly, and saddest of all was the distraction of Thomas, who, when I called on him, neither asked me how I was nor how my quest was progressing. I was barely in the room before he launched into bitter complaints, revealing such a violence of soul that the ultimate outcome should not have surprised me as much as it did.

In short, it was becoming clear to him that his claims on the living were to be shunted aside in favour of Dr Grove. The times were changing faster than he had reckoned. The new laws on conformity which the government had introduced made almost any deviation
from the steady orthodoxy of the Anglican Church punishable. Independents, Presbyterians, everyone but virtual Catholics (in my friend’s opinion) were to be crushed and starved, denied any possibility of preferment.

Personally, I welcomed such legislation as long overdue. The sectaries had done well under Cromwell and I could see no reason why they should be allowed to continue in prosperity now. For twenty years or more we had endured these arrogant presumptives, who had expelled and tormented those who disagreed with them while they had the power to do so; why should they now complain when such power was turned with just vengeance on themselves?

Thomas did not see the matter in such a way, of course. In his opinion, the health of the land depended on his gaining eighty pounds a year and the state of marital bliss this would bring in its train. He could not see the danger he posed, and the more it seemed his ambition would be denied him, the more it fed his antagonism towards Dr Grove, subtly metamorphosing it from disagreement, to dislike and, ultimately to a burning and violent hatred.

‘It is the college,’ he said, ‘and in particular the warden. They are so cautious; so determined not to give offence or attract the least degree of criticism from anyone that they are prepared to subsume the interests of the parish and install a man such as Grove.’

‘Are you sure of this?’ I asked. ‘Has the warden actually said so to you?’

‘He does not need to,’ Thomas said in disgust. ‘Indeed, he is too crafty a man ever to say anything direcdy at all.’

‘Perhaps the matter is beyond his control,’ I suggested. ‘The living is not in the warden’s gift.’

‘His influence will be decisive. Lord Maynard has asked the college’s opinion before he bestows the parish on someone, and that opinion will be communicated through the warden,’ Thomas said. ‘Lord Maynard is coming to the college soon and we must all dine together, then the Senior Fellows will give their verdict. Jack,’ he said desperately, ‘I do not know what to do. I have no other possible patron. I am not like Grove, who could count on the favour of many a great family, if he would but ask.’