‘No, but we have come so far, it seems a pity not to make a last attempt, for we will never see him again – that much is certain.’
‘Good.’ She nodded once, decisive. ‘I approve your spirit. He keeps a private room reserved at the Swan, for the conduct of his business. We might ask for him there.’ As they set off across the square she took his arm. ‘But we must be careful, Christopher – he will insist on knowing all, and he is a man of driving temperament. Once he sets his heart upon a thing, there will be no stopping him.’
Standing beneath the inn sign, smoking their long clay pipes and drinking, was the same group of idlers who three days earlier had tried to get Fairfax lost. Now that they saw he was a priest, and with a lady on his arm, they swiftly uncovered their heads and cast their gaze respectfully to the ground. He disdained them.
Inside the bar, they were seized by a noisy, crowded, masculine embrace of sweat and beer, tobacco fug and sawdust. He detached himself from Sarah and shouldered his way to the bar. A man, his arms darkly emblazoned with tattoos – the Wessex dragon, the cross of St George, a winged angel, a skull – noted Fairfax’s clerical outfit with concern.
‘Afternoon, Father.’ He touched his forelock. ‘Is something amiss?’
‘Where might we find Captain Hancock?’
‘Along the passage, sir. Up the stairs, the first door on the left. Shall I show ye?’
‘No, we can find it.’ He beckoned to Sarah.
A brick-floored passage reeking of spilled ale, followed by a flight of twisting wooden steps, brought them to a dingy landing. Fairfax glanced at Sarah, then knocked.
‘Come!’
It was a small room – wood-panelled, cosy, with a leaded window looking out on to the square, a fire burning in the grate and candles lit upon the table. A pile of account books were stacked on the sideboard. Samples of undyed cloth were draped across an easy chair. From a hook on the back of the door hung the captain’s heavy overcoat. Hancock himself was seated in the bay window, his legs outstretched, his chin on his chest, brooding. He acknowledged them with the barest movement of his head.
‘Well look at this! If it ain’t the Electrifying Venus and her Adonis!’
Fairfax said, ‘I have apologised to Lady Durston, Captain, and I wish to do the same to you.’
Hancock snorted. ‘Very gracious, Parson, I’m sure!’
‘I had no foreknowledge of what would be asked of me.’
‘Maybe not, but ye went ahead with it all the same.’
Sarah said, ‘The fault is mine, John. Father Fairfax meant only to offer me support.’
‘But ye kissed him! How the devil could ye have allowed thyself to be made into such a public spectacle?’
‘It seemed harmless at the time.’ She shrugged. ‘It happened, and there it is: done. But if it’s so shaming you wish to be released from our agreement, I understand.’
Hancock stared at her, his jaw working as if he was grinding some invisible piece of gristle. Eventually he muttered, ‘I never mentioned ending our agreement. As ye say, it happened, it is over, and let us never speak of it again.’
An uncomfortable silence ensued. Fairfax was about to break it when Sarah Durston said, ‘May I ask you a question, John?’ She was looking round the room. ‘Have you been in this place all day?’
‘Since eight as usual. Fridays are when I sell my cloth.’ He grunted. ‘Why? D’ye disapprove of my using an inn for business?’
‘Not at all. It’s merely that there was a man behind us on the road from Addicott – this would have been close to noon.’
‘Well it was not me.’ He looked from her to Fairfax, frowning as he realised the implication. ‘Ye thought I followed ye to town?’
Fairfax said, ‘It seemed likely, as you arrived at the lecture directly after us.’
‘I went to the lecture because the subject interests me, not in pursuit of ye! I’m not such a jealous fool I wouldn’t allow my future wife out of my sight to spend an afternoon with a priest.’ Hancock pushed back his chair and stood. ‘Now listen to me. I’ve been mulling matters over. Something’s strange here. I knew Shadwell the moment I saw him. He’s the man who cried out at Lacy’s burial. So to my thinking, the question is not what I was doing there, but what were ye?’
He gathered up his lengths of cloth and gestured to the armchair. ‘Sit down, Sarah.’ She hesitated, still clutching her bag. He frowned at it. ‘What’s that? What’s the secret between ye?’
She glanced at Fairfax. He nodded. She laid the bag upon the table and extracted the glass cylinder.
After another suspicious glance at them both, Hancock took it from her and carried it over to the window to study it better. In his massive hands it seemed even more fragile, its survival over eight centuries a greater miracle than ever. He held it to the light in wonder. ‘How in God’s name was such a thing made? A glass spring inside a tube of glass? What purpose does it serve?’
‘It is a mystery,’ she replied. ‘That is why we went to Shadwell’s lecture – to show it to him afterwards for his opinion. He may be the only man in England who could tell us.’
‘Where did it come from?’
‘Henry found it years ago, buried near the Devil’s Chair.’
‘So this is what the pair of ye were discussing when I arrived at the Court yesterday?’
‘It was.’
‘Then why in God’s name did ye not tell me?’
‘That was at my request. I wished to keep it private.’
‘But why?’
There was a knock at the door. Hancock called out, ‘Wait!’ He gave the cylinder back to Sarah. As soon as she had replaced it in the bag, he shouted, ‘Come!’
The tattooed innkeeper entered with a tray. ‘Afternoon, Captain Hancock. I brought more for the lady and the father.’ He bowed to them, set the tray on the table and started to unload jugs and plates.
‘Leave it,’ Hancock ordered. He gave the man a handful of coins. As soon as the door had closed, he lifted the jug of gin and offered it to each of them in turn. When they refused, he poured himself a cup and took a swig. A crafty expression had come over his face. ‘Of course I know why it was ye didn’t want to tell me.’ He swilled the remainder of the gin around the cup. ‘It’s because the Devil’s Chair is where old Lacy took his tumble. Isn’t that the truth? And now I expect ye want my help.’ He finished the rest of his drink, wiped his mouth and grinned at them. ‘Let’s eat.’
He laid out the plates and cutlery himself and filled their cups – this time he would not take no for an answer – with much-watered gin for Sarah and ale for Fairfax. He pulled out their chairs and insisted they join him at the table. He heaped their plates with cold tongue and pickled artichokes and at the same time as he plied them with food he assailed them with questions. How many pieces of glassware had Colonel Durston discovered? Who else knew of them? How had Lacy come to hear about them?
Fairfax set down his knife and fork, and unbuttoned the top of his cassock, pulling out the small leather-bound volume. He took a breath before he spoke. ‘There was a man,’ he said, ‘called Morgenstern …’
After that, there was never much doubt that they would end up telling him the entirety of what they knew, and in consequence everything was changed, and all that was to follow made possible, for what Sarah Durston said was true: when Captain John Hancock set his heart upon a thing, no power on earth could deny him. And what he set his heart upon over lunch that afternoon in the Swan Inn, Axford, was discovering what might lie buried at the Devil’s Chair.
Once Fairfax had finished describing the hiding of the church registers and the connection between Morgenstern and Durston Court, he located the passage containing Morgenstern’s letter and handed over Volume XX of The Proceedings and Papers of the Society of Antiquaries. Hancock took the little book across to the armchair, lit his pipe and settled down beside the fire to read. During the next few minutes, Sarah continued to pick at her food, while Fairfax, who found himself f
or once without an appetite, stared out of the window at the Corn Exchange. From time to time its door opened and the well-to-do of Axford emerged, singly or in pairs, and always they put their heads down and hurried away, clearly anxious not to linger and draw attention to their shame.
‘Here is the crucial sentence, surely.’
Fairfax turned to look at Hancock. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, the book in his hands, his pipe gone out and discarded on the hearth beside him.
‘“Our purpose is not to propose counter-measures to avert any of these potential catastrophes … but to devise strategies for the days, weeks, months and years following such a disaster, with the aim of the earliest possible restoration of technical civilisation.”’ Hancock looked up from the page. His eyes were unnaturally wide and bright. ‘Suppose a man saw an appalling calamity looming – what would he do? What would any of us do? Well, I’ll tell ye what I would do. I’d lay up a stock of provisions – of all that was essential to maintain existence – and I’d block up my doors and windows and attempt to live through it. That was what this man Morgenstern did. I’m sure of it.’
Fairfax nodded. After the lecture, he too was starting to see it all more clearly now, like a landscape emerging as the morning mist lifted. A verse from the Book of Genesis came into his mind. He recited it aloud: And God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me, for the Earth is filled with violence, and behold I will destroy them with the Earth. Make thee an ark …
‘Aye, an ark – well put – but he didn’t fill it with animals, and it didn’t float. He built it somewhere around the Devil’s Chair – built it with his friends and buried it, I shouldn’t wonder, so that no one else could find it save themselves.’ Hancock threw himself back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. ‘Aye, that’s exactly what he did, I’d wager my life upon it. Consider what might be hidden up there! Consider whether it contains the secret of electrifying. And not just in a form for playing stupid parlour games, but in the way they used it, a way that would permit us to produce a big and continuous supply, and the means by which to store and transport it. The earliest possible restoration of technical civilisation … The world could begin anew! What I would not give for that!’ Suddenly he pitched himself forward again, up on to the balls of his feet. ‘We must talk to Shadwell.’
Sarah said, ‘You think we can? Even though he is now in custody?’
‘All to the good. It means we know where he is.’ He grabbed his overcoat from its peg and placed it full length on the floor in front of the sideboard, then dropped to his knees beside it and pulled out his ring of keys. ‘I’ve never known a prison yet that can’t be breached with the proper tools.’
He unlocked the cupboard door and dragged out a big iron cash box, searched for yet another key to open it, then proceeded to stuff the contents – banknotes and bankers’ drafts, handfuls of gold and silver coins – into his coat pockets. When he was done, he pushed the cash box back into the cupboard and from elsewhere within its depths retrieved a pistol and tucked it into his belt. Then he stood and pulled on his coat, buttoning it all the way up to his neck. Bulked by his day’s takings, he looked even more than usual like a fairground strongman. He opened the door to the landing. ‘Well? Are ye with me or not?’
Fairfax and Sarah exchanged glances. The young priest had a premonition of disaster. We have strapped ourselves to a force of nature capable of getting us all killed, he thought. Nevertheless, he said nothing as they rose from the table and followed the captain down the stairs, through the bar and out into the square.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Making the acquaintance of Dr Shadwell
THE MARKET IN front of the assize court was over, the stalls mostly packed away and gone. Already the ragged grey shadows of the poor had materialised from the side streets and were competing with the crows and stray dogs to scavenge through the rubbish, searching for whatever they could eat – for fruit and vegetables that were starting to rot and were not considered worth taking away, or for meat that was on the turn. Begging was against the law, but not even the fear of a whipping or a day in the stocks was enough to deter half a dozen of the wretches from crowding around Hancock, Fairfax and Sarah as they tied their horses to the rail outside the court entrance. Fairfax had no alms to give and was surprised to see Hancock dig his hand into his pocket and distribute a few coins. When the captain caught him looking at him, he said gruffly, ‘I know what it’s like to be poor.’
The courtroom was deserted save for a solitary figure slouched at the front, seated just below the justices’ bench, who turned to stare at them as they came in. ‘That is Mr Quycke,’ whispered Fairfax. ‘Shadwell’s secretary.’
‘Is that his name?’ replied Hancock. ‘I thought I recognised him from Lacy’s burial.’ He advanced down the central aisle of the court. ‘Mr Quycke, ye may remember us from this afternoon.’
Quycke scrambled to his feet. ‘I do indeed, sir. You were in our audience, and this lady and the father were good enough to come on stage. How tragic that our harmless entertainment should have ended up in here!’ His voice was soft and somewhat theatrical for such a hefty man.
‘Indeed, I feel shame that such a thing should happen in our town. That is why we have come, sir – to offer our support to Dr Shadwell. Captain John Hancock is my name. The parson is Mr Fairfax and Lady Durston is soon to be my wife.’
‘Well, Captain Hancock, I am very glad to see you all, for I swear at this moment Dr Shadwell has no other friends upon this earth besides the people in this room.’ He shook hands with each of them, raising Lady Durston’s fingers to his lips. ‘Your ladyship: an honour You find us, I fear, in a most wretched condition. Dr Shadwell’s health was poor to start with, and I am quite certain that another week in prison will be the death of him.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘In the cell beneath us, awaiting remand to Exeter as soon as a justice can be found to commit him.’
‘Can we speak with him?’
‘No, he is forbidden all visitors.’
Fairfax said, ‘Except a priest, surely? I have never heard of a prisoner who was refused the comfort of the Christian faith. Indeed, it is a person’s right under the law.’
‘That is true, although – with all due respect to your good self, Father – I doubt Mr Shadwell would welcome such a visit. The Church has been the source of all his misfortunes.’
Hancock said, ‘It’s not our intention to preach at him, but to convey an offer of help.’
‘And what sort of offer would that be?’
‘That I am willing to stand bail for him.’
Quycke’s head tilted back slightly in surprise. ‘You’d do that for a stranger?’
‘Have I not just said as much?’
‘That is noble – very noble. But there must be some condition? There is always a condition.’
‘Only one. We wish to ask him all he knows of a certain matter.’
‘What matter?’
‘A man, long dead, named Morgenstern.’
The effect was immediate. Quycke glanced from side to side. ‘When he hears mention of that particular gentleman, I am sure he will refuse the offer, however perilous his situation.’
‘Why?’
‘If you know of Morgenstern, then you know why.’
‘If we know of Morgenstern, is that not proof of our serious intention to help?’
‘Rather the opposite. To put the matter bluntly, Captain: what proof is there you’re not all government spies?’ He nodded towards Fairfax. ‘Or bishop’s men? Forgive me, sir, but we’ve learned the hard way to be careful about whom we trust.’
There was a noise behind them, and three hooded men entered, entirely nondescript but oddly similar. They took their places at the very back, put down their hoods and sat in silence. Quycke tapped his finger briefly to his lips and raised his eyebrows as if his point had just been proved.
Fairfax said quietly, ‘If you’re so afraid of
spies, why hold a public lecture and advertise it in a handbill?’
‘The usual squalid affliction of the scholar,’ said Quycke sadly. ‘Poverty. We owe thirty pounds to the Swan and they have seized our wagon until we pay. Lectures provide our only means of living. Occasionally we must take a risk, or starve. By calling them “The Heresy of the Ancient World”, Dr Shadwell usually stays on the right side of the law.’
Hancock unbuttoned his coat and showed a handful of banknotes from an inside pocket. ‘Help us, and ye’ll not go hungry for a while.’
Quycke stared at the money. He passed his tongue around his fleshy lips. ‘May I?’ He took a couple of the notes and held them up to the light. It was only in the last few years that paper money had gained a wider circulation; forgeries were common. Satisfied, he returned them to Hancock. ‘Well, that puts the matter upon a practical foundation, and in truth we’re hardly in a state to refuse such generosity. Come with me, Father. I’ll convey the proposal to Mr Shadwell and let us see what he will tell you. Although I should caution you the chances are poor.’
Sarah gave Fairfax her bag. ‘Show him this. It may help persuade him.’
As Quycke moved away, Hancock caught Fairfax’s arm and whispered, ‘Make sure his promise is certain. I’m not risking my money for nothing. Tell him if he tries to break his word, I’ll deliver him back to prison myself.’
Fairfax pulled his arm away – really, the fellow was intolerable – and followed Quycke to the front of the court, where there was a door beside the judge’s bench. Quycke knocked, a key was turned from within and the door opened. An elderly sheriff peered out of the darkness.
‘Mr Shadwell wishes to exercise his right to pray with a priest.’
The sheriff scrutinised them both suspiciously.
‘It is his right,’ said Fairfax. ‘A heretic must be given the chance to repent. That is the law.’ Seeing the man still hesitating, he added, ‘I have been sent to the district on a special mission by Bishop Pole.’
‘Well, if the bishop sent ye, Father, I suppose ye’d better come. On your own, mind.’ He put his arm out to stop Quycke. ‘Ye must wait here.’
The Second Sleep Page 16
