Fallam's Secret

by Denise Giardina

  He had been knocked down and come close to being run through by a Protestant swordsman, who only spared him because he had stood in the ranks that previous night and morning and now recognized his commanding officer. Though he did not much like him, he had followed him into battle and seen him fight well enough. Nor did this soldier relish killing his superior and the trouble it might land him in. So he dragged Major Fallam aside and propped him against the wall of an alehouse.

  Noah awoke in a tent, lying on the ground, still covered in dried blood that clotted his nose and glommed his eyelids nearly shut. Sitwell stood over him, speaking as from a great distance. “You fought bravely, Fallam. Lucky for you. If not for that, I’d hang you now, and happy to do it. But it would displease General Cromwell. He’s sent for you.”

  THE next day, Noah, wearing clean clothes and with his wounds dressed, sat across from Oliver Cromwell in Wexford Castle.

  “Sitwell doesn’t care for you,” Cromwell said.

  “Nor I, him,” Noah said curtly.

  “You were insubordinate. Yet your men report you fought bravely. Your troops were the first through the gate and you carried the fight deep into the town. The enemy never recovered.”

  Noah said nothing.

  “On the other hand, you attacked and severely beat one of your own men without provocation. There were witnesses. And you tried to impede progress in the market.”

  “Progress,” Noah said contemptuously.

  Cromwell regarded him, not unkindly, for a time. “Sitwell wonders why I don’t punish you for your insubordination. He doesn’t have my memories, Fallam. He didn’t see you at Naseby as I did, standing in the breach when all seemed lost and holding your men there, buying me time to countercharge. Had you fallen back then, neither of us would be sitting here now.”

  A nice irony, Noah thought.

  Cromwell stood and looked out the window. “I know you are bothered by the slaughter. Well you might be; I hate it myself. But these people are themselves barbarous murderers of God’s chosen people, and this bloodshed in Wexford may prevent more down the road and save Protestant lives. Still, I have misused you. You are a leader, not a butcher. This was work for Sitwell and his sort, not you. I still need you here in Ireland, but I’m taking you off the front lines. I will give you a chance to make amends to the people of Wexford if your conscience is troubling you, as their governor. I’m leaving a military governor to guard Wexford and its harbor. It’s an important port, England to the east, America to the west, France and Spain to the south, nothing but open sea between all. Wexford will play a major part in English dominance of shipping over the coming years. Good Christian men like you are the backbone of the revolution. I want you in this post.”

  THEY had reached the churchyard and Noah leaned against the stone wall. He had not looked at Lydde the entire time he spoke and she noticed his hands shook as they rested on the wall. She could think of nothing to say, nothing that would either comfort or absolve. Finally she said, “Is that why you take all these risks? Some sort of penance?”

  “Penance,” he replied bitterly. “A Catholic concept, and therefore quite appropriate, is it not? No, I have no need of penance.” His voice rose as his tone of self-mockery deepened. “I’m one of the elect, am I not?”

  After a moment, she said, “You tried to stop it.”

  He shook his head dismissively. “I gave an order that will likely send me to hell.”

  “I thought you believed in universal salvation.”

  He surveyed the slices of gray stone in the churchyard.

  “I do,” he said. “For everyone but myself.”

  NOAH accepted the appointment in Wexford, he told her. He knew already what he was going to do, knew it would set him on the road to his own likely death.

  “I understood the presbyterians and the prayer book men and the papists will fight wars with each other over how to parse a Bible verse. But they will act together to hang an old woman for picking mushrooms on a rich man’s land, or each will kill the innocent of the other faith. A plague on all three houses, I decided.” He laughed mirthlessly. “There, a paraphrase from Shakespeare just for you. I held the post in Wexford for four years. Margaret and Simon joined me the second year. Then Parliament was dissolved for good and Oliver Cromwell was made Lord Protector.”

  “He’s a dictator now,” Lydde said.

  “Yes. He called me to London for three years as one of his top aides. When he created the major-generals, it was believed he would appoint me to Bristol. Instead he sent me to this out-of-the way spot as a lieutenant. It’s because Cromwell has begun to sense my estrangement, though he has nothing solid against me. What he does not know, Lydde, would hang me many times over.

  “Starting in Wexford I went about establishing my smuggling contacts. I gave secret aid to roving Irish gangs who stole grain to feed the poor. In London I had secret contacts among dissenters of all stripes. I have even, through Robert, made contact with the King’s party in France. Not because the restoration of a king would change anything, but because the Royalists have from time to time sent cargoes of contraband my way, which furthers their cause and mine, and in return I have passed along secret correspondence for them. I have come to know some of them as individuals and even admire them, as I love my brother though I don’t agree with him. When one of the King’s men I respected was about to be arrested as a spy, I got word to him and he escaped to France. I search for goodness in whatever quarter I can find it, for it is a precious commodity.”

  Lydde said, “And you look out for unfortunate women and girls who might be accused of witchcraft and in need of protection, such as Mary and myself.”

  “That too,” he said, and tried to force a smile but failed. “Do not try to comfort me, Lydde. I set out this morning certain I was riding with my future wife. I meant to show you Coombe Manor and tell you of my family, but I had resolved not to speak of Ireland. I never told Margaret, for fear of losing her love, and I meant to hide it from you as well, to carry it secret in my soul until I stand face-to-face with God. Yet against all reason I have felt compelled to tell you. And now that you have heard this story I know my sins have killed my own chances for happiness with you.” He turned to her. “I see it in your face. You know the true Noah Fallam rather than the parts, as you said, that I have been playing. You will not want me.”

  “What you see in my face,” Lydde said, “is fear for you. And sorrow for you, that you must suffer so.” She reached down and took his hand. “Show me Margaret’s grave.”

  He led her among the tombstones, pointing out one ancestor after another. She noted the graves of his parents, and that he did not stop there. Then they reached a headstone set apart in the far corner.

  Margaret Anne Exton Fallam

  1628–1656

  Beloved wife of Noah Fallam

  Fidelis ad urnam

  “What is the Latin?” Lydde asked.

  “‘Faithful unto death,’” Noah said. “When we were established in Wexford she again wanted to bear a child. The result was another miscarriage and then the fatal stillbirth in London. I had her buried here, for her father would not allow her in the Exton plot. Poor Margaret. In a just world she would have been my sister and a dear companion of yours. Yet here she lies alone, killed for her loyalty to me.”

  A tear slipped down Lydde’s cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. “I love her because she stood by you,” she said.

  “I would have brought a flower for her grave,” said Noah, “but there are none so late in the season.”

  “We could honor her another way,” Lydde said. “Jews find small rocks and lay them on top of the tombs of their loved ones. We could do the same.”

  They looked around. Noah found a smooth gray stone and Lydde a brown rock rippled with gold. These they placed atop the edge of the gravestone.

  Lydde said, “Uncle John believes when you die you can go anywhere. Perhaps Margaret has found my brothers and sisters a
nd they are as connected as you and I are.”

  It seemed a silly thing to say, for what connection could there possibly be? And yet Lydde felt it in her bones, the drawing up of odds and ends of colored thread to weave into a magical tapestry. Noah was watching her, and the despair in his face was giving way to something like hope.

  “You speak as though we have some future together,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Noah,” she replied, “I doubt we can be severed.”

  “I must warn you, I still have nightmares about Ireland. Sometimes I wake and know I have been crying out in my sleep. And I fear now, when you look on me, you will see me covered in blood.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m glad you told me. You shouldn’t face such memories alone.”

  “I am ever reckless,” he continued, “and doomed, I fear, to make a hard life for those I love.”

  “Yes,” Lydde agreed. “You are a strange, strange man. I adore you.”

  He leaned close. “Do I dare hope you might marry me?”

  She studied his face a moment, a cacophony of voices shrieking warnings inside her head, then tailing away to nothing.

  “Yes, I will marry you.”

  He kissed her then, and of all the kisses he had bestowed on her, this one seemed the most tender.

  “Take me back to Norchester,” she said, “and make me your wife.”

  WHEN he returned to the Bishop’s Palace, Noah Fallam was met by an exultant Simon Cleyes.

  “The messenger you sent to Bristol yesterday morning has returned,” Simon announced. “Major-General Sitwell is pleased that you hanged a Raven’s man and make progress against the outlaws. He is himself beset by the Quakers and must put them down or he fears they may overwhelm the city.”

  “Indeed,” Noah said, “the Quakers threaten to fairly melt Bristol with love.”

  “In any event, the major-general has postponed indefinitely his visit to Norchester to inquire into the Raven’s activities. You must manage on your own for a while longer.”

  “Oh, I shall,” Noah said with a broad grin. “And the way is now clear for our happiest endeavors.”

  LYDDE had just finished building fires in several hearths when Uncle John returned, lugging a large box with him. He caught Lydde up in a great hug, then let her go.

  “Well,” he said. “How was it?”

  “How was what?” she said innocently.

  Uncle John shook his head. “You don’t fool me a bit. I can see it in your face. Have you made your peace with Noah Fallam?”

  “Peace! There is no such thing as peace where that man is concerned. And the first time we have a fight it will probably make all Norchester shake.” Then she hugged him again. “Oh, Uncle John, I am so happy. I’m going to marry him.”

  “Marry him! Lydde, my girl, you’re moving awfully fast.”

  “I know. But please don’t try to make me think about it. I already know it’s insane.”

  “Lydde—”

  She turned away from him, her hands over her ears, and kept talking. “After all, he’s been dead for almost four hundred years. Or is that will be dead for four hundred years? And do you know what I did, there in the cave under the Mystery Hole? I found the necklace he wears tangled in his rib cage, and I touched his skull. And if I think about that very much, I will truly go mad. So I won’t think about it. And I will marry him. Because I love him, and he has made love to me. He needs me, and his family turned on him, and I won’t do that to him, I won’t. So don’t you dare try and talk me out of this.”

  Uncle John put his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently. “Lydde, hush. I won’t try to talk you out of it.”

  She stared at him doubtfully. “You won’t?”

  “No. For one thing, Lavinia would kill me if I did. I just meant it was sudden.”

  “It has to be sudden,” Lydde said. “He won’t make love to me again otherwise, and that would drive me mad too. By the way, we want you to perform the ceremony.”

  “Me?”

  “Actually, there’s no one else except Simon, and we need him to be witness. We can’t let anyone know we’re married because I’m still a boy. It all has to be done in secret. Then Mary and I are going to live at the Bishop’s Palace and pretend to be his wards.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Uncle John said. “And I agree with him that Mary should join you when she returns. There’s going to be a fine to-do tomorrow morning when they find out St. Pancras is painted again.”

  “The paintings are back?”

  “Oh, yes. The colors seem more vivid than before, if possible. And that’s not all. When Noah went to visit your Aunt Lavinia, the valley fill moved.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true. You know how it covered the entire hollow of Montefalco? Now the cove is almost uncovered and looks like it always did. The foundation of the house is still underneath the pile. But if something else living goes from here to there, I think it will come clear again.”

  Lydde took his hand. “It really is all connected, isn’t it?”

  He shook his head. “It’s still too much to comprehend. But I’m making headway. I’ve done a lot of math since I’ve been away. But there are still problems to work out.” Then he smiled. “I’m not doing so bad in the romance department myself. Lavinia and I had two wonderful months. I think you have inspired us, my girl. Old as we are in the twenty-first century, the spark is still there.”

  “You should have brought her back with you,” Lydde said.

  “We talked about it. But we both agreed that someone new showing up from the future would be too dangerous for all of us. Especially for Noah. Lavinia doesn’t want that. She was quite taken with him, you know.” He nudged the box at his feet. “I brought some things back. Including this.” He reached in and extracted a package wrapped in silver paper. “From Lavinia.”

  “What is it?”

  “I have no idea. She wouldn’t tell me.”

  Lydde carried the package to her room, sat on the bed, and pulled off the shiny paper. She gasped. The box was from Victoria’s Secret. In a nest of fluffy white paper nestled a black lace push-up bra and panties, and a sheer nightie. When she lifted them, a piece of paper fell out.

  Don’t ask me how I got these, Aunt Lavinia had written. I’m afraid I have corrupted the medical profession.

  Underneath the underwear she found stacks of plastic packets that held a three-year supply of birth control pills.

  Chapter 17

  “I Thee Worship”

  THE ALARM SOUNDED throughout Norchester even before Lydde and Uncle John could set out for church. Constables fanned out to each quarter of the town, pounding on doors. St. Pancras Church was bewitched once more, and Constable Baxter would this time apply the whitewash. Lieutenant Major-General Fallam would preach on the crisis at Sabbath service in Trinity Church, the town’s bastion of Puritanism. Because Trinity would not hold all of Norchester, only heads of households and older males would gather there. Women and children would repair to their own parishes. Failure to attend church, except for those who were ill, would result in imprisonment.

  Lydde, as an “older male,” slipped into Trinity Church with Uncle John. As they found a seat, she noticed Jacob Woodcock turned around in his seat as though he had been watching for them. He glared with a malevolence that caused her to look away and pretend she had not seen him. The gathering was unusually quiet as they awaited Pastor Fallam. Lydde listened to the heavy breathing of the congregation, keenly aware she was the only representative, however covert, of her sex. She longed to take Uncle John’s hand for comfort, but was afraid to touch him for fear of being noticed.

  Then Noah Fallam swept into the chancel, his black robe billowing behind him. The Raven, she thought, and was amazed no one had made the connection. He climbed into the pulpit, which towered above the sanctuary, a symbol of the absolute authority of the preacher.

  He bent his head a moment in silent prayer. Then he looked up
, his face stern.

  “Satan is abroad in Norchester,” he proclaimed.

  No one spoke, but a fearful sigh swept through the church like a gust of wind. Noah raised his hand.

  “St. Pancras once more bears the marks of the Devil upon its walls. Why would Satan choose St. Pancras Church to threaten us? Not because of witches among us, but because of the apostasy of that congregation, which continues in the unlawful use of the prayer book. I therefore decree that St. Pancras Church be locked indefinitely, its minister Smythe deposed, and its congregation required to worship here at Trinity Church. I doubt many are of the elect, yet they might examine their souls before facing final judgment.

  “Let us understand what Satan is,” Noah continued. “Satan is watchful as a hawk. He preys on those who are pure of heart. For none poses a greater threat to the realm of darkness than those who are innocent. Satan plots against the good, to bring about their ruin. That is why Satan would wish us to seek after so-called witches in the hope we might mistakenly destroy one of the elect.

  “For Satan preys on the elect. Yet never forget, he has already been defeated by Christ Jesus. Christ has crushed the head of the serpent beneath His heel. Therefore, when Satan attacks the elect, he becomes, for us, a figure to be ridiculed, a laughingstock. The elect cannot be defeated, since God has already guaranteed them through Christ’s sacrifice a place at His right hand. The elect are children of God and nothing can change that, not even the wiles of the Serpent who tempted Eve to perdition.”

  He surveyed the upturned faces of his audience. “We have, over the past few months, welcomed strangers into our midst. I speak of the girl, Mary, who fled the loss of her family in Bristol to seek refuge in Norchester with her kinsman, John Soane. And I speak of her cousin, the boy Lewis, who only recently arrived after nearly losing his life to the agents of the Antichrist.”