Fallam's Secret

by Denise Giardina

  Uncle John looked back and forth between them as though watching a tennis match. “Something I should point out,” he said. “In the twenty-first century a lot of women don’t vow to ‘obey’ anymore. Lydde forgot that would be in the prayer book here, and so did I. She didn’t mean to mislead you, Noah.”

  “And what is to bind us together, if not obedience?” Noah said to Lydde.

  “Love,” she said. “Respect.”

  “I doubted a moment ago that you love me.”

  “I doubted that you respect me.”

  Noah raised his hands and looked helplessly at Uncle John.

  “Do you want her to go back to West Virginia?” Uncle John asked Noah.

  “Of course not!”

  “Lydde?”

  Tears welled in her eyes again. She glanced at Noah and shook her head.

  “Then here’s what I suggest,” said Uncle John. “Lydde, you can’t run away every time there’s a problem. You’ve been running away all your life. Stay and work things out. Noah, don’t order her to do things. Ask her. And if she doesn’t agree, talk to her. I know this woman and you can’t force her. It just won’t work, and it shouldn’t work. And now I’m going down to eat my supper. Mother Bunch has a chicken stew. Want to join me?”

  They ate in near silence, Noah and Lydde still stung by the angry words they had hurled at one another. After supper Noah escorted her back to the Bishop’s Palace. It was not quite dark and people were about, so they walked discreetly, Noah nodding at passersby. One man stopped and said, “Well, Pastor Fallam, is the lad penitent?”

  “He is,” Noah said curtly. When they had safely passed beneath the cathedral gateway, Noah said, “Margaret and I never argued.”

  “I’m not Margaret,” Lydde said. “And I’m not like a sister to you.”

  He stopped and she wondered if he was angry again. Instead he held out his hand and drew her close.

  “No,” he said, “you are not.” Then, “I suppose I cannot ask you to stop acting any more than you can ask me to stop being the Raven. Keep on with Mossup if you must. But it must be a secret. If you are seen, you will have to stop for the safety of all of us. And I shall have to make a public show of punishing you.”

  She kissed him for an answer.

  CHRISTMAS was approaching, but not to be celebrated. With less than two weeks before the day, Noah repeated his previous threats from the pulpit. Anyone caught observing Christmas Day or the twelve days of Christmas would be thrown into jail. He went on to rail against those who were not among the elect.

  “The unsaved walk among us,” he proclaimed to the congregation of Trinity Church, severe in his black robe. “They already burn in hell, though they appear outwardly to be living. They are as a walking carapace filled with maggots ready to burst through at any moment to reveal their corruption. They play at cards and dice, they dance, they sing, they fornicate, they plot sedition against God’s appointed government, they listen to the prattle of women, who are neither elect nor unelect but unworthy of any consideration by God. They are the ones who will try to infect society with the frivolity of a so-called Christ-mass. But Almighty God shall not be mocked by idolatrous Yule logs and trees, nor by pagan carols and dance.”

  He closed with a vivid description of the Last Days as depicted in Revelation, when the elect would be carried off to heaven while the damned remained to suffer trials and tribulations during the reign of the Antichrist.

  After church, Noah led Simon, Lydde, and Mary back through the streets in silence, for he had decreed that his household must set a sober example for the town. It was a bitterly cold day. The remains of an old snow had frozen to a crust, what once had been puddles of mud were now cracked ice, and roofs and windows were patterned with frost.

  Once they had passed inside the gate and reached the cathedral precinct, Mary’s spirits burst forth. She ran ahead, gathered up a crusted snowball, and heaved it at Simon, who immediately gave chase. Lydde stepped closer to Noah and linked her arm to his.

  “That was the worst sermon I ever heard in my life,” she said.

  He laughed, though tentatively, for he was still wary of her mood.

  “Someday,” he said, “I will preach you a true sermon from the heart. Then you will not think so ill of me.”

  Mary and Simon went down in a jumbled heap on a patch of ice and lay laughing helplessly.

  “Mother Bunch will be at Soane’s Croft just now railing against you,” Lydde said. “She will be begging Uncle John to rescue us from your clutches.”

  “Oh, dear,” he sighed. “And I was hoping she would invite us for supper tonight. Cook has left us cold mutton pie again and I am heartily sick of it.”

  “Why do they hate Christmas so, the Puritans?”

  “They hate mystery,” Noah said, “and wonder and beauty. They hate the Holy Ghost, which moves where it will and they cannot control it.”

  “Must you ban Christmas? Can you not look the other way as you do with other things?”

  “No. It’s precisely because of those ‘other things’ that I must stand firm on this. I must do nothing that will call more attention either to St. Pancras Church or the Raven. So you and Mother Bunch and the rest of Norchester will have to do without your carols and Yule logs and Christmas puddings for the sake of my safety. Am I not selfish?”

  For an answer she scooped up her own snowball and hurled it.

  DARKNESS like a curtain fell over England and a sharp wind blew down from the north, so strong it rattled the shutters and panes of the Bishop’s Palace and howled through the cracks and eaves like a troupe of pennywhistlers. Noah and Simon retired to their rooms to rest, for they were going out that night to meet a shipment. Noah would say little, despite Lydde’s curiosity. If things went wrong, the less she knew, the better, he said. But she gathered from overheard snatches of conversation between the two men that it was the most desperately awaited shipment of the winter. She feared that meant it would also be the most dangerous to achieve, and the bitter gale outside did nothing to reassure her. After supper she watched as Noah put on extra clothes.

  “Can you at least tell me if there is more danger than usual tonight?” she asked.

  “It will not be pleasant in the surf,” he said as he laced his boots over two pairs of wool stockings. “But if there is no one sent on purpose to intercept us, the weather should discourage anyone from discovering us by accident. The men aboard ship will face the most peril.”

  Clearly he was worried, but perhaps it was simply care for the safety of the ship’s crew. Mary sensed the mood as well. When the men had gone, she huddled with Lydde for warmth in the library. They wrapped themselves beneath a comforter before the fire.

  “They’re with the Raven, aren’t they?” Mary asked.

  “You mustn’t ask that,” Lydde said.

  Mary started to cry. “I’m frightened,” she said, “that something will happen to Simon before I’m allowed to marry him. I don’t know what I would do.”

  “Oh, Mary.” Lydde held her and rocked her back and forth as though the girl were a baby she was quieting. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “They will be so cold tonight,” Mary said. “But at least Pastor Fallam will be warmed when he comes back to bed. Simon will have no one. Do you think I might at least prepare a warming pan for him so his bed will not be so cold?”

  “Of course you can. In fact, we can both stay up, and have a hot drink waiting for them as well.”

  They fetched two metal warming pans with long handles, filled them with hot coals, and heaped more coals atop them to keep them warm beneath the hearth fire in the library. Then they built fires in the men’s rooms. Mary showed Lydde how to mix eggs, cream, sherry, and spices for a hot posset. Then they took turns sleeping in the comforter or stirring the posset and tending the fires.

  Still the men did not return. On previous outings Noah had come home after a few hours. Unable to sleep, Lydde joined Mary beneath the comforter but lay
listening for the creak of the front door. When she heard them at last, she shook Mary awake to run and place the warming pan between the covers of Simon’s bed. Then she went downstairs.

  The men moved slowly as though underwater, stamping their boots on the stone floor.

  “My God,” Simon said, “I can’t feel my feet. Is there a fire?”

  “In your room,” Lydde said. “Mary is there. And we have hot posset in the library.”

  “God bless you both,” he replied, and made his way stiffly upstairs.

  Noah hadn’t spoken, still stood at the foot of the stairs as though stunned.

  “What’s happened?” Lydde asked.

  He shook his head as though clearing it, then placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. “The ship never made it,” he said.

  “It wrecked?”

  “Not that we know, thank God. But we waited all night and never caught sight of it. The wind must have blown it off course. It could be a hundred miles away by now. And the goods we would have received will go someplace else.”

  He climbed the stairs slowly, still leaning against her, as though the night had somehow aged him.

  “The cold was terrible,” he continued, his voice a rasping lame version of the Raven’s, “and nothing to show for it.”

  “What was on the ship?”

  “Cases of sherry from Spain, which would have fetched enough to feed the district through the winter. But now our hopes for winter are blasted. There will be starvation, children will die. The men were so overcome they could not speak.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ve called a meeting of my captains tomorrow night at the old abbey. We’ll have to figure out another way to bring in some revenue.”

  She stood him before the fire in the bedchamber and began stripping off his layers of clothes. Then she sat him on a chair, wrapped in the comforter, while she pulled off his boots and stockings and began to massage his frozen feet. He closed his eyes and leaned back.

  “I don’t feel well,” he said. His face was flushed. She placed her hand on his forehead. It was hot to the touch. He began to shiver.

  “Get in bed,” she commanded, all her maternal instincts roused. “I’ll pile the bedclothes on you and bring you a posset.”

  She sat with him while he sipped the posset and continued to massage his feet, was relieved when a bit of color returned.

  “Wiggle your toes,” she commanded.

  He did so successfully, then leaned back on his pillow and was soon asleep, snoring softly. Lydde pulled a pair of stockings over his feet, replaced the comforter, and climbed into bed beside him, pressing herself close. She felt the heat of his body through her nightshirt and yet still he shivered. She realized with growing alarm that every remedy she could think of to restore him to health was unavailable. No aspirin, no Vitamin C tablets or orange juice, no IVs, no antibiotics. And hadn’t Noah’s parents both died of a fever?

  She stayed awake listening for the arrival of the servants. At the first sound she crept downstairs and, finding Nan about to take off her cloak, sent her back out into the cold to fetch the doctor.

  “Tell him to come at once,” she urged, “and bring whatever remedy Mother Bunch has for a fever. Tell him Pastor Fallam is very ill.”

  By the time Uncle John arrived, Simon Cleyes was up and about, as was Mary. They all hovered anxiously outside Noah’s room. Lydde set Mary as lookout so she could be warned at the approach of a servant. Then she went into the room to find Noah with a thermometer in his mouth. He gave Lydde a weak smile.

  “Where did that come from?” Lydde asked.

  “I brought it back last time in that box I was carrying,” said Uncle John, “along with some other things I thought you’d need if you stayed around here. But I wish I was a real doctor, with a real lab behind me. I don’t have any way to figure out if I’m dealing with a virus or a bacteria.” He took the thermometer from Noah’s mouth and held it up to the light. “A hundred and four,” he said.

  “Oh, God,” Lydde whispered.

  “May I see?” Noah asked, his curiosity undimmed. “What is the principle behind this rod?”

  Lydde showed him the numbers on the thermometer and the black line of mercury.

  “Throat hurt?” Uncle John asked.

  Noah nodded. “It’s hard to swallow.”

  “Okay. I don’t know if it’s flu or if it’s strep throat. And there’s always pneumonia to worry about. So here we go.” Uncle John held up two plastic bottles. “Aspirin, to help with the fever and aches if it’s the flu virus. And erythromycin in case it’s strep throat, and to prevent bacterial pneumonia from developing. Oh, and Mother Bunch sent along some willow bark for tea. It’s actually got an ingredient that’s in aspirin.”

  Lydde hugged him. “You are a treasure.”

  Uncle John popped open the bottles and handed Noah two pills. “Swallow these quick or you’ll have a bitter taste in your mouth.”

  Noah did as he was told. “What is a hundred and four?” he asked.

  “It’s how hot your body is inside,” Uncle John explained. “Your body temperature is very high, which means that until it goes down, you stay in bed, drink lots of tea, and get lots of sleep.”

  “What about my meeting?”

  Lydde dipped a cloth in a bowl of hot water from the hearth and laid it across his forehead. “You know you couldn’t go to the old abbey tonight even if you wanted to. Send Simon instead.”

  And in fact he was falling asleep even as she spoke. She watched him a moment, then turned to Uncle John, who said before she could ask, “We just have to wait and see.”

  “And what else did you bring back in that wonder box of yours?”

  “Pepper spray.” At her look of disbelief, he added, “No, really.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Just in case.”

  NOAH slept most of the day—waking only to sip cups of willow bark tea and swallow more pills—and into the night, while Simon went as planned to the meeting at the old abbey. Lydde tried to stay awake, though she was exhausted, and when she checked by candlelight Noah’s temperature had climbed to 105. He tossed and turned, plucking fretfully at the covers and muttering to himself, then fell into a deep sleep that frightened Lydde. But despite her resolve to stay awake, she slept at last. When she woke, their bedclothes were drenched with sweat. She took Noah’s temperature again and checked it by candlelight. It had dropped below 100. The fever had broken.

  He was still asleep the next morning, but clearly the danger had passed. Lydde went down to breakfast and saw Mary off to Soane’s Croft to help Mother Bunch. Then she returned to Noah’s room, where Nan found her reading by the hearth.

  “So, young master,” Nan said, “you will have earned Pastor Fallam’s gratitude when he is well.”

  “I hope so,” Lydde replied. “He has been kind to me and I am glad to return the favor.”

  “He has been kind to me as well, and so I have told everyone I see to pray he may be healed.”

  “That is good of you,” Lydde said.

  “Cook wants me to go to market so she can make him a nice broth,” Nan said. “There is no one else to ask save you.”

  “I’m sure that is fine,” Lydde said.

  She read for a while longer in The Canterbury Tales, but laid the book down when she heard the creak of the front door. Perhaps Simon had returned, though she had thought he said he would be out on Noah’s business. She began to read again, but some uneasiness caused her to lay the book aside and creep softly down the stairs in her fur slippers.

  The door to Noah’s office was closed except for a crack. That was odd, for the door usually stood open. She held her breath and pushed it slowly open. The door creaked just as a man came into her sight, hovering over Noah’s desk. Jacob Woodcock slammed a drawer shut and stepped back.

  “What are you doing here?” Lydde demanded.

  She had frightened him, but when he realized she was alone, a look of
cunning stole over his face.

  “Pardon, boy,” he said. “I have come to see Pastor Fallam, but he is not here.”

  “He is not,” she said coldly. “He is ill.”

  “Is he? I am sorry to hear it.”

  She was surprised he did not know it, since Nan seemed certain the news was around town. “What are you doing behind his desk?” she said sharply.

  “Ah.” He came toward her and she noticed for the first time he was holding a book. “I was bringing the lieutenant major-general a present.” He held out the brown volume. “It is a book I have written myself, with God’s help, and just arrived from the printer in Bristol. Pastor Fallam should find it profitable, and indeed, it might also be a boon to your soul, boy, since you are in such peril.”

  She was forced to take the book from him and open it to its title page. She read:

  A SURVEY OF THE THREATS AND PUNISHMENTS

  RECORDED IN THE SCRIPTURES,

  ALPHABETICALLY COMPOSED

  By Jacob Woodcock

  “Every sin committed in the Bible may be found in that book,” Woodcock said proudly, “from ‘adultery’ to ‘worship of God neglected.’ Over six hundred of them. There are, unfortunately, no sins beginning with x, y, or z. But most important, I have described in detail the terrible punishments visited by God upon the sinner. This reading I do commend to you, boy, and to your new master.”

  He walked past her and left the room. She stood still until she heard the front door close behind him, and followed to open the door a crack to make certain he had truly gone. Then she ran upstairs, clutching the book.

  Noah was sleeping lightly, so she shook him awake. He smiled wanly at her.

  “Do I not mend?” he said.

  “Yes.” She placed her hand on his forehead. “Your fever is much reduced.”

  “Then why do you look so worried?”

  She sat on the bed and took his hand. “I went down to your office,” she said, “to find Jacob Woodcock standing over your desk.”

  “What?” He struggled to sit up.