“What if something happens to Noah,” Uncle John continued, “and you are left a widow? It’s not the same as at home, where women have their own lives and the means to support themselves. You would have to marry again or prostitute yourself or starve, unless Simon and Mary were able to take you in.”
Lydde still looked at Noah. “Is that what you think?” she said. “Do you want to leave without me?”
Noah shook his head. “No,” he said. “I am just prideful enough to think that my wife’s place is by my side, and that I am as able to take care of my wife as is any man.”
He said this last with a defiant glance at Uncle John, who, to Noah’s surprise, smiled and nodded.
Lydde thrust her hand into the pocket where she had sewn her wedding band with three strands of thread, slipped her finger into the ring, and pulled it loose with a snap. She held up her hand.
“I didn’t intend to vow to obey you,” she said, “but I meant the rest. Wherever you go, I am going. Husband.”
She was astonished to see a tear slip down Noah’s cheek. He took her in his arms. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Uncle John leave the room and close the door behind him.
“We have been angry with one another and will be again,” Noah said.
“Yes.”
“My anger does not mean I have ceased to love you.”
“Nor does mine.”
“Please understand why I have been so secretive,” he said. “I have only wanted to shield you from both danger and worry.”
“I don’t want or need that kind of protection. Don’t ever leave me behind, not ever. That sort of separation I couldn’t bear. I want to share your fate, whatever it is.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do know. I can face anything you can. Now I want you to take me home.”
“Home. Where is home now?”
“Noah, you are home.”
Lydde placed the palm of her hand against his, wove their fingers together. At the front door Noah said, “In Virginia we will walk down the street arm in arm and everyone will know you are my wife. But now you are a boy who has been chastised, for your cousin has scandalously absconded with my secretary.”
And they composed themselves to face Norchester, stern Noah Fallam and the penitent boy who straggled alongside him, hand in his pocket to hide the gold ring he had decided not to remove.
They passed by the jail, which was housed in the former priory along the north wall of the town. There Noah dispatched two constables to try and catch up to the eloping couple.
“I believe they will head toward Bristol, since the girl hails from there,” he told them.
The two constables galloped on their way, even as Simon and Mary were well along the road east toward Southampton. Outside the jail, Lydde and Noah met Constable Baxter returned from his rounds. The constable fixed a speculative eye on Noah, then said, “May I speak with you a moment, sir?”
“Of course,” Noah agreed. They went back inside. Lydde waited in the small foyer. After a time she walked idly to a door with a small sliding panel at eye level that opened to the inside. No one seemed to be around. Curious, she slid the panel open and peered inside at the cell block. A constable who had heard the panel slide open stepped into the inner hall from a room on the left. His broad face filled the opening.
“What’s this?” he demanded as she panicked and slid the panel shut.
He came through the door into the foyer, then recognized her as the lieutenant major-general’s ward.
“What do you want?”
“I am waiting for Pastor Fallam,” she said meekly. “He is speaking with Constable Baxter. I meant no harm.”
“Very well. Don’t touch anything else.”
“No, sir.”
In the room where Noah had closeted himself with Constable Baxter the two men stood close so they would not be overheard when they spoke.
“Ye’ll be away yourself soon, won’t ye?” Baxter said.
“What makes you say that, Baxter?”
“I’m hearing talk, sir. Others are hearing it as well. And if the wrong one hears it, things will be all up with you.”
Noah waited.
“I wish you godspeed,” Baxter said. “I’ve known you since you were a lad and I’ve fought beside you in the war, and never a better man could I want at my side. I have no quarrel with what you’ve done here. I thought, if you find yourself in trouble, you might want to know that.”
“Thank you,” Noah said. “But I would not want you to do anything that would endanger you or your family.”
Baxter inclined his head.
“There is one favor I might ask,” Noah said, “though it is not for myself. On Saturday night, God willing, I will send you and a party of constables out to search for an illegal Christmas party and mumming. I will send you to the wrong place and I want you to take your time getting there. Your slowness will mean a great deal to the district’s poor this winter.”
Baxter’s eyes gleamed. “I shall be a perfect tortoise,” he said.
AT the Bishop’s Palace they encountered Nan carrying a bundle of bedclothes down the hall.
“Go fetch the other servants,” Noah told her, “and bring them to my office.”
Soon they were gathered there, the two maids, the cook, the groundskeeper. Lydde stood to one side.
“It appears,” Noah said, “that Mr. Cleyes has run away with young Mary.”
Nan let out a cry and Cook clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Mary left behind a note for Mr. Soane at Soane’s Croft. It seems they have been planning this for some time and are on their way to Bristol. I have sent a pair of constables to fetch them back, but I doubt if we shall see them again. It is, as you can gather, most upsetting. If people in town ask, you shall tell them the simple truth, but please, no more. I do not approve of gossip.
“The boy who remains”—a nod to Lydde—“continues as my ward. I am greatly concerned for the state of his soul, since his cousin has set him so poor an example. I intend to spend this afternoon in the library with Lewis, praying. We shall pray for Mary and Mr. Cleyes, for the salvation of their souls. I do not wish to be disturbed for any reason. Is that clear?”
It was, and the servants took themselves to the kitchen and the market to gossip among themselves as eagerly as Noah had expected they would. Upstairs, when the library door had closed behind them, Noah drew Lydde close.
“Let us pray,” he said, and kissed her.
AFTER a session of lovemaking made more frantic by their situation, they lay on the floor beside the hearth, their heads resting on a cushion taken from a bench.
“John told me of the pills you take to keep away pregnancy,” he said. “I didn’t know.”
“I was going to tell you,” she said. “I should have. But then we started arguing. And to tell the truth, I was a little hurt because you didn’t seem to care if I became pregnant.”
“Of course I care. How could I not, when Margaret died as she did? But I know no way to prevent it save to withdraw during lovemaking, and that is counted a sin. Perhaps it is not, but I have never felt comfortable with it. So I saw nothing to talk about, only that we would accept how God dealt with us.”
“Of course you wouldn’t know. These pills were—or will be—invented in the 1960s. If I take one a day, I won’t get pregnant.”
“And if you change your mind?”
“I just stop taking the pills. I only have enough pills for three years. But I thought at least I should take them until things are settled here. Until after we are safe.” She combed the hair on his chest with her fingers. “Do you want children?”
“I would like children,” he said, “but not at the cost of losing you. I’m just as glad you have the pills right now.”
“I’m glad you aren’t angry at me about it.”
“No,” he said. “But John is right. We both must talk more. You must tell me what you are thinking.”
&
nbsp; “And you will tell me what is happening from now on?”
“I will. Actually, I have something to tell you that will interest you greatly. One reason I did not go with Simon is to take a final opportunity to help the poor this winter. Simon learned of illegal Christmas festivities at Lord Radford’s estate, Rosewood. We heard there would be a mumming and I am guessing your group of players will be involved. Isn’t it so?”
“Yes. Are you angry with me again?”
“Not this time. Do you know of Rosewood?”
“Mossup says it’s on the way to Coombe Manor.”
“Yes. When we went to Coombe Manor we passed the gate to Rosewood just before we headed up onto the downs. Lord Radford is the wealthiest man in the district and counts his wealth to be a blessing from God, as though it is proof he is more virtuous than the poor.”
“We’ve got people like that in America,” Lydde said.
“More than any other of the men of property he pressures me to catch the Raven. Indeed, I have this past year cost him a sizable portion of what he believes God intended for him alone. But, though he fought for Parliament in the war, he is not a fanatical Puritan like Woodcock or Sitwell. He is one of those men who wanted to replace the King to increase his own power. So he hosts a Christmas Eve party and mumming on Saturday night, and no doubt a Christ-mass on Sabbath morn. A number of the gentry and their families will stay at Rosewood, according to the intelligence Simon had, and with the wives will come their jewelry. Besides that, each man will bring a pouch of gold to be placed in Lord Radford’s strongbox. This gold will be sent to London after the New Year to buy influence with Cromwell. While children starve, those who rule us sell themselves to the highest bidder.”
Lydde sighed. “We’ve got that in America too. So what are you going to do?”
“On Saturday night I intend to send all my constables under Baxter’s command to a manor four miles in the other direction while I plead I must stay behind to continue recovering from my illness. Then I will take a handful of my men, most likely my four captains and no more, and attend your mumming. At the moment the mummers play at robbing their audience, I shall do so in earnest.”
“Noah!” Lydde pushed him onto his back and pretended to pin him down. “You’re terrible!”
“I am,” he agreed, and laughed. “Well, it serves them right. By celebrating Christmas they are breaking the law, are they not?”
“A robbery on Christmas Eve!”
“It will more than make up for the lost ship,” he said, “and it will be the Raven’s parting gift to Norchester.”
Lydde was laughing, but stopped suddenly. “It sounds dangerous,” she said. “There will be a lot more of them than you.”
“We will be armed with flintlock pistols,” he said, “and by then the men at Rosewood will be in their cups. I know the layout of the house and grounds, for I went there often as a boy, and I know where the strongbox is kept as well. We do, however, need someone on the inside, someone who can make certain a door is unlocked and who can give us some sort of signal when it is best to enter.”
“Mossup?”
“Mossup has been good about sending intelligence my way and providing horses,” Noah said. “He can be trusted with a secret, but not to keep a cool head in an emergency.”
He sat up and pulled her up beside him. “I’d thought of you,” he said.
She stared at him in astonishment. “Me? Noah, truly?”
He nodded. “Not gladly, you understand, because of the risk. I’m afraid you might be recognized.”
“I don’t think the country gentry have seen much of me. They don’t even come to church in Norchester. They may have heard of me, but nothing more. Besides, Mossup says it’s bad luck to recognize a mummer, so I think they won’t be trying to figure out who we are. But if I do this properly they won’t notice me, will they?”
“I hope not.”
She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for saying you trust me.”
They lapsed each into private thoughts while absentmindedly stroking one another. Then Lydde said, “If you go in with pistols, does that mean you would shoot those people if necessary?”
Noah didn’t answer for a long time. “I would not,” he said at last. “If we were challenged, I would flee. And I must ensure that my captains do the same. I would not have this be blood money.”
“Will they agree?”
He stared at the ceiling. “I think they will agree,” he said, “if I tell them beforehand who I am and speak to them as a pastor.”
THEY lived in such a state of dread and hope—waiting to see if Simon or Elisha Sitwell would reach them first—that the days seemed to creep by. And yet they were happy as well. Noah had decided there was no longer any reason to spend time at his desk engaged in the tedium of governing, since there was no project he might set in motion that he would be present to complete. So he spent his days with Lydde, aided by a break in the weather. In the mornings they went to Soane’s Croft, where Noah helped with chores to the amazement of Mother Bunch, who was distrustful of this new, domestic Noah Fallam.
“What is he doing here?” she whispered to Uncle John. “Was it not enough to kidnap poor Lewis? Must he spy on us?”
“Now, now,” Uncle John said. “I think Pastor Fallam sincerely cares about the lad’s welfare, and he knows how you miss Mary. He has taken a liking to us. To you.”
She reared back indignantly. “To me? And why would Noah Fallam like an old woman who longs to see the back of him so we might have our dear King once more? And our Christmas! Sunday is Christmas Day and he will deprive us of it. I have the makings of a pudding hidden in the kitchen, and if he finds my currants I shall scratch his eyes out, I will!”
“He will not find your currants, Mother Bunch. They are too well hidden. And do you know what I think? I think the Reverend Smythe would be very glad to come share pudding with you.”
Her face was cracked by a grin. “Do you think so? Poor man, he has not eaten well since his wife died, I would wager.”
“Then you are the woman to provide for him. Lewis says even Noah Fallam’s cook is no match for you.”
Mother Bunch smacked him on the arm. “Go on,” she said.
Lydde and Noah, oblivious to this conversation, scattered grain for the chickens, collected eggs, and mucked out Lady’s stall in the small barn. When chores were done, they went off to Mossup’s stable, where they engaged the two fastest horses. Noah insisted that Lydde get in as much riding practice as she could in case they must flee suddenly.
“I doubt you could sit a galloping horse,” he pointed out.
“So do I,” she admitted. “We’d better pray it doesn’t come to that.”
On Friday Noah was digging up a cabbage for Mother Bunch to turn into stew as Lydde sorted dried herbs into bundles when a letter arrived at Soane’s Croft. Uncle John was out on his rounds, so Mother Bunch came back through the house to fetch them.
“There’s a man here from Southampton who says he must be paid for a letter he bears,” she said. “A rude fellow who—”
Noah was up and running through the house before she could finish. Mother Bunch shook her head.
“The world is a strange place,” she said. “Pastor Fallam orders us about, then digs in my garden, then rushes to meet a scoundrel. These must be the end times.”
Noah returned soon with the unopened letter in his hand. He motioned for Lydde to come in the house, and led her to the study. They stood near the milky light of the thick-paned window, Noah’s arms around Lydde so they could read together when he tore the letter open.
Dearest Friends, they read:
I pray this does not reach you too late. Our ship departs at dawn on Saturday and we expect a joyful reunion on Sunday, I hope before dark. Mary will stay on board and I will accompany some of the crew in the shallop to the shingle below the abbey where we will wait for you. The crew assures me they will stay until sunrise on Monday as long as we do not come under attack,
but I doubt I can hold them longer, so pray God there is no delay in your departure, and may He bring us safe together again.
They stood, Lydde leaning back against Noah, without speaking. Then Noah dropped the letter on the dying fire in the hearth. It flared a blue light and burned.
“Now, Lydde,” Noah said, “we can do nothing but wait and pray.”
THEY walked back to the Bishop’s Palace in the growing dusk. They had nearly arrived when Jacob Woodcock appeared as from nowhere and fell in beside them.
“Pastor Fallam!” Woodcock exclaimed with false joviality. “I wonder, do you have a birthmark?”
Noah never broke stride, though he refused to look at Woodcock.
“Why do you ask?” he said. “Do you plan to write a book that catalogs birthmarks as thoroughly as you did sins?”
Woodcock’s face turned red with fury. “Oh, yes,” he said, “you mock now. But those who mock God will suffer the fate of Jezebel, whose blood was lapped by dogs.”
Then he disappeared into a dark alley.
They continued on through the gateway to the door of the cathedral, where Lydde drew Noah into the shadow.
“My God!” she cried. “He knows.”
“Yes.” Noah looked around. The close was empty and silent save for a pair of ravens nattering to one another on a tree limb outside the Bishop’s Palace. “I suspect he has all along been Sitwell’s eyes and ears in Norchester. Well, he can do nothing until Sitwell arrives, for I still control the local constables. Baxter is loyal to me.”
“What if Sitwell arrives tonight or tomorrow? Shouldn’t we run now?”
“Where to, Lydde? There is no place to run until the ship arrives.”
“We could go through the wormhole.”
“I cannot. My task here is not done. And if I go there, I will have lost the best part of my life.”
“We wouldn’t have to stay. We could come back.”
“How would we know when to come back? We might step back into a trap. Or we might miss the ship entirely.”
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