Forged in the Fire

by Ann Turnbull

One night an alarm went up: the French and Dutch were invading. We heard men yelling, “Arm! Arm!” and saw a great surge of people towards the city. But it was all false, and the trained bands were sent in to restore order. Next day the King was seen at Moorfields speaking to the people and assuring them that the fire was an accident and not the work of agitators or traitors. Soldiers came with tents and shelters for those in need, and set up places where people could go for the food and drink which had been requisitioned from the countryside around. We were glad to be at the Angel, but I went most days to meet our Friends at Sylvester Wharton’s. On fifth-day Nat was not there; I heard he had gone to Houndsditch to ask after Rachel and her family. When I reported this to Susanna she smiled and said, “Nat has a fondness for Rachel.”

  “Thou think so?”

  “I’m sure of it. Oh, I doubt she knows yet; her heart is full of Vincent. But she likes Nat, and he will wait…”

  It was seventh-day, almost a week after the fire began, when Susanna and I went with my father to see the ruined city.

  The sight was worse than anything I had imagined. From the ruins of Cheapside we could see the river; scarcely a wall now stood in our view. Edmund’s house in Throgmorton Street was burnt to the ground, only part of the garden remaining, full of ash and scorched timbers. Smoke still rose from the rubble and the ground was hot underfoot. We tried to walk to Bow Lane, but it was difficult to find familiar streets – all was one mass of destruction, with here and there a ruined wall, a broken tower. Around us people picked their way over the smouldering embers.

  We came at last upon the ruins of Mary Aldermary. Several walls were still standing but the tower that had shaded our window was burnt to its base. The house we lived in had been built of wood. Nothing remained, and the attic space where we had been so happy was now empty sky.

  Paul’s was still a landmark, and we made our way towards it, walking over solidified streams of lead from the roof which had melted and poured down the streets.

  Our shop was gone. I had believed that Faith’s would still be secure, but my trust in that stronghold was misplaced. When the great tower collapsed, it seemed the walls and ceilings had fallen in, breaking open stone tombs and sending them crashing through the roof of the crypt.

  Several booksellers and stationers were gathered there, searching among the debris. One of them saw me approaching and said, “You’ll find no books here. Nothing but ashes.” Another told me that St Faith’s had burned all night and everything within had been destroyed. “My entire stock,” he said. “My business. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “There is scarcely a book left in London,” a scholarly old man said. His clothes were grey with dust and his eyes full of sadness. “Shops, libraries, schools, churches – all are gone.”

  And my work with it, I realized. Edmund was not yet here, but his efforts, I knew, would now be directed towards rebuilding his home and his spice business. Once again I was without work – along with thousands of others.

  My father understood this. That evening at the inn, while Susanna rested upstairs, he said to me, “You must both come back with me to Hemsbury for a while – at least till the child is born. You can’t live without home or income.”

  Instinctively I rejected this suggestion. I did not want to go home, to be in his power again.

  “You won’t want Quakers – fanatics – in your house.”

  “I want my son, and my grandchild. And if others speak ill of you, they will not dare do so to my face.”

  It was a generous gesture from him – for I knew how much he valued his status in Hemsbury and how fragile such status could be. But we could not go.

  “Friends will help us,” I said. “Friends in Mile End and Southwark and other places outside the city walls.” I mustered a more powerful argument. “And I would not let Susanna travel in her condition. She cannot ride, and to travel by carrier is slow and hard. It might endanger the child.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps you are right. Then I’ll give you money. I have some with me, and will send more—”

  “No, Father. There is no need. I have savings.” I patted my hip, where I kept a purse well hidden.

  “Then keep them! They won’t last long.”

  “No.”

  I could not explain to him why I was so unwilling to accept his help when I would take it gladly from Friends. It seemed to me like weakness, like defeat. And I would never admit defeat to him.

  “Will,” he said, “you can’t afford to be proud. You have no work, no home. You have lost everything.”

  “I have my wife and child,” I said, “and the love of God.”

  He sighed in exasperation. “But how will you live, boy?”

  On first-day morning Susanna and I went to the farm again, and Friends gathered in a field and waited on God in silence. A light rain had begun to fall – the first in months. All around us, in the fields, others were at prayer, or walking to churches in Islington. It was only a week since the fire began, and all our lives were utterly changed. I knew I had to answer my father’s question, and soon. How would we live?

  That night I talked to Susanna.

  “My father wants to give us money.”

  “He told me. I thanked him for his kindness.”

  “Thou thanked him? But I’ve told him I cannot accept it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I – I don’t want to be beholden to him! He will take us over, Su – tell us what we may or may not do with our lives. I want to be free of him. I love him, of course, but I want us to be equals.”

  “But you are not equals. He is wealthy and we are poor.”

  “We have money saved!”

  “But there is little enough. And thou hast no work. And this child – his grandchild – will soon be born.”

  She was practical, like him. She did not see the loss to my pride.

  “I have told him no. I rejected his help once, and said I’d make my own way. I will not turn to him now.”

  “Oh, Will!” Her voice rose, and I felt her impatience with me. “Thou’rt so stiff and proud – it is ungodly! He wants to help thee. Let him give thee money; it is how he shows his love for thee. Thou hurt him by rejecting it. Be gracious and accept.”

  She trembled as I stared at her, but her expression was resolute.

  “I am right,” she said. “I have never been more sure of it.”

  Her words found their mark. “Yes,” I said at last. “Thou’rt right. I did hurt him. I will tell him I have changed my mind.”

  She came and embraced me. “Tell him too that next summer we will travel to Shropshire and show him his grandchild. It is what he wants, more than anything.”

  My father left next day. He would meet with other merchants in Oxford and be home within a week. Susanna and I went down together into the yard to wish him Godspeed. He looked at the two of us, smiled and shook his head.

  “You are such children!” he said. “So young for all this. And you think you can create a new world.”

  Then he kissed us both, and said, “Come soon to Hemsbury. We will expect you.”

  Susanna

  For the hand of Judith Kite, at the Forge in

  Lower Street, Boston, Massachusetts.

  The twentieth day of February, 1667.

  Dearest Friend,

  I write with great joy to tell thee of the birth of our son, whom we have named Josiah. He was born two weeks ago, here in Mile End, after a long and difficult labour which left me grateful to God for my life and that of my child. He is a healthy babe, strong and, I think, already with a look of his father about him. It is so strange and wonderful to be a mother. The night after he was born I lay looking at him swaddled in his cradle, and felt myself no longer one person, but connected, through him, to the past and the future. Oh, I hope – I believe – the future will hold great things for Josiah!

  I must tell thee, Judith, about his cradle. It was sent to me by Will’s father, and is the Heywood family cradle in whi
ch Will’s own mother rocked him. It is carved of dark oak, with a border of leaves and berries. I thought most tenderly of Henry Heywood for sending it; he calls me daughter now and, I believe, is reconciled to me.

  In the summer we shall go to Shropshire and visit both our families. Will’s father will pay. I long to see my own parents and Deb, and thou may be sure I will call on thy family too and give thee news of how they all look.

  It has been a hard winter, uncommon cold, and with much snow. Hard especially for the poor people of London who have been made homeless and are without work. Will has had to take whatever employment he can. He wrote letters for people after the fire, and helped with claims and searches; and for a while he was one of those who dug and cleared rubble in the streets of London. Now he works some nights at a tavern but he has also begun helping Nat at his new premises in Stepney, which is less than a mile from here.

  Nat is one of the few who did not suffer from the fire, except in the loss of some possessions. He had already signed the lease of his workshop, and now he has gained the custom of many who lost their London printers. Amos Bligh lost all his plant and stock. He has gone back to his home town of Watford and seems unlikely to return. Nat has taken on one of Amos’s printers as well as an apprentice. He intends next year to open a stationer’s and wants Will to manage this. In time they hope to have a bookshop like Mary’s. There is a need for a stationer’s here, so we hope it will be profitable. Nat is happy. He is his own master, and doing God’s work. He said to us once, “I’ve never wanted to go out and preach the Word, only to live it through honest trading.” And he is a good and honest man.

  Rachel comes to see me whenever she can. She is forced now to lodge with her mother in Houndsditch and often complains of it. I believe it will not be long before she marries Nat. I know he wishes it; he pursues her discreetly. I hope it will come to pass; then the four of us may work and bring up our children together.

  I told thee soon after the fire that we had come here to lodge in a small room at our Friends the Goodwins’. It is well enough, but I must share the kitchen with Margaret Goodwin and that is not easy. We both try to see the light in each other but sometimes we fail. At these times I tell myself that all the parishes outside the city walls are full of displaced people and that we have been luckier than some others. Rents are now high, and many have had to move out of London and seek work and housing elsewhere.

  But now here is good news: Will and I are to move to a place of our own in Mile End Green – only two rooms, but one is a kitchen, and both rooms are on the ground floor. It backs onto orchards and fields, which will be healthy for the child. I long to move and begin to make a home for us again.

  What times we have lived through, Judith! The persecution of our people here has eased, but none of us believe it will not begin again. There is a large and loving meeting here in Mile End Green, and Friends in Ratcliff and Stepney and all around. We will endure. We have come through persecution, plague and fire, and will live and work in the truth.

  Write to me soon, dear friend, and tell me all thy news. I think often of thee and Daniel and little Benjamin. An ocean lies between us, but in our hearts we can reach across it. And who knows but some day we may meet again?

  God keep thee, Judith, and hold thee in the light.

  Thy friend,

  Susanna Heywood

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Ann Turnbull was brought up in south-east London but now lives in Shropshire. She has always loved reading and knew from the age of ten that she wanted to be a writer. Her numerous books for young readers include Pigeon Summer, Deep Water, Room for a Stranger, No Friend of Mine, Alice in Love and War and No Shame, No Fear which was shortlisted for both the Whitbread Book Award and the Guardian Fiction Prize.

  Forged in the Fire, the sequel to No Shame, No Fear (and followed by Seeking Eden in her Quaker trilogy for young adults), continues the story of Will and Susanna. Ann says, “As soon as I finished writing No Shame, No Fear I knew I had to find out what happened to them – and when the book was published a flood of emails from readers showed they felt the same. I had known all along that Will and Susanna would be caught up in the terrible events of 1665–66. It was challenging and exhilarating to try and recreate that time.”

  Find out more about Ann Turnbull and her books by visiting her website at www.annturnbull.com

  1662 – England is reeling from the after-effects of civil war, with its clashes of faith and culture.

  Seventeen-year-old Will returns home after completing his studies, to begin an apprenticeship arranged by his wealthy father. Susanna, a young Quaker girl, leaves her family to become a servant in the same town.

  Theirs is a story that speaks across the centuries, telling of love and the struggle to stay true to what is most important – in spite of parents, society and even the law.

  But is the love between Will and Susanna strong enough to survive – no matter what?

  Shortlisted for the Whitbread Book Award and the Guardian Fiction Prize

  1683 – Will and Susanna, inspired by William Penn’s vision of a Quaker colony in America, set off with their family to begin a new life overseas. In Philadelphia they hope to be free of the persecution they suffered for so long in England.

  Their son Josiah yearns for adventure. He gains an apprenticeship with the merchant George Bainbrigg and falls in love with his daughter, Katherine. The three sail to Barbados on business.

  Only then does Josiah learn the truth about Bainbrigg’s work and realize that the struggle to uphold his own beliefs is just beginning.

  The eagerly awaited final book in Ann Turnbull’s brilliant Quaker trilogy.

  No Shame, No Fear was shortlisted for the Whitbread Book Award and the Guardian Fiction Prize.

  Alice Newcombe,trapped and unhappy on her uncle’s farm, finds her life transformed when royalist soldiers are billeted there during the Civil War.

  Suddenly her days are filled with excitement – and love for one young soldier, Robin. When the regiment moves on, Alice persuades Robin to take her with him, and she joins the other army women on the baggage train.

  The road ahead is long and hard –

  will there be happiness at its end?

  PRAISE FOR NO SHAME, NO FEAR

  “An unusual and well-told story of love against the odds.”

  The Observer

  “Here is a novel that needs a trumpet to be blown for it… The pleasures lie less in plot surprises than in the plain, exact and elegant language that takes you to the heart of each character’s feelings.”

  Adèle Geras, The Guardian

  “Historical details are deftly handled, building a rich picture of momentous events set against personal, domestic lives, particularly those of women. A pleasingly unexpected take on the boy-meets-girl romance, set in a fascinating context.”

  Booktrusted News

  “The unembellished but quietly passionate tone of the story perfectly realizes the Quaker ideals of simplicity and truth, and the privations which they endure with courage and dignity serve to engage reader sympathy in a powerful, understated way. Historical context is accurately and carefully used, but it is the measured tone of the narrative and its humble, quiet characters with their rock of religion which leave a lasting impression.”

  Books for Keeps

  “A novel of huge integrity told in a fittingly simple voice… Turnbull has written a powerful and moving book that never becomes shrill; she creates a past that is wholly credible and sets out a thoughtful blueprint for tolerance.”

  Julia Eccleshare, The Guardian

  “I was surprised to find how easily I was drawn inside this gentle love story… This is a book for all teenagers and adults who want to remind themselves how powerful teenage passion can be.”

  Carousel

  Books by the same author

  No Shame, No Fear

  Seeking Eden

  Alice in Love and War

  Greek Myths

 
; This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places

  and incidents are either the product of the author’s

  imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  First published 2006 by Walker Books Ltd

  87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ

  This edition published 2013

  Text © 2006 Ann Turnbull

  Cover photograph © Steve Prezant/Corbis

  The right of Ann Turnbull to be identified as author of this work

  has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data:

  a catalogue record for this book

  is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-4063-5291-7 (ePub)

  www.walker.co.uk