Edmund moved his doleful gaze to his stepson. “Ives, tell him I could have nothing to do with this.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
Edmund’s head went back, and his mouth dropped open. “Why, you planned this!”
“Certainly not. I merely reported what I saw. You, Claiborn, and Stuart will pay for your crimes. Arrest your man, Snyder.”
Snyder summoned two men. “Take him to the prisoners’ wagon.” He said, “Shall we get his brother?”
“Oh, yes, that would be next in order.” Ives accompanied Snyder and was pleased to see that the same trap had been laid for Claiborn Winslow. Bibles had been hidden in two corners by one of the servants, happy to accept his bribe.
Claiborn stared at Ives, his eyes burning. “So you’re determined to have Stoneybrook.” Grace stood behind him, hand to her mouth. Her son Quentin stood beside her, his eyes watchful. Ives considered having her arrested as well but decided that she would be driven out of Stoneybrook easily when the time came. She could return to her aunt’s land in Ireland. Or she could beg on the streets of London for all he cared. She was no threat.
“There’ll be no accusations, Winslow. All will come to light at your trial. Come along,” Snyder said. “Join your brother. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it in the Tower.”
The two men were led away in chains.
Ives went at once to his mother’s apartment, where she was waiting.
“Is it over?”
“They’ll be found guilty. The evidence is plain. All we need do now is catch Stuart in the act of smuggling and all three Winslows will be sacked.” He lifted his hands and laughed. “How does it feel to be the lady of Stoneybrook with no lord to watch your every move?”
“How does it feel to be the master of Stoneybrook?”
The two smiled at each other, and he said, “Does it pain you that they’ll both be executed?”
“Let us not dwell on the past but review our future. Let’s look over this new kingdom of ours!”
23
Vell, how do you like your husband, hah?”
Heather suddenly giggled. Ever since she had joined Stuart in Germany, she had blossomed. Stuart was carefully disguised as a fat Dutch merchant. He wore heavily puffed-out hose and a doublet that was swollen with padding. “You look awful!” Heather cried. “I’m glad you don’t look like that all the time.”
“You don’t understand my art,” Stuart said. His face was stiff with makeup. He had glued paper onto his cheeks to swell them out. He had donned a wig, which covered his auburn hair, and his face seemed to be older. He paraded up and down the room now, practicing the proper waddling walk for his character.
Heather took his hands. “I’m not going to kiss you good-bye, not with that mess on your face.” Suddenly a line of worry appeared over her eyebrows. “I wish you didn’t have to go, Stuart.”
“Well, it may be the last shipment for some time.” Tyndale had had to flee to a nearby town and was in search of a new printer. “I’m taking all William has on hand here, clearing the decks. I promise you that when I return we’ll have a lot of time together. I’ll be the handsome fellow you married.”
“The handsome fellow I married certainly does not run over with humility!”
Stuart grinned, reached out, and grabbed her. He held her tight against the padding and teased her, saying, “You wouldn’t really turn away from me if I was this fat, would you?”
Heather suddenly smiled. “Nay. And you’d love me, even if I were fat or ugly.”
“You’re right, woman. We’re stuck with each other.” He held her for a time, enjoying their last moments. “I must be off,” he whispered. He kissed her on the cheek.
Heather grasped his arm. “Return soon. There are two of us counting on it.”
Stuart blinked with surprise. “Two of us?”
Heather suddenly smiled a beatific smile that seemed to start somewhere in the depth of her spirit and shine out through her eyes. “Well, one of us won’t be exactly present for at least six more months.”
Stuart blinked in confusion. “Six months—” He broke off and peered at her. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Yes. We’re going to have a child. A boy, I trust, just like his father.”
Stuart picked Heather up and swung her around the room in a wild dance. “A son! What a wonderful present!”
“Put me down!”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll have to be careful with you from now on.”
“Yes, you will. You have to give me everything I want and stay with me constantly as soon as you return.”
“Is that customary with new fathers?”
“It is for my baby’s father.” She touched his cheek and said, “I’m so glad you’re pleased, Stuart.”
“Well, of course I am. Let’s just hope he’s as happy and witty and charming as his father.”
“Oh, you’re impossible, but I hope so too.”
“I’ll have something to think about on my journey.”
Tyndale was delighted to see Stuart. Several times as they talked the older man shook his head, saying, “I would never have known you, Stuart. It’s astonishing that you can so disguise yourself.”
“Well, all thanks to Nathan. He was a good teacher.”
“Do you speak Dutch?”
“Not very well, but I’ll make them think I’m a Dutchman learning to speak English.”
Suddenly Tyndale leaned forward. “You must be very, very cautious, Stuart. The king is burning people at the stake for smuggling and distributing Bibles.”
“I’ll be all right, sir.”
“How are you taking the Bibles this time?”
“My favorite way—in crates. The labels are in Dutch and say Shoes. The Bibles are under the shoes.”
“But Bibles are heavier, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but I had them put in small crates with no more than twenty Bibles to a crate. I think we’re safe. Nobody’s interested in shoes. They’ll never look inside. If they do, the top two layers are nothing but shoes.”
“Very well. Let’s pray that God will give you safe journey.”
The two men bowed their heads, Stuart contemplating what an extraordinary man William Tyndale was. He had never made one penny from the sale of the Bibles that he had translated so arduously and printed at the risk of his life. When the final amen was said, he saw that Tyndale had tears in his eyes.
“Why, you don’t have to worry about me,” he protested.
“I’m putting you in God’s hands. He’ll take care of you. I was just thinking about the people who will get these Bibles from you. They’ll have to hide them, of course, but God will speak to them. Isn’t that marvelous, Stuart, that we’re getting the Word of God to people who have never had it?”
“It’s a wonderful work, sir, and the Lord is going to bless it mightily.”
“Well, go on, my boy, and again, take close care.”
“I shall. One favor?”
“Anything.”
“Look in on my Heather from time to time, will you?” He hesitated. “She frets. And loneliness only makes it worse.”
“Consider it done, Brother.”
Walking down the gangplank of the Amazon, Stuart looked out over London’s busy harbor. There were ships from a dozen different nations, some of them unloading, some of them loading. The officials were so busy that they would not have time to look at some Dutch shoes—at least that was Stuart’s hope. He waited for a time, and finally, not seeing his merchandise, he inquired of the master of the ship.
“Ven vill my cargo be unloaded?” he said, imitating a Dutch accent as well as possible.
“Not until the morrow. They’re down at the bottom of the hold, and I’m shorthanded. Come back at daybreak.”
“Danke.” Stuart hoped that danke meant thank you in Dutch, as in German, for the two languages, he knew, were similar. But he knew he was on shaky ground.
He decided to go home to Stoneybrook, stopping at
an inn to change out of his disguise.
He was making his way through the streets when he suddenly saw his old friend Charles Vining. Vining was buying an eel pie from a vendor. Stuart edged over to him at once. A good test for my disguise.
“Guten morgen, sir.”
Vining turned and stared at the fat figure before him. “Good morning,” he said, and started to turn back.
“You like them eel pies?”
“Very much.” Vining took a bite of the pie and said, “You just off the ship?”
“Ja, from Holland.”
“Welcome to England.”
“I hear things are not so gut here in your country.”
“Nothing unusual,” Vining said. He was about to turn away again when Stuart said softly, “You don’t know me, do you, Charles?”
Vining turned quickly, his eyes opening wide with surprise. He knew that voice! “Is that—is that you, Stuart?”
“Yes. Don’t say anything.”
“I won’t. But you shouldn’t be here.”
“I had to come home.”
“You heard about your father and uncle?”
“No. What about them?”
Vining took a quick look around. “Let’s get out of this crowd,” he said. He led the way out of the teeming streets. The two men went into an inn that was almost abandoned. There was only one other customer there, and his head was on the table. The two men took a seat, and Vining ordered two beers. When they came and the server had left, Vining leaned forward. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“Something about my father and uncle?”
“Yes. I thought that was why you came back. But it’s a good thing you’re in disguise.”
“What’s happened, Charles?”
“They were arrested. They’re in the Tower, and you’ll be arrested too, if you are discovered here.”
Stuart felt something close around his heart. The Tower! He knew what that was like. “Why?”
“They were arrested for treason. Mostly for helping William Tyndale and having unlawful Bibles in their homes.”
“Tell me all of it.”
Stuart sat listening to every word. When he had got the whole story, Vining said, “You must leave England at once. You’re disguised, but all you need is one slip and you’ll be with your father and uncle.”
“I can’t do that. I must see them as well as see to Mother and Quentin.”
Vining’s eyes opened in alarm. “You mustn’t attempt it! They’re not allowed visitors. Certainly not you. The king is quite paranoid now. His people are attempting to separate the smugglers so as to stop the flow of Bibles. The minute you showed yourself you would be clapped in irons. I’m telling you the king is serious. There were four people burned yesterday in Smithfield for the very charge that’s been brought against your family.”
“I can’t help that. I must see if I can aid them.”
Vining shook his head in despair. “Stuart, you cannot be serious.”
“Yes, I’m going to save my people somehow.”
“I’m telling you, there is no way, man!”
Stuart said, “I’ll be in touch with you.”
“Where can I reach you?”
“You can’t. I don’t know where I’ll be, but I’ll be getting back to you. I’ll probably need some help.”
Vining shook his head. “Not me, Stuart. I—”
Stuart grabbed his arm and stared hard into his eyes. “I needed you once. When I was in the Tower. Did you come to my aid then? Or even come to visit me, give me succor? Nay!”
“Yes, well, I’m sorry about that. I had my position at court to consider—”
“I almost died in there, Charles. If it had not been for the queen, I think I might have. We were friends, and you did not come to my aid. You owe me.”
Vining sighed heavily. “I shall do what I can.” He stared at his friend. “I would never have known you. But some of these agents are clever people. Take my advice. Stay as hidden as you can.”
Stuart patted him on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you as a friend, Charles. I never thought it would come to this after the way we met.”
Vining smiled. “No, you wanted to cut my heart out in defense of the king. Things certainly do change.”
The two men separated.
Stuart walked the streets of London until he found a quiet place by the Thames and sat there praying. He well knew he was not leaving England until he had retrieved his cargo and set his father and his uncle free, but he had no idea how to go about it. For two hours he sat there, remembering some of the psalms that he called the make haste psalms, in which the psalmist pleads with the Lord to come to his aid at once.
“Father, please help me! You know I have no wisdom. I don’t know what to do, but you do. You already know how things will end. Save my uncle and my father, for they are only doing your work.”
He continued to pray like this for some time, and then he simply sat there, and scriptures continued to run through his mind. Most were promises that he had memorized, and now one came to him that he felt was an answer. He said it aloud, “Commit thy way unto the Lord, and he shall bring it to pass.” At the moment he could not remember where it could be found in the Bible, but he knew it was in the psalms. He said it over and over again, “Commit thy way unto the Lord, and he shall bring it to pass.” It was the kind of promise that he liked, and he got up and walked slowly back to the harbor, knowing that he would have to find a place to stay.
“I put this burden on you, Lord, for you have told us to cast our cares on you. Guide me, for you must help and direct, and I give you thanks now for what you’re going to do.”
As he walked, he passed a monastery. He stopped and stared at the monks working in the garden, and a little light seemed to go on in his spirit. And then he prayed, “Lord, I think I know what you want me to do. Thank you for your guidance!”
“Here’s your food. It’s a little better tonight.”
Claiborn looked up at the guard, who had brought two bowls into the cell. He set them down on the table and said, “Now I’ll bring you some ale.”
“That’s kind of you, Jennings.”
“All I can do.” The guard stopped at the door and turned around. He had been kind enough to the two prisoners, which was unusual in Tower guards, but he remembered Stuart fondly, calling him a good sort. He hesitated, then blurted out, “I hate to tell you this, but there was six burned at Smithfield yesterday.”
“For what charge?”
“Same as against you. Caught with Bibles.” Jennings hesitated, then said, “Best you two get ready to meet the good Lord.”
“I am ready to meet God.”
“What about Mr. Edmund there?”
“Well, I’m praying for him. You might do the same.”
“My prayers don’t amount to much.”
“They might,” Claiborn said. He had talked to the guard before, and knew that he was a Christian. “I’d appreciate it if you’d pray for us.”
“Well, sir, I’ll do just that.”
The guard left, and Claiborn said, “Well, Jennings was right. This does look better.”
“I’m not hungry.” Edmund had lost weight and looked unwell. His clothes hung upon him, and his cheeks had sunk. He had not been well for some time before his arrest, and now he was not only physically ill but also sick at heart. The treachery of his wife and stepson had been a blow to him. Claiborn had tried to tell him that God was going to set them free one way or another, but Edmund had lost all hope.
“Look, there’s some meat in this stew. You must eat to get strength.” Claiborn handed the bowl to him, ate his own, and worried Edmund until his brother downed half of it. “You can have the rest later,” he said.
There was little enough to do in the cell, so Claiborn tried to keep the conversation going, but Edmund was no help.
“God will get us out of this, you’ll see.”
“It was my own wife who did this to us,
” Edmund moaned for the hundredth time. “She and Ives arranged it.”
“We don’t know that,” Claiborn returned with a sigh.
“Yes, we do. I know it anyway.”
Claiborn had no answer, for he secretly concurred with Edmund that Edith and Ives were behind it all. He had had to pray much, for anger broke out in his spirit every time he thought of them. All it took was one look at poor Edmund to see that they had destroyed him.
Some two hours later, a new guard entered their cell. “Got a priest here that says he wants to help you,” he said. A tall priest entered, then the guard shut the three men in. The priest wore a monk’s robe with the cowl pulled over his head, concealing his face.
“Well, we thank you for coming, Father.”
The monk threw back the cowl. Claiborn gasped. “It’s you, Stuart!”
Even Edmund looked up, his eyes widening. “What are you doing here, boy?” he whispered.
“I’ve come to get your story.”
“Don’t you know that they’ll arrest you if they catch you?” Claiborn said. “You’re charged as we are.”
“I know. But in order to fight an enemy, you must know who he is. An old soldier once told me that.”
Claiborn embraced him. “I’m glad to see you, Son, but it’s terrible, you being here.”
“I had to come.” Stuart put his hand on his uncle’s shoulder. He saw the man looked bad and that he was ill, so he said, “We’ll see you back to health, Uncle Edmund, once you’re free from here.”
Edmund stared at him. “You can’t free us.”
“God can.”
Claiborn suddenly laughed softly. “Yes, he can, and he’ll have to.”
“I don’t have much time. Tell me everything that happened. How did the Bibles get into your house? I know you were careful to keep them out in the barn.”
For the next fifteen minutes Claiborn outlined the history. When he finished, Stuart said, “It has to be Ives. Edith found out about the Bibles—perhaps through a servant?—told Ives, and Ives told Wolsey.”
“Yes, and that servant probably helped plant those Bibles in our houses. It wouldn’t have been easy with us always about.”
Honor in the Dust Page 24
