North indicated Chaloner was to sit next to him. ‘Two more windows were smashed last night, and we have been discussing whether or not to replace them.’
‘You have sufficient funds in the–’ began Chaloner.
‘We should not,’ stated Hill with great finality. ‘The Lord broke them for a reason, and we must bow to His will. We shall spend the money on Bibles for the poor – to keep them warm this winter.’
‘The Lord broke them?’ asked Chaloner. ‘I thought it was apprentices.’ He did not point out that if Bibles were offered to the needy with the addendum that they were to provide warmth, then they were likely to end up on the fire.
‘Be quiet,’ ordered Hill indignantly. ‘Only true believers are allowed to speak here.’
‘Hush, Preacher,’ said North reprovingly. ‘Heyden has given us several good ideas – such as putting wire in the windows to repel fireballs – and we do not want him to resign because you insult his religious convictions. God works through unusual instruments, and he may well be one of them.’
‘Very unusual,’ agreed Hill, eyeing Chaloner coolly. ‘But if he were to accept the Truth, and follow the Way of the Light, then I might–’
‘Windows,’ prompted Temperance. ‘I do not see why we should suffer when we have the money to rectify the problem, and, despite what Preacher Hill says, I do not think God wants us to be miserable. I have never known a more bitter winter – snow already, and frosts that threaten to freeze the great Thames itself.’
‘The Lord will freeze the Thames,’ proclaimed Hill dogmatically. ‘Not frost.’
‘These acts of violence worry me,’ said North, twisting around to look at the holes in the glass. ‘As you know, our only son was killed three years ago – the victim of bigoted ruffians – and I cannot bear the thought of losing anyone else in such a way. We have not been in London long, but already people have turned against us. Perhaps we should return to Ely …’
‘Your son is with God,’ said Hill, softening his voice to indicate sympathy. ‘In Heaven.’
‘We know that,’ said Temperance, while her father struggled to control the grief that always bubbled up when he spoke of his boy. She took his hand and squeezed it comfortingly, then glared at Hill. ‘But we still miss him.’
‘Glass,’ said Faith in a voice thick with emotion. ‘We should be talking about glass.’
The discussion ranged back and forth while Chaloner wondered why decent people like the Norths had anything to do with Hill. The preacher was the kind of man who had caused so much strife with his inflexible opinions during the Commonwealth, and associating with him was dangerous at a time when even moderate Puritans were regarded with suspicion and dislike. It was cold in the chapel, and Chaloner tucked his hands inside his jerkin when Hill started to hold forth. He wished the man would shut up, so he could go home and sit by the fire, but then remembered he only had one log and, with no money to buy more, was obliged to save it until Metje arrived later.
When Hill’s diatribe blossomed into a tirade against debauchery – which coincidentally included a selfish hankering for new glass – Chaloner stopped listening and considered his own circumstances. He was earning a pittance from an unpopular sect and was prevented by Downing’s malice from doing the work he did best. It was frustrating to see relations with Holland disintegrating so rapidly, when he knew he was better qualified to arrest the slide towards war than the men who had been hired to replace him. He had seen Dutch merchants pelted with mud that morning, and Metje had been upset when one of the local rakers – street cleaners – had asked whether she bathed in butter, like all Netherlanders. He itched to be involved again – either in Holland or monitoring known Dutch spies in England – and hoped with all his heart that his interview at White Hall would be a success.
‘… and I am not sure Heyden would agree with that,’ he heard North say.
‘Yes,’ he said, jolting out of his reverie and seeing expectant faces waiting for an answer. ‘I do agree.’
‘Thomas!’ cried Faith in disgust. ‘I thought you were a sensible man! Now we shall all spend the most miserable winter imaginable – and it is your fault.’
Hill was smug. ‘The Lord made him agree with me. He does work through unusual instruments.’
Temperance, Faith and North were cool with Chaloner when the meeting ended, and he saw they felt he had let them down. They walked home in silence, the Norths marching arm-in-arm in front, and Hill and Chaloner behind. But Temperance was not the type to bear grudges, and it was not long before she dropped back to join him.
‘Have you slaughtered your turkey yet?’ he asked, before Hill could spout more religion.
‘It is still at the game shop,’ she replied. ‘Eating enough grain to feed London, apparently.’
‘It is a big bird,’ said North, overhearing. ‘But not, perhaps, God’s loveliest creation.’
‘All God’s creations are lovely – it says so in the Bible,’ bellowed Hill. He reconsidered before anyone could take issue. ‘However, turkeys are conspicuous by their absence in the Good Book.’
‘What do you think, Thomas?’ asked Temperance. Chaloner could see mischief glinting in her eyes, although her face was the picture of innocence. ‘Does God love turkeys as much as doves?’
‘Be careful how you answer that,’ advised Faith, glancing significantly in Hill’s direction. ‘You could find yourself in deep water.’
‘Not as deep as the poor turkey,’ replied Chaloner. ‘Will you really eat it at Christmas?’
Faith nodded grimly. ‘The game dealer claims he has fulfilled his end of the bargain – to supply a bird – and says turning it into dinner is our business. So, I shall kill it when it is delivered today.’
‘The Lord guide your hand and protect you from evil,’ intoned Hill. He took a deep breath and his voice became alarmingly loud. ‘The Lord leads the righteous, but the wicked He will cast–’
‘I had never seen one before,’ interrupted Chaloner quickly. ‘A turkey, I mean. Not alive, at least. I did not know they grew to such a great size.’
‘I think our game dealer procured us an exceptionally grotesque one,’ said Faith, thus beginning a debate with Hill as to whether any of God’s creatures should be so described. Chaloner took North’s arm and drew him away.
‘It is dangerous for you when Hill rants in the street. Your religion is no longer popular, and it is unwise to draw attention to yourselves. So far, the smashed windows have been confined to the chapel, but it will not be long before they turn on your home. I do not want to see you hurt.’
North sighed. ‘God will protect us.’
Chaloner was tempted to point out that God had not protected North’s son from vengeful fanatics, but it was too raw a subject to use for scoring points. ‘The new Bill of Uniformity has expelled men like Hill from the Anglican Church, and it will not be long before other laws are passed that will make your religion illegal altogether. You must keep a low profile.’
‘I will speak to Hill again,’ promised North, although he did not look enthused by the prospect.
When they reached North’s door, Metje was emptying slops into the street, but Chaloner did not return the secret smile she shot in his direction. He was worried, afraid that Hill’s intemperance might bring trouble on North, which would draw attention to the fact that not only was he a Puritan, but that one of his household was Dutch. And then broken windows might be the least of their troubles.