She was so upset that she stormed out of the house and stalked towards the chapel without making sure the coast was clear of Norths, displaying a reckless abandon she had never shown before. Fortunately, the jeweller was still at his private devotions; Chaloner could see his silhouette at an upstairs window, Bible open in front of him. He trotted after her, aware that she was walking very fast for so small a woman, another indication of her anger. They had not gone far when Chaloner felt a pricking at the back of his neck that told him he was being watched. Fearing that it might be North – he did not think Metje would ever forgive him if their argument cost her her job – he spun around, and saw someone standing in a doorway, cloaked and wearing a hat that shadowed his face.
Chaloner’s immediate assumption was that it was one of Kelyng’s rabble, but the watcher made no hostile move, and when Chaloner took a step towards him, he turned and hurried away. Chaloner watched him go, knowing from his gait that he was not Bennet or Snow. He began to walk after Metje again, then spun around when a stone clipped his shoulder.
The man was standing in the middle of Fetter Lane, and Chaloner was forced to duck when he lobbed another missile. He made a run at the fellow, who promptly fled down the alley by the Rolls House. His first instinct was to set off in pursuit, but he skidded to a halt at the lane’s dark entrance and thought better of it. He could detect movement in the shadows, and was not so foolish as to let himself be lured to a place where he could be set upon. He abandoned the chase, and made his way back to Metje, preferring to make sure she was safe than hare after men who threw stones. He walked quickly, suspecting Kelyng’s men were responsible for the ‘attack’: it was the kind of half-baked scheme they might devise. Metje was fumbling with the chapel’s lock as he approached and he heard her talking to someone, but when he reached her, she was alone.
‘Was someone here?’ he asked. The street appeared to be deserted.
‘A beggar,’ she replied frostily. ‘The poor devil ran away when he saw you coming, and I do not blame him. Why have you drawn your sword? You are asking for trouble, wandering around looking as though you are itching for a fight.’
He sheathed it only when he was sure they were alone. ‘North is coming. You had better hurry.’
She glanced up the road, then shot inside the chapel when she saw he was right, rushing to light the lamps and set the place ready before her employer arrived. She was lucky, because the Puritan was searching his person for something as he walked. He stopped abruptly and returned to his house, emerging a short while later with a sheaf of paper – the monthly accounts that were to be presented to the community that day. Faith and Temperance were with him. Faith was tugging gloves over her meaty hands, while Temperance appeared to be daydreaming.
Chaloner hid behind a water butt until they had entered the building, and was about to leave when he saw Hill marching from the opposite direction, Bible under his arm. He pretended to be fastening the buckle on his boot, but knew from Hill’s sharp, suspicious expression that the ruse had not worked. The preacher was wondering what he was doing lurking behind barrels in the dark.
‘Our clerk from Buckingham,’ he said unpleasantly. ‘God does not like liars, Heyden.’
‘I hail from Buckinghamshire,’ replied Chaloner coolly. He went on the offensive. ‘But there was no respectable family called Hill that I ever heard of – no teacher in the local school, either.’
Hill was incensed. ‘How dare you question my antecedents.’
‘I recall an iconoclast called Hill, though – in the stocks for daubing paint on those religious statues the churchwardens deemed exempt from destruction. He raved all through his trial, then recanted pitifully and was never seen again.’
Hill regarded him with dislike. ‘It seems we should both turn a blind eye to each other’s pasts. However, this is the only agreement I shall ever make with you. If I catch you doing anything to harm my flock, I will denounce you without hesitation.’
‘You are the one putting them at risk. It is unwise to draw attention to them with defiant speeches.’
‘I speak when the Lord inspires me,’ said Hill indignantly. ‘North invited me to dinner last night, but the hand of friendship was extended only because he wanted me to curb my tongue – and you put him up to it. Well, it will not work. When I preach, I am God’s vessel, ignited by the power of–’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Chaloner, knowing he was wasting his time, but persisting anyway. ‘But it would be better if you were to ignite a little more quietly. You can see from here that more chapel windows were broken last night. It is because the patrons of the Golden Lion are tired of hearing your braying voice when they come for a drink.’
‘Ale is the Devil’s brew,’ snapped Hill. ‘It is my sacred duty to disturb those seduced by it.’
‘Christ!’ muttered Chaloner, seeing the situation was hopeless.
‘Preacher Hill,’ said Temperance, coming outside to see what was happening. Faith was behind her. ‘And Thomas, too. Do not stand in the cold, brothers. Come inside.’
‘It is no warmer, because there are holes where there should be glass,’ added Faith, shooting them both a resentful glare. ‘But it is out of the wind.’
‘Wind is created by the Lord,’ declared Hill loud enough to startle two passing horses. ‘And so is inclement weather. It is profane to attempt to ameliorate it.’
‘You do spout some rubbish, Preacher,’ said Faith. ‘But perhaps a decent breakfast will unscramble your wits, so please dine with us after the service. I bought a ham yesterday.’
‘Fine food is how the Devil corrupts the weak,’ boomed Hill. ‘But I shall partake of a little ham, just to demonstrate to you lowly sinners how I accept temptation, then rise above it. However, I shall not come if Heyden is invited, too – or if you tell me I cannot extol the Lord.’
‘Are you coming to breakfast, Thomas?’ asked Temperance eagerly, her happy tone attracting the immediate attention of her mother. ‘What a lovely surprise.’
‘I have an appointment at nine o’clock, and I doubt Hill will have finished extolling by then.’
‘He might,’ whispered Temperance with a mischievous smile, ‘if he knows there is food waiting.’
‘Has your turkey arrived yet?’ asked Hill of Faith. ‘I am partial to turkey meat, as well as ham.’
‘It has arrived, all right,’ said Faith grimly. ‘And it has taken up residence in the kitchen, since it decided the yard was not to its liking. That is why we have ham today – it can be eaten cold, and no one will be obliged to encroach what is now the bird’s domain.’
‘I shall deal with it,’ announced Hill. ‘Once it hears the word of the Lord, it will become compliant, like Isaac did with Abraham. And then I shall crush its skull with my Bible. No turkey defies God.’
Chaloner regarded him uncertainly. ‘You plan to brain it with a book?’
‘With the Bible,’ corrected Hill. ‘It is very heavy, and should do the trick nicely.’
‘That is horrible,’ said Chaloner. ‘It probably will not work, and is sure to make a mess. Besides, I doubt you will tame it with scripture. I have met it, and it is not a God-fearing bird.’
Everyone jumped away in alarm when Hill hauled a pistol from under his cloak. ‘If it resists, then the Lord has other means of destroying His enemies.’