Thomas’s eyes narrowed at my blunt statement. “You have your criminal, but do not yet know with any precision what the crime was? That is an unusual position for a man of law to find himself in, is it not?”
“Perhaps. But these are unusual times. I assume my father was innocent. Do you deny that I must do so? And that, in religion as in law, I have no choice in this matter? Quite apart from the fact that I know my father was quite incapable of acting in so base a fashion.”
“I grant it is a necessary starting point.”
“And you grant also that John Thurloe, as Secretary of State, was responsible for all that pertained to the destruction of anyone who challenged Cromwell’s position?”
“Yes.”
“Then Thurloe must be guilty,” I concluded simply.
“So why do you need proof, if your legal logic is so fine?”
“Because we live in distempered times, when the law has become the cat’s paw of the powerful, who tangle it in rules so that they may escape punishment. That is why. And because my father’s character has been so abused that it is impossible to make people see what is obvious.”
Thomas grunted at this, for he knew nothing of the law and believed it to have something to do with justice. As I had once done myself, until I studied it.
“If I am to triumph at law,” I continued, “I must establish that my father’s character was such that he could not have betrayed anyone. At present he is cast as the betrayer; I must discover who put this story about and for what purpose. Only then will a law court listen.”
“And how do you intend to do this? Who could tell you?”
“Not many people, and most of those will be found at court. Already a problem, as I cannot possibly afford to go there.”
Thomas, dear soul that he was, nodded in sympathy. “It would be a pleasure if you would let me assist you.”
“Don’t be absurd,” I said. “Why, you are even poorer than I am. God knows I’m grateful, but I’m afraid my requirements far exceed your resources.”
He shook his head, and scratched his chin in the way he always did before launching into a confidence.
“My dear friend, please don’t concern yourself. My prospects are good and getting better. The parish of Easton Parva is coming up in the gift of my Lord Maynard in nine months’ time. He has asked the warden and thirteen senior Fellows to recommend a candidate, and the warden has already hinted that he thinks I would be more than suitable, as long as I can make clear my full adherence to doctrine. It will be a struggle, but I will grit my teeth, and then eighty pounds a year will be mine. If, that is, I can fight off Dr. Grove.”
“Who?” I asked in astonishment.
“Dr. Robert Grove. Do you know him?”
“Very well. And I still have some tender spots to prove it. He was the curate at Sir William Compton’s when I was sent to that family. He acted as my tutor for many years. Such as I know, he put there. What has he got to do with this?”
“He is now back in his place as a Fellow of New College, and he wants my living,” Thomas explained, “even though he has no claim to preferment except that he has not received any. Frankly, I am very much better suited. A parish needs a young and sound minister. Grove is an old fool who only gets excited when he thinks about the wrongs done to him in the past.”
I laughed. “I would hate to be between Dr. Grove and something he wants.”
“I have no great objection to him,” Thomas said, as though I needed to be reassured on this point. “I would be happy for him to be pastured out to a comfortable living, if there were two of them. But there is one only, so what can I do? I need that living more than he. Jack, can I tell you a secret?”
“I will not stop you.”
“I wish to marry.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s it, is it? And how much has the lady?”
“Seventy-five a year, and a manor in Derbyshire.”
“Very nice,” I said. “But you need a living to persuade the father. I see the problem.”
“Not only that,” he said in some obvious distress. “I am obviously not allowed to marry as long as 1 am a Fellow of the college, and I cannot cease being a Fellow until I have a living. What is worse,” he concluded ruefully, “I like the girl.”
“How unfortunate. Who is she?”
“The daughter of my aunt’s cousin. A woolen draper in Bromwich. A soundly based man in all respects. And the girl is obedient, meek, hard-working and plump.”
“Everything a wife should be. With her teeth as well, I hope.”
“Most of them, yes. Nor has she had smallpox. We would do well, I feel, and her father has not dissuaded me. But he has made it clear that he would not countenance the alliance if I cannot match her portion. Which means a living and, as I have no other connections, one that comes from New College or through its influence. And Easton Parva is the only one likely to come vacant in the next three years.”
“I see,” I said. “These are serious times. Have you been on campaign?”
“As much as possible. I have talked to all the Fellows, and find myself well received. In fact, many have given me to understand I have their support. I am confident of the outcome. And the fact that the gold men will advance me funds now indicates my confidence is not ill-placed.”
“And the decision is taken when?”
“Next March or April.”
“Then I suggest you start living in the chapel, just in case. Recite the Thirty-Nine Articles in your sleep. Praise the Archbishop of Canterbury and the king every time you take a drink of wine. Let not a breath of dissent escape your lips.”
He sighed. “It will be hard, my friend. I can only do it for the good of the country and the church.”
I applauded his sense of duty. Do not think me selfish, but I was very keen for Thomas to win his place or, at least, to be the favored candidate for as long as possible. If it was noised that he would not get the living, the moneylenders would shut their coffers with a snap, and that would spell disaster for me as well as for him.
“I wish you the very best of good luck, then,” I said. “And I counsel you once more to be cautious. You are prone to saying what you think, and there can be no more dangerous habit in one wanting preferment in the Church.”
Thomas nodded, and reached inside his pocket. “Here, my good friend. Take this.”
It was a purse, containing three pounds. How can I put this? I was overcome, as much with gratitude for his generosity as I was by disappointment over his limited means. Ten times that much would have been a start; thirty times could have been spent with ease. And yet, sweet man that he was, he gave me all he had and risked his own future in the gift. You see how much I owed him? Remember this; it is important. I take my debts as seriously as my injuries.
“I cannot thank you enough. Not only for the money, but because you are the only person who believes in me.”
Thomas courteously shrugged it aside. “I wish I could do more. Let us turn to business now. Who might you approach to tell you about what happened to your father?”
“There is only a handful who might know something. Sir John Russell was one, Edward Villiers another. And there was Lord Mordaunt, who did so well from helping the king back onto his throne that he gained a barony and a lucrative sinecure at Windsor as part of his reward. Then, of course, there is whatever I might one day persuade Sir William Compton to tell me.”
“Windsor is not far from here,” Thomas pointed out. “Scarcely a day’s journey, and only a couple if you walk. If Lord Mordaunt is to be found there, then it would be the most economical place to start.”
“What if he will not see me?”
“You can only ask. I recommend that you do not write in advance. It is discourteous, but avoids the possibility that he might be forewarned of your arrival. Go and see him. Then we can decide what to do next.”