Kirkwell stammered: "He ... he is responsible for my father's death."
"It is not for you to take the law into your own hands," said James quietly.
"He ... he is a spy."
"Be off," said James to Isaac.
"I did my duty," said Isaac. "That's all I did. Traitors to the King ... Papists ..."
Kirkwell seemed to recover himself. He glanced down at his hands in horror. I think he was contemplating what he might have done if James had not stopped him in time.
It was a tense and dramatic moment as they all stood there, Kirkwell staring contemptuously at Isaac Napp, who returned his gaze truculently.
"Get off my land," said Kirkwell, "and never let me see you on it again."
"I've no wish to stay," retorted Isaac.
He turned and, still touching his throat where Kirkwell had grasped it, walked out of the courtyard. Jem Lee hesitated a second or so before following him.
"Thank you, James," said Kirkwell soberly. "Heaven knows what I might have done to him if you hadn't been here to stop me.
"He deserves it," replied James. "But it's for the law to punish him ... not you."
"I lost my temper. It has been such a shock ... my father."
"I know," said James. "I should have felt the same."
We were all terribly shaken by the incident—none more than Kirkwell himself. Naturally of easygoing temperament, it was rare that he lost his temper. But his father's death had so shaken him, and the sight of the man who had been instrumental in bringing it about on his land had so incensed him that he had completely lost his habitual self-control.
Sobered, we went into the house.
We were all trying to get back to normal. Christobel said that this sort of tragedy was happening all over the country. We had to take very special care of how we acted, and even what we said. People had been merrily rejoicing in the Restoration, and now they were getting a glimpse of the revival of intolerance. People were not to be allowed to worship God in their chosen manner. It was as though a blight had fallen over the country.
In London, we had had a glimpse of the state of affairs there, where the people's dread of a Catholic England had made them accept such a man as Titus Gates.
I stayed on at Featherston. My father had raised no objection. I missed Luke but Christobel wished to be at her home at such a time and she was eager for me to be with her.
I was becoming more and more fond of Christobel and her brother Kirkwell. I had always liked Christobel but I realized that I had not really known her until I had seen her in her own old home. I believe that when we had been in London she was so conscious of deceiving my mother and Maggie that she had not been quite herself. As for Kirkwell, he was more and more my friend. He seemed to find pleasure in my company, which was strange because I must have seemed quite a child to him. I was only eleven years old and he was about eighteen or nineteen, but I had been so much with older people all my life that I supposed I seemed older.
He talked to me quite frankly. He told me how ashamed he had been of his outburst with Isaac Napp.
"Do you know, Kate," he said, "I could have killed him. I do not know what got into me. I lost control of myself. I thought of my father ... he was so meek and mild. He harmed no one. And to think of that happening to him and that poor old priest with him. And that I had brought that spy on to the scene. I think it was a kind of disgust with myself."
"It is understandable," I assured him. "Many people would have felt the same and acted in the same way."
"I thank God that James was at hand to stop me. I shall be eternally grateful to him."
"I know."
"What is so sad is that all the trouble should be in the name of religion. Intolerance. Why do people hate others because they do not share their views? But the source of the present trouble which is sending so many people to the block is the fact that the King cannot get a son, which makes the Catholic Duke of York heir to the throne."
"It all seems so trivial."
"Perhaps intolerance is."
Christobel and I tried to adjust ourselves to the old ways. We did lessons; we read with each other and we rode out often, though I had not ridden Lively Lady since my accident. I used another mare now who was much younger.
One day, when we were riding a little farther afield than usual.
we passed a prosperous-looking place between the Rosslyn and Featherston estates.
As we rode past one of the fields we saw two people there. One was a young woman. She was carrying a tray on which was a tankard of ale which she was offering to a man who sat sprawling under a tree.
There was something familiar about him.
We came to an old inn from which hung a newly painted sign. It said "The King's Head," and there was a picture of the King, dark-eyed and heavy-featured, with a feathered hat and luxuriant curls.
"I have not been here for years," said Christobel. "I did not know they had opened again. There must be new people here. It was an old ruin when I was a child. Shall we go in and see what it is like? We could have a tankard of cider mayhap."
So we tethered our horses and went in. We took our seats and a young girl came up to serve us.
She brought us the tankards of cider and obviously expected to stop and talk to us as there was no one in the inn except ourselves. She tossed back her hair and smoothed her dress, as though to call attention to her charms. She was certainly rather pretty.
"You are new here, are you not?" said Christobel.
"I've been here two months," she told us. "The inn only opened three or four months ago. There's not much trade. I'm used to a place in town. I reckon I won't be staying here much longer."
"Where do you come from?" asked Christobel.
"Taunton. Now there's a bit of life there."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Mind you, there was all that fuss over at Featherston, wasn't there?"
I saw Christobel stiffen.
"That was something," the girl went on. "They took them up to London. I knew that Isaac Napp. He came in here once or twice. He was the one who found out about them."
This was the last thing we wanted. Our great desire was to put it all behind us, to try to forget.
I looked at Christobel. Her glance said: Let's finish this drink and get out of here.
The girl was new and did not know who we were.
She went on: "One of those old families. Lots of them here. They have their chapels in their houses, so it's all set up for them. When Isaac Napp came in here once he talked to me. We were quite friendly, but now, of course ..." She laughed significantly.
What did she mean? That he was still here? Much as we disliked this conversation, I felt there was something here we should know.
I said: "He left the neighborhood, I believe, after ... I mean, this ... er ... Isaac Napp."
"Did he? It's the first I've heard of it. He's over at Fifty Acres now."
"Fifty Acres?"
"That farm that's only about a mile or so from here. He's working there."
"I thought you said he had gone away," I said.
"I said no such thing. He did not go away. He left Featherston. Well, he could hardly stay after getting the old man to the block, could he?"
"I ... I thought he had gone a long way away after that."
"No, no. Only to Fifty Acres. You wouldn't think he would be ... like he is ... being so religious and all that."
"How is he?"
"Well, I could see that when he came in here. It is the way they look. You can see it at once. He talked to me all very sober, but beneath it ... well, I'm no country girl. And now he's at Fifty Acres, and there's that Mistress Blake, is there not?"
"Is there? And what of Mistress Blake?"
"They came in here once. The farmer's wife with one of the farm workers. I could see how it was. You see. Mistress Blake is about twenty years younger than old Blake. It stands to reason she might look around. Well, there we are. He's now at Fifty Acres, is Isaac Napp. People are afraid of him, really. Nobody would say much whatever he did. They'd be afraid he'd say they were in the Plot."