We left the inn as soon as we could. I could see that the conversation had upset Christobel.
"Do you think it is really true?" she said. "Has he really gone to work so very close?"
"It is not so very close."
"It is in the neighborhood. I wish he had gone right away."
"Had you ever heard of Fifty Acres Farm?"
"No."
"Well, it is not very near, and people usually know their neighbors in the country. That girl did not know you. If it is not so far in miles, it is rather tucked away."
"Kate, do not mention before Kirkwell that Isaac Napp is living at Fifty Acres Farm."
Luke was glad to see us back at the Dower House, and so was Mistress Longton. There was a newcomer at Rosslyn Manor. He was Sebastian Adams. He came from the north, on the border between England and Scotland, and he was a distant relative of my father. James said that he had come down to train to look after the estate, which meant, of course, that Lord Rosslyn had despaired of ever having a legitimate son and in due course the estate would pass to Sebastian Adams's branch of the family.
"He is a very pleasant young man and eager to learn. I think, when the time comes, Rosslyn Manor will be safe in his hands."
James brought him to Featherston to have a look at the estate there and to meet Kirkwell. As Christobel and I were there frequently, we soon made his acquaintance.
Luke often accompanied us. After all, Sebastian Adams was a kinsman of his, as he was of mine, and we were all eager to know each other. Kirkwell, James, Luke and Sebastian were all interested in estate management.
Poor Luke was a little wistful. I believed he had secretly hoped there might be a chance of his inheriting Rosslyn Manor before Sebastian came. Since Lord Rosslyn seemed unlikely to have a legitimate son, why should his natural son not inherit, when he was surely more close than a distant cousin?
But it seemed this was not to be so and Luke's dream was over.
We talked a good deal about politics too, and speculated on what would happen when the King died. He was approaching fifty and although he had always seemed unusually healthy, there had been an illness, brief fortunately, but nevertheless a warning of what would have to come one day.
"I cannot believe that the Duke's reign would last long unless he changed a good deal," said James.
"He may well do so when he sees what is at stake," suggested Kirkwell.
"There are his daughters Mary and Anne, of course," put in Sebastian. "The King has made a point of seeing that they are brought up in the Protestant religion, in spite of their father's objections. James has many virtues. Mayhap he will change when the day comes."
"If he does not, there will be trouble."
"There is Monmouth, of course," suggested Luke. "The King could easily secure the throne for him by declaring that he had married Monmouth's mother."
"But apparently he did not," said Kirkwell, "and he has denied that many times. Though I believe there is a certain pressure to make him admit that there was a marriage ... for the sake of peace."
"It seems to me," said Sebastian, "that it is not a very healthy situation. All we can do is pray for the King to continue in good health and to rule over us for another twenty years. By that time they may have sorted it out."
So they talked, and it was amazing how often that topic seemed to come up. Perhaps it was so in many houses in England.
The popularity of Titus Oates was increasing. He strutted through the streets of London, surrounded by his guards. He wore episcopal garments, silk gown and cassock and called himself—as many others called him—the savior of the nation.
"It seems," said Kirkwell, "that we shall soon not need a king; Titus Oates will be our ruler."
"His main target is the Queen," added James. "What next, I wonder? I heard today that they had arrested Her Majesty's physician. Sir George Wakeman. If he is found guilty, the next victim will surely be the Queen herself."
"But she is an innocent gentle lady," I broke in. "She loves the King. She would not plan to kill him."
Kirkwell said bitterly: "A man or woman does not have to be guilty to be found so by Titus Oates and his men."
There was a great deal of interest in the trial of Sir George Wakeman, and rumors of what the outcome would be were even reaching places as distant as Somerset. The local people were very interested. Indeed, had we not had our own little glimpse of what the tyranny of Titus Gates could mean?
Lord Chief Justice Scroggs was to try the Wakeman case. He was notorious for his hatred of Catholicism. He had recently declared in court that it was a religion that unhinged all piety and morality. Catholics ate their God, killed their King and made saints of murderers.
It seemed that Sir George Wakeman was doomed. James said that a great deal hung on the result of this trial. If Sir George was found guilty, the Queen would surely be condemned with him.
One morning when I went downstairs, I found Mistress Long-ton looking both shocked and exhilarated, as people are when they are about to impart something which excites them because they are the first to tell it, yet they know they should be horrified to do so.
I said: "Something has happened."
"It looks like murder."
"What?" I cried. "Who?"
"It does not surprise me. He being who he is."
"Who is it? Do tell me."
"It's that man who was here ... spying."
I murmured: "Isaac Napp?"
"That's the one. He was found not far from Fifty Acres. That's just beyond the Rosslyn Estate. There's a little stream running along near the farm."
"Drowned?" I asked.
"Drowned! A child could stand up in that little stream and the water would come barely to its knees. No ... that was just what finished him off. He was half dead before he was put in. Someone had strangled him."
"It sounds terrible."
"I doubt not he had his enemies, that one. Men such as he are certain to have. He'd been half-strangled and put face down to drown. There'll be a bit of noise about this, I shouldn't wonder. It looks like murder. Couldn't be anything else. And when you reckon he's that Titus Oates's man ... Oh yes, there will be some bother about this, I'll swear."
I felt sick. I could not help thinking of Isaac Napp in the courtyard of Featherston Manor, and Kirkwell gripping his neck in his hands.
We waited in a state of near panic. Christobel's thoughts were similar to mine.
As soon as we heard the news, Christobel and I rode over to Featherston Manor. James, who was proving a good friend to Kirkwell, was already there.
Kirkwell was looking tense.
Christobel said: "Oh, James, you've heard the news. It is good of you to come."
"But of a surety I must come. I do not like this. I'm not surprised. The man must have had many enemies."
Kirkwell said: "I swear I did not do it. On everything that I hold sacred, I swear."
"We believe you," said James. "But what I fear is that, because of this man's work for Oates, this will be regarded as more than an ordinary case of murder."
"What shall we do?" asked Christobel.
James laid a hand on her arm. "You must not worry." Then he shrugged his shoulders. "What a foolish thing to say! Of course you cannot help worrying. We are all worried."
"I tell you, I have not seen the man since I ordered him out of the courtyard that day. I had no idea he was still in the neighborhood."
"I believe you," said James earnestly. "So do we all. But this is one of Oates's men. Oates will want to find someone to blame."