Tidelands Read online

  “I was, Father Professor.”

  “Then why did you fail?”

  Haltingly, ashamed of himself, James explained the trip to the Isle of Wight, the associates who met him, the boys who concealed his mission, the boatman who failed him, and the replacement: Zachary. He said that Mr. Hopkins’s house was completely unguarded and that the king could have left with him but would not do so.

  The professor sat, his fingers steepled together as if he were praying. “Why would he not leave with you?”

  “He did not explain himself to me.”

  “But he would not leave?”

  “He laughed,” James said bitterly. “And then he was angry that anyone should doubt that he could save himself. He was confident that he would be able to make an agreement with them. He told me to come again in future, if he needed me. I warned him that it was dangerous for me, and for others—that we might not be able to come again—but he didn’t take me seriously. I couldn’t make him take us seriously.”

  “You told him you were obeying his wife and son? That it was their plan?”

  “I said the password, and I told him they had paid me, and given me money to bribe the boatman. He said he would not go at their bidding.” James could not easily convey the king’s petulance and maintain the respect that he must show for God’s ordained leader on earth.

  “But you got back to Sir William without detection?”

  “I’m certain that I did.”

  “And then you were ill?”

  James flushed. The professor could see the deep color at the neck of his robe.

  “I was. Some sort of fever that they have on the marshes there. It didn’t last long.”

  “Was it a sickness of the body only? Or was it of your faith, my son?”

  James dropped his head. The older man could barely make out the muttered words that his faith was shaken and indeed lost.

  “This is not surprising,” Dr. Sean said gently. “You were very alone, a young man, and in danger of your life for weeks and weeks before you even got to the island. We gave you the greatest task that anyone from this college has ever been set, and it failed.”

  “I’m so sorry,” James whispered. “I am shamed.”

  “It sounds as if no one could have persuaded the king. If he did not want to come you could not make him. I believe that you did your best and I imagine that no one could have done more.”

  There was a silence.

  “Could you have done more, my son?”

  “I have questioned myself,” James admitted. “I cannot see what more I could have done. I wish I could have got him away. I think if he had come with me I would have got him safely away. I even dream of it. I go over and over in my mind. But there’s no certainty. There’s no knowing what would have happened out at sea, or even at the quayside. I don’t think I could have done more—not without his consent. But I fear . . . I fear that I should have insisted. But how could I insist to him?”

  “One setback may shake your faith but not break it,” the senior man remarked. “Your vows remain intact?”

  There was a long silence in the sunlit peaceful room.

  “They do not,” James confessed, his voice a whisper. “Father, I have sinned. I met a woman and I love her. I am so sorry, Professor. I am deep in sin.”

  The older man nodded. “We are all of us in sin. We were born in sin and we sin every day. But the Lord is merciful. He forgives us if we confess and return to God. You will confess and return to God.”

  James’s head came up. “I ask to be released from my vows,” he said quietly. “I will confess, and serve any penance that is asked of me, of course. But I pray that I may be released. Father Professor, I love her. I want to be with her.”

  The abbey bell struck the hour and in the town, beyond the window, the other church bells rang too. James listened to the competing chimes, all of them announcing the hour of prayer in this devout town. When the last had fallen silent, Dr. Sean looked kindly at the young man. “Go to the church and confess your sins and we will talk again next week.”

  “Next week!” James exclaimed.

  The older man smiled patiently. “Yes,” he said. “Of course. Did you think you would leave tomorrow? You and I will talk again next week. And in the meantime, you will speak of this only in the confessional, to the confessor that I appoint to talk with you. Nowhere else, to no one else, and you will not write to anyone either. You are still under your vow of obedience, my son, and this is how you will spend your week.”

  James rose to his feet, bowed, and went to the door. Dr. Sean bent his head over his paper, knowing that James would hesitate at the door.

  “Father Professor, I have given my word to her that I will return to her. She is waiting for me.”

  Slowly the older man raised his head, his quill poised in his hand. “My son, she will have to learn patience, as will you. We serve an eternal God, not one who counts the minutes. God took a week to make the world, now He demands that you consider this important choice for a similar time. I don’t think you can refuse Him.”

  James, baffled, bowed his head. “I can’t,” he agreed.

  “If she is a good woman, then she will be praying too. She will need time to consider her situation.”

  “She is a good woman,” he said, thinking of her pale face in the church porch as she waited for ghosts. “She is not of our faith, not of our beliefs, but she is a good woman.”

  “It is your faith that concerns us now,” Dr. Sean said firmly. “Meditate on that. Take it to our Father.”

  “But she—”

  “She does not concern us now. God bless you, my son.”

  “Amen.”

  TIDELANDS, OCTOBER 1648

  Even with both of the women spinning, and both of them picking the last of the herbs that were still growing in the late October sunshine, even with Alinor selling her oils from the summer, attending every birth, and drying the herbs that were still growing green, even with Alys working all the hours they would pay her at the Millers’ farm, the money was slow to come in and hard to keep. The little household had always lived off its own—growing their own food, brewing their own ale, fishing, making and mending and never buying new. But as winter came closer the price of everything went up: tallow for soap and candles, meat of any sort, cheese and milk, wheat or rye. Even the things that they foraged—the teazels for felting, the willow twigs for sweeping—took longer to find. Alinor spent more and more time picking up driftwood for her fire, walking on the shore, which started to crackle with freezing dew, as the wintry days grew shorter, and the nights dark.

  As if winter did not bring trouble enough, Alinor was ill, exhausted before she started her day, sick before she got out of their shared bed. She could not eat before midday, she could not bear the smell of cheese or bacon, and when Ned brought a boiled lobster over one evening, a payment for ferry fees from one of the Sealsea fishermen, she could not even sit at the table while he and Rob and Alys feasted.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Alys asked irritably, her mouth full of lobster meat. Ned sat opposite Rob, who had come from the Priory to visit and had brought a loaf of white bread with compliments from Mrs. Wheatley. Alinor, opposite Alys, had a slice of the bread and a cup of small ale. Red, the dog, under the table, fixed his brown gaze on her, as if he thought she might slip him the crust.

  “I don’t know,” Alinor said. “I thought it was the quatrain fever but I have no signs; I expect it will pass. Perhaps it was something that I ate.”

  “It’s been weeks,” Alys pointed out. “Surely it’d be over by now if it was rancid cream or spoiled meat.”

  “Don’t,” Alinor said, the back of her hand to her mouth. “Don’t even speak of them.”

  Ned laughed shortly. “She was always sickish,” he said unsympathetically. “You should’ve seen her when she was breeding you.” He bent his head and cracked one of the claws. “Here, Rob,” he said. “Try this.”

  The young man and his