The Painter's Apprentice, page 25
Noah forced his way to the Bishop’s barge through the swarming multitude. Beth’s heart turned over when she saw his rapidly swelling eye socket and blood running from his nose. ‘What happened?’
‘Sedition,’ he said. ‘Rebellion against the King and his government. The bishops are to be charged with seditious libel!’
‘Damn the King!’ Bishop Compton slammed his hand on to the side of the barge.
‘They’re to be taken to the Tower,’ said Noah, his voice muffled as Beth mopped at his bleeding nose with her handkerchief. ‘The bishops have refused bail.’
‘The Tower?’ Beth dropped the handkerchief, apprehension gripping at her stomach. ‘Will they be beheaded?’
‘They’ll have to be tried first,’ said Bishop Compton, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘But can we believe in justice any more?’
‘Why have the bishops refused bail?’ asked Beth. ‘Surely anything would be better than being sent to the Tower?’
Bishop Compton smiled, just a little. ‘Perhaps that was a shrewd decision.’
Before Beth could ask what he meant by that a rousing cheer went up and the crowd parted to reveal the seven bishops, grey haired and bent with age. Twenty or so heavily armed soldiers led the prisoners down to the Archbishop of Canterbury’s barge.
There was a cacophony of cat calls and shouts of ‘Shame!’ The King’s men were jostled, one tripped up by a protester’s foot.
‘Scared?’ A man in the crowd taunted one of the soldiers. ‘Do you think these old men are so dangerous they’ll overpower you?’
The cheering people rushed forward, stretching out their hands to touch the bishops’ cloaks. The hullabaloo was such that it was impossible for Henry Compton’s voice to be heard when he called out to the prisoners. But then Archbishop Sancroft saw him and lifted a hand only to be shoved in the back by a soldier as he stepped on to the barge.
The Archbishop of Canterbury’s barge set off slowly with prisoners and soldiers aboard. The bishops waved as the crowd roared its approval and support.
‘God bless you for standing by the Protestant cause!’
‘Blessed martyrs!’
Bishop Compton shouted at his boatman to follow. The jolting and jarring of the barge as it shoved its way through the flotilla of smaller boats meant Beth had to snatch at Noah’s coat when it flew off her shoulders after a particularly hard knock.
A great cry went up from the people lining the banks. They surged forwards with outstretched hands to the Archbishop’s barge, impeding its progress. Someone screamed and fell into the river; others followed, splashing through the mud and wading chest deep into the filthy water in their efforts to touch the bishops for their blessings.
Church bells began to peal, one after another.
‘Have you ever seen such a thing?’ shouted Noah over the din.
‘Seven brave men,’ bellowed George. ‘Surely the King cannot find against such a weight of public opinion?’
Scores of boats set off in convoy to accompany the Archbishop’s barge to the Tower. It was a little quieter in the centre of the river but cheering crowds lined the banks all the way.
‘It would seem that Archbishop Sancroft has been very shrewd in his refusal to accept bail,’ said Bishop Compton. There was a wry gleam of amusement in his eye. ‘The sympathy of the people is even more firmly behind the bishops now as the wicked tyrant, His Majesty the King, packs them off to a horrid dungeon in the Tower.’
It was very late by the time Noah escorted Beth back to Chelsea and their ears still rang from the noise of the crowd. He held her hand to guide her, since there was little moonlight.
Beth curled her fingers around his and wondered if he might kiss her goodbye in the shadows but when they reached Lady Arabella’s house it was ablaze with candles.
‘I shall have to be careful what I say about today,’ said Beth, as they waited upon the step for the maid to open the door, ‘since Sir George and Lady Arabella’s sympathies lie so strongly with the King in this matter.’
‘It’s been a momentous day, hasn’t it?’
He lifted her hand to his lips and she moved closer, her pulse skipping as she anticipated his kiss.
Then, as they heard the servant’s footsteps approaching the door, he bent and swiftly kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Beth,’ he said.
Before she could reply, he had disappeared into the darkness.
In the event, Lady Arabella wasn’t remotely interested in anything Beth had to say and barely noticed how late she was. All the candles were lit and the household gathered in the drawing room, discussing the events of the day.
‘These trouble-making bishops have been a thorn in the side of the King for far too long,’ pronounced Lady Arabella, ‘but you can be sure now that he will not allow them to continue to make difficulties.’
‘What will happen to them?’ asked Cecily.
‘They have been charged with seditious libel,’ replied Sir George. ‘Treason,’ he said, in the face of Cecily’s blank incomprehension.
‘Treason? But won’t they have their heads cut off and put on stakes over Tower Bridge?’ She shuddered theatrically.
‘I certainly hope so!’ said Arabella. ‘Once these rabble-rousers are removed from office there will be nothing to stand in the way of a new order in government.’ She smiled fondly at her husband. ‘The King will wish to have about him those of like religious beliefs, whom he can trust to support him in his endeavours. And Sir George and the twins will be ready and waiting to answer His Majesty’s commands.’ She patted Sir George on the arm. ‘Won’t you, Sir George?’
‘Just as you say, my dear.’
‘I see very great things ahead for this family,’ said Lady Arabella.
Beth could stand Lady Arabella’s self-satisfied smile no longer. ‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘I’m going to bed. Are you coming, Cecily?’
The following evening Sir George sent a message to say that he and the twins would not be home for supper.
Lady Arabella held up the note in hands shaking with excitement.
‘What is it, Grandmama?’ asked Cecily.
‘The news we have all been waiting for,’ said Lady Arabella, her pale eyes glittering like ice diamonds. ‘The Queen …’ She paused for effect.
‘Yes? squealed Cecily.
‘The Queen is brought to bed!’
‘She has given birth?’ asked Beth.
‘Not yet. We must wait a little while longer. But she is abed and in travail.’ Lady Arabella took a deep sigh. ‘Poor soul! I remember those times so well. Sir George and the twins will remain at Whitehall until she is delivered.’ She whispered, ‘Sir George hopes to be one of the witnesses at the birth. I impressed upon him the importance of his presence.’
Beth pictured the priests and courtiers all crowded into the birth chamber, waiting to see if she would be safely delivered of the expected prince. She sighed, wondering if Princess Anne had been set into a turmoil over the news. Poor lady!
Lady Arabella yawned. ‘It’s too late to wait any longer. Sir George will let us know soon enough how the Queen fares.’
Beth awoke when the front door slammed. Grey dawn light filtered in through the shutters and there were voices downstairs. Pulling on her wrap, she ran down to hear the news.
The twins, glassy-eyed, leaned against each other in the hall. There was a strong smell of rum.
Sir George was pale after a night without sleep but he carried with him such a glow of complacency that it left Beth in no doubt that the new prince had indeed arrived safely. Her heart constricted at the thought of the future trouble the little prince brought with him. Why, oh why, could the babe not have been a girl?
Lady Arabella hurried down the stairs. ‘Sir George, Sir George! What news?’
He caught her up into his arms in an unusual display of affection. ‘The very best, my dear. A prince!’ he said.
Lady Arabella squealed and kissed his cheek.
‘A beautiful little Catholic prince,’ beamed Sir George.
The twins, reeking of rum, lurched towards their mother and collapsed into a giggling heap on the hall floor.
Chapter 31
Later that morning Noah came to find Beth in her studio and lingered in the doorway. ‘The Princess of Denmark has returned from Bath and is visiting the Bishop on her way to Whitehall. She’s asking for you.’
Beth twisted the sapphire ring on her finger, relieved that she had remembered to put it on that morning but wishing she had worn one of her better dresses. ‘How is she?’
‘As you will imagine, distressed by the news of Prince James Francis Edward’s arrival.’
‘Then I’d better not keep her waiting.’ Hastily she covered her prepared paints with a damp cloth to prevent them drying out.
‘Perhaps I’ll see you later,’ said Noah and left before she could reply.
Forsyth stood outside the Bishop’s parlour and gave Beth a nod of recognition before announcing her. Princess Anne, her lady in waiting, Lady Sarah Churchill, and Bishop Compton were seated by the window.
Beth curtsied to the Princess, noticing that her eyes were red and swollen. The birth of the new prince must have upset her greatly.
‘I am in need of some of your calm good sense, Beth,’ said the Princess. ‘You have no doubt heard that the Queen has, apparently, been delivered of a son?’
‘I have, Your Royal Highness.’
‘I refuse to believe the child is my half-brother.’ The Princess wiped her eyes. ‘Very few Anglicans witnessed the birth. I understand the King peopled the birth chamber almost entirely with Catholics. And now my sister Mary is no longer heir to the throne but this … this papist imposter is to take her place!’
‘It was one thing to have a Catholic king, knowing it to be of short duration until a Protestant heir took his place,’ said Bishop Compton, ‘but this changes everything. In time, Princess Mary, with the Prince of Orange at her side, would have safely restored England to the Anglican faith. But now …’
Princess Anne twisted the sodden handkerchief in her lap. ‘We must do something.’
‘There is a great deal of support for the bishops now that they are confined to the Tower,’ said Bishop Compton, narrowing his eyes. ‘I’ve been receiving reports that many of the nobility are visiting them during their imprisonment.’ He smiled. ‘Messages of support and sympathy arrive every day. Even the guards are drinking to the bishops’ health.’
‘If ever there was a time to force the King to retract, this is it,’ said Princess Anne.
Bishop Compton glanced at Beth, then back to the Princess. ‘We must see the outcome of the trial. After that we will know what to do.’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows, perhaps the King will see sense and drop the proceedings.’
Princess Anne rubbed at her temples. ‘My head aches so! Shall we take a walk in the garden, Beth, like we used to at Merryfields?’ She stood up. ‘You may remain here, Lady Sarah, as I shall not need you.’
Forsyth followed at a discreet distance while they walked in the sunshine. Princess Anne opened her heart again to Beth, pouring out her misery at her childless state and her anxieties for the future. ‘I cannot help but feel at fault,’ she wept. ‘If only my baby had lived! Or if my poor sister could have a child …’
‘You cannot blame yourself!’
‘Perhaps God is seeking to punish me? What will become of us all now?’
It grieved Beth to see Anne in such distress; she took the sobbing woman into her arms and patted her shoulder. ‘Perhaps God has some other great plan for us all?’ she said, offering her handkerchief.
The Princess wiped her eyes and linked her arm through Beth’s. ‘You always make me feel calm again. Our friendship is important to me. Circumstances make it difficult to see you as often as I should wish but you are always just the same, kind Beth,’ she said, kissing her cheek.
Over the Princess’s shoulder, Beth caught a glimpse of Lizzie Skelton, open-mouthed at the sight of her in the Princess’s arms. Trying not to laugh, she watched Lizzie walk into a rose bush.
The following Sunday, Noah, wearing a new hat with a dashing green feather in the crown, called again at Lady Arabella’s house to ask her permission for Beth to accompany him to church.
‘The truth is,’ Noah said, as they walked briskly along St Martin’s Lane later on, ‘Bishop Compton asked me to attend the service at St Giles in the Fields today. He believes the rector is not holding fast to the Church of England and asked me to report back to him.’
‘St Giles?’ Beth was out of breath as she hurried along to match Noah’s pace. ‘Isn’t that the rector who caused the Bishop to be disgraced?’
‘It is. There have been such comings and goings in the evenings at Fulham Palace, Beth! Something’s in the air … Messengers. Secret meetings. Peers of the realm and gentry arriving under cover of darkness and leaving in the middle of the night.’
‘It sounds exciting!’
Noah gave her a worried glance. ‘And perhaps treasonous? Careful!’ He snatched her arm to prevent her from stepping into a pile of steaming horse dung. ‘Sometimes the Bishop acts more like the soldier he once was than a minister of the Church. He’s planning some kind of campaign, I’m sure of it.’
There was a good turnout at St Giles and Noah and Beth sat in silence while they waited for the service to begin.
Noah tapped his fingers on his knee, his energy and impatience barely reined in.
Beth eyed him covertly, studying the line of his profile. A shaft of sunlight from the window fell on to his hair, burnishing it with fiery copper lights. She had never painted a portrait but all at once she was possessed with the idea that she must attempt it. She had the graphite sketch she had made when they were sitting by the moat but she wanted a faithful likeness that would capture the tones and shadows of his skin and the colour of his hair so that she would never forget him after he had gone. A sudden pain gripped her with the force of a blow to the stomach as she remembered that she would never see him again once he returned to Virginia.
‘Beth?’ Noah whispered. ‘What is it?’
She shook her head and pressed her lips tightly together, frightened that she might start to howl, like a small child deprived of a precious toy.
Noah gave her worried sideways glances but then the service began and she took several deep breaths and concentrated fiercely on it.
The rector began to read the prayers for the King and Queen and to give thanks for the safe arrival of Prince James Francis Edward, while the congregation sat in sullen silence, omitting to make the usual responses to the prayers. When the prayers finished the rector began his sermon, further praising the King and Queen and the new prince.
A whispered conversation in the pew behind Beth and Noah made heads turn to stare. Feet shuffled, a prayer book was dropped, several staccato coughs rang out. Someone laughed and the murmur of voices blossomed until the rector’s voice was completely drowned by the volume of conversation.
Several members of the congregation stood up and left the church; within a few minutes the rest had followed.
‘Well!’ said Noah, ‘this will be something to report to the Bishop, won’t it? The birth of the Prince isn’t good news at all as far as the people are concerned. The King plans a magnificent firework display next week to celebrate it and it’ll be interesting to see how the people respond. Shall we go together?’
Beth nodded. ‘I’d like that.’ She would have walked barefoot across Hackney marshes if it meant spending time with Noah.
‘I wondered if you’d like to go on an excursion this afternoon?’
‘An excursion?’ Her spirits lifted.
‘I’ve arranged to hire a horse and I thought we’d take a picnic to Islington village.’ They bought eel pies, still warm from the oven, from the pie shop in Drury Lane.
It was hard for Beth to resist opening the parcel and taking a bite. She waited impatiently outside the Rose and Crown while Noah went inside to purchase some ale.
A sway-backed grey mare waited for them at the stables. She eyed them with disfavour, curling back her lips to expose yellow teeth and backing off when Noah took hold of the reins.
‘You want to watch old Meg,’ said the stable boy. ‘Make sure you tie her up nice and tight if you stop anywhere or she’ll be away.’
Noah set his lips in a line of grim determination and grasped hold of Meg’s bridle. He leapt up on to the horse’s back before she had time to object and Beth was impressed to see how quickly he brought her under control.
Beth tucked the picnic into the saddlebag and the stable lad hoisted her up to sit behind Noah. She settled herself on to Meg’s broad back, wrapping her arms around Noah’s waist.
‘All set?’ Noah glanced back over his shoulder.
She nodded and Noah nudged the horse’s flanks with his heels.
Meg refused to budge.
‘Stubborn old girl!’ said the stable boy, thwacking her on her rump.
Meg tossed her head and shot off at a cracking pace out of the stable yard into the road.
Noah hauled on the reins, which steadied the horse to a more sedate pace along Holborn.
It had been a few years since Beth had ridden. She and her siblings had shared a couple of ponies when they were young but they had been too expensive to keep.
It was very pleasant to be sitting high up and so close to Noah. Meg clumped along past the gardens of Gray’s Inn where people strolled the paths in groups, enjoying their Sunday walk after church. Beth leaned against the warmth of Noah’s back and the green feather of his hat tickled her cheek, making her smile.
They passed Leather Lane with its stinking tannery before they turned off Holborn into Hatton Gardens.
‘These are splendid houses, don’t you think?’ asked Noah. ‘Abraham Arlidge has been building these houses around squares for the past twenty years for merchants who don’t wish to live in the city but still need to be close to their businesses.’
