London, January 1654
Over the past month, David had visited many of the common law offices in Westminster, pressing good coin into each person’s palm. They vowed the money would pay for the court costs but David knew better. He could almost hear the metal clinking in their purses the moment he left their chambers.
He sought a resolution to his misery but each time a hand closed over his coin, his gut sank deeper. A dull headache became a persistent reminder he could lose everything he had worked for. Each evening he folded his body onto a chair and succumbed to deadly weariness; then in the morning, he dragged from his bed to again fight for his right to Newfoundland.
Baltimore’s stubbornness greatly vexed him and David had, for a brief moment, thought to seek him out and stab him in the heart. But reason prevailed. Sara promised David undue harm if he attempted to murder Cecil Calvert, Second Lord Baltimore.
“His home is in North Yorkshire and on the other side of the world,” she informed him.
“He’s the damn malignant,” David cursed. “Not me. Not you. No one in our family follows that popish religion. How is it Baltimore hasn’t been given over to the bailiffs for his idolatry practises?”
He stifled a cough. He could not tell Sara of the fever that simmered behind his eyes.
“There’s a fine line between Laud’s High Church and the Roman Church,” Sara reminded him.
“Ach! I will not listen to this. There are no similarities whatsoever.” He caught Sara’s smile as he stomped downstairs.
He grunted and opened the front portal to a heavy mist. Decay and coal smoke filled the air. His headache throbbed and he coughed. David heaved a foggy breath and set out for Booker’s offices of business.
“You will assist me in this, or I shall find another lawyer,” David hollered.
“Do hold your choler.” Booker hissed. “Inner Temple is a hallowed hall of thought.”
“I tell thee the High Court of Admiralty is a thing of the past,” David’s gruff voice crackled. He cleared his achy throat. “Old Sir Edward Coke succeeded in making the Common Courts jurisdiction for everything on land.”
“But the Admiralty has Baltimore’s suit against you.”
“I want this done!”
“Simultaneous actions with the courts could stall a settlement for years,” Booker reminded him. “And, do not deny it. You are ill.” He regarded David as if he were old and frail.
Indeed, of late, David had lost a great deal of purpose. His neck pained him. His muscles ached and he suffered from constant headaches. This week, a rattling cough filled his lungs. He frowned. “I will pay the price, with or without your help.”
Booker sighed. “I will obtain a copy of Baltimore’s suit and counterclaim with the Common Courts.”
“How will you do this?”
He shrugged. “I will inform a judge at King’s Bench the Admiralty has encroached on the common law jurisdiction. This will open the way for a review with the Common Courts.” Booker grabbed David’s arm. “Go home and rest whilst I prepare. I’ll contact you once this is set in motion.”
David sagged against the wall. His knees were weak but he straightened his back. With a nod, he started for the door, taking one step, then another. Bleary eyed, he reached for the panel but his legs gave out. With a cry, he collapsed to the floor.
He awoke being jounced on a litter up some stairs. His belly roiled. The ceiling was a blur but he caught the familiar scents of his house.
“What happened?” a pretty voice pierced his foggy brain. A gentle hand held his.
Ah Twig, his lovely lady who could cast the truest rascal into streets with her negotiation skills. He was lucky to have her.
“I love thee, Twig.” He did not recognize his raspy voice barely above a rumbling whisper. He cleared his throat. “I love thee.”
“This way,” Sara ordered. “Do not drop him.” She patted his hand, then released it, leaving him suddenly forsaken.
Soon, a door opened; its metal hinges squeaked like the very devil. He’d have to oil them or there would be no peace, no sleep. Bed curtains were pushed to the posts, their swaying movement pulsated puffs of cold air. He shivered.
A cool hand touched his forehead, his cheeks. “He’s burning up. Husband, what hast thou done?” Twig’s voice caught in her throat.
It gladdened him she cared.
“John,” Sara ordered. “Send someone to find Lewis.”
* * *
Something smelled good and David opened his eyes. Lewis stood beside the bed holding a dish of collops and eggs. Still warm, steam twined toward the ceiling.
“Good, you’re awake. This dish is hot.” Lewis set the plate on the bed. He laid a knife and spoon on top of the food. “You’ve moved on from beef broth. Best eat whilst it’s warm. Nothing worse than cold eggs and bacon.”
“I can eat it cold,” David said, his voice raspy.
“Oh yes, thou art the manly brother.” Lewis frowned.
“Methinks you have bad tidings, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
Sara came to the bed and felt David’s forehead. “Your brother has been here every day since you became ill. You are on the mend, Dear One, but you must eat.”
Lewis’ face creased with trouble. He wandered away from the bed and looked out the window. “I’ve always liked this chamber. The cantilever storeys lean greatly over the lane. You can almost touch the house across the street. Do you remember Mistress Betty Cooper? She’d open her casement, then primp in front of the looking glass.” He shook his head with wonder.
“You nearly fell to your death trying to cross over one day,” David scoffed. “It was a good thing I caught thee. As it was, your hat fell into the muck of the lane.”
Lewis forced a laugh.
“Do not spare me. Tell the whole of it.”
Sara frowned at Lewis. “Do not. We still have time. I don’t want anything to upset David’s recovery.”
Lewis turned to him. He opened his mouth but when Sara glared at him with fists on her hips, he clamped it closed again.
“Out with it,” David ordered.
Sara shook her head. “Do it then.”
Lewis returned to the bed. “The High Court of Admiralty has summoned you.”
David pulled himself to a seated position. His head spun. Sara fluffed the pillows and he leaned against them. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning at ten of the clock. Someone told them of your countersuit with the Common Court.” Lewis stared at him for a long moment then returned to the window. “I don’t think Mistress Betty lives there, anymore.”
David studied his breakfast plate. The food no longer appealed. “She married an old merchant who gave her several children. Most of them lived past five years.”
“Eat,” Sara demanded.
He picked up his plate. With the knife, David cut into the eggs. He scooped them up with his spoon. Now cold, he almost gagged.
“I told you to eat the eggs whilst they were still warm.” Lewis opened the casement and leaned against the sill. “Have you seen her father, Mister Cooper, of late? He must be ancient by now.”
Sara tucked the woollen rugs around him, his legs and feet. Sounds of annoyance buzzed in her throat.
David slowly chewed the eggs and swallowed. “Where is Booker?”
“He’ll be here tomorrow. Together, we will go to the Admiralty Court.” Lewis sighed.
Sara’s face creased with worry. David did not like Lewis’ strange reminisces that filled the chamber with sad foreboding. He forced another spoonful of eggs down his gullet.
“Good to see you eating again.” Sara’s smile of encouragement wavered.
He must have strength to face the dreaded music.
The next morning, Lewis and Sara helped him dress in a thick woollen suit. He wore two shirts to guard against the frosty day and tightly woven woollen stockings.
Tugging and huffing for breath, Lewis forced old boots with large cuffs onto David’s feet. “Your man should do this.”
Helplessness put David in the droops. He waved Lewis and Sara away. “I can do it.” His head spun and his knees wobbled.
“Nay, you cannot,” Sara cried. “You will let us help thee.”
“A sedan chair is outside.” Lewis assisted him with his doublet and Sara buttoned it.
“Do not treat me like a dandling babe. I will not allow it.” He pushed their hands away and finished buttoning his doublet. His fingers shook. He was short of breath and his face dripped sweat when he fastened the final button.
“We don’t want to be late.” Lewis put on his hat. “The Bridge is always too congested.”
“Why not take a wherry?” Sara’s voice rang with command. “He’ll be less tired.”
“There is no sedan chair waiting on Bankside. I do not want to carry him through the streets.”
David scoffed. “That is because you are weak.”
Lewis raised an eyebrow.
“Let us get this over with.” David stood as tall as he could and staggered out of the bedchamber.
They arrived at St. Margaret on the Hill in good time, mostly due to the men carrying the sedan chair. They dashed in and out of the crowds, nearly bowling folk over in their haste. David’s ride through the streets was agony. His belly roiled from being brutally jounced and rattled. He nearly heaved up his breakfast when they jolted to a stop.
Booker and Lewis helped him crawl out of the sedan. Even as the damp and stink of the church seeped into his bones, David took a deep breath. He swayed on his feet, but his gut settled a little.
Lewis took David’s arm, Booker the other. They slowly walked into the church where the first chamber had not changed. It was still dark as pitch as soon as the doors shut. The sputtering torch gave little light.
The same fellow sat the table. “What do you want?”
“The Admiralty expects us,” Booker said.
“Name?”
“Sir David and Sir Lewis Kirke. I am Booker, their man of business.”
The shaggy man ran his thumb down the page. “Ah yes, you’re to go right in.” He motioned to the side door where last month David had met with Drummond.
Climbing the stairs to an upper chamber, David’s head reeled. He gasped for breath by the time they made it to the top. He stumbled between Lewis and Booker and nearly pitched forward when they came to a large table, three men sitting along one side.
“You look done in,” Drummond said. “Get him a chair.”
David gratefully sank onto it and tried to focus but the men’s faces were a blur. He gasped when Lewis removed his hat, his head suddenly cold.
Drummond rattled several papers. “You’ve been busy, Sir David, and annoyed a great many folk.” He stabbed a finger at his chest. “Including me.”
Booker stepped forth, his demeanour in supplication. He smiled, then bowed. “Now, gentlemen, let me explain.”
“You will not,” Drummond exclaimed. “Against our dictates, you’ve gone to the Common Courts with a counterclaim to Baltimore’s suit. In obtaining statutory protection from Parliament, you’ve undermined our court, our strength of power. You’ve caused conflict of interest on both sides of the river.”
He showed them a leaf of paper filled with scrolling script and heavy typeface, which he waved in the air. “This is a writ of habeas corpus. You are a plague to the court systems, Sir David. For your impertinence, I send thee to Clink Prison.”
“The Clink!” Booker sputtered. “That’s outrageous. Sir David is no vagrant or thief.”
“But he is a malignant and follower of the papist church.”
“I am not.” David thought he shouted but he barely heard his own whisper.
“You love the old, dead king.”
“I do not. He cheated me at every turn.” David’s voice was steadier this time.
“Nonetheless, to the Clink you must go.”
His soul suddenly broken, David murmured, “I am undone.”