“Ever killed anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Bugs. Flies. You ever kill ’em?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Anything larger?”
Drew didn’t like the direction this conversation with Eliot was taking. “Let’s talk about something else,” he said.
Eliot Venner made a snorting sound. “No. Not till you answer my question. You ever kill anything bigger than a bug?”
Drew looked at his Sunday companion as they walked down a dirt road leading away from London. He had known Eliot only a few months, but he knew enough about the strange redheaded boy to realize that this conversation was nothing unusual for him.
“There was a snake once, in my father’s garden,” Drew said warily. “My brother and I cut it in half with a shovel.”
“Did it feel good?” Eliot’s eyes lit up as he asked the question.
“What do you mean, ‘Did it feel good?’”
“Did you feel good after you killed it?”
“You’re sick, Venner.”
“I know.” Eliot smiled as he said it. “When I squish a bug, I get a tingly feeling all over me.”
There was a moment of silence when Drew didn’t respond.
Then Eliot asked, “Ever wonder what it would feel like to kill a man?”
“Shut up, Eliot.”
Eliot shrugged. He was a wild looking boy who had led a wild life. His savage appearance came from two pronounced features: a pair of frightful eyes and a head of strikingly red hair. The pupils of his eyes were engulfed by an abnormally large sea of white, making him look like he was in a constant state of shock. More than once Drew had seen Eliot use his queer eyes to his advantage by combining them with a truly wicked grin. The effect was eerie and intimidating. Once you were able to get past those eyes, you saw his unruly red hair. Beyond unkempt, his hair looked like it had exploded from his head.
Shorter than Drew, Eliot was actually a few years older. His face was heavily pockmarked, and he walked with slight limp, both maladies resulting from a hard upbringing on the streets of London. Eliot Venner was tough and intimidating, but Drew liked him. There was a remnant of a little boy in Eliot, and he was fun to be with, except when he started acting weird like he was now.
“How much farther?” Drew asked.
The two boys trudged north along the dusty road. It was a sunny afternoon, and road traffic was busier than usual for a Sunday, all heading the same direction. Drew hoped the amount of traffic wouldn’t cause too much attention. The last thing he wanted was to be arrested attending an illegal event on the day before his first assignment.
“Another mile,” Eliot said. “It’ll be worth it. Trust me.”
“I don’t know. Bearbaiting doesn’t sound like entertainment to me.”
“You’ll love it!” Eliot squealed. “I was right about Rosemary, wasn’t I?”
For three months Eliot Venner had served as Drew’s tutor in everything from the basics of spying to an introductory course on London’s late night entertainment. When it came to ferreting out Puritans, Eliot was Bishop Laud’s most successful operative, though his motives were hardly spiritual. But for a boy who was weaned on the streets of London, it was the perfect job. He could lie, steal, sneak around, and get paid for it.
The bishop had paired the young men together because he wanted Drew to learn from his best operative. But he was disappointed when Drew willingly joined Eliot’s late night escapades.
The bishop knew all about Eliot’s carousing; he didn’t approve, but he allowed it. He knew how difficult it was for Eliot to act like a Christian for weeks or months at a time in order to gain the confidence of his prey. After all, the young man needed a release for his youthful lusts. Between assignments was the best time for him to do it. Bishop Laud didn’t expect moral behavior from Eliot, nor did he cultivate it; it would only interfere with the young man’s work.
As for Drew, the bishop had more noble plans. But knowing the intensity of young male desires, he decided it would be a mistake to forbid Drew to accompany Eliot. So, for the moment, Bishop Laud looked the other way. The time was coming when Drew’s training would end and the two young men would part company.
Meanwhile, Eliot Venner acquainted Drew with the diversions of local taverns. Drew preferred solitude to social gatherings and had never developed a taste for wine or beer. Even while a student at Cambridge, he preferred staying in his room and reading to going on drinking binges with his classmates. But Eliot taught him to drink, and Drew became his willing student. It wasn’t unusual for teacher and pupil to wake up in a heap on the cold stones of a London street, lying in their own mess.
Getting drunk wasn’t the only social disgrace Eliot taught Drew. He also initiated his pupil into the ways of working women. At a tavern on Mile End Road, Eliot introduced Drew to Rosemary. He said it was Drew’s reward for successfully completing his first week of lessons. When Eliot presented the girl, Drew had already crossed the threshold from sober to drunk; he thought Eliot was setting him up for a date and politely declined.
Appalled at Drew’s slowness, the entire tavern burst into ribald laughter. Everywhere he looked black, gap-toothed mouths howled in derision as Rosemary slinked seductively toward him. Drew’s face flushed hot. He pushed past the jeering trollop. He had to get away, to get out of there.
The next morning he awoke sick—physically from the drink, but also sick at heart over his encounter with raw lust. He had always fantasized his first time would be a romantic interlude with his version of Guinevere, a fair-skinned beauty for whom he would willingly sacrifice his life. He doubted anyone in the tavern last night shared his romantic fantasy. Had Eliot really expected him to sleep with a tavern wench who smelled of sweat and stale beer and who was willing to accommodate him with the passionless effort of a common worker earning a wage?
Drew ferociously washed himself and vowed never to carouse with Eliot again. But a few weeks later, when the disgusting memory dimmed, Drew celebrated another training milestone with his tutor at a different tavern.
Now as Eliot and Drew approached Fleet Ditch, the proposed site of the Sunday bearbaiting event, they saw hundreds of spectators, a pagan congregation of London commoners. As the time for the event drew near, there were the usual sounds of anxious anticipation—raucous laughter, boisterous wagering, and crude jokes. The illegality of the event only sharpened the crowd’s excitement. As Eliot led Drew through the crowd, it was evident that he felt at home; Drew, on the other hand, had never been around so many unwashed people in his life.
The center of attention was a caged brown bear that looked sickly and was obviously frightened by the noise. One eye was clouded and half-closed; the bear’s left side and shoulder bore massive scars where its fur had never grown back. A murmur passed through the crowd that the animal was too old and broken down, that the promoter of the event was cheating them. When word reached the promoters, one of them grabbed a long pole and viciously jabbed at the bear through the bars. It responded with a roar that made even the seasoned spectators jump back. A ripple of laughter followed as those closest to the cage ribbed each other about being scared. Thus, the critics were satisfied, and the promoter was pleased with himself.
“Told you this would be good,” Eliot poked Drew with his elbow.
Drew didn’t respond.
The entertainment began after the spectators were ushered into a natural amphitheater along the side of a large ditch that had been cleared of all shrubbery. A large wooden pole stood in the center.
Suddenly, a wretched donkey bolted in from the right side of the ravine, chased by four dogs. A terrified, screaming monkey was its jockey.
The crowd roared with laughter as the curious sight streaked in front of them, Eliot the loudest of all. His laughter was as odd as the rest of him, an explosive series of high-pitched bursts.
Drew thought he sounded like an agitated hyena. Workers at the far end of the ravine scared the donkey into reversing its course and making another pass in front of the crowd, monkey still screaming and hounds nipping at its legs.
It took several burly men to remove the bear from its cage and chain it to the pole. As they finished, one of them lit some firecrackers and tossed them at its feet. As they exploded, the old bear howled and danced in terror, much to the delight of the crowd. Fresh dogs were loosed, and three of them charged at the bear.
The spectators grew increasingly animated, shouting obscenities at the bear, urging the dogs on as they dodged the bear’s ferocious swats.
Drew glanced over at Eliot and saw barbaric anticipation in his eyes as he repeatedly bit his lower lip. A trickle of blood crept down his chin. Drew scanned the crowd. He was surrounded by Eliots—wildeyed, frenzied beasts hungry for violence, crying for blood, anxious for death. It made him sick.
The bear was holding his ground against the dogs.
“They send out the old dogs first,” Eliot shouted to Drew, wiping the blood off his chin with the back of his hand. “They don’t want the bear to die too quick.”
The dogs barked and lunged at the bear, occasionally catching a bit of fur. More frightened than hurt, the bear held them off with wild swipes of its enormous paws. For the most part the dogs stayed out of the bear’s reach. One grew a little too careless, and one ferocious swipe sent it sprawling across the dirt. The dog let out a yelp, a few convulsive spasms, and then it was still. Its entire side had been ripped open by the bear’s claw.
The crowd screamed curses at the bear and demanded more dogs. Three more were released—mastiffs specially trained to attack and kill bears and bulls at such events. They charged the bear as if possessed; their eyes fixed with rage, they snapped and tore at things indiscriminately—the bear, the older dogs, even each other.
The old brown bear began to tire. There were just too many adversaries. Just as it would swat one dog away, three would tear at its legs. Sensing its fatigue, the dogs began jumping at its head and shoulders, trying to drag it to the ground. The bear flung one of the mastiffs clear out of the arena. The crazed dog hit the ground and rolled several times, but was quickly back on its feet and into the fray, oblivious to its wounds.
All around Drew spectators began chanting for the bear’s death. Their faces were scarlet, their necks strained, veins bulging, and their eyes were blood red and frenzied. These were ordinary people who worked at a variety of trades in London every day. But on this bright afternoon they were death’s fanatics. The only thing that would satisfy them was the demise of a bear.
Suddenly, the bear threw off two of the mastiffs that had fastened themselves to its upper torso. Slowly, majestically, it rose to its full height. It was as if it were oblivious to its surroundings. Tall and strong again, it surveyed the sky above the ridge of the amphitheater and let out a long roar. It wasn’t a cry of pain; it was a proud roar, strong, clear, the kind of noble cry it might have made as young cub alone in a field on a spring day.
The dogs weren’t impressed. They tore at the bear unmercifully. The crowd came to its feet when the dogs managed to pull the bear to the ground. Their mouths red with the bear’s blood, the dogs attacked with even greater frenzy. The people clapped and jumped and cheered.
“Didn’t I tell you it would be great?” Eliot was ecstatic as he and Drew walked back toward the city.
Drew couldn’t find it in himself to respond.
“Wasn’t the best I’ve seen,” Eliot said, mentally comparing it to previous events, “but it was good. Sometimes the bulls fight better than the bears. Why, last summer I saw this one bull stick a dog and throw it all the way—”
Drew quickened his pace and walked ahead.
Eliot stopped and stared after him.
“Guess bearbaitin’ ain’t for everyone.” Catching up with Drew, he said, “But I was right about Rosemary, wasn’t I?”
Monday morning dawned bright, and Drew was up early with an emotional hangover. On the one hand, he was excited because he would receive his first assignment from the bishop today; on the other, he had dreamed of bearbaiting all night and was still haunted by the bear’s death. In his dream the bear always looked directly at him, as if Drew could do something to prevent its death. Drew was disgusted with himself for not being able to shed the uneasy feeling, but he couldn’t get the bear’s face out of his mind.
Bishop Laud was already in the garden, on his knees, wielding a trowel, fashioning wells around the base of his roses.
“Andrew!” the bishop greeted him enthusiastically. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
Drew’s response was politely unenthusiastic.
The bishop sized up his condition. “Been out with Eliot again, have we?”
Drew nodded.
“Hangover?”
Drew shook his head.
“None of my business, huh?” The cleric rose, brushing the dirt from his knees. He was obviously disappointed. “Well, we won’t get into that now. You know how I feel. On another subject, I received a letter from your father.”
This got Drew’s attention. He had not had any direct communication with his family since he ran away.
“He was responding to my letter. The one I sent when we returned Pirate.”
When Drew left Morgan Hall after his grandfather’s death, he rode straight to London House. When he arrived, he explained to Bishop Laud the circumstances that prompted his return to London. Upon the bishop’s advice, Pirate was returned to Lord Morgan the next day. That way Drew could not be accused of horse theft. Otherwise, the bishop was delighted to receive Drew into his house, even under less than ideal circumstances. He had listened in rapt attention as Drew described how the bishop’s book had saved his life. Bishop Laud showed no anger that his book had been damaged. In fact, he was thrilled that the book was the instrument of Drew’s salvation.
In the days that followed, the bishop kept Drew constantly by his side. He even had a bed for him moved into his bedchamber. Drew felt strange with all the attention the bishop was giving him. Yet never in his life had he been given the attention and care the bishop showed him, and he liked it.
Late at night in the darkness of the bedchamber they would talk of the days of King Arthur and of the Crusades and of life at Cambridge. To Drew’s delight, the bishop would reveal dirty little secrets about some of the prim and stodgy professors at Cambridge who had intimidated him.
When Drew began carousing with Eliot, he was given his own bedroom. But the other bed was not removed from Laud’s bedchamber, and Drew still slept there whenever the bishop and he got carried away discussing the days of chivalry.
For the most part, Drew had never been happier. The thought of his grandfather’s death and losing Morgan Hall to Philip was still painful, but he was very content with his new life and home. The large round cook who had greeted him during his initial visit to London House still giggled and bubbled every time he saw him. Drew thought him strange but came to love the meals he fixed. And Timmins was his usual stoic self, not speaking to Drew unless necessary, which suited Drew fine. In short, London House had become his home, and Drew hadn’t thought of his family or Morgan Hall until the bishop mentioned the letter from his father.
“Don’t you want to know what he says?” the bishop asked.
“Not especially.”
“Well, he doesn’t say much,” the bishop continued, ignoring Drew’s remark. “Your grandfather’s funeral was well attended.”
“I’ll bet it was a real celebration for my mother.”
“And he thanks us for returning the horse.”
“Us?”
“Well, me actually.”
“He didn’t say anything to me directly at all, did he?”
The bishop hesitated.
“I thought so,” Drew said. “It doesn’t matter. I have a new life now, and I’m anxious to start on my first assignment.”
The bishop stared at Drew. He looked as if he was about to say something pastoral but then changed his mind.
“You’re right,” he said. “Let’s get started. I have something for you in my study.”
Bishop Laud’s private study was impressive, much like Admiral Morgan’s library at Morgan Hall except that the titles were more theological.
Bishop Laud handed him a Bible. “I want you to have this,” he said. “It’s a gift.”
Drew leafed through the pages of the Bible.
“Have you ever read the Bible before?”
“No. This is the first time I’ve even held one.”
If the bishop was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to read this one, but that’s not why I’m giving it to you. Look at the front matter.”
Drew turned to the title page.
“This is the version King James printed, oh, let’s see—” the bishop paused while he calculated in his head, “—almost twenty years ago. I want you to have this specific Bible for two reasons: First, it will drive the Puritans crazy. They’ll think you are a heretic for using it and will try to convert you to reading the Geneva Bible. They are an unreasoning, stubborn people when it comes to this new translation. If you pretend to be won over by their arguments, you will gain their sympathy. Use that to your advantage. But the second and more important reason I’m giving you this Bible is that you will use it to communicate with me secretly.”
Drew looked up, confused.
The bishop explained. “I’ve developed a simple code for you to use whenever you send a message. The code is based on this version of the Bible. I’ll be able to use the same version to decode your messages. To anyone else, the message will look like nonsense.”
The bishop proceeded to teach Drew the encryption method he had devised. His method was based on assigning numbers to the various parts of the Bible. First, the books of the Bible were numbered, Genesis being number one and Revelation number sixty-six. The chapters and verses were already numbered, and, if necessary, the words in each verse could be numbered. Based on this system, any message could be relayed by stringing words from the Bible together as if they had been cut out and pasted to a separate sheet of paper.
“Ideally, you will use entire verses or phrases from the Bible,” the bishop continued. “For example, say you uncover someone we’re looking for. Your message might look like this.”
The bishop handed Drew a scrap of paper. A series of numbers was written on it: (43/1/45/8–11).
“Now remember,” the bishop prompted, “book, chapter, verse, words.”
Drew opened his Bible to the table of contents and counted down to the forty-third book. “The Gospel According to John,” he said aloud.
“Correct.”
Drew turned to the page number indicated in the table of contents. “First chapter, verse 45,” he said aloud again. He counted past the first seven words. “The message reads, ‘We have found him.’”
“Excellent!” the bishop exclaimed. “The better you know the Bible, the easier it will be for you to form messages. Here, try this one. It’s a message from me to you.”
The bishop handed him another scrap of paper. Printed on it was this encrypted message: (6/1/17/20–23) (40/5/14/13) (5/1/7/5–6).
Drew wrinkled his brow and set to work. The sixth book of the Bible was Joshua chapter 1, verse 17, words 20–23 read, “God be with thee.” He jotted these down on the piece of paper. Then, from the gospel of Matthew came a single word, “on.” He added the word to the previous phrase. Next came two words from Deuteronomy, “your journey.”
“Read it aloud,” the bishop instructed.
“God be with thee on your journey.” Without looking up he said, “This is great! But why didn’t Eliot teach me this?”
“Eliot doesn’t know about it,” the bishop said, putting his hand on Drew’s shoulder. “This is a personal code. You and I are the only ones who know about it.”
Drew tensed. The bishop felt his reaction and changed the subject.
“Your first assignment is in Norwich. See what you can find out about a man named Peter Laslett. He’s the curate of Norwich, and I suspect him of being a Puritan sympathizer.”
The curate of Norwich was a humorless man of fifty who took his faith seriously; in fact, Peter Laslett took everything seriously. He was convinced that too much fun was not a good thing and seemed determined to provide a counterbalance in his church services. The hymns plodded along at a miserable pace, their tempo slow enough to reduce the heartbeat of everyone singing them. But the hymns galloped along compared to Laslett’s sermons.
When the curate of Norwich preached, he paused at the end of every phrase. His eyes rolled back as if he were searching a dark closet in the back of his head for his next words. After enduring one of Laslett’s services, Drew was confident that if he was successful in removing this man from the pulpit, all of Norwich would rise up and call him blessed.
Following the first service he attended, Drew approached the curate, requesting assistance. For his first assignment, Drew chose one of Eliot’s most successful schemes. He arrived in Norwich dirty, ragged, and hungry. In preparation for his arrival, Drew had worn the same clothes for a week and hadn’t eaten for two days. Nothing gets ’em more than hearing your belly growl, Eliot had said. It’s something you can’t fake.
Drew told the curate his mother and father had died when he was young and the only life he knew was begging on the streets of London. But times being the way they were, beggars couldn’t live on handouts anymore and were forced to steal in order to eat. Some hardened criminals caught him working their territory and beat him up, forcing him to steal for them. Tired of all the thieving and lies, he ran away from London. All he wanted now was to find a place where he could earn a decent, honest living.
Laslett bought it.
The more miserable you are when you come to them, the more they like it, Eliot had instructed Drew. That way it makes a better story come testimony time.
A widower, Laslett invited Drew to stay with him. However, in Norwich Drew didn’t use his real name. Laslett knew him as Gilbert Fuller. When the church ladies heard there was a second eligible bachelor living with the curate, they had no end of dinner invitations from lonely women and mothers with daughters of marrying age. One such invitation came from an elderly spinster named Mistress Adams.
Drew made a few slips at Mistress Adams’ house during dinner one Sunday afternoon. Her brother Orville, a London undertaker, was visiting her, and he grew suspicious when Drew couldn’t recollect the names of some of London’s backstreets. Drew claimed brain deprivation from a prolonged lack of food, or possibly his forgetfulness was due to the life threatening mystery malady he barely survived the previous winter. Everyone seemed satisfied with his explanation, and Drew forgot all about it. As the days continued, Drew began to feel a strain from remembering the lies he was weaving.
A few weeks later when Drew rose and dressed for church, the curate was absent from the house. It seemed odd to Drew, but he figured something important had arisen. He was sure he would learn the reason for the curate’s absence at church. The moment he walked through the doorway, Drew saw that several violations that he had noted for his report to Bishop Laud had been corrected. The most noticeable was the sanctuary altar. It had been moved to the far east end of the church, and there was a crude, hastily built railing around it. Then, when the service began, Peter Laslett appeared wearing a minister’s surplice. It was the first time he had worn one since Drew arrived. Drew was surprised but not alarmed.
As was the custom in Norwich, the hymns droned on as they did every Sunday. Drew settled in for another ministerial marathon as the Reverend Peter Laslett began reading his text from Jeremiah 9. As he read, he shot quick glances at Drew when he paused at the end of sentences.
“Let everyone take heed of his neighbor,” the curate read, “and trust you not in any brother, for every brother will use deceit, and every friend will deal deceitfully.”
Laslett wiped his brow, then continued.
“And everyone will deceive his friend, and will not speak the truth: for they have taught their tongues to speak lies, and take great pains to do wickedly. Thine habitation is in the midst of deceivers; because of their deceit they refuse to know me, says the LORD. Therefore thus saith the LORD of hosts: Behold, I will melt them, and try them, for what else should I do for the daughter of my people? Their tongue is as an arrow shot out, and speaketh deceit: one speaketh peaceably to his neighbor with his mouth, but in his heart he lieth in wait for him.”
The curate looked up. It was several moments before he spoke, but when he did, his tone was measured and deliberate. “Brothers and sisters, you have heard the Scriptures speak of the slandering neighbor. I believe we have such a neighbor among us today. A neighbor of deceit. One who lies in wait, hoping to trap us.” Laslett spoke in his usual turtle pace, but he had the attention of everyone in the congregation.
“This false neighbor is one who sought our help, and we took him in. He shared the hospitality of our homes and ate from our tables, but he is not one of us.”
Peter Laslett looked straight at Drew, his courage building as he spoke. “Claiming to be the product of London streets, he knows not the street names. Claiming to have received no education, he uses the vocabulary of a person who is well read. Claiming he has no family but street dwellers, he shows remarkable table manners. Brothers and sisters in Christ, I fear we have in our midst a neighbor who is in league with the Devil, that master deceiver.”
The preacher closed his eyes and bowed his head. Everyone in the sanctuary held his breath, waiting for what would come next. There had never been this much suspense in one of Peter Laslett’s services in his thirty years of ministry.
“Master Gilbert Fuller, if that is your real name, would you please stand and give us your testimony to the glory of God!”
All eyes turned to Drew. Some had an astonished look in them, others the look of the attack dogs at the bearbaiting. Drew jumped from his seat and made his escape through a side window. He held on tightly to the Bible the bishop gave him and didn’t stop running until he was a couple of miles out of town.
Eliot had prepared him for this possibility. His instructions were to take a slow circuitous route back to London. For the bishop’s safety, it was imperative that no one follow him back to London House.
Drew traveled north to Sheringham along the North Sea coast. There, he penned a coded message to the bishop.
Bishop Laud was about to sit down to dinner when he received Drew’s message. To the protestations of his round cook, he excused himself and went to his study. He reached for his Bible, the twin of the one he had given to Drew. The message was brief, consisting of a single entry of seven words: (23/6/5/4–10). Translated, it read: “Woe is me! for I am undone.”
Drew’s second assignment fared better. The bishop sent him to Bedford in the fertile valley of the River Great Ouse, just north of London and west of Cambridge. Determined to learn from his mistakes, Drew used a story that was easier to remember and more in keeping with his background. Upon arriving in the town he attended church services and afterward arranged to speak with the pastor. Robert Sewell’s services were a pleasant surprise after Peter Laslett’s church. Drew was especially impressed with his speaking ability. He probably had taken some courses at Cambridge or Oxford.
Immediately upon entering the sanctuary, Drew knew he had a possible conquest. The altar was not set against the eastern wall, and the minister was not wearing a surplice. These things were violations, to be sure, but what really caught Drew’s attention was the lack of priority given to the prayer book.
All ministers were under strict orders to adhere to the Book of Common Prayer for their services. They were discouraged from preaching their own sermons. The bishop was adamant about this. Preaching lent itself to personal opinion, which would not be tolerated. The bishop had determined that every church in England should worship in like manner; it was this commonality in the worship service that made them the Church of England.
The bishop also discouraged prayers not in the prayer book. If a person was allowed to pray anything he wanted, who knows what he might say? Better that he use the approved prayers of the church.
There was no doubt in Drew’s mind that Robert Sewell, the pastor at Bedford, was a Puritan. He prayed his own thoughts and preached his own messages. Drew listened, took notes, and took aim.
There was only one problem. Her name was Abigail and she was the minister’s daughter. In the three months Drew was at Bedford, he and Abigail grew very close. She was sweet, shy, and had the deepest dimples Drew had ever seen. The two of them would spend evenings strolling through a large grassy area behind the parsonage, just talking—nothing important—as they shared their hopes and dreams, their likes and dislikes. It was the first time Drew had ever felt comfortable with a girl.
It was a good thing he didn’t stay in Bedford any longer than he did, because he began to develop real feelings for Abigail. And feelings can be deadly for a spy.
Bedford was Drew’s first victory. When confronted with his crime, Sewell freely and unashamedly admitted his guilt. As a result he was censured for his actions and forced to relinquish his living as the parish minister.
Everything had gone right for Drew; he got the information without being discovered and transmitted it to Bishop Laud via code. It was the first time Drew signed his note. While flipping through the first part of the New Testament during a sermon, he made a surprising discovery. In his coded message, after informing the bishop of his success, Drew signed the note: (41/3/18/2). The 2 translated: “Andrew.”
All in all Bedford was a gem of a victory, but admittedly a gem with a minor flaw—Drew’s feelings for Abigail. The outcome would have bothered Drew more except that he didn’t see Abigail once the charges were brought against her father. Whether it was coincidence or by her father’s design, Drew never knew, but it was easier on him not having to face her.
If Drew’s second assignment was a success, his third one was a coup. This time he was in the eastern city of Colchester. His assignment was another minister, the Reverend Preston Oliver. And although Oliver was found guilty of Puritan sedition, Drew uncovered a greater prize.
Drew’s story for Colchester was that he had been thrown out of Cambridge University for his Puritan leanings. Reverend Oliver was not only sympathetic to Drew’s plight, but also introduced him to a young lady who had a gentleman friend with a similar story. The lady’s name was Mary Sedgewick; her friend, Marshall Ramsden, had also been expelled from Cambridge. The official story was that he was caught printing pornographic literature. However, Oliver let it be known that there was more to the story, that Marshall was a godly young man with the highest ideals, and that his expulsion from the university was because of his unpopular theology.
Drew liked Mary the moment he met her. She was open and cheerful, friendly almost to a fault. When she heard Drew’s story, she grabbed him by the hand and literally pulled him through the streets of Colchester to a blacksmith’s shop where Marshall had found work as an apprentice.
At first Drew felt threatened by Marshall’s good looks and easy manner and, even though he had just met her, jealous of the way Mary looked at him. But those feelings quickly passed, and soon the three of them became inseparable. They laughed late into the night, telling Cambridge stories; they shared meals on Sunday afternoons; they discussed their favorite books.
It wasn’t long before Mary invited Drew to accompany her on one of the pamphlet distribution runs. Just for company, she said; if they should happen upon dangerous men intent on doing them harm, Drew could protect her. Marshall showed no signs of jealousy. He trusted Mary and gave every indication he trusted Drew.
Before long, Drew was working with Marshall at a secret press, printing the pamphlets of the notorious Justin. The two men enjoyed each other’s company. Drew was shown the escape routes and the hidden door ploy. Mary would often bring them a late dinner. At times their laughter and horseplay got so loud it was a wonder they were able to maintain their secrecy.
To that point in his life, the hardest thing Drew ever did was to hand over Marshall Ramsden and Mary Sedgewick to Bishop Laud. He had never had a closer relationship with anyone else, and it was hard for him to think of Marshall and Mary as a threat to England. There was no doubt they were lawbreakers, but Drew liked them. He delayed his report to the bishop for two weeks while he agonized over the decision.
Marshall and Drew were in the middle of a print run when the shop was raided. As before, there was advanced warning and Mary was hidden, the press type was scattered, and the print bags were switched. However, this time there was no Essex Marvel to assist with the switch. Instead, there was Drew Morgan, Bishop Laud’s undercover operative.
Marshall Ramsden and Mary Sedgewick were arrested, tried, and convicted based on Drew’s evidence.
The Ramsden-Sedgewick case was the first of Drew’s assignments to be tried in the infamous Star Chamber, so named because the ceiling was studded with stars. Drew watched in anguish as his deposition was read, followed by the presentation of physical evidence. There was no jury.
At the conclusion of the presentations the members of the court pronounced their sentences one by one, beginning with the least of them; their consensus was announced by the lord chancellor. To the charge of seditious libel against king and crown—guilty.
As sentence was pronounced and then carried out, neither Marshall nor Mary showed any remorse. They were whipped and their cheeks were branded with S.S.—Sower of Sedition. Since Marshall’s crime was greater, his left ear was cut off.