CHAPTER FIVE

 

Be careful! Watch out for attacks from the Devil, your great enemy. He prowls around like a roaring lion, looking for some victim to devour.

(1 Peter 5:8)

 

September 10, 1622

One morning, several months later, I rose and hurriedly dressed for breakfast. Lady Elizabeth, Mary, Lizzie and I were going into the forest for herbs. We needed to replenish our supplies before the winter sicknesses began. I could tell by the gloominess of the bedroom that it would be a cool, cloudy day. I hoped it wouldn’t rain before we finished our foraging. I was quickly becoming accustomed with my new life. There were even moments when I didn’t think of my old life and the 21st century at all. I had been here two years this month as time was reckoned on this side of the warp. I had gotten so used to things that I rarely missed the conveniences I had taken for granted before. I’d thought at first that living in the “olden times” would be difficult. However, my ability to adapt held me in good stead, enabling me to “fit in” quite nicely.

Occasionally, I made mistakes in grammar and in actions, but with everyone in the family now aware of my origins, I had plenty of helpers keeping me on the straight and narrow path of propriety.

Entering the breakfast room, I saw that everyone had preceded me. Annie, the kitchen maid, was removing dirty dishes from the table, and she gave me a quick curtsey before hurrying into the kitchen. Fixing myself a plate from the sideboard, I sat down to eat. Presently, I heard feminine voices, as the women came into the room.

“Well,” Lady Elizabeth remarked, winking at me. “I see that my daughter-in-law is finally up and moving. I was wondering whether you were going to sleep all day.” I was constantly being teased by everyone for my habit of sleeping late. Being a late-night writer in my past life had meant sleeping later in the mornings. However, in this time, that habit was looked upon as frivolous by the time-conscious, early-rising Puritans.

“I’ll be finished in just a minute,” I said, self-consciously. I began to shovel food quickly into my mouth.

“Oh, take your time,” she answered, waving her hand in the air. “I was only teasing. It’s not that late.”

“Where are the men?” I asked, as I speared a sausage link.

“John, William and Thomas are down at the barn with the new stable boy we hired yesterday. He’s a strange sort, but I believe he’ll work out fine. He seems to know horses, and that’s all that really matters, I suppose.”

“It sure was strange, Giles disappearing like that,” Mary said, stuffing a piece of sausage into her own mouth. “Where do you suppose he went?”

It had been a bizarre occurrence, for Giles, the previous stable-boy, had just vanished over a week ago. His parents hadn’t heard from him and were very worried.

“John and William asked around town, but no one’s seen him,” Lady Elizabeth said.

“We’re just fortunate that Jeremy appeared when he did. Poor Mr. Bidwell is too old to be doing all that work.”

I had been in the keeping room when Jeremy Tibbets had passed by on his way to the study to see Sir Thomas. He appeared to be about nineteen, with sandy, blond hair, and sporting a fine, thick mustache.

Stopping dead in his tracks when he saw me, his glance had spoken volumes to me, for his eyes raked me up and down. Then he had smiled a sideways grin and went on his way.

“Well, I think he’s so handsome,” Mary tittered. “I spoke to him just this morning and he offered to give me riding lessons.”

“You already know how to ride, Mary,” Lizzie declared.

“Well, I could always use some more experience. After all, he did offer.”

“I think you should just let our Mr. Tibbets be, Mary. He’ll have enough to do without you bothering him,” Lady Elizabeth admonished.

After I’d finished eating, the four of us ventured into the forest with our herb baskets, intent on selecting only the best specimens. We gathered mostly root herbs and a few plants that bloomed only at that time of the year: dayflower, beech drops, and pink lady’s slipper among others. It was amazing how adept I was becoming at identifying plants and their uses—something that had eluded me in science class.

I was intent on examining a beautiful specimen of celandine, with its dainty yellow flowers, good for jaundice and toothache, when I heard the scream. Jumping nearly out of my shoes, I threw down my tools and basket and raced into the trees toward the sound. Presently, I spied Mary standing over something with her hands pressed to her mouth. Lady Elizabeth and Lizzie came up quickly behind me.

“What’s wrong?” Lady Elizabeth said, as she reached her daughter. “Oh, Lord Jesus!”

I looked to see what they were staring at and saw the corpse of the previous stable boy lying in a pool of blood with his head bashed in.

“Oh, my word!” I gasped, taking hold of Lizzie and shoving her behind me to shield her from the gruesome sight. “What in the world happened to him?”

“Let me see!” Lizzie squirmed and wiggled in my grasp.

Lady Elizabeth knelt down among the withered leaves to examine the body. A lone yellow leaf fell and landed on her hair. I brushed the leaf aside.

“Thank you. Someone’s killed him and dragged the body here. See the marks in the dirt,” she pointed at deep ruts on the ground.

“But, my Lord, who would do such a thing? We must get back to the manor and alert Thomas to this. The culprit may still be lurking around.” She rose and brushed off her skirt. Tearing a strip from her petticoat, she tied the blue fabric to the nearest tree to mark the spot.

“There, now, Thomas should have no trouble finding the body. Let’s gather our things and go.”

“I’ll get my basket and meet you on the trail over there,” I said.

“Don’t tarry, Sarah. It may not be safe here.”

Retrieving my basket and tools, I quickly jerked up the celandine specimen, and met the other women on the trail back to the house. All the way back, the hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I wished I had the pepper spray I always carried with me in my old life.

Sir Thomas, John and William brought the body back to the house and then alerted the authorities to the tragedy, as well as the lad’s family. The sheriff came the next day, spoke with everyone on the estate and searched the woods for a long time, but found nothing to tell us who had done this awful deed. No more instances occurred, however, in the weeks to come, and so things died down and the incident was soon put to the back of our minds, although not entirely forgotten. Sir Thomas and Lady Elizabeth attended the boy’s funeral in town to offer sympathy to his family.

Jeremy Tibbets was learning the ropes rather quickly and proved to be a capable stable hand. John continued to work on his pamphlets, under the pseudonym, Nehemiah, and William continued to take them to London to be distributed to any and all who would read them. From time to time, we heard that Bishop Laud had hauled someone new into the Star Chamber for various religious crimes, and I worried constantly when, or if, John would be found out. Something told me that it was only a matter of time.

 

*************

 

December 20, 1622

The moon had come up and still he held out, standing at the window of the apartment over the stable, looking intently at the manor before him—waiting. One by one, the lights had gone out until there was just one in the upstairs bedroom in the front of the house. He couldn’t be in a hurry—he had to wait until he was certain everyone was asleep— maybe another hour.

Backing away from the window, Jeremy Tibbets poured himself another glass of courage. For days now, he had been trying to get into the house, but something always happened to prevent him. Three days ago, he had been prepared to go in while everyone was at their Puritan meeting, but just as he ventured across the lawn, that infernal grandmother had come out of the house with that pretty companion of hers. It appeared that she wasn’t a member of that damnable sect and didn’t accompany them to meeting.

Yesterday evening, the family had stayed up late. So, it had to be tonight. Tomorrow evening, the messenger from the bishop was coming for Jeremy’s report. I just have to get the evidence tonight, he thought. Laud will be fuming, if my report’s not on time.

Going to the window again, Jeremy saw that the upstairs light was out. I’ll wait for another quarter of an hour, and then I’ll go in. The bishop was certain that Nehemiah’s pamphlets were coming from here, and Jeremy was determined to prove it, thereby earning a shilling and climbing another rung up the ladder in the bishop’s estimation.

Sitting down with his ale, Jeremy thought back to his life in London. He was six when the bishop found him sitting in a doorway, clothed in rags. Jeremy’s mother was a prostitute in a fine house near The Strand and had no time for him now. The owner of the brothel had thrown him out on the street to fend for himself. Jeremy had managed to steal what he needed to survive, but life was just about not worth living. That was when God in the form of Bishop William Laud had changed his life.

Since then, Jeremy had lived in luxury with the bishop at his house in the wealthiest part of London. He wore the finest clothes and ate the best food money could buy. Bishop Laud certainly took care of his ‘boys.’ All Jeremy and the other fifteen boys had to do was gather evidence and information for the bishop to convict those heretical Puritans.

The bishop had put Jeremy through a vigorous training period, teaching him how best to gather the information he sought. Several times, Jeremy was paired up with another boy to learn the techniques required to accomplish his goals. The day before he left for the North, the bishop took Jeremy to a trial in the Star Chamber at Westminster, so he could see first-hand what befell those who defied the Crown. The bishop worked his agenda with a heavy hand.

Bishop William Laud’s first undertaking, after being promoted to the bishopric of England, was to present the King with a list of names of English clergymen. Beside each name he had printed an ‘O’ or a ‘P’. The men who were Orthodox and followed the rules of the Anglican Church would be promoted, as opportunities arose. Those of a Puritan viewpoint would be passed over for promotion, frustrated and harassed out of the ministry with every available influence.

Jeremy learned that the Puritans were determined and persistent. They firmly believed that God would have them rescue the Church of England. The thought of fleeing, as the Separatists had done, would show a lack of faith. Even it if took several generations, they were unwavering in their goal to reclaim their churches. And Bishop William Laud was just as determined to impede them.

The weapons of the Puritans were preaching and pamphlets, both of which the bishop targeted. In an effort to confine the preaching, he set up a sequence of reforms that restricted church services to the order prescribed by the Book of Common Prayer. All ministers were under strict orders to adhere to the book for their services. They were discouraged from preaching their own sermons.

“Preaching lends itself to personal opinion,” Laud told Jeremy on the way to the chamber that day. “And that cannot be tolerated.”

The bishop was determined that every church in England should worship in like manner; it was this unity in the worship service that made them the Church of England. He also discouraged prayers not found in the Prayer Book.

“If a person is permitted to pray anything he wants, who knows what he might say?” he told Jeremy. “Better that he use the official prayers of the church.”

By law, publishing in England had been limited to a few London printers and the two university presses: Oxford and Cambridge. These printing houses had to obtain a license for each publication that came off their presses. The statutes, however, had only served to drive the Puritan pamphlet industry underground, where it was more difficult to smother. Penalties for challenging the laws were severe. If a Puritan writer was captured, he was tried in the infamous Star Chamber and punishments often included the severing of one or both ears and branding on the cheeks with the letters ‘S’ and ‘L,’ which stood for “seditious libeler.”

“Those sacrilegious Puritans are determined to chip away at the union of the faith,” Laud told Jeremy, as they walked along, Jeremy hurrying to keep up with the Bishop’s long stride. “They absolutely persist in preaching their own messages. Many of these men are ignorant, empty-headed fools, yet they claim to speak for God! Even in their public prayers, they spew out their lack of knowledge in the pretense of leading people to the throne of God! Can you believe that? For the good of the faith, for the harmony of the church, these dangerous fools must be silenced! And I will not rest until every last one of these heretics is eradicated!”

Jeremy feared that the bishop was going to explode; his face was crimson with rage. But eventually, the bishop’s breathing returned to normal and he calmed himself.

Jeremy’s first sight of the Star Chamber that morning was enthralling. It was a ‘royal prerogative’ court, meaning that its authority rested on sovereignty and privilege. It was not constrained by common law, and it did not depend on juries for either indictment or verdict. This permitted the King and his chief counselor, Bishop Laud, to pursue their agendas virtually unchallenged. The court consisted of the Privy Council, two chief justices, various bishops loyal to Laud, and, at his own discretion, the King of England.

“King James attends the trials in the Star Chamber on a regular basis—he loves the debate and especially his royal privilege of announcing the verdict and passing sentence. He sits over there.” Laud pointed to a regal-looking chair on a small dais at the east side of the room. Jeremy detected a note of contempt in Laud’s voice at the mention of the King.

“The ceiling is brilliant,” Jeremy remarked, looking up at the various images of stars above his head.

“That’s where the chamber gets its name,” Laud replied, absently.

Rows of chairs formed a U-shape around a small arena hardly larger than a hallway. At the open end of the court, Jeremy saw more rows of tables at which various judges sat.

“You find a seat here in the spectators’ section, lad. The trial will begin soon. Then you’ll see what we do to those who reject the dictates of the King and the Church.” Laud seated himself in front of the judges at one of the tables in the center of the room. The stillness was broken only by the shuffling of papers and the ticking of a large clock above Jeremy’s head. Presently, more people, curious to see the coming trial, began to fill the room and the earlier silence was replaced with the sound of many voices.

At precisely nine o’clock, the judges paraded into the chamber like a flock of peacocks and took their places behind the other set of tables. The bishop rose and marched boldly to the center of the court. Then, King James entered the room. Every spectator rose from his seat and remained standing until the King seated himself. Presently, a man was marshaled into the room and placed on a small dais to the right of the judges’ table. He looked gaunt and exhausted. There was no place for him to sit, so he remained standing throughout duration of the trial. After a few required introductions, Laud turned and addressed the judges.

“Your Highness, my lords and colleagues, before you today is one of these revolting Puritans, Thomas Dimwitty, curate of Dunstable,” Laud pointed to the accused. “I say to you that he is the worst of that horde. I present this because of his spineless behavior. This man is charged with dispersing seeds of sedition in the village of Dunstable, using his status as curate. Endowed with the authority of the Church of England, this man has poisoned the minds of its loyal members! In addition, he has scattered his devastating seed throughout all England in his writings, while hiding behind a veil of anonymity!”

A reading of the charges against Mr. Dimwitty followed:

 

“The first charge: Thomas Dimwitty did knowingly violate the laws of the Church of England to rail off the communion table.

“The second charge: Thomas Dimwitty did knowingly violate the order of the Church of England that all duly-appointed ministers wear a surplice in the execution of their worship service responsibilities.

“The third charge: Thomas Dimwitty did knowingly violate the decree prohibiting the lectureship of ill-educated ministers. He failed to make use of the old homilies assembled for that very purpose, choosing instead to use extemporaneous preaching twice each Sunday to spread his seditious falsehoods.

“The fourth charge: Thomas Dimwitty did knowingly compose, broadcast and distribute illegal and seditious literature under an assumed name. In these writings, he urged Englishmen to follow his example of noncompliance to the Church of England and its leaders and to the English monarchy.”

 

“This act of treason is the greatest offense of all!” Laud shouted.

At this point, the Lord Chancellor asked Mr. Dimwitty if he had anything to say in response to the charges. Mr. Dimwitty remained silent.

For over an hour, a string of prosecutors read depositions, called on witnesses, and battered away at the accused. During the entire time, the curate from Dunstable stood erect, his head held high as his tormenters flocked around him, sometimes alone, sometimes in twos and threes.

Bishop Laud paced and fumed in front of the accused. His voice was piercing and cruel. His temper, which broke out frequently, was outrageous. It was as if blood was about to gush from his face; he shook as if haunted by surreptitious demons.

“May God Almighty safeguard England from devils such as you,” the bishop concluded, shaking his fist at the accused. “And He will. Rest assured, He will. For there are still those in this land who covet England’s glory, not her annihilation. In the tradition of England, they have risked their lives to guarantee that our land will forever be free from the clutches of rascals like you!”

Thomas Dimwitty’s guilt had been established by the court. The judges had delivered their verdicts. The consensus was read by King James. The bishop was now arguing the sentence. Punishments were wide-ranging, depending upon the seriousness of the crime, but the Court of the Star Chamber had so far never condemned anyone to death. So, Jeremy waited while the sentence against Thomas Dimwitty was agreed upon and pronounced by the King. For his criminal activity, the curate of Dunstable would be fined 15,000 pounds. It was an unbelievable amount and one he could never expect to pay in his lifetime, which meant that all his assets would be seized and his family reduced to poverty. In addition, Mr. Dimwitty would be demoted from the ministry, pilloried, whipped, branded, have his nose slit, and one ear cut off. In this way, he would remain a living reminder of the retribution that awaited anyone who considered following his example.

 

 

Shaking himself back to the present, Jeremy looked again at the manor house before him. Tonight, Mr. ‘Nehemiah’ would get just what he deserved. Setting his glass on the table, Jeremy quietly slipped from the stable and approached the house. Sir Thomas had only that one dog, which slept in the little boy’s room upstairs, so there was nothing to warn the family of his approach. And, thankfully, the moon was behind the clouds, so his movements would not be seen.

Skirting Lady Elizabeth’s infernal rose garden, which he had been expected to weed only yesterday, Jeremy approached to the manor from the rear, being careful not to step on any of her precious plants. Entering through the kitchen door, which was kept unlocked in case of an emergency, he slipped into the dining room and then into the hall. Glancing upwards, he noted that there were no lights upstairs. Good, everyone’s asleep.

Sliding stealthily alongside the wall, he was nearing the door of the study (where he had had his interview just months before), when he noticed that a light was shining under the closed door. Drats! Someone’s still up. Must be that John fellow, probably still writing his seditious pamphlets.

Backing away, the spy retraced his steps, until he was up against the far wall of the great hall—and waited. Within a few minutes, the door of the study creaked opened, the light went out. Someone stepped into the hall. Backing into the shadows and pressing himself against the wall, Jeremy hoped he could stay out of sight until whoever-it-was made it up the stairs to bed.

John rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. Distracted by fatigue, he failed to notice the small, dark lump pressed into the corner of the hall. Yawning widely, he proceeded up the stairs to the bedchambers above, and Jeremy Tibbets slipped unseen into the study, silently closing the door behind him.

Striking a flint, he lit a small, white candle he had brought for the purpose. He searched the desk in front of him, quickly scanning all the sheets of paper until he came across what he sought. Jeremy’s reading skills were not exceptional, but he could read well enough to spot the pamphlet. The title of the paper fairly jumped out to attack him.

 

Anonymous Nehemiah Proclaimer Discards the Book of Common Prayer

 

Some trivial and straightforward grounds delivered under an elm tree in a sermon, on the 13rd day of March last, by Nehemiah Proclaimer, a devoted harness-maker of Buckinghamshire; showing the basis, in general and particular, why they do, might, would, should or ought, except, against, and quite reject the Book of Common Prayer.

 

Jeremy didn’t need to read any further. Here was the evidence he sought, laid out perfectly for him. How stupid these Puritans are, he thought. They don’t even try to hide anything from prying eyes. Quickly, stable-boy-turned-spy snatched up the document, extinguished the candle, and slipped from the room and the manor. He would be able to meet the bishop’s messenger on schedule. Why, with any luck, he'd be back in London for Christmas.