In answer to my enquiry, Ned said, ‘I have given her a tiny dose of tincture of opium. Generally I have little liking for it. It has come only recently into England and its efficacy is not proven. However, ’tis something I carry to relieve pain and induce sleep. I find it helps to calm sufferers and makes it easier to examine them in order to get to the root of their problems.’
‘And have you determined the root of Adie’s problem?’ I asked.
Lizzie scowled. ‘She fancies herself to be with child.’
‘And is she?’
‘’Tis too early to be certain but I don’t think so. In the whorehouse, it was always something the younger, inexperienced girls feared. That fear sometimes fired their imaginations.’
‘What matters at the moment,’ Ned said, ‘is what she believes, rather than what is the reality. I can apply all the usual tests and do my best to reassure her, but if she is convinced, nothing will dispel the fear until she fails to produce a baby. That, of course, will take several months.’
‘A curse on Black Harry and his lecherous rakehells! God grant we come face to face again!’
‘I’m almost inclined to say “Amen” to that,’ Ned responded,‘but, for now, we have Adie to think of.’
‘Can your nostrums keep her calm?’
Ned shook his head. ‘A long stupor can be very injurious and, in any case, it will not dispel her fears. Adie will have no peace until she faces her worries and conquers them. The Bible tells us fear is a demon that can only be cast out by love. The best cure we can administer is to show that we love and appreciate her.’
Lizzie agreed. ‘She is convinced that she is worthless. The children adore her and everyone else likes her but she cannot or will not see it.’
I said, ‘We must all keep a close watch on her. Meanwhile, I think it is time I wrote to her brother. I’ll see if he will come down to visit her. Perhaps we can discover things about her past that may help us to understand her better.’
The next morning it was almost with relief that I set out for Hadbourne to assist with the archbishop’s commission.
Chapter 22
The hall had been cleared for the inquiry. A table stood on a raised dais at one end. It was covered by a Turkey carpet and a row of chairs was set behind it. High on the wall above and behind them two large images dominated the room. One was Archbishop Cranmer’s coat of arms. The other was a lifelike portrait of King Henry, who seemed to survey the proceedings with a fierce gaze. A bench set crosswise halfway down the hall marked off the area where those being .examined were to stand. It seemed that Legh had modelled his commission chamber on the royal courts at Westminster Hall, where only men of the law, called ‘benchers’, were permitted within the hallowed enclosure before the judge’s seat. Apart from these, all furniture had been removed. Guards in the archbishop’s livery stood at the doors and two more were stationed at either end of the commissioners’ table. Several men were already present when I entered, standing in small clusters. It was evident that they were going to have to remain standing until Legh dismissed them. A secretary was arranging papers on the table and indicated the place at one end where I was to sit. Minutes later Legh and his entourage entered and took their places. James was seated next to me and beside the chairman. The other half of the table was occupied by Ralph Morice, two other local JPs and the commission secretary.
Legh began the proceedings with a speech. ‘This is an archiepiscopal commission convened under royal charter for the examination of alleged irregularities concerning the preaching and teaching of certain parish clergy within the dioceses of Canterbury and Rochester. When your names are called you will be sworn to give true testimony. You will answer all questions put to you by members of the commission. Anyone we deem to be guilty of holding opinions contrary to those established by the laws of this realm will be sent to Canterbury for further examination by the archbishop’s court. The same will apply to anyone perjuring himself or attempting to conceal information from the commission. Those of you who preach or cause to be preached the true doctrine of the English Church by law established and who answer truthfully all questions put to them have absolutely nothing to fear from today’s proceedings.’
It immediately became obvious that Legh had skilfully arranged the order of business for maximum effect. The first to face the flight of verbal arrows was Peter Perks, vicar of Sandling Parva, a slight, elderly priest who was already sweating.
The chairman demanded sharply, ‘You were for many years sub-prior of the Benedictine house at Laxford, were you not?’
‘I was.’
‘Speak up, man! Don’t mumble!’
‘That is correct.’
‘You must have been pleased to be offered a benefice after the surrender of your house.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘And you were presented to that benefice by Prebendary Cooke of Canterbury Cathedral.’
‘Yes.’
‘At that time yon swore an oath of loyalty to your diocesan bishop, did you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you aware that Prebendary Cooke is under investigation for spreading slanderous rumours about the archbishop?’
‘Well … I had heard …’
‘Yes or no!’ Legh thundered. ‘Do you know that your patron is a sworn and open enemy of his grace?’
‘I … er … think …’
‘Think? I don’t want to know what you think! This is your last warning: if you don’t give me clear and simple answers to my questions, you’ll be in contempt. Do you know your patron is an enemy of the archbishop?’
‘Well … yes.’
Legh addressed himself to the room at large. ‘If I had to prise answers from the rest of you in the same way we would be here for days. Well, I won’t do it. Any sign of prevarication and you’ll be detained, awaiting trial by a higher court. Now, Master Perks, how many times in the last year have you been summoned to Canterbury by your patron?’
The old man was now quivering and dabbing his brow with a kerchief. ‘Three, I think … no, four.’
‘And what did you discuss?’
‘Well … er … many things …’
‘Master Perks!’
‘Well … Prebendary Cooke was interested in clergy his grace had licensed to preach in the area.’
‘Did he not ask you whether, in your opinion, any of his grace’s appointees were guilty of heresy?’
‘He was concerned about that, certainly.’
‘And what did you tell him?’
‘I … er … mentioned that John Lanks might, perhaps, be not orthodox on all points of doctrine.’
‘And was John Lanks subsequently arrested and taken before the archbishop’s court?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what was the verdict of that court?’
‘Not guilty.’
‘Louder, please, Master Perks. I want everyone to hear you.’
‘Not guilty.’
‘Indeed, not guilty of any heretical teaching whatsoever. And why would he be? Do you suppose a man in whom his grace reposed confidence would be a disseminator of damnable heresy?’
‘I suppose … er … no. Certainly not.’
‘So what it comes to is this: you and your generous patron worked together to indict an innocent man of preaching false doctrine. And this was part of a plot to discredit the Archbishop of Canterbury, a godly scholar and pastor who has the love and trust of his majesty.’
‘No!’ the poor man screamed. ‘That was never my intent-’
‘Then, pray what was your intention? Have I misunderstood?’ Legh glanced to left and right along the table. ‘Perhaps my colleagues can fathom how a different conclusion can be drawn from what you have told us.’ He paused momentarily. ‘No? I thought not. Captain!’ he called, ‘take this fellow away.’
Peter Perks was hustled, blubbering and protesting, from the room.
After that opening, none of the men being examined was disposed to stand up against such verbal bullying. The commission dealt in brusque and rapid succession with all the other suspects. Rather more than half were dismissed with a stern caution but the remainder were handed over to the guards for transportation to Canterbury. Legh left the rest of us little to do. It was when Simon Belleville was set before us that my interest was particularly aroused. He was a stocky, bristle-haired farmer of yeoman birth whose rise in the first years of the Dissolution had been wing-footed even by the standards of the day. I remember my father telling me that Belleville was one of the first speculators in monastic property to approach him for a loan and that he had doubled his capital many times over in the ensuing years. My father disliked him, often referring to him as ‘the man with two popes’; someone who paraded his devotion to traditional religion and had a reputation for generous support of altar gilds and chantries, but who did not allow this to stand in the way of his profiteering from the dismantling of monasticism. Now he was one of the richest men in Kent and one who loved to display his wealth in ambitious building projects. His house at King’s Branfield rivalled the mansions of the older shire families – in size, if not in taste, and he had created scarcely less impressive edifices for his two sons. Indeed, their corner of Kent was often jokingly referred to as ‘Bellevilleshire’, an enclave where the king’s writ ran second to their own. He stood before the commission today accused of ‘proud words’ spoken against the archbishop.