London - Edward Rutherfurd [300]
He was taken aback when, as soon as he arrived at the Greenwich waterfront, the barge-master told him: “You’re off duty today, Dogget. I’ve a message here that says you’re to go to the Charterhouse. Your father’s there?” Dan nodded and the master grinned. “Seems your old man’s giving a bit of trouble. You’d better be off there.”
It was worse than he had feared. When he arrived at the monastery, Dan found the sub-prior awaiting him, and also his sister. “The prior is most displeased,” the man informed him. “Lord have mercy on his soul, poor old man,” his sister offered, with aggressive piety. “It’s up to you, Dan,” she added firmly.
It had been an event for the Charterhouse monks: the younger ones had never seen anything like it. For Will Dogget in his cups was still a memorable figure. He had gone into a local tavern and made some acquaintances there who had bought him drinks. He had drunk there and at other taverns for some hours. He had given them a song and then at last, having consumed far more than he had done for many months, he started back towards the Charterhouse.
It was dark and the big outer gateway was closed when Will Dogget staggered up. When his good-natured banging failed to elicit any response, he had decided to see if he could break the gate of the monastery down. When a greatly perturbed young monk had finally opened the gate, the old man had walked sorrowfully over to a little nut tree in the yard, sat down with his back to it and had given them a few verses of a waterman’s ditty the language of which had certainly never been heard in the Charterhouse before.
“We cannot have this,” the sub-prior explained. The old man would have been ejected that morning if his daughter had not sworn by all the saints whose images she sold that she could do nothing for him.
When he reached his father, Will raised himself to a sitting position, and gave Dan a half-reproachful, half-guilty look.
“Well,” he sighed, “your sister won’t have me. The monks are telling me I’ll have to go and live with you again.”
“You can’t,” Dan said firmly. “I’ve no room.”
Help eventually came from the prior himself. “Your father is not a bad soul,” he told Dan with commendable frankness. “But,” he continued gravely, “the work of this monastery is serious. Your father may remain on one condition: that he stays within our gates.”
Dan looked at his father’s face. He didn’t rate the chances highly.
Susan Bull’s nightmare began on a perfect summer day.
It was one of the things Susan liked about Rowland that, while his career and marriage had led him towards the gentle class in society, he was not in the least ashamed of his family of brewers; and every few months they would pay a visit to the old brewery at Southwark. Thomas had accompanied them on this occasion, and after showing him round the extensive premises which the brewery occupied now, the family had all repaired to the old George Inn where the business had first begun.
Susan had been feeling rather mellow. The danger she had feared in April had receded. Whether they liked it or not, hardly anyone else had refused the Supremacy oath; and though Fisher, More and Doctor Wilson were still confined to the Tower, no further action had been taken against them. The mood of the court was also lighter. “The king and Queen Anne are happy together,” Thomas reported. “Everyone is sure there’ll be a male heir sooner or later.” Above all, Rowland seemed to be contented. The crisis with his conscience now past, he was enjoying his work and their life together had been especially happy.
It was a jolly party, consisting of the three visitors, Rowland’s old father and his two brothers. Susan always felt comfortable with the Bulls. Unlike Rowland, who with his dark hair and balding head looked more like a Celtic Welshman, they had remained true to