London - Edward Rutherfurd [364]
What had become of her? Even her parents had decided she must have been murdered, but some instinct told him she was alive; and because her disappearance coincided in his mind with Black Barnikel’s visit, Meredith was the source of the rumour of her kidnap which still vaguely lingered on.
Her real importance though, was for his own reputation. Perhaps he had not much else to think about; or perhaps it began when a fashionable lady (as she always did when she had run out of conversation) remarked, “I believe, Master Meredith, you have some secret sorrow, a lady no doubt”; but within two years of Jane’s disappearance, he had begun to grow melancholic at the thought of her, kept her memory about him as a lover keeps a painted miniature, and acquired a reputation as a gallant wit who had lost a great love. He composed some clever yet passionate verses that were widely circulated. The best known began:
Since she I loved was taken away.
Its success had led directly to three brief but fashionably flattering affairs.
But it was no good. As the years passed, there was a new, mercenary hardness about the court. His Elizabethan gallantry was not enough. Women were becoming impatient with him.
“If only Jane had been at my side,” he would sometimes sigh. “Who knows what I might have achieved.” Indeed, he had taken to thinking of marriage lately. “But I haven’t the income.” He did not know what to do with himself. And so he had taken holy orders.
This was not as strange as it seemed. Though the Church was not a normal career for a gentleman, several fashionable men, disappointed at court or tiring of the world, had entered it recently; and it was one of these in particular, who had impressed him.
No one could deny that John Donne had made a figure in the world. A gentleman by birth, with a family connected to the great Sir Thomas More, his brilliant poetry and love affairs made him a gallant after Meredith’s heart, and the two had often met in London. Donne had also become a favourite of the king; but, probably wisely, King James had said he would only help Donne if he took orders. Donne was eager, therefore, to see others follow where he had been forced.
“You could go far,” Donne said, “if you can preach a good sermon.” Not only go far, but acquire an audience, even a fashionable one: Edmund pondered this advice, and saw an inviting prospect. It was almost like the theatre.
“I think,” he concluded after a week or two, “that perhaps I feel the call.” And so he was ordained.
Next, he had to find a living. Here again, Donne offered to help.
“There is one parish vacant. I have spoken to the king, who has spoken to the Bishop of London. You have only to recommend yourself to the vestrymen and, so long as they like you, the living will be yours.” He had smiled encouragingly. “You’ll hardly find a better position. The leading vestryman is a large shareholder in the Virginia Company. So good luck.”
There was only one problem. The vestryman in question was Sir Jacob Ducket.
Julius watched curiously as Meredith nervously entered the big panelled parlour where the vestrymen sat. His father, thinking it would be good training, had allowed him to stay and observe this exercise of the family’s responsibilities.
The old medieval order of London, like the city itself, still preserved its ancient shape. Under their chosen mayor, the aldermen still ruled, one for each of the two dozen wards. Each ward had its own council; and below that, each parish its vestry of the principal parishioners – who effectively chose themselves – and who were responsible for the good order and welfare of their community. They also, in this parish, were accustomed