Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [490]
And the new house at Wilton, with its stately proportions, its magnificent collection of Vandykes and its painted cube and double cube looking over the gentle stream of the river Nadder where moorhens and swans bobbed and glided over the lazy river weeds, was just such a place.
Samuel Shockley looked at the sumptuous furnishings, the splendid paintings and the lovely setting. And he experienced only delight. It seemed to him there could not be a finer way to live.
It was only as he returned home afterwards that he realised his weakness and his sin.
“These are the world’s shows,” he murmured. “They are there only to ensnare and to deceive.” And trying to put the charming vision from him, he went on his way, disgusted with himself and chastened. Obadiah would never have been taken in by such a place, he considered, nor great Cromwell. They were strong, and stern.
It was in this frame of mind that he arrived at the Shockley farm to find Obadiah on a visit to Margaret. As soon as he arrived, he could sense a tension in the air.
They were standing in the parlour, in front of the fire. Margaret was gazing at her elder brother defiantly; Obadiah had a prayer book in his hand.
As Samuel entered the room, Obadiah was holding the prayer book up. His pale face was grave as he announced:
“This book is a work of iniquity.”
For the Puritans had dispensed with Cranmer’s melodious Book of Common Prayer. It was altogether too papist. In its place they substituted their own plain Directory. Gone were all the familiar ceremonies – not only the communion, but the time-honoured rituals that celebrated the sacred events of men’s lives – the burial, even the marriage service. In place of the marriage, a brief, bleak recording of vows before a justice.
This was the Puritan rule. And Margaret hated it.
Worse, she used the Prayer Book each Sunday in the privacy of the farmhouse and she did so in Samuel’s presence. It was something that Obadiah had suspected, but only last week Samuel had thoughtlessly allowed a remark to drop that made Obadiah sure. The view of the Presbyterian was clear. It must be stopped.
But Margaret was defiant.
“I prefer the Prayer Book to your dull Directory.”
“And you use it in front of Samuel?”
“Yes.”
Obadiah sighed. Even if his sister had insisted on her own way with the Prayer Book, it was obviously wrong to bring the boy up on a book that was anathema to the authorities.
He glanced at Samuel who was standing beside him.
“Foolish and wicked woman,” he said in exasperation.
But Margaret only laughed angrily. She snatched up the book.
“Obadiah,” she cried in scorn, “Obadiah the biter!”
It was the nickname Nathaniel had given him after Obadiah had bitten his hand. He had not heard it for twenty years, had even forgotten it. But now, suddenly, the pain and humiliation of his brother’s taunts came back to him vividly. For a second, he was no longer the respected preacher, but the unhappy adolescent. It was an affront to his dignity.
And she had said it in front of the boy.
Samuel was staring at Margaret in surprise. He did not see the viperish look Obadiah gave her before he recovered himself.
Had Margaret been wise she would have apologised. Instead in her fury at his attack on her Prayer Book, she said:
“Go preach in churches. You do not deceive me. A biter by nature you were and always will be.” Then, turning to Samuel, “Did you not know, Samuel, that