Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [504]
It was a miserable business. Mason the innkeeper, a short, choleric man, with a large red and angry face, had simply thrown her out of the house.
“I don’t care who the father is,” he stormed. “You were not forced. You admit it. I have three other children to look after. You dishonour me. Leave my house.”
Shockley had been to see him twice; but Mason was adamant. There was no help from that quarter.
The boy blanched. That at least was something. But still he said nothing. His cautious eyes gave nothing away. Why was it, Shockley wondered, that a vicious boy was even more unpleasant than a vicious man?
George Forest had not known. He had not known because he had studiously avoided her. When she had tried to speak to him once in the street, he had quickly turned away.
“Who knows what lovers she may have had,” he finally suggested.
Shockley exploded.
“Nonsense, sir, and you know it.” The boy was even worse than he thought. “I’ve seen the girl. I’ve been a doctor nearly thirty years. I know. It’s yours.”
At least Forest had the sense not to try to answer him back. He paused, surveying him coldly.
“You may be grateful I have not spoken to your father. You shall do that for yourself. But you will make the girl an allowance.”
George Forest looked doubtful.
“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “thirty pounds would take care of the child.”
Shockley snorted.
“Fifty a year.”
It was a handsome sum, but he meant to get it for the girl.
George Forest looked at him straight in the eye.
“My father would never agree to such a thing.”
That, Shockley knew, was perfectly true.
Which was why, that morning, he had taken a certain precaution.
“If you do not, then you will be brought before the bishop’s court,” he said calmly. “He has the power to fine and excommunicate you. I do not think your father would like that.”
It was one of the benefits of the Restoration, Shockley thought, that, at least in theory, the Anglican bishops had gained these rights to try moral offences of various kinds, including, as it happened, bastardy. He smiled at young Forest blandly. The disgrace would be tremendous.
The boy was white as a sheet. But he was thinking.
After a pause he replied carefully:
“I do not think the bishop would wish to attack the Forest family.”
It was a shrewd reply. For although these trials could take place, in practice it was rare for a bishop to prosecute a member of the gentry. At worst, a gentleman might be discreetly fined.
But Shockley only shook his head.
“You are wrong. I have been with Bishop Ward this very morning. He is ready to prosecute. I have his word on it.”
There was dismay in the young man’s eyes, then astonishment, and then, Shockley saw it quite clearly, though it only lasted a moment, respect – for a clever trick and a worthy adversary.
“I will speak to my father.”
“You have until this evening.”
He had won. They both knew it.
There was a commotion in the street outside. The Prince of Orange was coming. Their business was done and they moved to the door.
“Clarendon’s here,” George remarked pleasantly. Now that the bargaining was over, he was already his normal self again. “Do you think there will be fighting?”
“No. I think James’s men will desert.”
Young Forest nodded thoughtfully.
“And where does your father stand in this matter?” Shockley enquired, equally pleasantly. He had not seen the baronet for a week.
George now gave him a charming smile.
“With Pembroke, I believe.”
“But Lord Pembroke is still in London. He has not declared himself yet.”
“I know.”
The Forests did not change.
The young man looked at him curiously.
“What about you, Doctor, are you pleased with this glorious revolution?”
And now Shockley smiled. “It is not a revolution, George,” he replied. “It is a compromise.”
He looked forward to a better world.
THE CALM
1720
The Shockleys were ruined. Completely. It was his fault.
“Madness, sir.” Immediately after breakfast, for the remaining five years of his life, he would repeat this same sentence. “To gamble – no other word