The Turn of Midnight

PRAISE FOR

‘This intriguing read makes excellent use of outstanding histor-

ical detail and depth . . . an impressive literary adventure.’
—Canberra Weekly

‘Walters is a pro at building and maintaining suspense . . . Given

depth and authenticity through meticulous research, The Turn
of Midnight provides us with a fascinating look at a society in a
profound state of flux . . . If you enjoy C.J. Sansom or Philippa
Gregory, pick up this masterfully woven tale of pandemic illness,
religion, money, power and romance. Our high expectations were
more than surpassed, and we are very confident yours will be, too.’
—​Better Reading

‘Walters writes a mean historical drama . . . a compelling conclusion

to The Last Hours.’ —The Daily Telegraph

‘An epic conclusion to The Last Hours, filled with history, and
intrigue, and mysteries that are woven in and out, ensuring that
story is given a full body and dense, yet amazingly intricate threads
and characters that revolve around a variety of issues around gender,
class and religion that are still in play today, and that still affect people
all around the world today in a variety of ways.’ —The Book Muse

‘Historical fiction at its finest—​the suspense is rife, the clever layers

of storytelling second to none . . . had me holding my breath in
anticipation on more than one occasion.’ —Theresa Smith Writes

‘Walters has successfully adapted the well-crafted plots and care-

fully drawn characters from her psychological crime writing to the
historical genre.’ —Brisbane News

‘Vividly readable . . . Walters’ transition away from crime is complete,

bringing her a wealth of new fans.’ —​Herald Sun
 The Last Hours
PR AISE FOR

‘Walters’s skill and subtlety in portraying the suffering and disarray

of a feudal society in which disease rampages and God has seemingly
gone mad is masterly. And, as with her bestselling suspense novels,
the psychological drama is gripping.’ —Daily Mail

‘Vivid but flawed characters rise from the page . . . This renowned
crime writer has shifted to historical fiction without faltering.’ —Good
Reading

‘A gripping read. Walters uses this often grisly tale to explore ques-
tions of class relations, gender relations, and the societal aftermath
of the Norman conquest.’ —Sydney Morning Herald

‘A riveting start to a huge story . . . [Walters] seems certain for a

return to the bestseller lists.’ —Herald Sun

‘A staggeringly talented writer.’ —Guardian

‘Wonderful and sweeping, with a fabulous sense of place and history.’

—Kate Mosse, author of Labyrinth

‘An enthralling account of a calamitous time, and above all a

wonderful testimony to the strength of the human spirit. I was caught
from the first page.’ —Julian Fellowes, creator and screenwriter of
Downton Abbey

‘Minette Walters is a master at building engrossing tales around a

single, life-shattering event.’ —Washington Post
Minette Walters is the critically acclaimed and inter­
nationally bestselling author of suspense novels, including
The Devil’s Feather, The Sculptress and Acid Row. She
is the recipient of an Edgar Award and two Crime
Writers’ Association Gold Dagger awards, among other
accolades. Minette is also the author of two bestselling
historical novels set during the time of the Black Death
in fourteenth-­century England, The Last Hours and The
Turn of Midnight. She lives in Dorset with her husband.
 Minette Walters
OTHER BOOKS BY

The Ice House (1992)

The Sculptress (1993)
The Scold’s Bridle (1994)
The Dark Room (1995)
The Echo (1997)
The Breaker (1998)
The Shape of Snakes (2000)
Acid Row (2001)
Fox Evil (2002)
Disordered Minds (2003)
The Devil’s Feather (2005)
The Tinder Box (2006)
Chickenfeed (2006)
The Chameleon’s Shadow (2007)
Innocent Victims (2012)
A Dreadful Murder (2013)
The Cellar (2015)
The Last Hours (2017)
The Turn of Midnight (2018)
MINETTE
WALTERS
The
SWIFT
and the
HARRIER
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used
fictitiously or are products of the author’s imagination.

First published in 2021

Copyright © Minette Walters 2021 (The right of Minette Walters to be identified as

author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988 (UK))

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior
permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968
(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever
is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational
purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has
given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

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Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.allenandunwin.com

A catalogue record for this

book is available from the
National Library of Australia


ISBN 978 1 76106 520 0

Maps by Janet Hunt

Set in 12.1/17.2pt Minion Pro by Bookhouse, Sydney
Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The paper in this book is FSC® certified.

FSC® promotes environmentally responsible,
socially beneficial and economically viable
management of the world’s forests.
 For Hermione

And my three closest friends during Covid lockdown:

Lambert, Butler and Mr Rooster
 Author’s note
T H E E NGL I SH C I V I L WA R

The first phase of the civil war was fought in England and
Wales from 1642 to 1646 and was sparked by Parliament’s ques-
tioning of King Charles I’s belief that, since his authority came
from God, he could not be held accountable by an earthly power.
This doctrine, known as the Divine Right of Kings, caused both
political and religious division. Adherents to the Protestant
Church of England, of which the King was the head, tended
towards the Royalist cause; while non-conformists—​Puritans,
Presbyterians and Independents, who believed the Church of
England was modelled too closely on the Catholic Church and
needed further reformation to rid itself of governance by bishops
and priests—​tended to side with Parliament.
Parliament’s aim was to pressure Charles into relinquishing
absolute power in favour of shared power, and, to that end, several
attempts were made to negotiate the terms on which he could
keep his throne. The King refused them all, including those
presented to him after his surrender to a Scottish army in June
1646. Knowing he still had support in Scotland, he made a treaty
 M i n e t t e Wa l t e r s

with the Scottish Parliament to impose Presbyterianism on England

in return for being restored to absolute power by a Scottish army.
This led to a war between Scotland and England in 1648, which
was of short duration and finished in victory for England’s New
Model Army. The King’s treason against his English subjects
resulted in his execution on 30 January 1649.
An uneasy ten-year republic followed, with Oliver Cromwell
emerging as its leader under the title of Lord Protector. However,
his early death in 1658 left Parliament divided over who should
replace him, and the decision was taken to invite Charles II to
accede to his father’s throne. Known as ‘the merry monarch’,
Charles II ruled wisely for twenty-five years and was greatly loved
by his subjects. Nevertheless, Parliament’s victories in the English
Civil War established the precedent that a monarch could not rule
without the consent of his people through Parliament, and this set
the nation on the path to universal suffrage and true democracy.
 N
W E
S

Somerset Wiltshire
Taunton
y
a f  sbur
Sh
Devon
Hambledon Hil
Sherborne
ndford
Winrborne Houton WinB
is rborne Sti
Reg cknd
e Maiden Newton
Lym
Bridport
Dorchr Pole
Swyre
Melcombe Corfe Cale
Weymouth

Isle of Portnd
 N
W E
S

Uplyme Hil 

d
e s
’ briga
ic
aur ery
artil  Royali­ il ery
M

i­ n Line a rt
nce

ow 's Fort
yal
Pri

Davy's Fo
rt East
Ro
The T

h gate
itc
Ga ch
Bea

et
l
West gate
order

ck s
’
Line

Dorset
ch

rwi
Bea
County b

Lyme Bay a
The Town

dW
Lor
The Cobb
Devon Supply barg

The Siege of
Lyme Regis
1644
Swift: a  fast-flying, medium-sized brown bird with a
white throat and forked tail that can outdistance most
birds of prey.

Harrier: a  large sharp-sighted hawk which hunts by

gliding low and silently over open ground with its wings
held in a shallow V-shape.

No bird soars too high when he soars with his own wings.
WILLIAM BLAKE
 The
SWIFT
and the
HARRIER
 1642

The English Civil War begins on 22 August when

King Charles raises his standard at Nottingham.
Three days earlier, a Catholic priest is executed in
Dorset for treason.
 ON E

Dorchester, Dorset, 19 August 1642

As the hour for the priests’ execution approached, the press

of people heading for Gallows Hill grew denser and more impa-
tient. Jayne Swift had expected crowds, but not such a multitude
as this. It seemed every Puritan in Dorset had come to gloat at
the spectacle of Catholics being hanged, drawn and quartered,
because there wasn’t a road or street in Dorchester that wasn’t
thronged with hard-faced men and women, their eyes aglitter in
anticipation of papist blood being spilt.
Jayne’s only means of making headway against the tide was to
stay close to the fronts of houses and try to move forward each
time there was a gap, but she was attracting unwelcome attention
by doing so. She made the decision to retreat into a doorway and
wait for the crush to subside after a man rounded on her angrily
for knocking against him. She raised her hands in apology, but
the suspicion in his eyes as he studied her gown alarmed her.
She lowered her head submissively to prevent confrontation, and

3
 M i n e t t e Wa l t e r s

sighed with relief when his wife and the flow of humanity carried
him on towards Gallows Hill.
The embrasure was deep enough for her to withdraw into the
corner where the door was hinged to the wall, allowing her to
avoid further curiosity by facing the way the people were walking.
All were dressed in the drab uniform of Puritanism—​simple
dark clothes with plain white collars and, in the case of women,
tight-fitting bonnets and starched aprons—​and Jayne wondered
whether it was fear of being thought less righteous than their
neighbours or sincere belief that Catholicism was evil that had
brought them to the executions. She hoped it was fear, for she
struggled to accept that tolerance of other religions was entirely
dead in Dorset.
The two priests slated for evisceration that day had been arrested
by a customs officer five months earlier when they boarded a ship
for France in Lyme harbour. Since then, they had languished in
Dorchester gaol, awaiting trial and inevitable sentencing. Yet their
crime was not that they were Catholic. Rather, they had been
convicted of treason for taking a ship too late to obey the King’s
edict that all priests must leave the country by the tenth of April,
and it mattered not that neither had seen the writ or knew the
required date of departure.
Had Jayne felt any animosity towards Ruth, she would have
cursed her cousin for summoning her at such an inopportune
time; but since she did not, she pressed herself deeper into the
embrasure and prepared to wait for the crowd to thin. All might
have been well had the door not opened behind her to reveal a
thin-lipped matriarch of some sixty years, clad in unforgiving
black, who was clearly affronted to find a young woman loitering

4
 T h e Sw i f t a n d t h e H a r r i e r

on her step, particularly one as tall as Jayne, who overtopped her

by a good four inches.
She ran a critical gaze over Jayne’s apparel, lingering on the
lace trim around her bonnet and apron, and the slashes in her
sleeves which revealed pale green silk beneath the dark blue of
her tailored gown. It was hard to say if she was being taken for a
trollop or a Royalist sympathiser because, under close inspection,
none of Jayne’s garments could pass as ‘plain’ and ‘unadorned’, in
the Puritan style; though glimpsed at a distance in the streets of
Dorchester they usually escaped notice. With a smile of apology,
she adjusted the strap of her heavy leather satchel, which she wore
across her shoulders, and made ready to set off again.
She was prevented from leaving by a surprisingly firm hand
gripping her right wrist. ‘You have a crest embossed on the flap
of your bag. Name it for me, please.’
‘Swift, ma’am. I am daughter to Sir Henry and Lady Margaret
Swift of Swyre.’
‘What brought you to my door?’
‘Nothing, ma’am. I have urgent business in High East Street and
sought shelter inside this embrasure when it became impossible
to move against the press of people.’
‘Which house in High East Street?’
‘Samuel Morecott’s.’
‘I know Samuel. What business do you have with him?’
Jayne smiled slightly. ‘With respect, ma’am, that is none of
your affair.’ She tried to pull away. ‘May I leave now? I have no
wish to cause you further inconvenience.’
‘You’ll inconvenience me more if you’re suspected of having
sympathy with priests. I was sitting at my window and saw the
anger in the face of the man you jostled.’ She drew Jayne inside and

5
 M i n e t t e Wa l t e r s

closed the door. ‘It will be another hour before you can continue
safely. Only servants with tasks to perform will be out on the
streets once the executions begin.’ She led the way into a chamber
to the left. ‘You may wait in here.’
Jayne followed, wondering who the woman was. Her austere
dress suggested an allegiance to the more extreme forms of
Protestantism, as did her acquaintanceship with Samuel Morecott,
and neither gave Jayne confidence that her reasons for rescuing
a stranger off the street were benign. Perhaps loneliness was the
cause. The house seemed deathly quiet after the noise outside,
with nothing to suggest that anyone else lived there. Not even
servants.
She dropped a respectful curtsey. ‘I thank you most sincerely
for your kindness, ma’am, but I spoke honestly when I said my
business was urgent. If you have a door at the rear of your house
which opens onto a less travelled street, I would choose that.’
‘There’s no hurry. I saw Samuel and his disciples pass this
window some thirty minutes ago. If he knew of your meeting
with him, he has forgotten it in the excitement of the executions.’
Disciples? What a strange word to use, Jayne thought, while
being grateful to learn that Samuel was already absent from home.
‘You asked which house I was visiting—​not which person.’
‘I recall Samuel’s wife was a Swift before they married. Do
you have kinship with her?’
‘Ruth is my cousin, ma’am.’
‘Through marriage or blood?’
‘Blood.’ Jayne shook her head before another question could be
put, finding the woman’s curiosity ill-mannered. ‘Time is passing,
ma’am. May I ask again if you have another exit?’

6
 T h e Sw i f t a n d t h e H a r r i e r

‘I do, but you will find the same press of people on that side
also. Every road leads to Gallows Hill eventually.’ With a slight
wince, the woman lowered herself into a chair and nodded towards
another at its side. ‘Sit and talk with me awhile. Am I right to
think you’re Jayne Swift, the physician, and that your cousin has
called on you to help her son?’
The question discomfited Jayne because Ruth had been most
insistent that the reason for her visit be kept secret. And how
could someone she’d never met guess her name and profession so
easily? Jayne had some small celebrity in country areas but none
at all in Dorchester, where only men were accepted as medical
practitioners. ‘No woman would claim such a title, ma’am. To do
so would be fraudulent since she cannot be granted a licence by
a university or college.’
‘Few men are so honest. The town is full of quacksalvers who
pretend learning and licences they don’t have. My brother praises
you most highly. You treated his gout some six months back, and
he’s not had a recurrence since.’ She canted her head to one side
and studied Jayne closely. ‘He described you very well. He said
you were unusually tall for a woman, had yet to reach twenty-
seven and carried yourself with confidence.’
The mask of confidence was a trick Jayne had acquired from
her tutor, Doctor Theale of Bridport. You’ll never win a patient’s
trust by looking nervous, he’d told her. School yourself to appear
calm at all times, look a person in the eye when you speak to him
and do not fidget whatever the circumstances. The lesson had been
learnt through five long years of training and was now second
nature to her. ‘Does your brother have a name, ma’am?’
‘John Bankes of Corfe.’

7
 M i n e t t e Wa l t e r s

Jayne made a play of lifting her heavy satchel from across her
shoulders to give herself an excuse to lower her head and avoid the
other woman’s all-too-penetrating gaze. She could hardly accuse
an elderly matriarch of lying, but her disbelieving expression
would have made her scepticism clear. Sir John was the King’s
Chief Justice, owner of Corfe Castle and a Royalist to his core. His
booming voice could often be heard condemning Parliament for
inciting discontent, and he pledged his castle and his household
to the King’s cause as soon as war became inevitable. How could
he be brother to this pale Puritan who looked as if strong meat
and intoxicating liquor never touched her lips?
The reason for Sir John’s gout had been obvious in his huge
girth and the broken veins in his bulbous nose and fat cheeks,
and he hadn’t taken kindly to Jayne’s removal of the tankard of
brandy that he hugged against his chest. As for praise, there had
been none. Sir John had had only insults for Jayne throughout
the time she’d ministered to him. When she wasn’t an ‘imperious
despot’ for forcing him to drink water in ‘hideous’ quantities,
and a ‘vile torturer’ for holding his throbbing foot in a bucket of
costly imported ice, she was a ‘two-faced shrew’ for teaching his
wife to prolong his persecution. Every other physician bled him
with leeches. Where were hers? And how dare his friend Richard
Theale send a woman in his place?
The first lesson Richard had taught Jayne when she began her
studies with him was never to betray a patient’s confidence. If she
couldn’t earn a reputation as a physician through the success of
her healing methods, she’d not do so by naming her clients and
their ailments. Leave that to the quacks, he’d said. Men of little
ability had no other way to attract business than by listing which
members of the gentry they’d tended.

8
 T h e Sw i f t a n d t h e H a r r i e r

‘Forgive me, ma’am, but I doubt your brother would want

you discussing him with a stranger. I know mine would not.’ To
divert the woman’s attention, she gestured towards the portrait
of a handsome man, hanging on the wall behind the chairs. ‘Is
that your husband?’
The matriarch’s mouth twitched. ‘My husband had a cast in
his eye and would never allow me to paint him. That’s John when
he was a struggling young lawyer. He was quite beautiful before
the King’s patronage turned him rubicund and fleshy. I’ve caught
his image several times during his life.’
Jayne could see the likeness now that it was pointed out. The
shape of the face might have changed but not the eyes. ‘You’re a
fine artist, ma’am.’
‘Some say so.’
Jayne moved closer and made out a signature in the bottom
right-hand corner of the painting. It was a name of some renown,
Gilbert Jackson, and she wondered if the woman had lied about
being the artist or had forged the signature to add spurious
value to her work. Either way, Jayne decided she’d rather take
her chances on the street than remain in this house. Neither
solitude nor religious fervour was healthy, and it was a strange
lunacy that adopted the manner and dress of Puritanism while
claiming close connections with artists and prominent Royalists.
She reached for her bag again. ‘You must forgive me, ma’am,
but I truly must leave. My cousin begged me to make haste and
I am pledged to honour her wish.’
The matriarch nodded. ‘No doubt requesting that you come
during the executions when she knew Samuel would be away?’
When Jayne made no answer she went on: ‘It won’t help you. Ruth
will have no more authority to admit you in her husband’s absence

9
 M i n e t t e Wa l t e r s

than when he’s there, so you must be forceful in demanding

entry.’ She pushed herself to her feet, wincing again at the effort.
‘Allow me and my footman to escort you. Three will make better
progress than one, and William has the strength to push against
the door if the need arises.’
There was no gainsaying her. She led Jayne through an inter-
locking room, magnificently furnished and with several more
portraits on the walls, and thence down a corridor to the kitchen.
Several startled maids dropped deep curtseys and a footman rose
from his seat at a table and bent his neck in a bow. ‘You should
have rung, milady.’
‘I’m saving time, William. My young friend is in a hurry to
reach High East Street, and I believe she’ll have a better chance
from this exit than from the front.’
‘You wish me to accompany her, milady?’
‘We will both accompany her. The house she seeks is Samuel
Morecott’s and I doubt she’ll gain entry without assistance, since
I’m told all visitors are refused.’ She turned to the oldest of the
maids, a woman of some fifty years. ‘Mistress Swift needs to cover
her gown, Molly. Will you fetch her a cloak and one for me also?
Perhaps a plain bonnet as well? The one she’s wearing has far too
much lace and does little to hide her curls.’
As the maid hurried away, the footman pulled on a plain dark
jacket and brushed imaginary dust from a pointed hat. ‘I would
prefer you to remain here, milady,’ he said with unusual firm-
ness. ‘The Sheriff fears rioting if anything goes amiss with the
executions, and I can’t be responsible for two if that happens. My
duty is to you, which means Mistress Swift will have to fend for
herself. Do you wish to put her in such danger?’

10
 T h e Sw i f t a n d t h e H a r r i e r

‘You’re a tiresome person, William.’

His eyes creased in an affectionate smile. ‘There’s a powerful
crowd out there, milady. You’ll not keep your feet if they push
against us. Humour me and stay inside.’
She sighed. ‘I humour you every day, even though your single
aim in life is to spoil my fun. My desire is to observe, not engage.’
‘You’ll not observe anything if you fall, milady. Does the
window at the front not serve the purpose?’ He gestured behind
him. ‘We see faces well enough through this one.’
‘But do you feel what they feel, William?’
‘Thankfully not, milady, since I don’t have their thirst for
Catholic blood. The problem will be if the priests recant. There’ll
be no holding the mob if they’re cheated out of their pleasure.’
The maid reappeared with cloaks and a bonnet. ‘May I help
you dress, milady?’
‘Not this time, Molly. William refuses to take me.’
The woman gave the footman an approving nod. ‘As he should,
milady. Your leg hasn’t mended from the last time you were caught
in a crowd. To risk such a press again would be madness.’ She
turned to Jayne. ‘If you give your bag to William, ma’am, I can
better ensure your head and gown are properly covered.’
Jayne did as she was bidden, since she doubted she’d have
better luck opposing the stern-faced maid than the mistress. She
handed her satchel to the footman before allowing Molly to thrust
her smoky brown curls beneath a second bonnet and use pins
to stitch her into a brown woollen cloak. Once properly covered,
she turned with a grateful smile to her rescuer.
‘You’ve been most kind, ma’am. Please remember me to your
brother.’

11
 M i n e t t e Wa l t e r s

The woman nodded. ‘I will,’ she said. ‘If what he tells me about
you is true, you’re better qualified to help Ruth’s son than the
ignorant quacksalver Samuel has been employing.’
‘May I ask which physician it is, ma’am?’
‘Robert Spencer. Do you know him?’
‘Only by name and reputation. I’m told his cure for gout is
to plunge the foot into near-boiling water while instructing the
sufferer to drink vinegar.’
The matriarch’s eyes lit with amusement, but she delivered a
warning nonetheless. ‘Even so, he’s an elder of Samuel’s church
and highly respected in the town. Ruth must have summoned
you without Samuel’s knowledge, for I cannot imagine a single
circumstance where he would permit another physician to ques-
tion Robert Spencer’s ability. Samuel’s too ambitious to improve
his status to make enemies unnecessarily.’
Jayne thought this a perceptive description of Samuel, who had
distanced himself from his family rather than admit his humble
origins. ‘Ruth says their son is dying. Surely any father would
seek a second opinion in those circumstances?’
‘You would hope so.’
‘But not Samuel?’
‘I fear not.’ The matriarch urged Jayne towards the door. ‘With
William’s help, you’ve a better chance of forcing your way inside.
I wish you luck in saving the little boy’s life, but know that Samuel
will give the plaudits to Robert Spencer if you do. He guards his
future prospects too carefully to give credit to a woman.’

O
Jayne followed William’s instruction to walk in his shadow and
hold firmly to the strap of her satchel, which he wore across his

12
 T h e Sw i f t a n d t h e H a r r i e r

shoulder. He was some thirty years of age, strongly built and of

a good height, and seemed to have little trouble forging a path
between the oncoming crowd and the houses which fronted
the road. Several times, he nodded to individual passers-by
and received an answering nod in return, but none questioned
his purpose in taking the opposite direction to them. When
they reached High East Street, he turned to the left instead of
attempting to push through the press of people to their right,
and drew Jayne into an alcove formed by the narrow projecting
porchway of a bakery. The doors were closed, but there was
enough room for them both to shelter from the teeming mass
that thronged the road.
‘They’re waiting for the priests to be brought from the gaol,’ he
murmured. ‘It won’t be long before the cart appears, so I suggest
we do the same. The crowd will follow or disperse once they’ve
hurled their insults.’
‘I’m sorry to have put you to this trouble, William. I should
have accepted your mistress’s invitation to remain with her for
an hour.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
Jayne gave a wry smile. ‘I found her a little alarming. She
assumed I knew who she was, but I don’t.’
‘Lady Alice Stickland, widow of Sir Francis Stickland. She took
up residence in Dorchester when her son inherited his father’s
estates and title two years ago. Young Sir Francis is even less
tolerant of her waywardness than her husband was.’
Jayne longed to ask what form the waywardness took, but didn’t
choose to show the same ill-mannered curiosity as his mistress.
‘Is her brother as tolerant?’

13
 M i n e t t e Wa l t e r s

‘When he’s in Dorset. He wouldn’t embrace her so readily if

she lived in London.’
‘Why not?’
The question seemed to amuse him. ‘He’d lose the King’s
patronage if he acknowledged a sister as outspoken as Lady Alice.
She makes no secret of her support for Parliament.’
Jayne kept her voice low. ‘Yet she spoke critically of Samuel
Morecott, and there’s no more ardent supporter of Parliament
than he.’
‘It’s the only belief they have in common. Nothing else about
him attracts her.’ He looked above the heads of the people in front
of them. ‘The priests approach. You should turn away if you don’t
wish to see their anguish.’
Jayne questioned afterwards if it was stubbornness that made
her reject his advice. He was overfamiliar for a servant, towards
both his mistress and herself, and she was inclined to recite her
own lineage in order to put him in his place; but the opportunity
never arose, for her voice would have been drowned by the raucous
shouts of the crowd. There was no slur too bad to cast at the thin,
frail-looking men who stood with their hands tied in front of them
in the back of a horse-drawn cart. Children chanted ‘papist pigs’
and flung cow dung; adults favoured ‘spies’, ‘traitors’ or ‘Devil’s
spawn’ and stepped forward to launch mouthfuls of spittle.
One of the priests, the younger, was so frightened he was visibly
shaking, and the other took his tethered hands in his own to
give him strength. Jayne guessed the older to be close to sixty
and wondered if it was age or faith that was allowing him to face
his execution so calmly. She saw his mouth move and fancied he
was urging his friend to trust in God’s love and mercy, but, if so,

14
 T h e Sw i f t a n d t h e H a r r i e r

his words fell on deaf ears. The younger man shook his head and
gave way to sobbing.
William spoke into her ear. ‘He’ll recant at the foot of the
gallows. The Sheriff must hope Hugh Green remains steadfast
or the crowd will become ungovernable.’
‘Is that the name of the older priest?’
‘It is. He was confessor to Lady Arundell before his arrest.
She wrote to my mistress, begging her to go to the prison and
assure Father Green of her continued prayers and devotion,
because she wasn’t strong enough to make the journey herself.
Lady Alice visited him several times during the months he
was held.’
Jayne thought of how anti-Catholic feeling in the country had
grown with the rise of the Puritan faction in Parliament, and
wondered that Lady Alice was so willing to show kindness to a
priest. ‘Was she criticised for it?’
‘If she was, she paid no heed. She cares nothing for what others
think as long as she believes that what she is doing is right.’
Jayne watched the cart turn onto High East Street and head
towards Icen Way. ‘Will she fight against her brother if war comes?’
‘In as much as they’ll be on opposing sides.’
‘And her son?’
‘The same. He, too, is for the King.’
‘I find that sad.’
‘Do you not have the same dilemma in your own family,
Mistress Swift? Your cousin’s husband is for Parliament, but I’ve
heard that your father, Sir Henry, is for the King.’
His prediction that the crowd would thin once the priests
were out of sight was correct. Some crept back to their homes or
shops, but most followed the cart, their jeers echoing back along

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Icen Way as Jayne said, ‘You and your mistress seem to know a
lot about me, William. How so?’
‘Sir John spoke of you at length. The conversation piqued Lady
Alice’s interest and she asked me to discover what I could about
you.’ He gave a low laugh. ‘I doubt she expected to make your
acquaintance so easily, however. One of my tasks was to try to
arrange a meeting.’
‘To what end?’
‘You refused to align yourself with Sir John and the Royalist
cause, and you treat the rural poor for free. Milady hopes that
means you’re on the side of Parliament and the people.’
Jayne gave a surprised laugh. ‘Then I’ll disappoint her as badly
as I disappointed her brother. I support men and women who
seek an end to division, not those who look to make it worse.’
‘Do any such exist?’
‘I know of one: the doctor who trained me. He makes no
distinction between political or religious beliefs, and requires all
who learn with him to sign a pledge to treat the sick to the best
of their ability regardless of circumstance, status or conviction.
Were the King and Parliament as tolerant of difference, there
would be no talk of war.’
William eyed her cynically. ‘You’re a dreamer, Mistress Swift.
War will come whether you desire it or not, and neither side
will accept pleas of neutrality to let you pass. Even to reach
your cousin’s house today, you’ve had to accept my help and
dress as a Puritan. What would you have said if someone had
challenged you?’
‘The same as I told your mistress: I have urgent business at
Samuel Morecott’s house.’ She held out her hand for her satchel.
‘I’m quite able to gain entry on my own, William, and you will

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serve Lady Alice better if you follow the cart and bear witness
to Hugh Green’s martyrdom. She must have sympathy for him
or she wouldn’t have visited him several times. He will die well,
I think, and she will want to hear that from someone she trusts.’
He passed her the bag. ‘Indeed. When your business at Mister
Morecott’s house is concluded—​with good health for the child,
I hope—​will you do Milady the kindness of returning her cloak
and bonnet? Her son starves her of money and she is not so rich
that she can afford to replace them.’
‘I can give them to you now. The road is almost bare of people
and it will take me but half a minute to reach Samuel’s house.’
But he was already several paces away, his ears firmly closed,
seemingly intent on obliging her to return for a second visit with
his formidable mistress.

O
As Jayne approached the Morecott house, she saw that every
shutter was closed, even those at the upstairs windows. On another
day, she would have assumed the house to be empty, but she
knew from Ruth’s letter that this couldn’t be the case. Her cousin
wouldn’t have begged her on paper stained with tears to hasten to
High East Street if she and her son were in residence elsewhere.
Jayne halted before the door, wondering what to do. It was
two months since Samuel had banished her permanently from
his house after she’d questioned one of his more foolish inter-
pretations of a biblical text, and the servants would refuse to
admit her on that basis alone, with or without orders to keep all
visitors away. Preferring guile over force, she moved three houses
down. ‘Doctor Spencer has sent me with a delivery of medicine
for Mister Morecott’s son,’ she told the footman who answered

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her knock. ‘My instructions are to go to the rear of the building

and place it in the hands of a servant so that the little master isn’t
disturbed by noise. Can you tell me how to find the entrance to
the kitchen quarters?’
He pointed to an alleyway some fifty yards farther on. ‘Walk
to the cross path, turn left and count off six doors,’ he said. ‘Give
the medicine to the cook. She’s the only one with the courage to
hand it to Mistress Morecott of her own accord. The rest are too
afeared of their master to act without his instruction.’
Jayne produced a shy smile. ‘Would it be possible for you to
accompany me, sir? I’m sure the cook will answer more willingly
to you than a stranger. Doctor Spencer was most insistent that
the child start his medicine this morning. He would have come
himself were it not for the executions.’
The footman eyed her for a moment, perhaps trying to assess
how truthful she was being, and then, with an abrupt nod, closed
the door behind him and led her towards the alleyway. Mention
of the executions had loosened his tongue, and he regaled Jayne
with complaints that service to another meant he was unable to
attend. How was this fair, he asked, when high days and holidays
were so few that all men should be allowed to enjoy them?
Jayne was relieved that he didn’t expect anything more than
sympathetic noises by way of answer, and that his impatient steps
brought them quickly to the house they wanted. He knocked
loudly, calling out his name, and the door cracked open a couple
of feet to reveal a timorous maid holding a finger to her lips.
With the shutters at the window closed, the entire kitchen was
in darkness, although light from the doorway reflected off the
white aprons and bonnets of other women in the room. All were
whispering ‘shush’ as if their lives depended on it.

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With a murmured thank you to the footman, Jayne stepped

around him and pushed her way inside before the maid could
close the door again. ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ she said, picking out
faces in the gloom. ‘Some of you know me from previous visits.
I am Jayne Swift, cousin to your mistress, and have come at her
request. Only she and I will be blamed for my presence here.’
‘The master banned you, ma’am.’
‘He did indeed,’ said Jayne, shooing the barely seen women
aside and moving firmly towards the door that led from the
kitchen to the rest of the house. ‘And when he returns, you may
tell him I used deceit to gain entry.’
‘Have you come to help little Isaac, mistress?’ asked another
voice.
‘I have.’
‘Then you’ll need our prayers, ma’am.’
Jayne opened the door to the corridor. ‘I’d rather have your
assistance than your prayers,’ she answered. ‘Will one of you show
me to Isaac’s chamber?’
It seemed not. The request was met with silence, as if the
household felt they’d already transgressed enough.

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