The Swift and The Harrier Chapter Sampler
The Swift and The Harrier Chapter Sampler
PRAISE FOR
‘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
‘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
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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
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1644
Swift: a fast-flying, medium-sized brown bird with a
white throat and forked tail that can outdistance most
birds of prey.
No bird soars too high when he soars with his own wings.
WILLIAM BLAKE
The
SWIFT
and the
HARRIER
1642
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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
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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?’
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‘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.’
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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.
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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
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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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