The Memory Palace. Christie Dickason

course. I dare say she wouldn’t have touched it otherwise,’ said Wentworth.

      Comer and Sir Richard laughed. Zeal bristled but saw the wisdom of keeping quiet.

      ‘Well, gentlemen.’ Once again Sir Richard looked at his two colleagues. ‘These two don’t want to make a formal accusation. I see no need to clog up the courts with “possibility”. Where are the rest of your number, by the way? They less keen to see justice done?’

      ‘Went on with the statues to London, sir,’ said Fox. ‘To deliver as ordered. And Sir Harry. But, if you want him back, we can always…’

      Sir Richard cut across him. ‘I shall, of course, report this meeting to the inquest, wherever it’s held, but the coroner will undoubtedly conclude what seems clear to me – that Sir Harry died by misadventure – horse startled by lightning and so on. Or maybe, as Doctor Gifford says, he got a clout on the ear from God. If anything changes, I shall let you know. Good night to you all. I’m off back to my bed.’ He levered himself to his feet. ‘As for you two, if I hear of you still in the parish tomorrow morning, I’ll clap you up as vagrants.’

      ‘There is also the question of our wages,’ said Fox.

      ‘At last we come to the nub,’ said Sir Richard. He leaned on the table with exaggerated patience. ‘Speak.’

      ‘We did our part as contracted. Sir Harry hadn’t paid us when he died. The statues came from Hawkridge estate. And then my carts…That gentleman over there ordered them wrecked…’

      ‘Get out!’ bellowed Sir Richard. ‘Herne! Tuddenham! See them off the estate.’

      The two men gave Zeal wide berth as they fled.

      ‘Londoners!’ exclaimed Sir Richard before the door had quite closed.

      ‘I must have my turn to speak!’

      The trumpet of Gifford’s voice arrested the general surge of rising, adjusting clothes and preparing to leave. Zeal pulled back her hand from pinching out one of the candle flames.

      The minister gathered them up with a penetrating gaze as he did his congregation before commencing a sermon, his fierce presence far greater than warranted by his small size. ‘No one has yet named the true wickedness in this case!’ He pointed a knobbed forefinger at Zeal while his eyes probed her soul. ‘Mistress, you may not have murdered Sir Harry, but you still must be chastised for your true crime.’

      Zeal inhaled sharply and sat down on her stool again. He has sniffed out the fornication, she thought. Those eyes of his can see that I’m pregnant.

      She knew without doubt that her guilt was both infinite and written clearly on her face.

      ‘She already knows what I will say!’ cried Gifford in triumph. ‘Look at the knowledge in her face!’

      ‘Knowledge of what?’ she managed to ask.

      Gifford shook his head as if in pain at her mendacity. ‘I do not doubt that your former husband was struck down by a righteous God for his prime part in it, but you too must share the blame!’

      He knows about the perjury! She felt she might faint.

      He knows that the annulment was a fraud. He knows everything.

      She gripped the sides of her stool and braced herself upright.

      ‘When, like Moses, madam, you see that your people worship idols, you must do as he did and take those abominations and burn them in the fire, and grind them into powder and strew that upon the water and make the people drink of it.’

      Zeal stared, trying to make sense of his words. Idols? Was I spied at the Lady Tree? Does he want me to chop down the tree?

      ‘You know what I speak of, madam. Don’t pretend.’ The pointing finger stabbed at her across the width of the table. ‘You have tolerated abomination! As for your parson, I am dismayed that he did not counsel you like a Christian. I hold him, too, responsible.’

      ‘Doctor Bowler is guilty as well?’ Zeal managed to ask at last.

      ‘The statues, madam! Graven images! Lewd, naked, heathen idols, standing there for all to see. Sir Harry may have set them up, but I expected you to tear them down as soon as he took his authority away with him.’

      ‘The statues?’ Zeal swallowed and took a deep breath to hold down a belch of hysterical laughter. ‘This is all about Nereus and the nymphs?’ In spite of her effort at self-control, she hiccuped.

      ‘“And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up forever and ever and they have no rest day nor night who worship the beast and his image.” Are heathen idols not wickedness enough for my concern?’

      ‘I did not think of them as idols, Doctor Gifford. Nor, I’m sure, did Sir Harry. They are works of art. Representations of abstract beauty and the wholesome ideas of nature, as given form by the Classical authorities…’

      ‘“Woe unto them who call evil good, and good evil.”’

      Zeal sighed with frustration and looked about for assistance. Sir Richard was studying the ceiling.

      ‘The only authority you must study is God’s Holy Word,’ added Gifford.

      ‘Doctor Bowler says that Man creates beauty only to glorify God. He will quote you scripture to prove that God delights in…’

      ‘Bowler!’ Gifford said in a surge of fury. ‘That false man of God who pollutes your worship with music! And flowers! And all the other vain deceptions of the world! He is not a man of God, merely an obscene…fiddler!’

      ‘“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord,”’ replied Zeal.

      ‘I hold Bowler responsible for this young woman’s sins,’ Gifford told Sir Richard and Comer. ‘She is still young and ignorant while he is…’

      ‘I’ll be responsible for my own sins,’ Zeal interrupted.

      ‘Madam.’ Gifford collected himself. ‘A masterless woman is always at risk in this wicked world. Under no man’s rod, who knows how she may err? Your own words prove my case. I must keep you under my eye from now on. I shall impose no penance this time, but you and all your people must henceforward attend my church at Bedgebury.’

      ‘We worship very well here.’

      ‘I think not. I shall expect you for all services. And all the estate workers.’

      ‘But that’s impossible! We’re over-busy here, with winter coming, and the house…Your church is half an hour’s walk away. We will do nothing else but traipse back and…’

      ‘All of you, at all services, including morning prayers.’ Gifford began to button his coat. ‘I won’t let you continue to risk your eternal soul, nor the souls of those who look to you for example. You have no husband or father to guide you. I must therefore take their place.’

      ‘That’s most decent of you.’ Wentworth spoke for a second time. He sounded entirely sincere. His dusty black coat rustled as he stepped away from the wall. ‘Perhaps a compromise might be found, which would allow for the pressure of work.’

      Zeal thought that perhaps the surprise and interest that had greeted his earlier demonstrations of speech were now touched by irritation that the man was putting himself forward out of turn.

      ‘Have we met?’ Gifford asked coldly. ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in church.’

      ‘Don’t be an ass,’ said Sir Richard, who had listened to Gifford with open mouth and raised brows. ‘That’s Master Philip Wentworth, the Hawkridge sojourner. Been in the parish twice as long as you. Full of ingenious ideas. You can thank him for getting rid of those heathen idols we didn’t know enough to grind up into powder.’

      ‘What is your compromise, Master Wentworth?’ Gifford’s tone softened by a degree.

      ‘If