As Meat Loves Salt

  ‘Would you call your aunt wealthy? She works near as much as Rebecca.’

  ‘Because idleness is a sin. She is far from poor.’ He poured out another goblet of wine.

  ‘Would you receive Rebecca into your community?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied without pause.

  ‘Then why should she serve us now?’

  Ferris rubbed his ear. ‘Because of the way the house is ordered. That’s why we must leave. If I call Becs upstairs to talk with us now, the goose burns, and there’s my aunt angered, because she and I want different things.’

  ‘You could mind the goose yourself. Labour with your hands!’ I teased.

  ‘No, no. If I call her upstairs now, with us two, it makes her a kind of wife.’

  It was my turn to feel ill at ease.

  ‘Whereas,’ he went on, ‘in a colony, with many men and women, she would be more like a sister.’

  ‘Are you so convinced of that?’ I asked. ‘When I lived as a manservant we had men and maids working together and – and – they were not like brother and sister. Not at all,’ I added, recalling Zeb and Patience.

  There was another silence. I felt a tightness in the air: we were got upon dangerous ground in talking of wives, and it was my fault. If only Ferris would stop drinking. He picked up the pamphlet and made to go on, but I said, ‘Let me read it quietly for myself; here, move the candle,’ and so we settled again and I went on with my salep as well as Liberty No Sin. It did occur to me that the thing might very well have been written by Ferris himself; I saw him smile several times as we continued to peruse it. It was all much the same stuff. Like my friend, the writer thought the only way was to break free of custom and go build the New Jerusalem. At last Ferris came to the end, with a great sigh of satisfaction. ‘Have you finished?’ he enquired, moving the candle nearer to me.

  ‘Yes,’ I lied, seeing that the end of it was nothing but exhortations.

  ‘Would you like Becs to come with us, Jacob?’ he suddenly shot at me. Surprised, I raised my eyes to find him studying me closely. Did he mean come with one of us? If so, which?

  ‘I had not thought about it,’ I said. ‘I spoke but for the sake of argument.’

  Someone was banging up the stairs. I got up – gladly – to open the door and saw Aunt outside, swaying with fatigue. She came in pale, bringing the chill of the wet streets with her, and sniffing the air of the house.

  ‘O, the goose!’ she cried. ‘Believe me, I’m ready for it!’ Ferris kissed her and moved to stir up the fire. Her eyes went to the wine bottle, then rested on me, reproachful: I shrugged to show I was helpless.

  ‘Welcome back,’ I said pointedly, and her look changed to one of understanding.

  ‘Well, Christopher,’ she said, sitting down near the fire and unfastening the strings of her cloak, ‘are you not going to ask about Mistress Osgood?’

  ‘She’s well, I hope?’ Ferris left poking the fire and came to sit by her. ‘Brought to bed?’

  ‘There’s a boy born. As we thought, there are two; I left her with the other little one about to come. She’s been in such agony, poor soul! – I’m sure I prayed as hard as her own mother would, were she alive. And so afraid!’ She twisted her fingers together. ‘It’s as the minister said last week, when you see what a weak woman can bear if she has to, a man should be able for almost anything!’

  ‘Except toothache,’ said Ferris. I was surprised at his lightness; then I noticed his face, how stiff it was, and saw Aunt’s look of pity. Joanna was in the room with us again.

  Ferris took his aunt’s cloak. ‘So who’s with her now?’

  ‘Her mother-in-law, and the midwife. She’s well looked after.’ Aunt pressed her hands to her drained cheeks, kneading colour into the flesh. Ferris rose, poured some wine into his own cup and handed it to her.

  ‘We’ve been to Paul’s today,’ I said as she sipped and sighed.

  ‘Paul’s? How did you like it?’ She turned her tired, gentle eyes on me. I prudently suppressed Daniel, telling her instead about the bookseller and Ferris’s new pamphlet.

  She took up Liberty No Sin and flicked through it, staying a while on the picture of Adam and Eve; but without a candle right up to the page it was too dark to read the print

  ‘Shall I tell Becs to send up the goose?’ asked Ferris.

  His aunt nodded.

  ‘Aye, give her her orders,’ I put in. He looked hard at me, but went, coming back to say it would be up directly.

  It was perhaps the quietest meal I ever had in their company. We were all tired, and ready to sit companionably without much talk. The goose was very tender, and fat; but even so I would as soon have slept. I observed that Ferris ate as much fowl as anybody despite having had the lion’s share of the bread and cheese. He continued drinking, but did not slur his words or grow quarrelsome. I would take nothing but beer with the meal, and Aunt cast approving looks at me, anxious ones at her nephew.

  ‘I’ll call on her tomorrow,’ said Aunt suddenly; the words were swollen by a great yawn, and then we were all yawning. Rebecca stacked the plates at the side of the table.

  ‘I could sleep now,’ said Ferris.

  ‘The pan is already heating,’ said the girl.

  ‘Becs has second sight,’ said my friend. We all laughed, but I thought Aunt’s laugh was not very hearty or happy. Rebecca took the plates out and shortly after we heard her stamping up towards her chamber. Ferris poured himself more wine.

  ‘Leave it, my dear,’ implored his aunt.

  ‘Aunt, you can’t think I am intoxicated?’

  She put her head down and scratched at a scab of candlewax on the cloth. Rebecca was heard coming down again, and put her head round the door to tell us all the beds had been thoroughly warmed. Ferris at once stood up, keeping hold of his goblet.

  ‘Good night.’ He kissed his aunt and took a fresh candle, lighting it from our dying one. ‘Good night, Jacob.’

  When we could hear he was got to the upper floor she whispered to me, ‘When did he start?

  ‘Not long before you returned,’ I answered.

  ‘We had this just before he sold up,’ she said. ‘If only he would wive again.’

  I said that in my opinion he was, indeed, missing Joanna. Had she a suitable woman in mind?

  She shook her head. ‘Half the neighbours think he’s mad, anyway. Poor lad!’ She looked and sounded close to tears; I went to her and kissed her forehead, telling her that night and weariness darken our spiritual vision along with the bodily one, and that in the morning she would see things in truer colours.

  She squeezed my hand. ‘Go up. I’ll follow you.’

  Taking another candle, I blundered up the stairs like a man in armour, so groggy that I twice let the candle flare in my face, right under my eyes. You will end by blinding yourself, I thought as I reached the top. Then I stumbled on the last step, crashing to my knees. I hissed with pain and dropped the candle on the boards. It rolled away from me and died, and I was at once made aware that Ferris had not yet extinguished his light. A pale yellow shimmer outlined his door and I could see a strip of the wall inside. I felt a now familiar rush of shame, but then took comfort: he had not seen fit to bar his chamber.

  A thick, sleepy voice called out, ‘Jacob? Have you hurt yourself?’

  ‘No, no.’ My voice boomed; I cringed. Groping for the candle, which was come to a stop some feet away, I glanced through the crack of the door, and jumped. The bed hangings were pulled back and he was sitting up, eyes wide open but apparently unable to see me in the darkness of the landing. I froze, in case, seeing something stir, he should think I was spying on him; I waited for him to lie down again. He stayed exactly as he was. I could not fathom his expression, which struck me as intense, somewhat perplexed; or it might be that waking sleep of his. Then I realised that, having heard me, he would know by sound that I was still outside the door. I must go away forthwith. I grabbed the candle, rose, and went directly into my own chamber, where I
undressed in the dark and said a hasty prayer about dreams. It was answered, for I underwent no temptation that night.

  SIXTEEN

  Hope

  I woke from a dream-free sleep and remembered that this day we were to call on that Richard Parr, lodging with Mister Twentyman, of whom Daniel had spoken. Unlike Ferris, I had no itch to exchange all our comforts for a thorny wilderness, but if we must, then I saw the need for men of sense, if only to put down the likes of Roger Rowly.

  The grate was full of ashes. Icy air shot into the bed as I lifted the cover, and I hurried to don my clothes. Sudden hail pecked at the glass. What I most desired was to sit downstairs and have Ferris teach me to play chess. Let Richard Parr keep for one day, I thought, as the sound of the hail swelled to a drumming and the yard outside grew white. On the landing, I thought Ferris’s door was shut: I could not tell if it was bolted. A faint snoring buzzed from within. The stairs were near as dark as the previous night, and having no candle I felt my way down.

  Below, the fire was lit, and the moving zigzags of flame made a pretty show in the room. Aunt must be still abed; Becs, having probably heard nothing, would stay in the kitchen if I were quiet. Just then I craved solitude and peace, and to sit gazing on the fire, more than any food or drink. The pattering against the glass slowed and stopped. Outside, a sparrow sent up thanks.

  Quiet. My body melted heavily into the chair; I heard a cart go up the street. The room grew suddenly big with meaning. Something was about to happen, was happening: each object in the room seemed perfect of its kind, its kind being just its one self. The moment split into Eternity and I went with it: I had neither skin nor bones, but flowed into the world, sacred along with everything else, and was lost.

  A door opened downstairs. The joy faded; I felt myself staring about like a madman, and breathing fast; I blinked to get back to my right senses.

  ‘Are you well, Sir?’ Becs was arrived and staring hard.

  ‘Very well.’ My voice sounded strangled.

  The girl came and stood over me. ‘What will you have?’

  Her nearness was an affliction and it was an ordeal to answer, like struggling up from the depths of a dream. ‘Bread, eggs, beer,’ I mumbled, willing her to go so that my ecstasy should return.

  But when she was gone, I found that I no longer filled the room; my skin was grown back round me. I was left shaken, unsure what this vision might portend, or was portend the wrong word? For the thing seemed complete in itself. I had been touched. And then my heart really did leap in my breast in just the way I had heard men describe. This was surely the Grace of which they spoke and wrote: I was one of the Elect, the Saved, after all. And the incubus? A temptation merely, the last snare of a desperate Devil to lure me away before Grace could take hold. None may know he is saved unless be receive Grace.

  Though I had sinned most grievously, it was not too late.

  I knelt at once, thanking God for this sign of his infallible mercy, and vowing to mend my life. My knees were stiff but I forced them to bend. I should find a way to write that letter to my mother, and thus discover the whereabouts of my wife and brothers. Every unclean thought I would put resolutely from me until the besieging Devil saw himself powerless to corrupt; I should show myself more grateful to the friend who had plucked me out of the army by aiding him in his dear enterprise. For what reason, it suddenly came to me, was I there with him but so that I might give my strength and experience in setting up the colony? He did not know how men live in the country; but I did, and considered together we were not lacking in skill. I should serve him to the best of my ability and God would bless our endeavours.

  I opened my eyes. Becs was standing in the open doorway. I rose with a smile, my knees cracking, and she advanced with the tray of food. As usual, she stayed to watch me eat. My appetite was excellent, yet still she shifted from one foot to the other, and at last whispered, ‘I hope you are not troubled in spirit, Sir.’

  I assured her I was never further from it, and laughed; but she continued to scrutinise me and shuffled out at last with a sober gait as if quitting a sickroom, which made me laugh more.

  No food ever tasted so good, even in the army after a shortage of rations, for I was eating in a new freedom and the certainty that things were to go well. When had I last felt such conviction? Not since childhood. I pushed aside the dirty plate and kissed my own hands and arms for the sheer joy of living. There was a candle stub on the mantelpiece and I lit it at the fire, took up some paper and a quill and straight off began to write:

  Dearest Mother,

  I hope this letter may not distress you too greatly. Fear no beseechings for money or other aid; would that I knew all of my family to be as safe as I am at present. Could I only impress on you how sorry I am for the suffering I have brought about, then I think a mother’s heart might pity me. Though I wished very much to write earlier (here I could not resist softening the truth for her sake), it was plain that no good would come thereby, for, being in the New Model Army and mostly ignorant of our future whereabouts, I could not stay for your answer. I feared also to bring more trouble upon you. I pray that Sir John leaves you in peace, and that the dust of the affair now begins to settle.

  For the shame I have caused you, Mother, you have every right to cast me off, yet I hope you will not, or if you do, will first do me a service considered right for felons, that is, to show me the full extent of my wrongdoing. I beg of you, let me know if you can what is become of my wife and brothers. I would make some reparation, if I may, to those I have wounded, or if it be too late to do so, understanding will at least fit me for repentance. I repeat, this is all I ask. Should your forgiveness come with it, then am I blest indeed, but a man who has done so ill must not look to be pardoned.

  The direction I give you is that of one Mrs Snapman, whose nephew, being a friend, permits me to lodge with him under her roof. She is a virtuous lady, and ignorant of my—

  I heard Ferris stumping down the stairs and at once made to hide the letter, then reproached myself with this deceit as unfitting my new resolution and took it out again from under my shirt.

  ‘What, scribbling?’ said he when he saw me. ‘May I?’ and he took the letter, frowning as he read. His eyes when he looked into mine were thoughtful. I was afraid he would begin to question me about my wrongdoings, but he only asked, ‘Are you not afraid someone will come after you?’

  ‘Though my mother be angry, I hardly think she will set them on.’

  ‘That’s not my meaning. This may be intercepted by an interested party before it reaches your mother: they may be waiting for you to write. Does she receive many letters?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted, seeing where the talk was leading and not liking it.

  Ferris went directly to the place I dreaded. ‘If you value your skin, you were best not send this.’ We both of us sighed, and he added, ‘You endanger my aunt too.’

  ‘I have put that she is innocent.’

  ‘What’s your word worth, to them?’

  He was in the right of it, but it was hard to have my ideas knocked cold when I was full of the joy of self-abasement and had actually written my letter. More, there was something in him which was not quite Ferris.

  ‘You said not long back that Caro was most likely dead,’ I ventured. ‘Here might be a way to know for sure, yet you say I should not write. You weren’t so timid when we sent Tommy over to Beaurepair.’

  Ferris ignored the mention of Tommy. ‘You said she was most likely dead. I merely agreed.’

  That was true. Yet when I opened my mouth to beg pardon I was struck by his guilty look. He is ashamed of his fear, I thought. Risk had been our daily bread in the army but in London it seemed he was afraid of people troubling his aunt, and perhaps scotching his plans for the colony. But then I thought, he was not bound to shoulder my sorrows, having ample of his own.

  ‘I won’t send it,’ I promised. As earnest of my good intentions I crushed the letter into a ball and, stepping up to th
e grate, tossed it into the flames. God reads it, I thought, as it drew itself together into a black rose, then delicately broke apart.

  Ferris came up to me and squeezed my hands. ‘You’re grown very biddable since we left the New Model,’ he said. ‘What has quieted you?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘If I can think of any safe means, Jacob, be assured we’ll use it. Let’s both give it our best consideration.’ He patted my arm. ‘Meanwhile, I’ve something to show you. Sit down – no, not there. At the table.’

  Biddable, I sat where I was told.

  ‘Clear all this away to one corner.’ He was fumbling with the lock of the bookcase. ‘Why are these dishes still here? Where’s Becs?’

  ‘I’ve frightened her away,’ I told him, stacking plates.

  ‘What, did you catch hold of her?’ He stopped jiggling the key and looked back at me. ‘Eh? Kiss her—’

  ‘No!’ I almost shouted. ‘Nothing, I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Be sure you do.’ He grinned. ‘I count myself the protector of that girl’s virtue. It is a fearful thing to see your lust battering down her defences—’

  We both laughed. The bookcase door swung open with a thin squeak and Ferris lifted out the scroll of paper he had brought back from the New Exchange. Easing off a narrow ribbon he unrolled the thing and then whirled round to slap it down on the table in front of me.

  ‘There!’

  We faced one another over a masterly engraving of the cathedral itself and all the city round it, finer even than that we had at Beaurepair, and serving also as a map, for it showed the names of the roads and streets. Ferris smoothed it flat against the table, holding down the corners with his elbows.

  ‘This is where we went—’ and he traced the route with his finger, as well as he could, for he was reading upside-down and some of the smaller ways were not marked. ‘And here, Cheapside.’

  Fascinated, I picked out one of the tiny houses. ‘Is this ours – I mean yours—?’