The Two Confessions John Whitbourn (best books for students to read txt) 📖

and the ‘buzzing’business. So, on the whole, Samuel Trevan still functioned just fine, and, to quotean old acquaintance, he was nowhere near ‘dead yet’.

Certainly,he was a figure in Lewes life, perhaps even a ‘big cheese’; and no one thereslighted him: not to his face anyway. Once, long ago, the Town had spat him outand he'd wandered abroad in exile. But then he’d returned: not as a beggar, noteven as a Church charity-boy, but vindicated, and with contacts,and in triumph. And if they chanced to be contacts he mustn’t mention, and atriumph he shouldn’t discuss, well, you couldn’t have everything. On that firstreturn he'd crossed Cliffe Bridge feeling like a conqueror. There didn’t haveto be banners and maidens scattering rose petals. What he had sufficed, and thetown seemed like his by right ever since that day. Looking back down the years Samuelreckoned he'd done well.

Health-relatedthoughts brought reminder he shouldn't brave the wind too much. Samuel Trevanmight no longer believe in God but he had due regard for fate, and a new-ishaversion to tempting it. He'd spit with fury if a streaming cold confined himto bed through ‘Bonfire’. He and Melissa never failed to see theprocession pass, standing arm in arm at the head of Church Twitten.

SoSamuel about-turned and quit the fort and view, wordlessly bypassing the dig(save to pocket the 'dragon's teeth' from the spoil heap), taking the steeppath down to Glynde village. Haddad the coachman would be waiting there toferry him back to the warmth of home.

Andnot a moment too soon either, Trevan admitted, just to himself. Lately, coldopen spaces seemed to incite his ear affliction, and even stir up trouble inthe eyes too. Sometimes, a newly arrived blurring on the very edge of visiondeveloped instants of expansion, acquiring the power to play tricks; eventhreaten to take shape. The wind blowing straight down his ears was to blame,doubtless. He ignored it all, confident a mulled brandy-and-cloves made byMelissa’s own fair hands would sort things out.

SamuelTrevan took extra care with his footing and overcame these fresh opponents - ashe always had every other. So far.

************

‘Thereyou go, sir: hot and strong as pitch, just as you like it.’

Thehotelier was quite right, both about the tea and Samuel's tastes, but he got nothanks for it.

‘Andthe newspaper, sharpish!’ Trevan instructed, and duly received it - slung inhis lap. Native Lewesians were a sturdy - to the point of stroppy - lot. Theyexpected courtesy no matter how much money you had. Samuel admired that qualityand it pleased him to provoke them - or at least it used to.

Whathe didn't like was blind routine and being predictable. He now realisedhe'd come to Higham's Hotel most days this week, at about this hour, and alwaysordered tea. Trevan blamed the January chill and Higham's generosity with logsfor the fire. Also, it was a well-ordered, respectable, place, ideal forreading the 'Times' and local 'Intelligencer' and wondering whatto do next. The mercantile classes of Lewes used it as a meeting spot too.Trevan loved the low whisper of business-talk lapping round, even if he didn’tjoin in.

Hesaw from today's paper that Mott was on a roll. A trade concordat with theSwedish Empire, ascribed to his presiding genius, would nicely freeze the Scotsout of the Northern seas, thus adding impoverished isolation to all their otherproblems. Samuel wondered whether the General's ambition even seeped over theborder into that unhappy nation, or was it mere mischief for mischief’s sake?Most likely the former, because if civil society there finally did go underthen the Church might allow intervention. United England, out of the goodnessof its heart, could send aid and troops - purely to restore order, naturally.If all fell right, that'd be an end to an old story....

Twopages on, Trevan smiled to read 'Edinburgh University in Flames - MysteryArsonists Again'. He heard the sound of intricate clockwork clicking intoplace in perfect working order - and it sounded sweet. Never averse to foxesamok in other people's - particularly foreigners' - henhouses, there might alsobe something in this for him. Just perhaps. If Mott remembered him and ifan archbishop or cardinal owed Mott a favour, then maybe....

Samuelhad these thoughts at least once a week. He wanted his life sentence commuted,he wanted to rejoin the community of commerce whose gossip teased his ears atthat very moment. He wished to create again, not just spend. He yearned to goover to the two corn-factors by the fireplace and jostle with them for marginsof advantage. General Mott could reinstate him there with just a few chosenwords or a dash of his busy pen. That’s all it would take. Sorted! SamuelTrevan Esq. would be useful once more: a player in Lewes - and shortly afterfurther afield too.

Hebrooded over that, eyes glazing over the newsprint. How it galled him to knowfull well that local hauliers were ripe for reform – or replacement byunderpricing. Some of them still used oxen! Given a free hand, those Sussexsleepyheads would all be out of business or working for him within atwelve-month! And as for the English gin trade; well, there was another lowfruit positively gagging for someone to pluck it. Too timid to lobby the Crownabout crippling Church tariffs; accordingly forced into bed with thuggishsmugglers – pathetic! And… and… and most of all it galled Trevan thathis letters to Mott went unanswered.

TheSicarii was the one he should consult. He'd straightened out MrFarncombe and the whole of Lewes all in the space of one short afternoon intown. The people he'd interviewed that day never spoke of it: an infalliblesign of unconditional surrender. Yes, he was the one to have on yourside. The Sicarii would smile enigmatically and go off and... somehow wipe awaythe humiliating requirement to report regularly to a brother in Lewes Priory.Just not having to give monthly account of himself would be something. Samuelwould settle for that. For a while....

Butthe Negro was probably long dead by now, or else adventures-in-many-continentspast remembrance of Samuel Trevan. And even if memory persisted at all, hisname would be only a footnote in a report about something infinitely bigger.No: no one significant recalled