He seemed eager to please, listening respectfully to Matthew Slythe’s growled remarks about the weather and the prospect for harvest. Campion said nothing. Ebenezer, his thin face darkened by the shadow of beard and moustache, a darkness that was there even immediately after he had shaved, asked Brother Scammell his business.

“I make boats. Not I personally, you understand, but the men I employ.”

“Sea-going ships?” Ebenezer asked, with his usual demand for exactness.

“No, no, indeed, no.” Scammell laughed as though a joke had been made. He smiled at Campion. His lips were flecked with the pastry of Goodwife’s chicken pie. More pastry clung to his thick black broadcloth coat, while a spot of gravy was smeared on his white collar with its two tassels. “Watermens’ boats.”

Campion said nothing. Ebenezer frowned at her, then leaned forward. “Watermens’ boats?”

Scammell put a hand to his stomach, opened his small eyes wide, and tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a small belch. “Indeed and indeed. In London, you see, the Thames is our main street.” He was addressing Campion again. “The watermen carry cargoes and passengers and we build most of their craft. We also serve the big houses.” He smiled at Matthew Slythe. “We built a barge for my Lord of Essex.”

Matthew Slythe grunted. He did not seem over-impressed that Samuel Scammell did business with the general of Parliament’s armies.

There was a silence, except for the scraping of Scammell’s knife on his plate. Campion pushed the stringy chicken to one side, trying to hide it under the dry pie crust. She knew she was being rude and she sought desperately for something to say to their guest. “Do you have a boat yourself, Mr. Scammell?”

“Indeed and indeed!” He seemed to find that funny, too, for he laughed. Some of the pastry scraps fell down his ample stomach. “Yet I fear I am a bad sailor, Miss Slythe, indeed and indeed, yes. If I must travel upon the water then I pray as our Dear Lord did for the waves to be stilled.” This was evidently a joke also, for the hairs in his capacious nostrils quivered with snuffled laughter.

Campion smiled dutifully. Her brother’s feet scraped on the boards of the floor.

Her father looked from Campion to Scammell and there was a small, secret smile on his heavy face. Campion knew that smile and in her mind it was associated with cruelty. Her father was a cruel man, though he believed cruelty to be kindness for he believed a child must be forced into God’s grace.

Matthew Slythe, embarrassed by the new silence, turned to his guest. “I hear the city is much blessed by God, brother.”

“Indeed and indeed.” Scammell nodded dutifully. “The Lord is working great things in London, Miss Slythe.” Again he turned to her and she listened with pretended interest as he told her what had happened in London since the King had left and the rebellious Parliament had taken over the city’s government. The Sabbath, he said, was being properly observed, the playhouses had been closed down, as had the bear gardens and pleasure gardens. A mighty harvest of souls, Scammell declared, was being reaped for the Lord.