The door closed behind Colonel Fuller. Ebenezer limped toward the women. “Which of you is Margaret Lazender?”

Campion felt Lady Margaret’s body draw upright. “My name, boy, is Lady Margaret Lazender.”

“Your name, woman, is Margaret Lazender.” Ebenezer’s limp made his slow progress along the carpet seem sinister. “The book of Job, Margaret Lazender, chapter thirty-two, and the twenty-first verse, ‘…neither let me give flattering titles unto man.’ On the last day, Margaret Lazender, you will have no flattering title. You may as well accustom yourself to the loss.” He looked casually at Campion. “Hello, sister.”

Lady Margaret tightened her arm on Campion’s shoulder. “This girl is under my protection.”

Ebenezer laughed, a sour sound. “You have no protection to offer, woman. This house is now the property of Parliament, of the people of England.” His voice was rising, whiplashing across the room. “You may stay here, woman, as the law says, until its disposal is agreed, but in that time you have no protection to offer. You have nothing.”

Lady Margaret was astonished, taken aback by the confidence of Ebenezer’s voice. She played an unlikely card, recognizing, perhaps, that in defeat she must seek the help of the victors for the vanquished were powerless. “The Earl of Fleet, young man, may curb your insolence.”

Ebenezer had stopped a few feet from the women. “The Earl of Fleet, Margaret Lazender, will be a voice in the wilderness. The day of your kind is over. There will be no more Lords, no more gentry, no more King.” He turned, raising his voice, “Brother Scammell? Come!”

Lady Margaret grasped at another straw. “Where is my husband? I demand my husband is brought here.”

Ebenezer whipped back, pointing a long, white finger. “You have no demands. None.”

“Ebenezer!” Campion took a pace forward, her voice pleading. “Ebenezer?”

“Quiet.” His face mocked her, his voice was filled with hatred. “You are nothing, sister, nothing. You were given gifts that any person could dream of. Yours is a wealth beyond the blessings of God, and what did you do? You came here, to this den of thieves, to this Papist household, to our enemies! Do not plead with me, sister.”

Samuel Scammell walked uneasily toward them, his plump body heavy among the fine furniture. He looked nervous, uncertain whether to smile or scowl, his helmet awkward in his left hand. His scabbard knocked against a chair.

Ebenezer smiled. “Your bride awaits, brother.”

Lady Margaret pulled Campion back to her side, she opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment the door to the gallery was thrown open and a white-faced, frantic Mr. Perilly shouted down the gallery, “Lady Margaret!”

“Hold him!” Ebenezer shouted.

“My lady!” Mr. Perilly dodged one soldier, but was held by the next. Scammell had stopped, made more nervous by the interruption.

Lady Margaret frowned. “Mr. Perilly? What is it?”

Ebenezer did not let the priest answer. “Who are you?”

Mr. Perilly seemed to notice Ebenezer for the first time. He shook off the hand of the soldier and straightened his black, soiled coat. “My name, sir, is Perilly. I have the honor to be vicar of this parish.”