“Lead me, woman! My business cannot wait!”

A voice shouted from above them, muffled by a door. “What is it? Goodwife?”

“Master?” She shrugged. “He’ll be angry.”

“Go on, woman!”

She led him on to a wide, waxed landing. A door opened, held inches from its jamb, and a face peered at them. “Goodwife?”

Devorax pushed past her. He leered at the face in the door’s crack. “Reverend Hervey?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I come, sir, from the Commons, with good news.”

Faithful Unto Death, who had only had time to throw a robe about his naked shoulders, frowned. “I will be out in a moment, sir.”

Devorax quoted magnificently from the Psalms. “‘Make no tarrying!’” He pushed the door open, forcing Hervey back, then stopped. “My dear Mistress Hervey, my dear lady, my apologies.”

In the bed, facing him, clutching a sheet over her obviously naked body, was a dark-haired, pretty young woman. Devorax looked at Hervey. “I had no idea you had taken a wife.” He looked again at the woman, bowed low, and swept his hat off. “Dear lady, I have urgent business with your husband, will you forgive me?”

The woman, terrified, nodded. Her husband was a lieutenant in Parliament’s northern army, she had come to this house to fetch her certificate that guaranteed her body free of a witch mark. The Reverend Faithful Unto Death Hervey, so eager was he to give satisfaction, had demanded several visits to make sure. Sometimes his devout searching of her flesh lasted a whole night. Devorax looked about the room for a robe to give her. He could see none, only her clothes on a chair. He picked up her cloak and tossed it to her. “Wait downstairs, madam, my business will not take long.”

He turned his back on her as she pulled the cloak over her shoulders. She cast one terrified look at her other clothes, then decided discretion was the best part of valor. She scuttled past them, going to wait till the stranger left.

Goodwife made to follow her, but Devorax shut the door. He needed a witness. If the woman in the bed had not been so pretty he would have kept her as a second witness, but one was enough. “You stay, woman.”

The Reverend Faithful Unto Death Hervey had watched this in confusion. He was gripping the edges of his robe together, in no position for bold action, but now he frowned as the big man turned the key in the lock and pocketed the key. “Sir! You said good news from Parliament?”

“I did?” Devorax nodded. “Indeed I did.” He tipped the absent woman’s clothes from the chair and set it for Goodwife. “Sit down.”

Goodwife frowned at Faithful Unto Death Hervey, but sat obediently. Devorax smiled at the minister. “May I suggest you seat yourself, Reverend?”

It was a comfortable room that bore witness to Hervey’s considerable success. Opposite the shuttered and curtained windows was a whole wall of books while a solid table and chair stood on a great rug before the blazing fire. The table was obviously Faithful Unto Death’s desk, piled high with books and papers, and lavish with three great silver candlesticks. More candles burned on the mantel and on two low tables beside the bed. Searching for witch marks needed illumination.