“It should be. I should not have to bow and scrape. I am a minister of the Lord, not a courtier.”

“And that is your arrogance and conceit. Why should you be so different from everyone else? Do you think your qualities so great, your virtue so large, and your learning so extensive that you can scorn to beg like ordinary men? And if your purity and loftiness do not come from unreasoning pride, be assured that that is how they must appear to others.”

It was a harsh reply, but it was necessary and, if I was aware of injuring him, I did it with the best of intentions. Thomas was a good man but not a worldly one, and therefore quite unsuited for the Church of England. I do not say this in jest; for the church is the best reflection of God’s intentions on earth, and it was He who ordered man according to His will. Thomas was obliged to apply to others for support, as those beneath him must apply to him in turn. How else can any civil society continue to work, without a constant flow of gratuity from one to the other, high to low? Did he think that the mighty would apply for the honor of giving him patronage? His refusal not only indicated his lack of humility; it was, at bottom, Godless.

Perhaps I was in error in saying what I did; certainly I was wrong to continue to drive the point home, for I am sure that it helped Thomas on to the catastrophe which played such a part in Mr. Cola’s narrative. But it is often the way with conversation, that people, having caused a hurt, try to reassure themselves by making it worse.

“Thomas,’’ I said kindly, because I thought that the sooner he was aware of the truth the better, “Grove is older than you and has a superior claim. The thirteen men who run this college have known him for years, while you are a relative newcomer. He has taken care to be pleasant to Lord May-nard, while you have not. And he has offered the college a proportion of the living, which you cannot do. I wish it were otherwise, but you must face the fact—you will not get this place as long as Grove is alive and wants it for himself.”

Had I known the outcome, of course I would not have spoken, but his mildness of manner was such that I never for a moment considered that the realization might drive him into such evil action. Moreover, had I remained in close association with him, I do not believe Dr. Grove would have died.

It is known that a resentment unexpressed grows in the soul; I certainly had experienced such a malady myself. With my counsel and restraint, Thomas’s breast would not have filled with so immoderate a hatred that he took the steps he did. Or at least, I might have discerned his mind and stopped him. But I was in prison at the time, and could do nothing to stay his hand.

I see that I have scarcely mentioned Dr. Wallis since I recounted my visit to his house in Merton Street, and I must do so briefly now to indicate the man’s bad faith. For according to Morland he had known at least something about the plot against my father, and therefore he had lied outright to me on the subject. He asked me to find him documents in my father’s possession, when he had all he needed already in his desk. I determined to confront him with this duplicity, and so wrote him a polite letter, presenting my compliments and enquiring delicately for an interview. I received a dismissive reply. So, a few days later, I decided to pay him a visit.

He was, at that stage, lodged in New College, for building works had encumbered his house and his own college had no accommodation which would match his rank. His wife had been dispatched to London, to which city Wallis intended to fly as soon as the end of term permitted. I noted with some amusement that he was now a close neighbor of Dr. Grove, as I could not imagine two gentlemen less likely to be on civil terms.

Wallis was in an ill humor, as he was a man who clearly did not relish any form of inconvenience. Being turfed out of his own lodging, virtually deprived of his servants and forced into unwanted society through having to eat in college when he could not prevail on the kitchen to send his meals up had no good effect on his mood. This I could see the moment I entered the door, and I was accordingly prepared to be maltreated at his hands. He was brutally unkind, offensive and threatening by turns, so much so that I regretted approaching him in the first place.

In brief, he upbraided me for writing to him and told me I had no claim on him at all. That he had undertaken reluctantly to oblige if I would provide him with the necessary materials, but resented mightily being harried in such a way.

“I have already told you I have nothing,” I said. “Whatever my father may have had was lost. It seems, in fact, that you possess more papers than I do, as I am told that you deciphered the documents which incriminated my father.”

“I?” he said in mock surprise. “What makes you think that?”

“Sir Samuel Morland took some letters you worked on, and passed them on to the king. They supposedly demonstrated my father was a traitor. I believe that those coded letters were forged on Thurloe’s instructions. I would like to see them so I can demonstrate this.”

“Samuel told you all this?”

“He told me a pack of lies. It is a truth I discovered on my own.”

“In that case I congratulate you,” he said, suddenly friendly. “It seems you have been cleverer than myself, for I never suspected that I was in any way duped by either Thurloe or Samuel.”

“Will you give them to me?”

“Alas, I cannot, young man. I don’t have them.”

“You must. Morland said…”

“Samuel is a great romancer. It is possible that what you say is true and that Samuel imposed himself on me in this fashion. But I have none of the originals.”

“So where would they be?”

He shrugged, and I knew from the way he moved and the way his eyes would not meet mine that he was lying. “If they still exist, I imagine Mr. Thurloe would have them. If you can find sufficient patience, I will make discreet enquiries for you…”

With great expressions of thanks on my part, and an equally hypocritical expression of admiration on his side, I left his room soon after, as convinced as I could be that Dr. Wallis had those letters close by him somewhere.

I was laid low in my bed for several days after this meeting, which distressed me. However, I knew the cause of the infirmity, and also knew well that summoning a physician would be throwing good money after bad, so I lay and suffered until the worst of the affliction was passed and my head had cleared enough for me to move. Much of the time I spent in prayer, and I found that blessed exercise a great comfort to me, calming my soul and filling me with a strange and powerful strength, enough to complete the task my father had set me.

It was the second day of March before I set out for Comp-ton Wynyates, slipping from my tutor’s bed before dawn, dressing on the landing so as not to disturb the other students slumbering within, and wrapping myself up with the thickest and warmest clothes I had. I took one of my fellow students’ pair of boots, having tried them on in secret a few days before. My need was very great. The cold was dreadful, worse than anything for many years, and without stout high leather my suffering would have been intolerable. Then I prevailed on a tradesman heading north with a consignment of gloves and other goods for Yorkshire to let me sit in the back of his wagon until Banbury, in exchange for which I pushed when the cart bogged down in the road, and took a turn driving the horses when he wearied.

From Banbury I walked, and arrived at Compton Wynyates late in the evening, well after darkness had fallen. I clapped my hands as I walked through the great front door to summon the servant that my arrival could be announced. I did so with bravado, but I was highly nervous, for I had no idea whether I would be well received. In the back of my mind all the time was the reception I had received from Sir John Russell; I could not bear to be so rejected by Sir William also.