Publish and Perish by Anna Castle

Author:Anna Castle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: elizabethan mysteries, mysteries with lawyers, tudor mysteries, mysteries set in england, elizabethan fiction, amateur sleuth, thomas nashe
Publisher: Anna Castle
Published: 2017-06-19T16:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Francis Bacon put down his fork and pushed his plate away, smiling as if replete, although the supper laid out by Canon Bancroft had been meager, if of excellent quality. He couldn’t complain. It wasn’t wise to eat a large meal in the evening, as his mother reminded him on a weekly basis.

He accepted another glass of the French claret, which was too tart for his tastes, although he knew it had been chosen to honor him. The meal had succeeded in establishing a comfortable accord between him and his host. They’d spoken little while eating, another sensible habit. They smiled now at one another over their cups in mutual recognition that the time had come for serious conversation.

“Have you made any progress?” Bancroft asked.

“A little,” Francis said. It wasn’t entirely an untruth. “My assistant has made inroads among the denizens of the ward where the murders took place. He’s quite expert at turning up witnesses where others have failed.”

“Good. The villain must be stopped. I predicted that Martin’s accomplices would turn to violence eventually. Privately, of course. No need to stir things up.”

“No, indeed,” Francis said. He refrained from noting that “things” could hardly be more thoroughly stirred up, thanks to the canon’s rash decision to unleash a team of satirists into the controversy.

“Are you receiving the support you need from Mr. Cecil’s office?”

Francis shrugged. “No more than one would expect.”

Bancroft grunted a bitter laugh.

Francis said, “I don’t know much about the pursuit of Martin’s co-conspirators, but as an impartial observer, I must say the Privy Council seems to have done little to support the effort.”

Another bitter grunt. “They’ve all but obstructed us. If it weren’t for the queen, we’d get no help whatsoever.”

“There are many members of the Council who sympathize with Martin’s philosophy, if not specifically with his tactics.”

Bancroft nodded, his dark eyes glittering. “It has been a constant battle since John Whitgift was made archbishop. You’ll remember the opposition he faced from Lord Burghley over his Articles of Religion a few years ago.”

“I do,” Francis said. Who could forget? Whitgift had demanded that every clergyman in England swear to uphold his three articles, blatantly designed to be offensive to nonconformists. He expected them to swear not to use anything other than the Book of Common Prayer in their services, an unnecessarily severe limitation that served no useful purpose. Many otherwise law-abiding ministers had refused and been forced thereby into open opposition, when before they had presented only a mild deviation from established practice. Lord Burghley had objected, standing up for common practice and tolerance.

Francis added, “Lord Burghley had allies on the Council during that conflict, as I recall.”

“Too many. And more of that breed in Parliament. If it weren’t for the stalwart support of Her Majesty, England’s church would be in a state of chaos even as we speak.” Bancroft’s monkey-like features twisted fearfully, as if he could smell the torches of rioters at the gate.

“A disaster that must be prevented at all costs,” Francis said. But not by fomenting greater hostilities.

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