Act of Faith Read Online Free PDF Page A

smile when he sighted me.
    ‘Father.’ I took both his hands.
    ‘My wise, courageous daughter. Jonson has told me everything. This is much the best way.’
    He was trying to be brave, I could tell.
    ‘Father, that’s very noble of you, but there’s no need for martyrdom just yet.’ I paused and looked around us. Wallace waved. ‘We need to go somewhere private. Very private.’
    ‘Follow me.’
    He led me to a dingy room just off the main hall. It smelled like a privy. ‘This is supposed to be our chapel, but nobody ever feels like praying in this squalor.’
    ‘I can see why. Now, just do what I tell you and, for once in your life, don’t argue.’
     
    An hour later, I bade farewell to Father’s friends in the main hall and waved to the old woman, who was again cooking something wonderful over the embers. How she managed it in that place, I’ll never know. I walked out through the prison gates for the very last time, with Nanny a few paces behind me, carrying the basket. She dipped a curtsey to the guard at the gate, handed the basket to me, then helped me into the cart that stood waiting, with my trunk and bags.
    When we were both settled, the cart lurched and we set off across London to the river, to the good ship Dolphin and to our future.
    Nanny started to fidget halfway across the Channel.
    ‘Stop it,’ I ordered.
    ‘Can’t I at least have something to read?’
    ‘It’s too dark. And, anyway, nannies don’t read.’
    ‘This one does.’
    I glanced across the cabin and laughed out loud. Father was slouched on his bunk, resplendent in Nanny’s new clothes, but with his own boots and breeches showing clearly underneath.
    ‘I feel ridiculous,’ he said.
    ‘You are ridiculous,’ I said. ‘But you are free.’
    He let out a laugh as well.
    ‘Shhh! Nannies don’t laugh that loudly, either.’
    He stifled it into a low chuckle.
    ‘Where is dear old Nanny, anyway?’
    ‘Visiting her sister in Cheapside.’
    ‘Did she know about this?’
    ‘I thought it better if she didn’t. But I wrote to her just before we sailed and asked her to go back to Cambridge and pack up our things. She’ll keep them safe until …’
    He nodded. ‘And Jonson?’
    ‘Sadly, I had to mislead Master Jonson ever so slightly.’
    ‘Oh dear.’ Father lay back on his narrow bunk. ‘He was so proud of himself, too.’
    ‘We must hope he won’t realise his error until too late.’
    ‘It’s already too late — Cromwell will not chase us to Paris.’
    ‘We won’t be in Paris,’ I said. ‘As soon as we arrive, we’ll take another ship.’
    ‘Ah, my adventurous, brilliant daughter!’
    ‘I have written to your friends in Amsterdam. We’ll seek refuge there, as have so many others.’
    He grinned. ‘God is good, my darling girl, but you are a wonder.’

3
I N WHICH MORE THAN A SHIP IS WRECKED
    We were nearly there when the storm broke.
    The ship had reached the waters of the Zuiderzee, off the coast of Amsterdam, at last after days at sea, though it still had to weave its way along narrow channels between sandbars.
    It seemed calm. At first.
    There was nothing more ominous than a summer rain shower: a puff of breeze that buffeted the ship ever so slightly; a grey glaze in the morning sky. I kissed Father’s forehead and left him in the cabin to read in peace. On deck, the crew pulled on ropes, shouted from the tops of the masts, and dragged sails down — as if they knew. I suppose they did.
    I gazed at the clouds — watched how they dipped and buckled against each other. I heard the sailors call: Beware the shoals, the sand, the current; beware the lee shore .
    Beware. What a dreadful word that is — one of those words that holds its very own meaning. Once someone shouts ‘Beware’, it’s too late. There is nothing you can do but stare your fate in the eyes.
    My father stood beside me. ‘What’s all the fuss?’
    ‘I’m not sure.’
    ‘It can’t be anything serious. Perhaps they’re just getting