The Two Confessions by John Whitbourn (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

Actually,embarrassingly, it was: though the workers were generally too frantic toconsider such things. Samuel could have repeated his protest about the spaceconstraints but he was done with explanations now. For all his sleepless zealhe knew a lost cause when he saw one. A verdict had already been reached andthe only thing available for salvage was his dignity.

‘Righto,’he said, at last daring to bat the priest's guiding grip away, ‘so that's it.We're finished here.’

TheIndustrial Inquisitor seemed relieved that the screamingly obvious was nolonger in dispute. The impious assault on his hand was graciously overlooked,as religion dictated. He surveyed the myriad lines of tight-packed workbenches,the ant-like operatives and dangerously proximate lathes.

‘Well,you are, certainly,’ he agreed, in more reasonable tones than before, decidingthis energetic rough diamond was owed the unadorned truth at least. ‘In otherhands some of this may remain, transformed into a more... civilisedworkplace.’

Trevanadjusted his work-stained frock coat and black beaver hat after the priest'srough handling. If he was to be dispossessed he didn't want to go looking likesomething the cat had played with.

‘It'sall yours then,’ he said, in what he hoped were stoic tones, ‘I'll leave it toyou to administer the wind-down. And don't expect an abundance of blessings asyou tell them they're sacked. There's families as'll starve because of this.’

‘Betterhunger than life as a blur of overwork,’ countered the priest.

‘Oh,you've convinced me, Father,’ said Samuel. ‘And good luck withpersuading those who know what hunger really is. I do hope your ears don't burnwhen people say their prayers tonight - if they still bother....’

Hewas sailing close to the wind here and in an act of mercy the priest waved himto silence. The man was in trouble enough without courting blasphemy. Thatgesture, backed by an organisation that had authority over everything forever,was sufficient. Trevan stepped back from the precipice.

‘Fairenough, Father,’ he said. ‘So on you go and fare ye well.’

Thenews was getting round the workforce, whispered from bench to bench. For thefirst time in the factory's history people dared to down tools and express anopinion. They now knew their master was going, though few fully understood why.The Church and Guilds had apparently spoken and, from the lowest oil-rag-monkeyto best paid craftsman, it was appreciated there was no point in disputing withthem.

Nevertheless,they could still comment.

AsSamuel left for the last time, the rifle-makers affectionately applauded him onhis way. The priest and his party shook their heads in sad disbelief.

Atthe door Trevan turned to acknowledge the fond farewell. He tipped his hat tothem.

‘Worryfor yourselves, not me,’ he said in reply, an unfelt smile occupying his slabface. ‘Down I may be, but not out!’

Andthose of them who heard it, knowing what they did of the man, well believedhim.

U[U[U[U[U[U[U

cHAPTER 4

When they wanted to, thewheels of Church administration could achieve a sprightly speed. Documentaryconfirmation of the decision reached Samuel just one week later. He was nothard to find, being self-confined to his rooms in the interval.

TheCourt's emissary discovered him 'at ease', unshaved and in shirtsleeves, a markedcontrast to his own imposing gown of black slashed with papal-red. He arrivedjust as the empty brandy bottles were being cleared out. Their contents hadbeen kind to a hitherto total-abstainer, blurring the first few days ofdispossession. Samuel was still careful though, and declined to let thatfriendship blossom into love. Soon enough he'd pulled himself together andstarted writing letters.

Therewas the need to wind up one part of his life and then seek to explain all tothose he hoped would still feature in what came next. That had proved hardwork. The crumpled wreckage of those first, second and umpteenth draftslittered the floor of Trevan's furnished rooms, to be crunched underfoot as hepaced up and down. Not one had yet reached finished form or been entrusted to apostal courier. Samuel was having trouble sanding down catastrophe into meremisfortune by dint of words.

‘Comeon in, don't be shy,’ he said to his visitor. ‘I've been expecting you.’

Theofficer-of-the-court noted the box of bottles.

‘Evidently....’

Hewas wary, still seeking to gauge the situation. His host looked more like aprizefighter or churl-stock fairground wrestler than the 'industrialist'he'd blithely expected. Worse still, his manner betrayed signs of uncertaintemper and irregular opinions. A court-issue short-sword by the officer’s sideshould have supplied comfort, but somehow did not. The less authorised brass 'knuckle-enhancers'close to hand similarly failed to spark boldness. He was getting too old toroll round the floor with clients, especially when so close to retirement. Mostlikely this one could snap him in two, stealing all his golden years andpension. Pondering the wisdom of postponement and returning in force, hehesitated on the threshold.

‘MrTrevan? Mr Samuel Melchizedek Trevan?’

‘Noneother. Why, who do you think I was? Mind your back.’

Samuelshoved the clinking box of dead-men through the door and out onto the landing.The house skivvies would clear them away later - probably. Meanwhile, let theother tenants see it and note the prodigious consumption. If he’d cared littleenough before, there was even less cause for concern now. Meekly treading thepath of 'respectability' hadn't exactly drowned him in acclaim, had it? He'dsoon be on his way in any case.

Thoughhe'd brushed past this elderly-but-erect caller brusquely enough, Trevan seizedneither the opportunity to escape or the officer. So it seemed safe for him toproceed.

‘Thisis for you.’

Athick parchment envelope sealed with the smoky red ribbon and wax seal of theecclesiastical authorities was held out to Samuel.

‘Oh,so I'm to be made a bishop at last, am I?’

Trevan'switticism was ignored whilst his right shoulder was anointed with the package.

‘Officialservice,’ said the officer. ‘There's no going back now. You may open or disposeof it as you wish, young man. I strongly recommend the former.’

‘Righto.Take a seat: I may have some questions.’

‘That'swhy I'm here. Those things are always served by senior tipstaffs: to avoidconfusion or ignorance of its terms.’

‘Fairenough.’

Trevancrashed rearwards into the chair behind his desk and cracked the missive open.The officer meanwhile scooped some half-written letters out of a nearbyhorsehair chair, first checking for dust, before arranging himself and waitingpatiently. A cheap boxwood mantelpiece clock ticked away the heavily pregnantminutes.

‘Interesting...,’said Samuel, eventually, when he'd perused the quarto sheet within from closecovered