Death by Disputation (A Francis Bacon Mystery Book 2) by Anna Castle Read Free Book Online Page A

square above the brow and below the chin. Dilly’s cheeks were bare, but nineteen-year-old Steadfast wore a trim blond beard and moustache. He was three inches shorter than Tom’s six feet but stockier through the chest with powerful limbs. His angry expression suited his round face less well than his usual hearty good cheer.
    “I don’t like it,” he said at last.
    “I don’t either.” Tom worked his jaw and flexed his neck, tilting his head from side to side. All in working order. He wouldn’t forget that punch in a hurry, but for now, there was work to do. “Help me walk him.”
    They hoisted the boy up between them, each with an arm around his trunk. It worked better with two; they could hold him so his feet landed flat on the floor. Steadfast began to sing a psalm and Tom joined in. They sang all six verses of “In Thy Wrath and Hot Displeasure” and were halfway through “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” when Dilly moaned and rolled his head from side to side. They walked him around the desk a few more times. Then Tom held him up while Steadfast slapped him lightly on the cheeks.
    “Diligence Wingfield!” Steadfast’s voice was stern. “Hear me!”
    Diligence’s eyes opened, closed, then fluttered open again. “Steadfast?”
    Steadfast held his brother’s face in both hands and looked straight into his eyes. “God is calling you. Wake up!”
    The boy drew in a deep breath and yawned it out. His breath stank. “I’m awake, Steadfast.” His eyes slowly focused. His voice was weak but clear. “Don’t tell Father.”
    Steadfast smiled at him. “You’ll tell him yourself. He’ll help you wrestle with your gluttony.”
    Diligence nodded. Then a thick retching rumbled in his throat.
    “Uh-oh,” Tom said. “Quick! The window!”
    He hustled the boy to the back of the room. Steadfast thrust a window wide open. Together they tilted Diligence out as far as they could without dropping him and held him while he emptied his belly.
    “Poor Dilly,” Tom said as they drew him back inside. “You’re not getting much good from your food today, are you?”
    “What do you mean?” Steadfast asked.
    Diligence pulled his shirttail out of his hose to blot his mouth. “Yuck.”
    “That’s twice,” Tom answered. “He puked upstairs too, when he saw Mr. Leeds.”
    “Ah, yes. Poor Mr. Leeds.” Steadfast closed his eyes. Diligence followed suit. Tom assumed they were praying; they prayed a lot.
    “I still can’t believe he did it,” he said when they opened their eyes again.
    “He must have come to recognize that he was reprobate,” Steadfast said, “and let himself fall into despair. He should have talked to someone. Mr. Barrow is always willing. Or my father. He’s reconciled many a reprobate to God’s will.”
    “Maybe that was it.” According to John Calvin, God had foreordained in the beginning of time who would be saved and who would be damned. Nothing you did during your life could alter this predestination — not prayers, not good works, nothing. If you were among the damned, you could mitigate the torments of hell by living a virtuous life. But maybe Leeds had decided that hell was hell and if that was where he was going, he might as well get on with it.
    Tom couldn’t blame him. He found the philosophy unfathomable. How could being good not be good for your soul? That was another reason he wanted to catch the seditious zealot. He did not want these fault-finding, fun-hating, hair-splitting Puritans controlling his church or his country.
    “How’re you feeling, Dilly?” He smiled at the boy.
    “Better. Empty. My mouth tastes sour.”
    “Let’s go over to the buttery and get you something.” Tom glanced at Steadfast. “My treat.”
    “I’ll toss my things upstairs and join you.” Steadfast settled his brother on Leeds’s stool. “Can you sit up?”
    The boy nodded. Tom kept a hand on his shoulder in case of wobbling.
    Steadfast went back and picked up his bag, draping its