legal and business affairs, put off since their last visit to London many months before. Which left Anne with more time than was healthy to pine over her son. She knew that though John would miss them, he would be well cared for with enormous love and attention from Charles, Judith, and the entire household. But herself and Thomas … She could not imagine how they would cope with the separation.
Because Charles’s London house had been rented out, they stayed with friends of Thomas belonging to a church in the fields beyond Shepherd’s Market. In medieval times, when London’s mighty walls had ended some five miles farther east, drovers had brought their flocks to Shepherd’s Market. Now it was a den of licentiousness, anchoring the farther end of the new, elegant road called Piccadilly. From the Circus at one end to the Market at the other, Piccadilly had become home to London’s emerging young society. The pastor of the Farm Street Church made heroic attempts to turn the attention of the local revelers to spiritual matters.
By English law, King George III was also the head of the Church of England. This had Christians up and down the country seeking either a change to the law or a change to the monarchy.
Twenty miles across the Dover Straits, France was in political and cultural turmoil. The cry of Liberté Egalité, Fraternité was on everyone’s lips, and revolution was in the air. All of this news was very troubling to the English monarchy. French cities were in flames. The rule of law was in tatters. The masses were breaking free of their fetters.
So long as Anne had remained in their small village in the north, it had been possible to ignore most of this upsetting news. But now it came at her from every direction. The English rulers’ response to these threats, both from within and without, was to outlaw public protests, and any criticizing the king or the prince regent were declared criminals and imprisoned.
The result was that churches such as the Farm Street Church became one of the few places where people who disagreed with the nation’s current course could safely gather. Members did their best to draw no attention to themselves. They dressed plainly. They spoke quietly. They avoided contact with a society they considered depraved. But their presence remained a thorn in the king’s side. As a result, these churchgoers had been given a new name. They were called Dissenters.
The Dissenters constantly lived under the threat of oppression and worse. They decided, as the Quakers and Mennonites and Anabaptists before them, to leave England forever.
Anne could tell the longer Thomas remained in London, the more troubled he became. It was difficult for Anne and him to talk freely, however, for the house where they stayed was always full. Since many Dissenters refused to stay in the uptown establishments where the society’s looser ways were on full display, several homes like this one had been transformed into unofficial inns. Only when Thomas and Anne huddled in their tiny room, the scrape of boots heard overhead and the din of conversation below, could they have any privacy.
“I fear I am doing Charles and his estate no good whatsoever,” Thomas quietly confessed.
“Why is that, Thomas?” Anne asked. “Who else does he have to whom he can trust his affairs?”
“Doors are closed to me everywhere. I am classed as a Dissenter, which means I cannot even speak to many officials.” Thomas looked as worried as Anne had ever seen him. “There are scores of pressing matters. The new Land Enclosure Acts, the village taxes, the state of our roads, our crops, permits for our markets—the list is endless.”
“Surely you can—”
“I tell you, Anne, I can do nothing. I have spent days going hat in hand from one place to another, scarcely receiving so much as a by-your-leave. I am unable to even approach the officials, much less request a private appointment.”
The murmuring voices below their
Because Charles’s London house had been rented out, they stayed with friends of Thomas belonging to a church in the fields beyond Shepherd’s Market. In medieval times, when London’s mighty walls had ended some five miles farther east, drovers had brought their flocks to Shepherd’s Market. Now it was a den of licentiousness, anchoring the farther end of the new, elegant road called Piccadilly. From the Circus at one end to the Market at the other, Piccadilly had become home to London’s emerging young society. The pastor of the Farm Street Church made heroic attempts to turn the attention of the local revelers to spiritual matters.
By English law, King George III was also the head of the Church of England. This had Christians up and down the country seeking either a change to the law or a change to the monarchy.
Twenty miles across the Dover Straits, France was in political and cultural turmoil. The cry of Liberté Egalité, Fraternité was on everyone’s lips, and revolution was in the air. All of this news was very troubling to the English monarchy. French cities were in flames. The rule of law was in tatters. The masses were breaking free of their fetters.
So long as Anne had remained in their small village in the north, it had been possible to ignore most of this upsetting news. But now it came at her from every direction. The English rulers’ response to these threats, both from within and without, was to outlaw public protests, and any criticizing the king or the prince regent were declared criminals and imprisoned.
The result was that churches such as the Farm Street Church became one of the few places where people who disagreed with the nation’s current course could safely gather. Members did their best to draw no attention to themselves. They dressed plainly. They spoke quietly. They avoided contact with a society they considered depraved. But their presence remained a thorn in the king’s side. As a result, these churchgoers had been given a new name. They were called Dissenters.
The Dissenters constantly lived under the threat of oppression and worse. They decided, as the Quakers and Mennonites and Anabaptists before them, to leave England forever.
Anne could tell the longer Thomas remained in London, the more troubled he became. It was difficult for Anne and him to talk freely, however, for the house where they stayed was always full. Since many Dissenters refused to stay in the uptown establishments where the society’s looser ways were on full display, several homes like this one had been transformed into unofficial inns. Only when Thomas and Anne huddled in their tiny room, the scrape of boots heard overhead and the din of conversation below, could they have any privacy.
“I fear I am doing Charles and his estate no good whatsoever,” Thomas quietly confessed.
“Why is that, Thomas?” Anne asked. “Who else does he have to whom he can trust his affairs?”
“Doors are closed to me everywhere. I am classed as a Dissenter, which means I cannot even speak to many officials.” Thomas looked as worried as Anne had ever seen him. “There are scores of pressing matters. The new Land Enclosure Acts, the village taxes, the state of our roads, our crops, permits for our markets—the list is endless.”
“Surely you can—”
“I tell you, Anne, I can do nothing. I have spent days going hat in hand from one place to another, scarcely receiving so much as a by-your-leave. I am unable to even approach the officials, much less request a private appointment.”
The murmuring voices below their
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