Kate Sedley - The Midsummer Crown

‘All right, all right,’ Timothy grunted. ‘There’s no need to get in your high ropes about it. I’m just telling you it’s his ward who’s been snatched, so you can see how serious the matter is.’

‘You call him a boy. How old is he?’

‘Thirteen. The same age as the king.’

‘Is that significant?’

‘In a way, but we’ll come to that in a minute. The murdered man is Gregory Machin, tutor to young Gideon Fitzalan.’

‘The boy who has been abducted?’

‘Yes. At least, the presumption is that he’s been abducted. He’s most certainly disappeared.’

‘So-’ I was beginning, but Timothy interrupted.

‘No, wait! The point about Gregory Machin’s murder is that, although he was stabbed, his body was found in a locked room.’

‘Suicide, then?’ I asked, startled, but Timothy shook his head.

‘No. Whoever killed him was standing behind him. The entrance to the wound was at the back. A quick, sharp jab up under the rib cage into the heart with a narrow, stiletto-type weapon. There was very little blood.’

‘And the room was locked? You’re certain?’

‘Of course I’m fucking certain! Do you think I’m a clodpoll? Or that all the other people who’ve examined the room are clodpolls, as well? The door had to be broken down. It was bolted on the inside.’

‘Where and when did this happen?’

‘Baynard’s Castle, last Friday.’ Timothy eased his lean buttocks against the hard stone of the window seat and eyed my chair longingly before continuing, ‘The day previously, the Duchess of Gloucester finally arrived from the north — she’s staying at Crosby’s Place, by the way, where the duke intends to join her eventually — and as far as I can gather, she brought young Gideon Fitzalan with her at the duke’s request. Or at Francis Lovell’s request, acting on Prince Richard’s orders, whichever you please. The following day, the lad was brought to Baynard’s Castle with his tutor and nurse to meet his uncle, Godfrey Fitzalan, who’s just arrived in London to attend the coronation, and for the present is a part of the Lovell household.’

‘Wait a moment,’ I said. ‘You’re telling me that this boy has a nurse?’

‘They all have nurses,’ Timothy answered with a shrug. ‘We’re talking about young noblemen, not the street urchins you know. They’re not nursery-maids if that’s what you’re thinking. I suppose you could call them surrogate mothers, making sure my young gentleman is warmly wrapped up if it’s cold, that he takes his medicine — if he has any to take, that is — that he has regular bowel movements and physics him if he hasn’t; that, in short, he’s healthy and happy. Well, maybe not necessarily happy, but you get the general idea. Although I don’t imagine Dame Copley will retain her post for very much longer. You’re right in thinking that at thirteen Master Fitzalan is on the brink of manhood. Indeed, many lads of that age already regard themselves as men. But I gather that young Gideon, the Benjamin of a large family of brothers and of a delicate constitution, has been somewhat mollycoddled from infancy onwards. Certainly, Dame Copley is devoted to him, and the way she’s carrying on — the tears, the hysterics — you could be forgiven for thinking the boy is her own son.’

I nodded, staring thoughtfully at the empty hearth and wishing, irrelevantly, for the glow of a good fire. Although only two weeks from Midsummer Eve and Day, the evenings still had a tendency to turn chilly, sunlight rarely penetrating the streets and houses in this overcrowded quarter of Bristol.

Finally, I spoke. ‘You hinted just now at some particular reason why this Gideon Fitzalan has been brought to London. At the instigation of my lord Gloucester was what you said. Why?’

It might have been my imagination, but I fancied Timothy suddenly looked slightly uncomfortable. The expression was so fleeting that, afterwards, I wasn’t really sure I had seen it.

‘He and one or two other boys of the same age are to be the king’s companions and attend him at his coronation.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘I should have thought His Highness would have his own retinue, his own companions. He can’t have lived all those years at Ludlow without contemporaries to share his lessons and leisure time. He can’t have been permanently surrounded by his elders.’

‘No, of course not.’ There was the slightest of hesitations before Timothy proceeded smoothly, ‘But they were the children of Woodville adherents, picked by the Queen Dowager and Lord Rivers.’

‘So?’

‘They have been dismissed. My lord Gloucester wishes the king to be attended by people he can trust.’

I frowned, suddenly uneasy. ‘You mean that poor child has not only had his uncle and half-brother forcibly removed and clapped up in prison, but now his attendants, people he’s been familiar with all his life — his playmates, his fellow scholars — are also being replaced?’

Whatever his own feelings in the matter, Timothy would never allow even implied criticism of his beloved master. He brought a hand down hard on the stone of the window seat, then winced with pain. ‘You don’t understand, Roger! Or, worse still, you’re not making the effort to understand. That situation at Northampton posed real danger to the duke’s life. Oh, I’m not a fool. I have spies everywhere. I know there are rumours among some sections of the populace that the whole story was a fabrication on my lord Gloucester’s part; a lie in order to provide grounds for arresting Rivers and Vaughan and Grey. But take my word for it, that wasn’t so. The duke knew that he might be in some danger from the Woodvilles, and of course it’s true that he doesn’t like them; that he has always held them responsible for Clarence’s death. But he was still hoping to work with them for a peaceful accession. I can vouch for it that he wasn’t truly suspicious even when we reached the rendezvous at Northampton and discovered that the royal party had moved on to Stony Stratford. I don’t believe it occurred to him that Stony Stratford was only a short distance from the Woodville’s family home at Grafton Regis. When Earl Rivers rode back with an explanation of why the king had ridden ahead by fourteen miles — and a pretty feeble explanation it was, too — my lord was willing to accept it and invited him to supper. If it hadn’t been for Lord Buckingham’s arrival to warn him of the truth, our duke could well be dead by now. So he dare not trust Woodville sympathizers of whatever age around the king.’

I said nothing for a moment or two. It was a story I had heard before, and from Timothy, and had no doubt that it was true. But somehow I doubted that the queen’s family would have risked killing so popular a figure as the Duke of Gloucester. They could have incarcerated him at Grafton until such time as the king had been crowned and the Woodvilles had assumed positions of power. But even then, there would almost certainly have been trouble on the duke’s release.

I sighed. No; taking everything into consideration, I felt bound to admit that my lord Gloucester’s reaction, his instinct for self-preservation, had probably been the right one. As was his present determination to rid the king of all those of his attendants appointed by, and therefore loyal to, the Queen Dowager’s family.

‘So tell me about this murder and the boy’s disappearance,’ I said.

‘I’ve told you.’

‘Only the barest outline,’ I protested indignantly. ‘Give me the details. This Gideon what’s-his-name. .?’

‘Fitzalan! Try to pay attention.’

I ignored the rider and proceeded, ‘This Gideon Fitzalan, then, arrives in London in the company of the Duchess of Gloucester, accompanied by his tutor. .?’