Kate Sedley - Wheel of Fate

‘Worrying,’ I agreed, but half-heartedly. I had worries of my own to concern me.

‘How long are you staying in London?’ Timothy asked, draining his cup. His tone of voice put me instinctively on my guard.

‘Not long,’ I answered quickly. ‘In fact Adela and the children and Hercules have already left for Bristol. That’s why I’m here. A friend of ours, a carter who’s been disappointed of a load, is able to take them all the way home. I shall follow them as soon as I can.’

‘Hercules?’ Timothy queried with a puckered brow.

‘My dog.’

‘Dear sweet virgin! You mean that mangy cur you dignify with the name of dog?’ He moved closer to me on the bench and lowered his voice. ‘Listen, Roger. Don’t be in too much of a hurry to leave the capital. The duke may need your services before all’s done. I don’t know what’s in the wind — in fact I don’t know for certain that anything is in the wind — but I do know I’m feeling damned uneasy. A sixth sense is telling me that all’s not well. It’s no good asking me why, but I’ll say this. Ever since you got back from France last year, Duke Richard has been unsettled. Even up north, where he’s usually at his happiest and most carefree, he’s been preoccupied. And after news reached us of King Edward’s death, well. . He was upset naturally. Grief-stricken. He was devoted to his brother, as you know better than most people. But there was more to it than that. Of course he assembled all the magnates of the region, had a solemn Mass sung for the repose of the late king’s soul and then, himself included, made everyone swear an oath of allegiance to the new young king. And yet. .’

‘And yet?’ I prompted, my attention caught in spite of myself.

The spymaster shrugged. ‘There’s something about him I can’t quite define. An edginess, a withdrawal into himself, an unhappiness almost, as though he’s constantly wrestling with some knotty problem that the rest of us can’t be allowed to share.’ He called for a second pot of ale before continuing. ‘And the business at Northampton shook him to his very foundations. I don’t think he imagined that the queen and her family would move against him so swiftly and with such malice. If it hadn’t been for Henry of Buckingham being privy to the Woodvilles’ intentions and then deciding to throw in his lot with his cousin instead of his in-laws, it’s more than probable that by now Prince Richard would either be a prisoner at Grafton Regis or — even more likely — he would be dead. Murdered like the previous Duke of Gloucester, poor old Humphrey.’

‘And you think that Buckingham was telling the truth? About the plot, I mean. Not just trying to curry favour with the man who will undoubtedly be nominated as Protector by the council?’

Timothy was indignant. ‘Why would he need to curry favour? As husband of the Queen Dowager’s sister he’d have done as well, if not better, to have stayed with the Woodvilles. It’s a serious threat, Roger. As Spymaster General I know for a fact that men have already been despatched to man the fortifications on the Isle of Wight and at Portsmouth. Furthermore, Sir Thomas Fulford and Sir Edward Brampton have both been ordered to sea to intercept Edward Woodville and his merry band of pirates who are apparently trying to join up with some French privateers, at present threatening the southern coast.’

I grimaced. ‘As bad as that, eh?’

‘If not worse.’ He shook my arm. ‘So keep your ear to the ground, my friend, and if you see or hear anything — anything at all — let me know at once. And, as I say, don’t be in too much of a hurry to leave London. You may be needed. It’s a great piece of good fortune you being here just at this time.’

If he hadn’t added those last two sentences, I would have told him what I knew there and then. Indeed, I had drawn a breath ready to speak. But at his words, I expelled it again and sat silent, staring into my empty beaker. I realized that if I was not to be inveigled into Duke Richard’s affairs by Timothy Plummer I had best keep quiet about the house in Old Dean’s Lane and what I had overheard. I also had to apply my mind to this business of the Godsloves and either come to a conclusion as quickly as was humanly possible, or express my regrets and shake the dust of the capital from my boots as rapidly as I could.

I rose to my feet. ‘I’ll-er-let you know if I hear anything, Timothy,’ I said, lying through my teeth. ‘I shall be resident in Bishop’s Gate Street Without for a while yet, I daresay.’ I crossed my fingers behind my back.

He nodded. ‘See that you do. By the way, what do you know about the Bishop of Bath and Wells?’

‘Robert Stillington? Nothing much, Why do you ask?’

Timothy swallowed his ale. ‘No reason, except that he’s from your part of the world. And he’s turned up at Crosby’s Place a couple of times lately and been closeted with the duke.’

‘Has he now?’ I sucked my teeth thoughtfully. ‘In case you’ve forgotten,’ I said, ‘let me remind you that the bishop was very close to the Duke of Clarence. In fact he was imprisoned for a while round about the time of Clarence’s trial and execution. It might have been a coincidence, of course. And then again it might not.’

Timothy looked sick. ‘You’re right. It had slipped my mind. I must be losing my grip on things.’ He also stood up and straightened his tunic. ‘I’m unhappy about the way things are going, Roger, and that’s a fact.’

‘And where are they going?’ I asked.

The spymaster sighed. ‘I don’t honestly know, and that’s the problem.’ He squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height (which was a little below my own shoulders). ‘But just remember what I’ve said to you. If you hear or see anything, anything at all in the least suspicious or that you think I ought to know about, get in touch with me at once. If I’m not there, a message left at Crosby’s Place will bring me up to this house you’re staying at as soon as possible.’

Once again, I nearly spoke, but once again self-interest held me silent. We walked together down St Lawrence’s Lane into Cheapside, but there we parted, he striding off in the direction of the Strand and Westminster and I loitering on the corner. Various cries of ‘Hot sheep’s feet!’, ‘Pies!’, ‘Ribs of beef!’ reminded me that I had breakfasted very early with Adela and the children, and that my belly was now rumbling with hunger. I approached the beef vendor.

‘How many ribs for a farthing?’ I asked.

‘Eight. Got yer bowl with you, sunshine?’

‘No. . No, I haven’t,’ I said slowly. There it was again. What was it about the number eight that bothered me so much? I became aware that the street-seller was speaking. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

He cast his eyes up to heaven (or what we could see of it between the overhanging eaves of the houses). ‘I said, dozy, I’ll lend you a bowl.’ He took one from a pile on the edge of the tray strapped around his neck. ‘And that’ll be another farthing until I get it back.’ He ladled eight ribs into the bowl, adding, ‘I’ll be around here fer a bit yet awhile.’

I thanked him and retreated to lean against the nearest wall, out of the path of the constant stream of traffic that screeched and rumbled its way along this busiest of thoroughfares, while I sucked the ribs clean of meat and upended the bowl to drink the gravy. I had just finished and was looking around for the vendor in order to return my empty basin, when I was pounced on by a vaguely familiar figure who shouted, ‘It’s you again, is it?’

Adrian Jollifant! By sheer ill-luck I had chosen to prop myself against the wall of the silversmith’s shop. I gave an elaborate sigh. ‘What do you want with me now, sir?’