Kate Sedley - Wheel of Fate

That, I knew, was true. When Nicholas and Elizabeth were playing one of their games, upstairs at home in Small Street, it could often sound like an army on the march.

‘I suppose it’s possible,’ I conceded reluctantly, but then shook my head. The number eight had recurred too frequently during the past few days for me to ignore it. God’s finger was inexorably pointing me in a particular direction. ‘Nevertheless, I don’t think so,’ I added. ‘My informant was adamant that her father said eight.’

Julian Makepeace chewed a thumbnail, as intrigued by the problem as I was. Meantime, I cudgelled my brains trying to remember all that Margaret Walker had said. Suddenly, memory sharpened.

‘Wait! Something’s coming back to me. I can recollect Margaret — the woman who told me the story — saying that after the death of his second wife — that is after your mother’s death — Morgan Godslove decided against marrying again. Instead he hired a housekeeper. And,’ I went on triumphantly, ‘I can even recall her name. Tabitha Maynard! That was it. But a few years later, she and Morgan were both drowned in a tragic accident. The two of them were aboard the Rownham ferry when it capsized in a terrible storm. Master Makepeace, is it possible, do you think, that this Tabitha Maynard had children of her own? Children who would have gone to live in the Godslove household when their mother became Morgan’s housekeeper?’

The apothecary stared at me for a moment or two, then sadly shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t know. After my mother died, all communication with the Godsloves ceased. Not that there had ever been much: one short letter announcing her death was all we received, and I knew nothing more about the family until they moved to London when Oswald was about fourteen. Clemency brought Martin and Celia to visit us, but we never had a great deal to do with any of them, even then. As for this housekeeper, I’ve never heard any mention of her until now.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘I regret I can’t be of more help on the subject. But of course the people to ask are Oswald and his sisters.’ He rubbed the side of his nose reflectively. ‘If there were children, I wonder what became of them?’ Almost in the same breath, he answered his own question. ‘I suppose they would have been reclaimed by their mother’s kinfolk.’

‘Yes, I suppose they would,’ I agreed, and held out my hand. ‘Thank you for being so patient with me, Master Makepeace. I just wanted to be sure that the extra two children could not possibly have been you and your brother. By the way, am I to congratulate you?’

He looked bewildered. ‘Congratulate me?’

‘I noticed Mistress Naomi was wearing a ring.’

His eyes twinkled. ‘Oh that! She just chooses to wear it on her wedding finger and I don’t dispute her right to do so.’

‘But you bought it for her?’

‘I bought it as a favour from an old friend of mine who was in urgent need of ready money, that’s all. There’s nothing more to it than that.’

‘I see,’ I said and once more held out my hand. To enquire further would be to intrude upon his privacy to an unwarrantable degree. And I liked him as much as I had liked his brother. I wished to stay friends.

I retraced my steps to the Great Conduit and from there walked slowly homeward through the Poultry and the Stock’s Market, busy with my own thoughts and taking little heed of what was going on around me. I did notice, however, that several enterprising street-sellers had exchanged their usual goods for trays of ‘coronation specials’: cheap miniature replicas of bits of the regalia and little dolls in royal purple, distressingly bad wooden effigies of our young boy-king. I resisted the temptation to buy one, in spite of knowing how much Elizabeth would love it.

As I turned into Bishop’s Gate Street Within, I was forced into the side of the roadway by a bevy of horsemen all wearing the Duke of Gloucester’s blue and murrey livery, the animals’ coats gleaming like satin in the pale spring sunlight. And there in the middle of them was the duke himself, his small, dark face tense between the swinging curtains of almost black hair. (I remembered people who had known the late Duke of York saying that Richard was the only son who truly resembled him).

I withdrew into the shelter of the houses on the left-hand side, hoping to remain unseen, but suddenly the cavalcade came to a halt. The horsemen nearest to me shifted their mounts to allow the duke a passage through their ranks, and I noted with amusement their utter astonishment that the mightiest subject in the kingdom should stop to speak to a ragamuffin such as I appeared to be.

‘Roger!’ He was riding a big, handsome black with white stockings and a pair of flashing, brilliant, imperious eyes. He himself was still dressed from head to foot in deepest mourning and I noticed a network of fine lines around his eyes which had not been there when I last saw him and told of strain. All the same, he spoke cheerfully enough. ‘I was told that you were in London.’

I dutifully bent the knee and kissed the hand he extended towards me, but at the same time snarled, ‘That idiot, Timothy Plummer, I suppose.’

There was a hum of outrage from the duke’s escort that I should speak to him in such a fashion, but he only smiled and went on, ‘You’re lodging near here, I understand. Don’t run away, will you? I may need to send for you. I’m living at Baynard’s Castle with my mother for the time being.’

I muttered something unintelligible and he nodded before riding off, his retinue clattering after him, to vanish through the gates of Crosby’s Place.

My determination to return to Bristol as soon as possible was now stronger than ever. I had to concentrate all my energies on solving this mystery of the Godslove family and discovering what had happened to Celia. Not that I entertained much hope of finding her alive. All my instincts now told me she was dead.

Supper that afternoon was a strange meal without Adela and the children to cheer our spirits. Even Hercules’s absence was mourned: Clemency admitted that she missed his cold, wet nose nudging her for tit-bits.

To begin with, there were only the four of us, Clemency, Sybilla, Arbella and myself, but halfway through the meal Oswald arrived home and took his place at the head of the table. He seemed tired and out of sorts, a condition aggravated by none of us having any news to report of Celia.

He took a few spoonfuls of mutton stew, but refused the freshly baked oatcakes that Arbella offered him.

‘There’s a rumour going around the Inns of Court,’ he said, ‘that the executors of the late king’s will are refusing to administer it so long as the Queen Dowager and her children remain in sanctuary. For the time being, the goods are to be put under ecclesiastical sequestration.’

None of us made a reply to this nor did Oswald seem to expect any. He lapsed once more into moody silence; a silence I finally broke with my information about Adrian Jollifant and the discovery I had made concerning his father.

‘He permitted me to search the entire house, including the cellars,’ I said, stretching the truth only a very little for the sake of brevity. ‘Celia is not being concealed by Master Jollifant, so we can forget him as we can Dr Jeavons.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Oswald retorted grimly. ‘One or the other may already have murdered Celia and buried her body.’

The three women cried out at that and Sybilla, as usual, burst into noisy sobs. I waited for these to subside before pouring myself more wine and looking slowly around the table. Clemency shifted uncomfortably, as though she guessed that something portentous was coming.

‘After your stepmother, the former Widow Makepeace, died,’ I said quietly, ‘I understand that your father engaged a housekeeper, a Mistress Maynard. Tabitha Maynard.’ I hesitated a moment, debating whether to present my next statement as question or fact. I decided on the latter. ‘She had two children. I don’t know what sex they were; if they were two boys, two girls or one of each. But I know that she had them.’