Heartstone

He pulled a face. 'Gloomy stuff.'

I smiled sadly. 'Yes, it was. I had not realized how much sadness there was in her. She put in a personal note saying she hoped it would turn my mind to God.'

'She'd never put you in harm's way. It'll be another land case, you'll see.'

I smiled gratefully. Barak had known the underside of the political world from his earliest days, and I valued his reassurance.

'The Queen and Ellen Fettiplace in one day!' he said jokingly. 'You will have a busy day.'

'Yes.' I took the letter back. Remembering the last time I had visited Hampton Court, the thought of presenting myself there again set a knot of fear twisting in my stomach.

Chapter Two

IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON when I finished my last brief and sanded my notes. Barak and Skelly had already left and I set off up Chancery Lane for my house nearby.

It was a perfect summer evening. Two days ago had been Midsummer's Day, but the normal celebrations and bonfires had been curtailed by royal proclamation. The city was under a curfew now, with extra watches set through the night, for fear lest French agents set it alight.

As I reached my house, I reflected that these days I no longer felt the uplift on coming home I had when Joan was alive; rather, a worm of irritation stirred. I let myself in. Josephine Coldiron, my steward's daughter, was standing on the rush matting in the hall, hands clasped in front of her and a vacant, slightly worried expression on her round face.

'Good afternoon, Josephine,' I said. She curtsied and bobbed her head. A tendril of unwashed blonde hair escaped from under her white coif, dangling over her brow. She brushed it away. 'Sorry, sir,' she said nervously.

I spoke gently, for I knew she was afraid of me. 'How is dinner progressing?'

She looked guilty. 'I haven't started yet, sir. I need the boys' help to prepare the vegetables.'

'Where are Simon and Timothy?'

Josephine looked alarmed. 'Er, with Father, sir. I'll fetch them and get started.'

She scurried into the kitchen with her quick, tiny steps, like an agitated mouse. I crossed to the parlour.

Guy, my old friend and current house guest, sat on a chair looking out of the window. He turned as I came in, venturing a weak smile. Guy was a physician, a man of some status, but that had not stopped a gang of apprentices on the lookout for French spies from wrecking his house down near the Old Barge one night two months ago, tearing to shreds the medical notes he had made over the years and smashing his equipment. Guy had been out, or he might have been killed. No matter that Guy's ancestry was Spanish; he was a well-known foreigner with a dark face and a strange accent. Since I had taken him in he had sunk into a deep melancholy that worried me.

I laid my satchel on the floor. 'How now, Guy?'

He raised a hand in greeting. 'I have been sitting here all day. It is strange; I thought if ever I was without work time would pass slowly, but it seems to race away without my noticing.'

'Barak says Tamasin is feeling the heat.'

I was pleased to see interest come into his face. 'I am seeing her tomorrow. I am sure she is well, but it will reassure them. Him, rather. I think Tamasin takes it all in her stride.' He hesitated. 'I said I would see her here, I hope that was not presumptuous.'

'Of course not. And you are welcome here as long as you wish, you know that.'

'Thank you. I fear if I go back home the same thing will happen again. The atmosphere against foreigners grows more poisonous every day. Look out there.' He pointed through the diamond-paned window to my garden.

I moved over and looked out. My steward William Coldiron stood on the path, hands on his skinny hips and a fierce expression on his cadaverous, grey-stubbled face. My two servant boys, tall fourteen-year-old Simon and little twelve-year-old Timothy, paraded stiffly up and down in front of him across the garden, each with a broomstick over his shoulder. Coldiron watched them keenly from his single eye—the other was covered with a large black patch. 'Right turn,' he shouted, and the boys obeyed awkwardly. I heard Josephine call from the kitchen door. Coldiron looked up sharply at the study window. I opened it and called 'William!' sharply.

Coldiron turned to the boys. 'Get indoors and get master's dinner ready,' he shouted at them. 'Making me waste time giving you drilling lessons!' The boys looked at him, outrage on their faces.

I turned to Guy. 'God's death, that man!' Guy shook his head wearily. A moment later Coldiron appeared in the doorway. He bowed, then stood stiffly to attention. As ever, I found his face difficult to look at. A long, deep scar ran from his receding hairline to his eyepatch and continued down to the corner of his mouth. He had told me when I interviewed him that it was the result of a sword thrust received at the Battle of Flodden against the Scots over thirty years before. I had sympathized, as I always did with those who were disfigured, and that had influenced me in taking him on, though there was also the fact that, with two large instalments of tax due to the King, I had to be careful with money and he did not demand high wages. In truth I had not much liked him even then.

'What were you doing out there with the boys?' I asked. 'Josephine says nothing has been done to prepare dinner.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' he answered smoothly. 'Only Simon and Timothy were asking me about my time as a soldier. God bless them, they want to do what they can to defend their country from invasion. They pestered me to show them how soldiers drill.' He spread his hands. 'Wouldn't let me alone. It stirs their blood to know I fought the Scots last time they invaded us, that I was the man who cut down King James IV.'

'Are they going to defend us with broomsticks?'

'The time may be coming when even such callow boys may need to take up bills and halberds. They say the Scots are up to their old pranks again, ready to march on us while the French threaten us from the south. I believe it, I know those redshanks. And if foreign spies set fire to London—' He gave Guy a sidelong look, so quick it was barely noticeable, but Guy saw it and turned away.

'I don't want you drilling Timothy and Simon,' I said curtly, 'however great your knowledge of the arts of war. Those of housekeeping are your work now.'

Coldiron did not turn a hair. 'Of course, sir. I won't let the boys press me like that again.' He bowed deeply once more and left the room. I stared at the closed door.

'He made the boys go out and drill,' Guy said. 'I saw it. Timothy at least did not want to.'

'That man is a liar and a rogue.'

Guy smiled sadly, raising an eyebrow. 'You do not think he killed the Scottish King?'

I snorted. 'Every English soldier who was at Flodden claims he did it. I am thinking of dismissing him.'

'Perhaps you should,' Guy said, uncharacteristically for he was the gentlest of men.

I sighed. 'It's his daughter I feel sorry for. Coldiron bullies her as well as the boys.' I passed a hand over my chin. 'I am due to visit the Bedlam tomorrow, by the way, to see Ellen.'

He gave me a direct look, his face as sad as any man's I have seen. 'By going there every time she says she is ill—well, it may not be to the benefit of either of you in the long run. Whatever she is suffering, she lacks the right to summon you at will.'

* * *

I LEFT EARLY next morning to visit the Bedlam. The night before I had finally come to a decision about Ellen. I did not like what I planned to do, but could see no alternative. I donned my robe and riding boots, collected my riding crop and walked round to the stables. I had decided to ride across the city, and my way lay down the broader, paved streets. Genesis was in his stall, nose in the feed bucket. Timothy, whose duties included the stable, was stroking him. As I entered, the horse looked up and gave a whicker of welcome. I patted his cheek, running my hand down his stiff, bristly whiskers. I had had him five years; he had been a young gelding then, now he was a mature, peaceful animal. I looked down at Timothy. 'You have been mixing those herbs with his fodder as I asked?'