Yet, I told myself, there had to be an answer apart from that of some supernatural power at work. And I refused, in this case at least, to believe in demons and ghosts. The reason for this certainty was hard to explain other than my conviction that God’s hand was in this, as it usually was in everything I did, and that He would not pit me against unseen forces. This was a human crime and I was here to solve it.
‘All right, Lord,’ I said, strolling back indoors, ‘then give me a little help.’
Why had the tutor been murdered? A few moments’ reflection suggested that the most probable solution was to enable the boy to be snatched and abducted without interference from the man. But that meant Gideon Fitzalan must also have been inside the room. Had he, too, been killed? But why, therefore, had he been taken away? And why had he not made an outcry? Could it mean that he had gone willingly? Had he been a party to the plot, whatever it was?
By this time, my head was reeling, and I had decided to abandon this aspect of the mystery, going, instead, in search of the uncle, Godfrey Fitzalan, whom I managed at last to run to earth in the tilting-yard, where he was putting in a little practice with the quintain.
‘Stand clear!’ he yelled as he galloped up on a showy grey and hit the sand-filled bag an almighty clout with his lance. He then turned on me. ‘Don’t you know better than to get too close, you fool?’
‘I was nowhere near the thing,’ I retorted angrily, and was about to trade insult for insult when I recollected that I needed the cooperation of this man and that putting up his back was not the most sensible way to go about it. ‘A beautiful hit, sir,’ I toadied, despising myself as I did so.
He nodded, accepting such praise as his due, couched his weapon and dismounted, eyeing me up and down.
‘Were you looking for me?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m enquiring into the disappearance of your nephew for the Protector.’
He grunted. ‘Oh, you’re this chapman fellow, are you, that I’ve been hearing about? Quite one of my lord Gloucester’s favourites, by all accounts. Sir Francis tells me the duke sets a lot of store by your ability to solve these sorts of mysteries, so what do you want to know? And poor old Gregory Machin dead! A bad business! A bad business!’
He was very like his twin whom I had met the preceding day, with the same shock of curly brown hair and light blue eyes beneath surprisingly dark, almost black, brows. But he was not quite so tall and somewhat broader than his brother.
What did I want to know? ‘Anything you can tell me, sir,’ I said after a second’s hesitation. ‘Anything you think might have a bearing on Master Gideon’s disappearance.’
‘Why in God’s name should I have any information?’ he demanded irascibly. ‘You’d do better to ask his brothers, young Bevis and Blaise.’ He waved an airy hand. ‘They’re around somewhere. Half the damn family seems to be here for one reason or another. And Bevis and Blaise are the two boys nearest to Gideon in age. He’s the baby of Pomfret’s family. You’d never have guessed that that whey-faced creature Pom married would have bred so prolifically. Seven of ’em she’s produced as easily as falling off a log.’ Godfrey looked glum. ‘And there’s my old mare can’t get one. Not for lack of trying, mind you,’ he added with a lascivious wink.
I ignored this. ‘And you can’t think of any reason, sir, why someone might want to abduct your youngest nephew?’
‘Gideon ain’t my youngest nephew,’ he replied almost gloomily. ‘He was, mind you, until a short time ago. But last month my brother Henry’s new wife presented him with a bouncing boy. And Hal’s the eldest of all of us, sixty-one if he’s a day, and she’s a third of his age, if that. My old mare says it’s disgusting — ’ he shrugged — ‘but I don’t know! If a man’s up to it, well, why not? If he’s able to bed a young filly, good luck to him, is my motto. But another boy! Our family runs to boys. Can’t seem to get a single girl between us. Shouldn’t complain, I suppose. There’s many a king and nobleman who’d envy our family, I daresay.’
‘So you can’t help me, sir?’
He shook his head. ‘Though I feel sure Pomfret will manage to blame me or Lewis for the boy’s disappearance when he finally arrives. Still on his way down from Yorkshire, you know.’ I nodded. ‘You’d better find my nephew, Blaise — or the other one, Bevis. Like I said, they’re about somewhere.’ He added vaguely, ‘They’re in attendance on Sir Francis.’
But when I at last managed to track down these two young gentlemen, I found them kicking their heels in the servants’ hall, playing a desultory game of three men’s morris. It appeared that Sir Francis Lovell had been urgently summoned to Crosby’s Place to wait upon my lord of Gloucester — and, well, I could guess what for! The duke would gradually be testing the opinions of his friends, gaining their support for what I feared was no longer just an idea at the back of his mind, but a definite and fully-fledged plan.
I tried not to think about it — after all, there was nothing I could do — and seated myself beside one of the boys, both of whom bore a strong family resemblance to their twin uncles. Briefly, I explained what I wanted to know.
Neither was purposely unhelpful. It was just that they had no idea what could have happened to their youngest brother or why.
‘Did Tutor Machin have any particular enemies?’ I asked in desperation when they showed signs of tiring of the subject and returning to their game.
They shook their curly heads in unison.
‘Nobody liked him enough to dislike him,’ the elder, Bevis, said, adding, ‘if you know what I mean.’
‘He was a dry old stick, but a good teacher.’ This was Blaise’s contribution. ‘But harmless enough. He never quarrelled with anyone to my knowledge.’
‘Except Mother Copley,’ his brother added with a grin.
I seized on this. ‘He and Dame Copley didn’t get on?’
Bevis hunched his shoulders. He was a handsome lad of, I judged, about nineteen or twenty summers.
‘They fought over Gideon. He’s always been the old girl’s favourite, just as he’s our mother’s. He’s a sickly little beast, although not near as sickly as he likes to make out. At least, that’s my opinion.’
‘It’s everyone’s opinion,’ Blaise concurred heartily. ‘Gid’s a bit of a weasel. Likes to be coddled and made a fuss of. God’s toenails! Wasn’t there an almighty row when Mother insisted that Dame Copley accompany him to Minster Lovell?’ He chuckled reminiscently. ‘I thought Father was going to die of an apoplexy. Never seen anyone so mad in all my life.’
’But the women carried the day,’ his brother pointed out. ‘In the end, Father was no match for them, with their wailing and sulking and wringing of hands. And of course, Tutor Machin didn’t like it much, either. In fact, to say truth, he was furious. He’d hoped to get Gideon to himself, toughen him up a bit. And get some book learning into his silly little noddle.’
‘What about young Piers Daubenay?’ I asked.