Audrey Owlgrave, who had also risen, put a steadying hand on my arm. ‘You mustn’t do that,’ she said quickly. ‘That would be dangerous.’
I stared blankly at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Sir Pomfret would be bound to question this Dame Copley immediately. Moreover, he would take the tale to Lord Lovell or even possibly to His Grace of Gloucester himself, since you tell me of his interest in the matter.’
‘So?’
She gave my arm an impatient shake. ‘Don’t you see? Dame Copley would deny all complicity in the abduction. So would this Mistress Hill you mention. Where’s your proof? You have none. Only suspicions based on what I’ve told you. And don’t expect me to come forward to back you up. In Southwark, most of us steer clear of any contact with Authority. Finally, I warn you that you would never see the Fitzalan boy alive again, nor ever find out what had become of him. He would be killed at once and his body disposed of.’
I looked at her despairingly. ‘What am I to do, then?’
Audrey grimaced. ‘As far as I can see, your only hope is to trace the boy’s whereabouts and rescue him before any harm befalls him. It’s a slim chance, a very slim chance I agree. But take it from me, you have no other choice.’
While she was speaking, her features had grown blurred, as though a hand had smudged them, and her voice had grown fainter. Suddenly my legs collapsed beneath me, so that I found myself once again sitting on the floor. I heard Bertha curse, and the next moment two pairs of female hands were pushing my head down between my knees. Gradually, the yellow mist that had been clouding my vision dispersed and I began to feel a little better. Cautiously, I lifted my head.
‘What. . what happened?’
‘You was nigh on swoonin’ that’s what ’appened,’ Bertha said severely. ‘You’m not well, which ain’t surprisin’ after all you’m bin through. That were a nasty blow to the back o’ your ’ead, not to mention nearly drownin’. Before you do anythin’ else me lad, you needs rest.’
‘I don’t have time,’ I protested.
Mistress Owlgrave added her voice to the argument. ‘That’s foolish, talk,’ she reproved me. ‘If you don’t give your body time to recover, you won’t be fit enough to do anything at all. Besides, I would advise you to lie low for the remainder of today and tomorrow for another reason. Let your attacker — or attackers — think, for a while at least, that they’ve succeeded in their object; that they’ve successfully disposed of you. It might make them less careful in laying their plans which inevitably will be for Monday, Midsummer Eve. And the shock of seeing you when you do eventually turn up, may disrupt those plans even further.’
There was a great deal of sense in what she said, and I couldn’t deny that the thought of sleeping solidly in a comfortable bed for several hours was most attractive. But where could I go? Baynard’s Castle was out of the question. Even the sentries would recognize me there, and the news of my return would circulate within minutes. On the other hand, the thought of another prolonged stay in Bertha’s hut, with nothing but the floor for a bed, was an uninviting prospect.
I became aware of the women’s voices.
‘A room at the Rattlebones,’ Audrey Owlgrave was saying. ‘Does he have money?’
‘Enough.’ Bertha answered shortly. Then she added, ‘Ye’re right. ’E’ll be safe there. No questions asked and none answered if anyone comes pokin’ around. Which ain’t likely. But still, you never knows. If ye’re goin’ ’ome now, I’ll come with you and make arrangements with the landlord. ’E knows me.’
‘He knows me equally well,’ Audrey said a little stiffly. She glanced down at me, where I still sat ignominiously on the floor. ‘However, I suppose Master Chapman is your responsibility. I’ll wish you good-day then, Bertha.’
She made for the door, while Bertha assisted me as best she could to rise. As I felt the stool wobble insecurely beneath me, Mistress Owlgrave paused, then turned and came back into the hut.
‘These Fitzalans,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘From something Bertha mentioned when she was telling me your story, I gather that there seem to be a lot of them. Brothers, uncles. All men, in fact. Can you tell me exactly how many? Start with the missing boy. Would you be able to name his brothers?’
‘Is it important?’ My head was splitting and growing worse in the heat from Bertha’s fire.
My interrogator nodded. ‘I think it might be. But if it’s a feat beyond your powers, don’t fret yourself. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.’ And once again, she turned to go.
‘No, wait.’ I smiled weakly. ‘If there’s one gift God gave me above all others, it’s a good memory. Gideon, I think, has six brothers. I’ve met two of them, Bevis and Blaise, and heard the other four mentioned.’ I wiped the sweat from my brow with my sleeve. ‘Let me see. . Thomas. . Maurice. . and Henry, is it? No, Henry’s one of the uncles. Thomas, Maurice. . Peter. Yes, Peter! And. . and Cornelius,’ I finished triumphantly.
Mistress Owlgrave gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘And the father and uncles?’
‘Sir Pomfret is his sire.’ I chewed on a fingernail, while Bertha, her mission to the Rattlebones temporarily forgotten, regarded us both, saucer-eyed. ‘Then there are the twins, Lewis and Godfrey and. . and. .’ Suddenly my dream came back to me. I could hear the Duchess of York’s voice ringing clearly in my ears. I finished with perfect confidence, ‘And Warren, Henry, Raisley, George.’
Audrey Owlgrave stared at me long and hard. ‘You’re sure of this?’
‘Yes. Perfectly sure. I tell you, my memory-’
She interrupted ruthlessly. ‘And this Sir Pomfret, the father, do you happen to know if he is the youngest of his brothers?’
‘I believe so.’ I was still baffled.
‘Ah! Then the mystery is solved.’ Audrey flung out her hands. ‘Gideon Fitzalan is that comparatively rare being, the seventh son of a seventh son. A child possessed of special powers, and therefore. .’
‘And therefore what?’
The fire suddenly hissed and spat, making me jump. I felt ill again. The hut was starting to spin once more and I was finding it difficult to breathe. I was conscious of something evil reaching for me out of a darkness that threatened to engulf my very soul. I was terrified as I had never been terrified before.
‘’Ere, drink this.’
I realized that Bertha had an arm about my shoulders, pressing me to her unsavoury bosom, while with her right hand she was attempting to force a fiery-tasting liquid down my throat. I recognized the taste and I hated it. It was some disgusting stuff that the Scots drank. The Water of Life they call it (they would!), but it had never done anything for me but make me sick. Spluttering, I pushed the leather bottle away from my lips.
‘Where’s. . where’s Mistress Owlgrave?’ I asked unsteadily, freeing myself from Bertha’s determined embrace.
‘Gone ’ome.’ Bertha stoppered the mouth of the bottle with a grimy rag. ‘Don’ you like this? Sometimes, when boats do come down from Scotland, the sailors’ll part with a drop or two if I speaks ’em fair.’ She smacked her lips. ‘It makes you forget yer troubles. Well, I’m off now to the Rattlebones. You just sit there quiet, my lad, until I gets back.’ She shook her fist at me. ‘I’ve taken some money out yer purse, enough t’ pay yer shot fer a night. But you’d best leave the rest with me until you goes back over the river. The Bones ain’t no place to be carrying money on you.’
With that, she disappeared out of the door, leaving me, my head still swimming, to think over what Audrey Owlgrave had told me. I knew now that whatever I was up against was entirely evil and that both Dame Copley and Amphillis Hill were probably mixed up in it; also, quite possibly — indeed, more than likely — the nurse’s sister, Etheldreda Simpkins. I also knew that Gideon Fitzalan was in mortal danger and that I had to find him. But where he was, or how to start looking for him, I had no idea. I was so tired that my mind refused to function. All I wanted to do was sleep.