‘What is this?’ he asked.
‘Food,’ grunted the keeper.
‘Is this all that I am to be served?’
‘Unless you have some garnish about you.’
‘I have to bribe you in order to eat?’
‘This is prison, sir.’
Hoode bridled. ‘Fetch the warden,’ he said. ‘I wish to complain. I also wish to know exactly why I was brought here and how long I am to be kept in this disgusting hole. It is not fit for the meanest animal. Fetch him at once.’
The man let out a cackle of amusement before throwing the bread on to the ground and tipping the water after it. Hoode was still protesting when the door was slammed in his face. He kept on yelling until the rising stench of his cell made him cough uncontrollably. The Marshalsea accorded him no respect whatsoever. He was just one more nameless victim of its grisly regime. As he collapsed to the floor in a dejected heap, he wondered what other tribulations lay in store for him.
***
Nicholas Bracewell left London early that morning on a bay mare he had borrowed from Lawrence Firethorn. He rode at a canter and paused only once to take refreshment at a wayside inn and to water his horse. When he reached Greenwich, he spent time exploring the village and admiring its verdant setting. He also took the opportunity of asking after Orlando Reeve. The local vintner told him that the fat musician lived in a cottage just outside the village. Nicholas thanked him and rode over to the house, giving it a cursory inspection before continuing on past Greenwich Park to the palace itself. The Queen’s summer residence looked serene and stately in the morning sunlight but it held dark secrets inside it. He knew that he would have to plumb some of its mysteries before his work was done.
Returning to the village, he went along the main street to the Brinklow house. The servant who answered the front door carried word of his unheralded arrival to Emilia. She was highly surprised to learn that he was on her doorstep but agreed at once to see him. Nicholas was shown into the parlour and greeted by the mistress of the house. Emilia looked drawn and jaded. Her red-rimmed eyes had obviously shed many a tear during the night. Her voice was brittle.
‘Please take a seat,’ she said, indicating a chair.
‘Thank you.’
‘I hardly thought to see you here again.’
‘It was needful,’ said Nicholas, sitting opposite her. ‘I am glad to find you at home. Is Master Chaloner here?’
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Why should he be? Simon and I are betrothed but it would be most unseemly for us to live beneath the same roof until the proper time. I hope that you did not think otherwise.’
‘I thought only of yesterday’s sad events. In view of those, I wondered if Master Chaloner felt obliged to remain here in order to offer you his protection.’
‘He has done that every night for months but I have always refused. I need no protection. I am not afraid. This is my home. I am quite safe here.’
‘That is what your brother believed,’ he said softly.
Emilia recoiled slightly as if from a blow. Nicholas chided himself for such a tactless remark and reached out an appeasing hand. Making a swift recovery, she waved it away and stared levelly at him. He sensed once again the single-minded determination that had reminded him so much of Anne Hendrik. Most women would be frightened to be alone in such a large house filled with so many bitter memories but Emilia Brinklow was not. She loved the home and wrapped it around her like a garment.
‘Why did you come, sir?’ she asked.
‘To speak with you and Master Chaloner.’
‘Do you not have problems to deal with in London?’
‘They can only be solved here.’
‘In Greenwich?’
‘In this house-and at the palace.’
‘How?’
‘That is what I have come to find out.’
A considered pause. ‘You may certainly count on my help,’ she said at length. ‘I am racked by guilt at the way that Westfield’s Men have suffered at my hands. If there is any way in which I may alleviate that suffering, you have only to tell me what it is.’
‘I need to put some more questions to you,’ he said.
‘You will find me ready in my answers.’
‘Necessity compels me to be blunt.’
‘That will not vex me.’
She held his gaze for a long time and he felt the pull of her attraction. It was patently mutual. Completely alone for the first time, each felt a surge of affection for the other which was at once incongruous yet perfectly natural. Nicholas wished that he could have met her in another place and in different circumstances. The smile in her eyes told him that she read and approved his thoughts.
‘Very well, Nicholas,’ she said, using his name for the first time. ‘Do not spare me. Be blunt.’
‘On the night of the murder, you were not in the house.’
‘That is true.’
‘Where were you?’
‘Staying with friends at a cottage in Dartford.’
‘When did you learn of the tragedy?’
‘The same night,’ she said. ‘One of the servants rode out to fetch me. I came back with him at once to find the house in turmoil. You can imagine my grief. Thomas, my dear brother, so full of life and feeling-murdered.’ She bit her lip as the memory stung her afresh. ‘It was unbearable.’
‘When had you last seen him?’
‘Seen him?’
‘Your brother. Before that terrible discovery.’
Emilia hesitated. ‘Two days earlier,’ she said finally. ‘Thomas had been away on business.’
‘In London?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know the nature of that business?’
‘How should I?’
‘You took such an interest in his work.’
‘I was proud of it,’ she said vehemently. ‘Thomas was a brilliant man. He excelled at everything he touched. But he was also very secretive and only let me see what he wanted to show me. He never discussed his business with me.’
‘What was he working on when he was killed?’
‘I cannot say.’
‘Have you no idea at all?’
‘None. Why do you ask?’
‘Because I think it has a bearing on his murder.’
‘Sir John Tarker instigated that.’
‘He was involved in the plot certainly.’
‘It was all his doing,’ she argued. ‘You have seen the evidence that Simon collected. It cannot be denied. Sir John Tarker had my brother killed. The Roaring Boy proved that.’
‘The play may have been wrong.’
It was a mild statement but it ignited a spark of anger in Emilia, casting out any vestige of affection for him and replacing it with an icy disdain. She was shaking as she rose to her feet and stood over him.
‘What do you know about it, sir?’ she demanded. ‘Have you learned more about this case in five minutes than I have in five months? Have you risked life and limb to gather all the facts as Simon has done? What gives you the right to tell us that we are mistaken? If Sir John Tarker is not the villain here, why did he have the play destroyed before it could pronounce his detested name?’
‘Calm down,’ he soothed. ‘I spoke not to rouse you.’
‘Well, that is what you have done.’
‘It was a suggestion only.’
‘Then you have seen my estimation of it.’
‘We are on the same side,’ he urged. ‘If we are ever to see this matter resolved, we must work closely together.’
Her rage subsided and she nodded her agreement, sinking back down on to the chair. But her cheeks were still inflamed and her manner was far more watchful. Nicholas set about repairing some of the damage.
‘I spoke out of turn and accept your just rebuke.’
‘You touched unwittingly on raw flesh.’
‘My clumsiness distresses me.’
‘It did not deserve such fury,’ she apologised.
‘Perhaps it did. I know now where I stand.’
Emilia Brinklow looked at him with a curious amalgam of suspicion and wistfulness, still hurt by what he had said while remembering his many good qualities. She made a visible effort to subdue her irritation and even managed a smile of conciliation.