by Sam Burnell
Clement’s clients varied. What his offices lacked in prestige the lawyer made up for in sheer animal cunning. You paid, and you got your result. The prices were often high, but Clement was very helpful in finding a missing witness or unearthing some critical written testimony. His services were highly valued by his clients, even if his methods were questionable.
Robert Fitzwarren had used Clement twice in the past. Once to help him prove that the debts he had accumulated, which he had neither the means nor inclination to pay, had indeed been discharged. Clement produced evidence of payment and receipts. The poor silversmith had been hard pressed to refute these and had left the Court with nothing. Fitzwarren’s legal bill had been considerable, but it was still a lot less than he had owed to the silversmith.
The second time he had need of his services Clement had proved superbly efficient in proving, without a shadow of doubt, that Robert Fitzwarren had indeed been absent from London at the time a man was beaten to death in Crane Street, despite there being several compelling witnesses stating that he had indeed delivered the fatal blow.
Robert Fitzwarren was a client worth keeping and when Jack had turned up with the letter from his bumbling brother and a tale of a lost inheritance Clement had wasted no time. After reading the letter from his brother he had quickly sent word for two men he used regularly for the collection of his client’s debts and had engaged them to follow Jack. When Jack had left Clement’s dank offices, he suspected not at all that he was followed.
They had reported directly back on Jack’s visit to his father’s house and also supplied Clement with details of the inn that Jack was stopping in. That was enough for Clement, and he passed what information he had on to Robert Fitzwarren for a reward he hoped to receive sooner rather than later. Not averse to a little blackmail, there was more than a slight hint in his letter to Robert that, of course, his silence on the matter could be guaranteed.
Clement did not know when he sent the letter that Robert was currently out of London at his father’s manor, hunting along with his cousin Harry, and it was another three days before Robert returned and read the note.
†
Jack ran his hands through his untidy hair and tried not to cast his mind back to the confrontation with his father. Could it have really gone so badly wrong? After all this time how could he have made such a mess of it? He knew the answer to this, unfortunately. The visit he made was an impulsive one: he had entered his father’s room with not a plan in his head. That’s why it had gone so wrong: no planning. Why was he such an idiot, could he not for once have learned from Richard?
Jack was trying now to fathom a path through the mire, asking himself what possibilities there were and what he could do with them. He’d been chased from William Fitzwarren’s house as a robber; he’d been outwitted in a few minutes by his aged father, that’s all it had taken. The lawyer was not going to offer him any help unless he had money and that was something that he had very little of, so that path was closed. He rocked back in the chair. Think, damn you, think. What would Richard do?
It was of little use, his tired brain came back constantly to the same conclusion – Richard would not have got himself into this mess in the first place.
The lawyer was not his fault. He’d been given assurances that this was his path to help. How was he to have known that the lawyer was a penny-pinching uncharitable dog? But his father? He could have handled that so much better.
What if he went back? Tried again?
Think, damn you, think!
†
Kate was back with Elizabeth. Even if the measure was only temporary, both women felt a marked upturn in their spirits. Even Travers was a happier man now that his household was no longer being tormented by the Lady Elizabeth. Kate, he had assured Elizabeth when she had enquired, could remain to tend to her over the next few days in case the toothache returned. Elizabeth, too sensible to press the case left it at that and contented herself with the small victory she had achieved.
Kate shared Elizabeth’s concerns over the plan to steal her, like some gilded plate, and take her to Holland.
“You would think they would have thought, at some point, to ask if this course would be acceptable to me,” Elizabeth stated again, the needlework forgotten in her lap. She’d been working on it for weeks but, agitated and easily distracted, her progress was painfully slow.
“They want a champion for their Protestant cause, naught else; to them you are just a trophy. If they did secure you from here, mark my words -” Kate put down the book she had been staring at but not reading. “- you’d be no freer than you are now.”
“I agree, no freer and no safer,” Elizabeth accepted. She tucked the needle into the fabric and discarded the material on the table. “I am safer here for the moment, and my protector is an unborn child it seems.”
“Aye, for the coming months Mary’s attention is going to be elsewhere and if she is brought to bed of a child then you’ll be safer still.” Kate agreed. She reached over and squeezed Elizabeth’s knee, recognising the tension building in the other again.
“A little safer, we will wait and see.” Elizabeth smiled maliciously, “remember Kate, the birthing chamber is a perilous place.”
“Especially for a woman of her years. If she thinks she will get some special dispensation from on high when it comes to birthing the babe, then she’ll be sadly mistaken,” agreed Kate.
Elizabeth’s face darkened as she remembered another loss. “Poor Katherine, she was thirty-six when her first child came.” Elizabeth’s stepmother had been Katherine Parr, queen to Henry VIII, who had married her childhood love Thomas Seymour shortly after the old Kings death. She had lived only long enough to see her baby four days old before she died.
“She was a good woman and it was grievously unfair what happened.” Kate shook her head sadly.
“I know,” Elizabeth sounded sad, “women ever seem to bear the burden men cannot carry.”
“Well Mary is older than Katherine, so you never know. I can’t see her having an easy time of it.” Kate agreed, hoping it would be the case.
“I do hope not,” Elizabeth mused, “but in the meantime the last thing I need is to be turned into the new Protestant torch bearer.”
“We are well warned, we know their plan even if we do not know the date, and if it comes into play we can at least take matters into our own hands to avoid them” Kate reassured.
“Indeed, it is well that we know.” Elizabeth laughed, “every time I smell smoke I think to run to find you!”
Elizabeth had been held for two months in the Tower in 1554 and knew she owed her present reinstatement of liberty to Spain. A political pawn, and a popular one with the people, Phillip realised early on that he could ill-afford for his wife to anger her populace by harming her sister, Elizabeth. The thoughts that ran through Elizabeth’s head about Mary’s troubled birthing were also thoughts not far from the minds of Phillip and his advisors. He could always, they had suggested, marry the sister; she may be a Protestant, but it would keep England from France’s hands. So they all waited. No decision, no plan, no firm course of action could be taken or laid out until Mary emerged from her confinement with, or without, a child.
Chapter Five
†
“Why didn’t you tell me he’d been here?” Robert Fitzwarren demanded. He waved Clement’s letter in his father’s face and the old man sank back in his chair. “He’s a bloody risk. Look at this, he’s been to see a lawyer. My bloody lawyer at that! God’s wounds, he needs to be brought to account and quickly. I knew I should not have let him live when I left him at Burton, but I thought such a snivelling underling would never amount to anything, let alone a threat. Now the gutter whelp has got a lawyer!”
“No, he tried to get a lawyer, not quite the same thing is it?” his father offered in a conciliatory tone.
“Oh, don’t bloody well sit there and correct me! This is all your fault anyway, you and your bloody conscience. If you h
adn’t felt the need to unburden your soul like some whining woman this would never have happened. Now this snivelling clod has your confession, God only knows where it and he will turn up next.”
William stared at him from his chair and wished again that his strength would return, for he would have knocked Robert to the floor and made him eat that bloody letter while he grovelled at his feet.
“Did he say nothing else? Is there anything else I need to know?” Robert brought his face close to William’s and a brutal hand dug into the flesh of his shoulder making the old man wince in pain. “Well, is there?”
“No, nothing. Robert, leave me be.” William begged.
“God curse you, can you not do anything right? You can’t even die and let me take on the Fitzwarren name in full, can you?” Robert turned, yelling full in William’s face “CAN YOU?”
William was quiet, he was well acquainted with Robert’s rages; once upon a time, it had been his own temper he’d turned on the boy. Now that time was passed, and he knew all too well what Robert was capable of and how much he was counting on his death when he could then fully control the wealth that, at the moment, still rested in his frail hands. William knew it would not take too much to push Robert too far, then he would bear what might be the final brunt of his anger. William kept his mouth shut and spoke not a word about the visit he had endured from Robert’s other brother, the supposedly dead Richard.
Robert smoothed out again the letter from Clement that he had balled in his fist, his breathing calming as he started to think of a way forward. “He says here he has taken rooms at The Golden Swan.”
“He’ll be no match for you, Robert. Why don’t you take a few of the men…?” William ventured helpfully.
“For God’s sake, I sometimes do think you want rid of me! Is that the best you can think of? I take myself there and kill him in cold blood. He might not have those papers on him anymore. What if he has persuaded some other lawyer who’ll work without a retainer to take his case? Any number of people could know of this by now.”
William gritted his teeth and waited for his son’s temper to settle itself.
“No, I need to be a little cleverer here; I need him and anything he might have that could harm us.”
William’s eyebrows raised at the use of the word “us.” Robert didn’t give a damn about him. Why had he protected the worthless wretch? Didn’t he realise that without him he would be shovelling horse shit, or worse, for the rest of his life?
“I’ll have a word with Clement. He knows how to keep his mouth shut when it counts and he knows how to get rid of people,” Robert was talking to himself.
Go on, shirk off your problems onto the backs of others, then howl with pain when they fail you – again, William thought. Instead he said, “Aye, Clement. A good idea, Robert, indeed.”
William sat staring at the fire for an age after Robert left. It took a long time to make his mind up, but make his mind up he did. He reached for the chain attached to the side table and pulled it angrily.
“Edwin, Edwin, get in here.”
Edwin arrived breathlessly a few moments later.
“I want you to deliver a message for me,” William barked.
“Certainly my Lord, I shall fetch pen…”
William cut Edwin off, “No you dolt. Remember my words and deliver them.”
Edwin was confused.
“Christian Carter, he lives near Blackfriars; you’ll find him easily enough. Go and tell him you have a message for him from William Fitzwarren, tell him…are you listening?
“Yes, yes my Lord,” Edwin replied quickly wringing his hands together.
“Tell him I wish for Richard…” William thought for a moment before he continued. “No, tell him I wish for my son to visit me.”
William sat back satisfied. “Now, tell me what is the message you will deliver and to whom?”
“My Lord, I shall deliver it to Christian Carter and tell him you wish for your son to visit you,” Edwin dutifully recited.
“Good, good. Now what day is it today?” William barked.
“It’s Wednesday, My Lord,” Edwin supplied hastily.
“Remember my message well and I want you to deliver it on Friday, Friday do you hear?” William instructed. Hopefully, by then, Robert would have disposed of Jack, but William would appear to have fulfilled the bargain he had struck with Richard.
“Friday, My Lord, I will remember,” Edwin replied, eager to be out of his Master’s presence.
“Aye, now be gone, and let me know when it’s done,” William closed his eyes, and a smile settled on his face. Old he might be, trapped in a spare and withered frame he was, but his mind still was a match for any of them; he’d show them all. Christian Carter had been a close friend of Richard’s. Indeed they had attended Cambridge together until Richard was thrown out. Carter had taken over his father’s business and was a wealthy merchant now, by all accounts.
†
Bartholomew stooped low to enter the tap room of The Golden Swan. He’d already been there earlier in the day and, as was his way, he had spoken quietly with the landlord about the man he sought. The landlord knew his trade as a debt collector and Bartholomew also told him as much. The landlord cared little; the man’s bill was paid and if Bartholomew wanted to return later and lay hands on him for an unpaid debt, then that was fine by him, as long as his fixtures remained intact and his patrons undisturbed. He had also helpfully pointed out that the man they sought had a horse in the inn stables that would fetch a goodly price and might indeed discharge a debt or two. Bartholomew had thanked him and, as he returned now, one of his men was indeed in the stables collecting Jack’s horse.
Jack had done little that day and now sat alone in the inn, his back to the wall, an untouched plate of food before him. Jack was dragged back from his reverie, as a man blocked the light from the open doorway Jack blinked. The rest of the inn was fairly empty, his new companion now sitting opposite him had not joined him due to a shortage of seating.
“Hello,” he ventured conversationally, loosening his hand from the cup and sliding it away, “Join me for a cup or two.” Jack’s voice bore the edge of inebriation, and, as he sat back and rested against the wooden wall, he misjudged the distance and his shoulders banged heavily against the panelling. “Whoops,” he said, smiling a little lopsidedly.
Bartholomew relaxed; this was going to be easy. He planted his big hands on his elbows and leant across the table so only Jack heard his words.
“Well, me good fellow, I’m a sorry one to spoil your afternoon but it seems my Master has an argument with you for not paying a bill or two.” Bartholomew held up his hand to silence Jack’s protest, “It’s all here in black and white,” he continued, pulling a paper from his jacket, “in the lawyer’s hand, if you could read which I’m damned sure you can’t. It says either you pay, or you get delivered to debtor’s gaol for them to deal with. Ah now, I’m a reasonable man,” Bartholomew raised his hand again, “and I’ll let you finish your ale. It’ll be a long time before you smell another one.” Jack did not pose much of a threat and he also wanted to give his companion a head start in retrieving the horse from the inn stable.
“Maybe I can pay,” Jack slurred, reaching for the paper. Bartholomew let him take it and smiled broadly as Jack unfolded it and held it upside down, purporting to read it. “It’s too dark in here, where’s the amount?”
“Here, you dolt,” Bartholomew took the paper from him and laid it down, pointing one blunt, meaty finger at the paper, “a hundred pounds, owed by Master Kilpatrick, and that’s you.”
Jack wasn’t reading the amount, his eyes instead were fastened on the name of the lawyer affirming the debt: Clement. The name Kilpatrick might be a false one, but the name of the lawyer certainly wasn’t.
“A hundred pounds,” he slurred, “I’ve never even seen a hundred pounds in my life! There’s a mistake.”
“You don’t look like you have, I agree, but if there’s a mis
take you can put it before Master Kettering at Marshalsea. Come on, sup up, and we’ll be on our way.”
Jack slumped back against the wall muttering, his eyes raised to the ceiling. His hands though, palms up, grasped the edge of the table tightly.
Bartholomew never saw it coming. The table smashed up into his nose, splintering bone and tearing sinew. Jack continued forcing the table onto the man until it took him over backward and onto the floor. Over it, as nimble and as sober as a child went Jack, making his way straight to the door before the big man even realised what had happened. His escape was neat and quick, he did not stop until he was four streets away and was fully assured that he was not being followed. Coming to a halt, he stood with his back to a wall trying to catch his breath, eyes on the street he had just come down.
Jack let out a cry of utter frustration. Now he truly had nothing. His cloak was back at the inn, his sword was in the room and his horse in the stable. All he had were the few coins he allotted himself for his evening’s ale, and a name: Clement. There could be only one explanation: the lawyer had gone to his family, this had to be their doing. He didn’t owe anyone any money. Fuming still, he set his feet back to the street and headed once more in the direction of Clement’s offices.
Jack knew London fairly well, but not as well as his pursuers did and they had not given up easily on their prey. Bartholomew was furious. He had four men with him who he sent out to try and find the bastard. When he found him he intended to make his displeasure known only too well.
Rounding the next corner, hands holding his jacket closed against the cold, Jack did not see the man approaching until he gave a piercing whistle to alert his fellows. Jack quickly turned and attempted to double back the way he had come but found the route blocked by another man with an evil grin.