by Sam Burnell
“The candle,” Jack’s voice was a quiet, shaky plea.
Lizbet saw the look on his face and understood. Nimble fingers nipped the wick straight and she lit it quickly with a spill from the fire in the other room. Kneeling, she set it close to Jack on the floor, watching the yellow flame dance in his eyes as he stared at it.
†
The only thing within reach was a wine flagon. Clement grasped it and hurled it at the wall, where it smashed into a hundred pieces and spread a wet, red stain across the wood panelling.
“How can everything go this badly wrong?” Clement shouted. “Damned Kettering has ruined my plan; too bloody clever for his own good. They’ve lost that bastard at Marshalsea by the look of it.”
“Lost him?” Marcus asked, stooping to collect the largest pottery shards from the floor.
“Well, he went in, Bartholomew’s men took him in, the paperwork was correct and he should be rotting in their cells right now, but he’s not.” Clement dropped back heavily in his chair.
“How, sir?” asked Marcus his hands full of pottery. He looked at the mess; he’d need to get a cloth before the wine soaked into the files and set the ink to run as well.
“How should I know? Kettering said his debt was redeemed, nobody was going to pay it, it was a false name and a false debt, so who on earth could know about it? Now Fitzwarren wants to know what’s happened - he’s hoping the man has perished as I promised he would. How can I tell him he’s vanished?” Clement flustered hotly. “He’s got the worst temper on him of any man I’ve ever come across.”
Marcus glanced up at that remark: Clement’s temper was not much better. “Master he’s not likely to go to Marshalsea and check, why not just tell him what he wants to know?”
“What, tell him that the wretch is dead? What if he turns up?” Clement flung his arms wide.
“It could be he is still in Marshalsea. As you said Master, no-one knew he was in there so who could have paid his debts off?” Marcus suggested. He’d collected all the broken pieces now and was picking up files and letting the wine run from them to the floor to limit the damage.
“True, true,” Clement thinking it over, tapped his chin with his forefinger. “And if he does turn up then we can deal with that problem later. Pass me paper and pen - I’ll write to Fitzwarren now. Maybe it will put him in a good mood and we can go forward on the other legal matters he’s been looking to set in motion.”
Clement finished the letter to Robert Fitzwarren and put it aside, Marcus would arrange for it to be delivered later. The letter from Kettering he opened again and spread before him. He had been going to burn it and leave the matter well alone, but Clement was a greedy man and he could not resist. Kettering’s letter detailed the discharge of the debt owed by Master Kilpatrick of one hundred pounds and, after the fees payable to Marshalsea, there remained an amount for collection of eighty one pounds. That was a lot of money. As the fictitious debtors lawyer Clement was entitled to collect this on behalf of his client, deduct from it his own fees and pass the remainder on. If he did not collect it then the money would remain to line Kettering’s pockets. Clement reasoned that he had to collect it, if he didn’t it would look more than suspicious that such a large sum remained unclaimed; he had indeed little choice but to take it himself.
†
Elizabeth and Kate sat together in a window seat. Kate was sewing and Elizabeth stared at the grey winter beyond the window. She felt the cold coming through the glass; so far that winter, the snow had stayed away but the rain and sleet had barely stopped. The weather matched her mood.
“So, she saved his life? Richard told you that?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, he didn’t tell me how, or what happened, but he said that this was the debt he owed her,” Kate replied, looking up from her needlework.
“Well then, it’s a cold afternoon and I could use a fiery tale to warm me. Bring her up to my room and she can regale me with how she managed to save a man who I know needs no saviour,” Elizabeth said, her eyes still fixed on the cold vista outside.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Kate asked, now regretting now having mentioned it. “We know nothing about her.”
“Well then let’s change that, shall we?” Elizabeth returned her gaze to the room and meet Kate’s eyes. “She can bring me a drink in my room.”
Kate bobbed a curtsey, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut about the newly arrived Catherine and her acquaintance with Elizabeth’s friend Richard. It was her own fault, but days that were long and tensions high meant any distraction was one to be seized upon and followed to its final conclusion. Anything at all that would help to pass the excruciating hours was welcome.
†
“Now take this in,” Kate instructed Catherine, straightening the glass and jug on the tray.
Catherine opened the door with one hand and manoeuvred through, carefully closing it behind her. When she turned to enter the room, she was bought up short by the expression on the face of the woman standing near the fire. Catherine dropped her eyes to the floor, fervently wishing herself elsewhere.
“Bring it over here.” Elizabeth indicated a table for her to deposit the tray.
Catherine brought it over and, placing the tray down, began to pour wine into the glass.
“I don’t want any,” Elizabeth stepped back and seated herself neatly in the chair behind her.
Catherine stood, paralysed, in the act of pouring the wine.
Elizabeth settled back in the chair and turned her father’s hard gaze on the girl before her. “So, a tale has come to me that you are acquainted with Richard Fitzwarren?”
“I am, my Lady,” Catherine replied quietly, lowering the jug and putting it down quietly on the tray.
“Well then, tell me how?” demanded Elizabeth. Her hands folded in her lap, she looked supremely relaxed and very much in control.
“How? My Lady?” Catherine stammered.
“Yes how girl, it’s not a hard question is it?” Elizabeth demanded.
“I met him…”
“I can’t hear a damn word, come and stand here.” Elizabeth pointed imperiously to a spot on the carpet just in front of her chair.
Catherine stood where she was bid. “My Lady, he led a troop of men who took over my father’s house,” then she added, “my home.”
“When was this?” Elizabeth demanded.
“Nearly two years ago my lady, in the summer of 1554,” Catherine supplied, her confidence returning as her breathing evened out again.
“And he’s kept you with him since?” Elizabeth sounded quite shocked. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, my lady,” Catherine replied honestly.
“So I am told he owes you a debt, am I to believe you saved his life?” Elizabeth asked, looking the child before her up and down, a poor mousey brown creature indeed.
“I tried to help when he needed it, my Lady,” Catherine was unsure of what she should or should not relate of the final events at the manor at Burton.
“And how did you render this help?” Elizabeth asked, now quite interested.
Catherine cleared her throat: she’d had enough of this. “There was a warrant for his arrest my lady, but they did not wish for him to stand trial. Instead, they arranged for a trial by combat for their own sport. He had little chance to escape and I offered myself as a hostage so that he could escape from them.”
“Oh a victim, yes you do look like you would fit such a role,” Elizabeth sounded smug. “And so he feels duty bound to discharge the debt. How very like Richard. And now you are indebted to me.”
“How so my lady?” Catherine immediately wished she could take back the words.
Elizabeth’s cold eyes met her own, “Well you are now hiding in the very last place anyone would ever look for you, are you not?” Elizabeth told her. “You will of course mention his name to no-one, the association could be a dangerous one for you.”
“I have already been told, my Lady,” C
atherine replied.
“Well I am reminding you of your duty. Not a word,” said Elizabeth sternly.
Catherine was waved from her presence, regaining the proper use of her legs once she was on the other side of the door and it was closed behind her. Outside she found Kate, whose gaze was no less harsh than that of her mistress.
“This is a strict house and these are difficult times. Make sure you keep your counsel close,” she warned.
“Yes, my lady,” Kate disappeared to join her mistress and Catherine made a hasty retreat.
†
Jack was confused. No, Jack was confused and angry. So many thoughts fought in his mind for his attention. He’d pick up one thread, follow it for a while until either it became too painful to dwell on anymore, or another distracted his attention. When he’d left Burton his brother was alive, he should have known, someone should have told him. Did Dan know? Did Mat know? Jamie had known and the bastard had just let Jack tear himself apart. He’d ended up with nothing, in the pit at Marshalsea, facing a devil in the dark and two bloody words, ‘He’s alive,’ would have stopped that. He would not have ended up there, of that he was sure.
He would have taken Richard somewhere, helped him recover and then the two of them, together, could have begun again. Being with Richard offered safety and shelter from the world, he’d have known where they would go next; he would not have led Jack to the hell he had ended up in.
It had been chance that Richard had found out that he was in Marshalsea. Jack couldn’t face that thought for very long; the hard claw seemed to force its way into his chest and clamp his heart in a sickening grasp. The knowledge that he owed his escape to luck was too fearful to contemplate and he moved away from those thoughts very quickly. He feared Fate would shake her fickle finger at him and send him back.
Richard had been alive. Worse, he’d recovered and come to London. He had not gone looking for Jack. The rejection left him feeling cold. If the roles were reversed Jack knew he would have moved anything in his path to find his brother. Richard had come to London and Jack had an awful feeling that he knew why.
Sitting alone, with little to do, pain a constant reminder of Marshalsea, his tired mind convinced himself he’d been driven there and that part of that fault lay in his brother’s hands. If Richard had set himself to look for Jack then that course would have changed. If someone had told him his brother was alive it would have all been so different.
Jack was in the middle of his own gloomy nightmare when the door opened and Lizbet came in, a smile on her face. “And how’s my lad this morning then?” Her brow furrowed when she saw his eyes drop from hers and he failed to return her smile. “What’s the matter?” She came and sat on the edge of the bed, reached her hand out and stroked his forehead and he pulled away from her touch. “This is not like you, tell me what’s wrong.” Lizbet had found him in his sentient moments both likeable and charming, with a quick smile, sparkling blue eyes and, now the bruises were diminishing, a fair face that would please any girl.
“Just leave me be, Lizbet,” Jack tried to turn away from her.
“You’ve not scratched those bandages off again have you?” Lizbet was having none of it and pulling the blanket down started to inspect the dressings on his wrists. When the fever had been upon him he’d clawed at them constantly, setting them to bleeding again.
“Leave me be woman!” His voice this time had an edge that stopped Lizbet and she dropped the blanket back on him.
Recovering, he was no longer docile and compliant. Lizbet persisted and held out a cup for him. “I’ll leave your…”
Jack batted the cup from her hand and sent it to clank against the door. Lizbet leapt back startled, her fingers stinging from the blow.
“Just get out! Get out now!” Jack’s shouted, his head turned towards the wall.
Lizbet slammed the door to his room. Rubbing her fingers and muttering under her breath. She met Richard’s enquiring eyes.
“What’s the matter with him?” Richard sounded worried - he could hardly not have heard the commotion. “Has the fever come back?”
“It’s not fever, he’s got a temper on him and it’s nothing I’ve done. He’ll not let me see to him, he’s shouting and I can’t force him can I?” Lizbet was truly upset.
“I’ll go and talk to him,” Richard conceded, squeezing her arm as he passed her. “It’s not your fault.” He knew he should have done this earlier, he shouldn’t have left it so long.
†
Richard sat on the chair in the room Jack occupied, his feet up on the end of the bed. Jack, propped up on pillows and still swaddled in Lucy’s linen wraps was feeling less than comfortable. It was one thing having to sit helplessly while the woman fussed about him, but it was quite another to have to sit in a bed in the presence of his brother. Especially now Richard asked questions about how Jack had ended up in gaol. Jack knew the answers he gave sounded poor. He wanted to get up, desperately wanted to see what lay outside of the four walls he was forced to stare at, but so far neither Richard or Lizbet were prepared to let him leave the bed. Jack’s mood was still belligerent, and he was having difficulty dealing with the fact that Richard had left him, abandoned him to his own devices and had taken himself to London without him.
“What happened, Jack, for you to end up in Marshalsea?” Richard asked again.
Jack looked up from the bed into Richard’s face. “Oh I see, you actually think I owed that bloody money do you?”
“I didn’t say that…”
“You don’t have to it’s written all over your bloody face.” Jack retorted hotly.
“Give me patience,” Richard spoke through clenched teeth.
“Patience? I’ve run out of patience. Have you any idea what it was like in there?” Jack retorted.
“I can imagine,” Richard spoke in a voice aimed to calm the other. “I don’t think this was through your fault Jack, this was by design but I’m not sure how. My horse, Corracha, was taken to our father’s house after they took you to Marshalsea and that didn’t happen by accident did it?”
“No, it didn’t,” Jack accepted grudgingly. “I was taken there and left to die, Richard that is the truth of it. I’d thought a lawyer would help me. I had a letter from his brother recommending my case, but he wanted nothing to do with me and showed me the door. Aye and it was his bloody name on the debtor’s papers.”
“A lawyer. Who was that?” Richard asked, truly interested now.
Jack told him briefly of his trip North to York and the letter of recommendation Roger Clement had given him to present to his brother. “…I gave him the letter but he wasn’t interested and practically threw me from the door. The letter and the family papers I had were taken from me at Marshalsea.”
Richard pushed himself from the bed. “I got what papers you had on you back from Kettering.” He returned a moment later with them in his hand. “We both know what that one is,” and he discarded the sheet containing their father’s confession on the bed; the other he opened and read thoughtfully as he sat back down.
“I did truly believe he was going to help me,” Jack then added defensively, “I couldn’t have known of the connection to Robert or William, how could I?”
Richard folded the sheet and sent it spinning to land on top of the other folded paper. “You couldn’t, maybe you should have found out a little more about his clientele before you opened his door. I am guessing Clement will have the answers as to why you were in Marshalsea. Shall I pay him a visit?”
“No. Don’t,” Jack responded quickly, “I’d like to do that myself. I’ll not be laid on my back in here forever you know. And believe me, I have a score to settle there.”
“I got this back as well.” Richard delved into a pocket and threw over the black crested ring Catherine had given to Master Kettering. It landed near Jack’s hand; he looked at it but didn’t reach out and take it.
“I’ve told you before, the only person who will help you is yourself,” R
ichard watched his brother carefully.
“Well there’s a truth in that, isn’t there,” Jack muttered, his blue eye’s holding those of his brother.
Richard held his gaze; he could read the question on Jack’s face and after a moment he answered it. “I would have found you, Jack. When I came to London I could barely sit on a horse, I had little money. What would you have had me do?”
Jack dropped his gaze first and rubbed his face with the back of his hand. “Would you have looked for me?”
“You’ve sat in here too long on your own, you idiot. Of course I would have tried to find you. As it is fortune smiled did it not?”
“Fortunate I ended in Marshalsea?” Jack countered.
“No, fortunate that Catherine found out. I got you out, Jack, remember that,” Richard reminded him firmly; he knew Jack well enough to know he dealt in facts. Changing the subject, he added, “and then you went to see our father?”
“Aye, after I’d seen that damned lawyer.” Jack met Richard’s eyes, “I was at an end, I truly did not know what to do next. I don’t have your…”
“Sense of purpose?” Richard supplied, unhelpfully.
“Aye, go on, there’s the sheep and the shepherd and we both know I’m one of those woolly beggars.” Jack lamented.
Richard ignored his brother’s self-pity. “So William, did he welcome you with open arms?”
“No; he tricked me and shouted robber and I only just got out of the place before they grabbed me,” Jack sounded gloomy. “It wasn’t one of my best moments.”
“Well, we will go and see Clement soon and I’m sure he will be forthcoming when we put a few questions to him,” Richard reassured.
“If that snivelling lawyer had anything to do with putting me into Marshalsea, he’ll be more than forthcoming, believe me,” growled Jack.
“Let him answer our questions first before you take your anger out on him,” Richard suggested evenly.
“Richard, in Marshalsea there was someone else with you,” Jack spoke hesitantly. “I cannot really remember, but I heard the voice, my head was fair spinning with pain. I remember very little, just that voice. Who was there with you?”