by Sam Burnell
The lad bobbed his head. “I’ll fetch master Ronan, sir.” In a moment, the lad was gone and Marcus was left alone with the two horses in the empty yard.
The boy reappeared a few moments later, beckoning him to follow him. Marcus looked about him helplessly and then quickly hooked his horse’s reins through a tethering ring and followed in the boy’s footsteps. He met the steward coming down the corridor towards him.
“Ronan Hitchson, Lord Fitzwarren’s steward,” he supplied, then reaching out a hand he cuffed the boy round the back of the head . “Did I tell you to fetch him in here?”
“No master, sorry master,” the boy blurted, a hand going to his head to protect himself from another blow. Marcus winced as he noticed the boy’s right eye was a milky white. Blind.
“Get off with you, before you earn another beating!”
The boy didn’t need telling twice. Without a backward glance, he disappeared into the gap between Ronan and Marcus, then dived through the open door and back into the yard.
“Lad’s simple,” Ronan said, then turning his attention to Marcus, he asked, “How can I help?”
Marcus sounded relieved. At least his errand was finished and he could begin to pick his way back home through London before the day was finished. “I have a note for Master Fitzwarren from his lawyer. I’ve been instructed to deliver it in person.” He had the square of parchment in his hand.
Ronan reached out to take it. “Master Fitzwarren is not here at the moment, but I will make sure he receives it.”
Marcus hesitated. “It’s urgent, please impress this upon him, sir. Can you let me know when he returns so my master, Lawyer Clement, will know when he has read it please.”
“He will be back tonight. He’s sent ahead to have a meal prepared so I’ll make sure he has this as soon as he returns,” Ronan supplied.
Marcus had little choice but to hand over the parchment and leave. He knew Clement would not be satisfied with his answer that he had left his message with a steward and had not made sure it was directly in Fitzwarren’s hands, but there was not a lot else he could do.
Ronan watched Marcus leave and tucked the note inside his leather jerkin. As soon as he turned, he heard the voice of William Fitzwarren through the panelled corridor behind him. Since the Lord had moved from the top floor, there was little that got past him and he had his nose stuck firmly into everyone’s business. Ronan opened the door to William Fitzwarren’s room and stood on the threshold, hoping for a quick dismissal.
“Who was that?” demanded William Fitzwarren, turning in his chair and glowering at Ronan who stood in the doorway.
“Just a messenger for Master Fitzwarren,” Ronan provided accurately.
“Come in here, man. Don’t make me twist round in the chair. Stand where I can see you properly, and don’t address me from the threshold of my own room – damn you.”
Ronan kept his expression blank, eyes downcast, and moved into the room to stand in front of William.
“A message from who?” William demanded when Ronan was finally stood where he wanted him, and William was sat back in his chair.
“From his lawyer, my lord,” Ronan provided.
William’s eyebrows shot up. From his lawyer? What was his scheming son up to now? “Give it here.” William held out his hand for the message and Ronan hesitated for a moment too long. “I said give it here, you churl, now!”
There was little Ronan could do but produce the square and hand it to William who immediately waved him from his presence. Reaching for his glasses, William pushed them onto his gnarled nose and looked at the letter. It was one sheet, folded and sealed with the lawyer’s crest on the reverse. William tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair thoughtfully. He badly wanted to read it but at the same time, breaking the seal was likely to rouse Robert’s violent temper and he could do little to resist it these days. A moment later and he had made his decision. He pulled repeatedly on the chain attached to the table next to him and was rewarded moments later when Edwin presented himself in the room.
“Close the door,” William demanded.
Edwin complied immediately.
“You are going to do something for me, and not a word to my son – do you hear?” William said slowly.
Edwin’s eyes widened in fear. “Of course, My Lord.”
“Swear it.”
“My Lord, I swear I will say not a word.” Edwin’s voice shook as he wondered exactly what he was about to be involved in.
“Good. Get me those two candles from over there.” William nodded and watched Edwin as he collected the two silver candle holders and brought them to the table and laid them where he was bid. “Now light them and fetch me that silver plate from over there, not the large one, you idiot, yes, the small one.”
Edwin, with trembling hands, lit both candles.
“Hold that plate over them, hold it with your sleeves, man, it’s going to get hot,” William commanded. With his nail he rasped away a tiny curl of wax from the side of the seal on the Clement’s letter and waited.
“Hold it closer.”
Edwin holding the hot silver plate presented it before William who tipped the curled wax shard on to the plate and watched with satisfaction as it melted. “Now hold it still.” William pressed the letter flat onto the silver plate. His fingertips, holding the paper down, could feel the heat through the sheet, and in a few moments he smiled as his nose registered the smell of the melting wax on the underside of the seal.
Taking the letter from the plate, he lifted the seal and the top portion of the seal peeled away intact from the page. William smiled, even more so when he saw the horrified look on Edwin’s face. “Not a word, remember.” William reissued his warning as he quickly read the short half page of script from Robert’s lawyer. Now William Fitzwarren also knew of Robert’s folly in trying to press a case in Chancery. He knew the girl had disappeared, lost to the stews of London. Everyone had supposed that she had run away, but William knew better. –It seemed now from this letter that she had some worth attached to her as well. It looked as if Richard had not just robbed him that night, but that he had robbed Robert as well.
It could only mean that Richard was looking to profit from her himself. Why else take her? He had to admit he was developing a grudging admiration for the cur. Robert would amount to nothing – William realised that – but Richard on the other hand had easily outsmarted him and, for some reason William did not understand, he had the Privy Council after him as well. At least he was involved in the country’s affairs. Shame he was on the wrong side, William lamented.
William, with Edwin’s assistance, reversed the process so that Clement’s seal was once again firmly in place on the front of the letter and William placed it on his table awaiting his son’s return.
†
Morley had eyes at Durham Place and he was not surprised at all when they informed him that no one had made an attempt to make contact with Eugenie, or, as he knew her, Catherine de Bernay. And so, knowing that the girl who was the actual subject of the writ was elsewhere, it was with mild interest that Morley found himself in the outer chambers of the Chancery Court the following week. He didn’t particularly want to encounter Robert Fitzwarren, but Morley knew that he looked a man of no particular note and doubted that Robert would notice him stood in the shadows cast by the columns around the court entrance.
He heard William’s heir before he saw him. Loud, ill-mannered and foul tempered, Robert was bellowing orders at his steward Ronan to clear the press of Chancery petitioners away from him and leave him with ample space. As Morley watched, the steward shoved, shouted and pushed to make a space around Robert, and it was then his eyes alighted on the woman standing eyes downcast at his side. This could be none other than the subject of Robert’s Chancery application of guardianship, and it was certainly not the de Bernay girl. Pushing himself away from the wall, his job done, knowing now that Robert had not a clue where Catherine was, he made his way politely through th
e pack of early morning petitioners and made his way out through the open Chancery gates.
Chapter 5
A Matter Of Education
Jack looked down at himself and sighed. How exactly they were going to convince anyone to give them a hearing he didn’t know. The shirt he wore was filthy, the usable, but old, leather jerkin he had bought was coming apart and the knees were ripped from his hose. The leather of the sword belt had broken and showed two rough repairs and a third break had been repaired with twine from one of the snares. The scabbard made of pressed wood and cloth was frayed and splintered, the blade showing through in several places. Thankfully, Jack had retained his boots. They were the only part of his sorry ensemble that showed any worth.
Richard, lacking even a sword belt, looked in an even sorrier state. He wore a similarly filthy linen shirt and a loose, waist length, brown hessian over-jacket. His belt contained a knife, but one that was little better than an eating knife. A tumble from his horse before it was stolen had torn holes in his hose, and his boots, once fine, and made of soft kid skin, had fared worse than Jack's and were worn through.
They had stopped for food. Jack was deep in thought, wondering what they were going to do when they arrived in Venice.
“Will you eat something, please?” Lizbet said to Richard. “Otherwise this scavenging dog’ll have it.” Lizbet elbowed Jack who sat next to her.
“If all you feed me is scraps, what do you expect?” Jack said, reaching across and helping himself to more bread. Lizbet made to slap away his hand but he was already grinning at her over the lump he had stolen from her lap.
Richard raised his head, eyes searching around him, as if he had just suddenly become aware of his surroundings. He was sitting with his back against a tree. In his lap lay two hunks of bread along with the two roughly carved pieces of cheese Lizbet had given him. He’d said little all morning, so when he spoke directly to Jack, his grey steel eyes for once were focused. Jack stared at him, his face immediately serious.
“Chester Neephouse,” Richard said, when his eyes had found Jack and he had his attention.
Jack repeated the name slowly, he was confused, unsure whether or not the name should mean something to him.
“Remember, I told you about him when we were in London?” Richard continued.
Lizbet sat and watched the exchange between the two of them in silence.
Jack was desperately searching his memory, but he found nothing. Richard had spoken to Jack only when it was necessary for the last two days, Jack was determined to keep him talking and draw him out. “I honestly can’t remember a lot about what happened in London. Tell me again.”
Richard continued. “I was at University with Chester.”
Suddenly a light blazed in Jack’s memory. “I remember, he was from the North. That’s where you got that terrible accent from.”
Richard nodded slowly. “More than that. Chester was about the same height as me, and the same build. He always wore his father’s money. He spent more on clothes and finery than anyone else; it marked him out.”
Lizbet and Jack stared at him when he stopped his narrative, but it was Jack who prompted him to continue. “So how can Chester help us now?”
Richard took up the story again as if he had not heard Jack’s words. “I had Chester’s accent off perfectly. He’d spent no time on study and when it come to his exams I took his place. Dressed in his gaudy clothes and with his voice nobody gave me a second look. It wasn’t difficult, he hardly even attended college, so none of the tutors truly knew what he looked like.”
For once Jack could almost read his brother’s mind. “And where is Chester now?”
“Last I heard, managing his father’s import business and spending the profits in Venice,” Richard supplied quietly.
Jack pushed himself up from where he was sitting, crumbs spilling from his lap to the floor, and lowered himself down next to Richard dropping an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Tell me more about Chester.”
“There’s not much to tell.” Richard’s voice was still quiet, barely above a whisper. His eyes closed and his head fell sideways resting on Jack’s shoulder.
“Come on, tell me a little more. Please,” coaxed Jack. He caught Lizbet’s eye, and she smiled at him. It did look as if she had been right to buy the remedy from the apothecary. Maybe Richard had a plan in mind after all.
“Chester will help us, I’m sure,” was all Richard said in reply.
Jack wanted to know more about Chester, but realised he wasn’t going to find it out now. Richard was soundly asleep.
†
When the day was done, and they had walked as far as they could, they slept not far from the roadside. Lizbet and Jack had spent plenty of nights in worse places. The nights were warm enough, and the weather dry, the downpours of the earlier summer now all well past. Lizbet doubted if Richard had ever had as little as he had now. It did not, however, seem to bother him; indeed nothing did. A fact that worried her more and more as the days wore on.
Jack, as she well knew, had only to close his eyes, and within moments his breathing would become the level, even breaths of a sleeping man. Richard, on that journey, slept as badly as Lizbet did. Lying awake, listening to the sounds of the night, she’d hear him moving restlessly near her. Lizbet slept close to Jack. Jack slept close to his sword. It lay beside him, unsheathed, and next to the hilt was his knife.
Jack might have the ability to fall asleep in a moment, but from a lifetime dedicated to self-preservation, he woke at the slightest sound. Lizbet needed to get up. Squeezing Jack’s arm, she whispered in his ear and received a grunted reply. Rising stiffly from the ground, Lizbet made her way towards where a water skin hung from a tree. Jack had grudgingly bought a new after their first was stolen along with the horses.
A new day had not yet broken ; the darkness was still almost complete, the only light coming from a the moon. Lizbet leaned heavily against a tree, her eyes closed, waiting for the nausea to pass. With a trembling hand she tried to unhook the water skin. Her stomach convulsed one more time, cold sweat beading on her forehead. Cursing, she groped for the tree for support.
“What’s the matter?” The quiet voice was Richard’s.
Lizbet shook her head, waiting for the sickness to subside. Richard reached past her, unhooked the water skin and held it out for her.
Lizbet took it in shaking hands and drank before uttering a word of thanks. Squeezing her eyes tight, the dizziness seemed to leave her and the nausea in the pit of her stomach quietened as the water reached it. Richard took the flask back and Lizbet wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, her expression one of thanks. She saw the question in the expression Richard’s face and the enquiry in his eyes but Lizbet looked quickly away.
“Well, as we’re all up, and you’ve decided I no longer need to sleep, we might as well get going,” Jack said, grumpily from behind them.
Lizbet took the opportunity and ducked past him before Richard could vocalise his thoughts.
†
Five days later they were on the Italian coast, looking at the stretch of water across which lay the trading centre that was Venice.
Jack, catching Lizbet’s look, threw his arm around her shoulders. “Are we shaming you, lass?”
Lizbet reddened, and said quietly, “I’ve seen better dressed beggars than you.”
Jack was thankful that Richard could not hear her words.
“He doesn’t care, Jack,” Lizbet continued. “About anything. He doesn’t care about anything.”
“I know,” Jack said quietly, giving her shoulders a squeeze. He knew he needed to find out a little more about Chester Neephouse before they arrived in Venice. He’d tried a couple of times already, but his brother had been unresponsive.
Richard was sitting quietly but he had eaten some of the food Lizbet had put before him. Jack had watched. They knew now that if she gave him too much he’d not touch it, but if the amounts were smaller he would eat
.
Jack settled himself down next to Richard. His tone conversational, he asked, “Tell me more about Chester Neephouse. How was it that you ended up sitting his exams for him?”
Jack thought he wasn’t going to get an answer. Then Richard’s grey eyes flickered and he said, “Chester never attended lectures, hated work. However his father was not going to let him take over the business unless he passed at University. Chester had something, however, that we all wanted.”
“Would that have been money?” Jack said, having a good grasp of the situation. His brother’s voice was very quiet and he moved closer so he could hear.
Richard nodded. “Our father was not overly generous on that score. Chester never went to lectures, not one of the tutors knew him well, all they recognised were his appalling clothes and his northern accent which marked him out. It wasn’t difficult to become Chester for a few hours.”
“He’s good,” said Lizbet, through a mouthful of food. “You should have seen him in London. Came into the drapers and everyone thought he was a bloody sodomite.”
“One tale at a time,” Jack said planting a hand on Lizbet’s knee. “Chester first, then be sure I want an account of why my brother parades like Patroclus.” Returning his attention back to Richard, he asked, “So why will Chester help us?”
“I passed his exams for him. If he had failed, his father would have denied him his inheritance,” Richard supplied. “He’d not wish to be reminded of it.”
Jack grinned. “Let’s hope he is still as affluent as you remember, and has a conscience.”
“He might have,” Richard said, absently picking up the food Lizbet had given him.
Jack drove on. For a few minutes he’d held his brother’s attention, he didn’t want him to sink back inside himself again. “What exams did you take for Neephouse then? Philosophy at a guess?”