‘By doing what you really want to do,’ she urged. ‘By responding to the impulses within your breast. Tell me, Edmund. If you could choose to spend the rest of your life doing one thing, what would it be?’
‘That is an easy question.’
‘Tell me your answer.’
‘I would write sonnets.’
‘Sonnets?’
‘In praise of you, Mistress Radley.’
She was deeply moved. Bringing a hand to her mouth, she looked at him with even more intensity. Hoode thought he saw the hint of a tear in her eye. At a stroke, their relationship became markedly closer.
‘I think it is time that you called me “Avice”,’ she said.
Nicholas Bracewell did not waste any time. When he left Shoreditch, he walked swiftly back to the city and called on Francis Quilter at his lodging in Silver Street. The latter was relieved to hear that he had been granted temporary leave of absence from the company while he pursued his investigation. Though he still had obligations of his own to Westfield’s Men, Nicholas pledged his help. They began their enquiries at once. It was the testimony of two witnesses that had brought about Gerard Quilter’s downfall. His son had managed to find the address of one of the men, a merchant name Bevis Millburne. On their way to the house, Nicholas asked for more detail about the case.
‘Why did your father hate this Vincent Webbe so?’ he asked.
‘Because the rogue betrayed him.’
‘In what way?’
‘They were partners at one time, Nick,’ explained Quilter, ‘and my father grew to like and trust Master Webbe. The trust was badly misplaced. He discovered that his partner was guilty of embezzlement. Vincent Webbe denied it hotly, but there could be no doubt of his villainy.’
‘Was his crime prosecuted?’
‘Alas, no. My father was too soft-hearted to pursue the business. Out of kindness to the man’s wife and family, he drew back from that step. I think it was a mistake to let the malefactor escape scot-free. He should have been sent to prison for what he did.’
‘Vincent Webbe should have been grateful to your father.’
‘Any other man would have been,’ agreed Quilter, ‘but he never forgave my father for finding him out. The dissolution of their partnership left him in severe straits. While my father prospered, Master Webbe’s fortunes declined rapidly.’
‘He had only himself to blame for that, Frank.’
‘That was not how he viewed it. He preferred to blame my father.’
‘The enmity was clearly very strong between the two.’
‘And it seemed to grow with time,’ said Quilter. ‘It was one of the reasons that my father retired early. While he stayed in London, there was always the fear of a chance meeting with his partner. I was there on one occasion when their paths did cross. It was not a pleasant event, Nick.’
‘What happened?’
‘Master Webbe had taken drink. No sooner did he set eyes on my father than he began to rant and roar, accusing him of ruining his life and throwing his family into destitution. My father was a mild man but even he was provoked. Had I not pulled him away, I fear that he might have exchanged blows with the man.’
‘But the provocation was all on Master Webbe’s side?’
‘His language was revolting, Nick.’
‘Was he armed?’
‘Only with a vicious tongue.’
‘What of your father?’
‘He never walks abroad with a weapon.’
‘How long did this feud between them last?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Three years or more.’
‘And your father took care to avoid his erstwhile partner?’
‘Every possible care.’
They turned a corner and lengthened their stride. It took them some time to reach Cornhill but they had so much to discuss on the way that it seemed like only a matter of seconds before they reached the abode of Bevis Millburne. The house had an impressive facade. Its owner was clearly a man of wealth. When they knocked on the front door, it was opened by a servant in neat attire. He told them that his master was not at home. They offered to return later but he assured them that it might be several hours before his master came back as he was at supper with friends. Nicholas managed to wheedle out of him the name of the tavern where Millburne had gone. Leaving the grand house, the friends turned their steps towards the Golden Fleece, a place frequented by the gentry and known for its excellent food and high prices. As it came into sight, Nicholas turned to his companion.
‘Wait outside for me, Frank,’ he suggested.
‘Why?’
‘Because your face might be recognised in there. Your father was seen at his worst today but the family resemblance was still unmistakable. I would not have you go in there to stir up abuse and ridicule.’
‘I’ll endure anything on my father’s behalf.’
‘Then do so by adding discretion to your boldness,’ advised Nicholas. ‘Why should a man like Bevis Millburne desert his house and family to sup with friends on this particular today? Could it be that he is celebrating the gruesome event that we witnessed at Smithfield?’ As Quilter started, he put a hand on his arm. ‘You are rightly aroused but you’ll achieve nothing with anger. Let me go in alone to sound the man out. He’ll not suspect me of having any link with your family.’
‘Lure him out so that I may question him as well.’
‘No, Frank.’
‘I’ll beat the truth out of the knave!’
‘Threats accomplish far less than subtler interrogation.’
With great reluctance, Quilter accepted his friend’s counsel. Nicholas stationed him on the other side of the street before crossing to enter the Golden Fleece. It was a large, low, well-appointed establishment, filled with a mixed aroma of ale, tobacco, roasted meat, fresh herbs and delicate perfume. The atmosphere was boisterous. Gallants and their ladies supped at the various tables. Larger parties were catered for in private rooms. Nicholas bought a tankard of ale and fell into conversation with the landlord, an amiable man of middle years with a florid complexion.
‘You’re a stranger to the Golden Fleece, I think, sir,’ he remarked.
‘I did dine here once before,’ claimed Nicholas, ‘on the recommendation of a friend. He spoke highly of your venison and he was not deceiving me.’
‘I am glad that we did not disappoint you.’
‘I had hoped to see him here this evening. He was headed this way.’
‘What is his name, sir?’
‘Millburne, my friend. Master Bevis Millburne.’
‘Then you’ve come to the right place,’ said the landlord jovially. ‘He sups with companions in the next room. Sir Eliard Slaney among them. They are in high spirits today. Shall I tell him that you are here?’
Nicholas shook his head. ‘I prefer to surprise him.’
The landlord soon moved off to serve other customers. Sidling across to the adjoining room, Nicholas peeped in. Guests occupied the four tables, eating their food, downing their wine and indulging in loud banter. Unable to pick his man out, Nicholas lurked and listened to scraps of conversation from the various tables. Eventually, he heard the name of Bevis mentioned in the far corner. It belonged to a sleek, portly man in his forties with a large wart on his left cheek that vibrated visibly whenever he laughed. Millburne had three companions. Two were somewhat younger and, judging by their deferential manner, might be employed by Millburne. The fourth man was older and had an air of distinction about him. Nicholas decided that it must be the aforementioned Sir Eliard Slaney, a wiry individual with watchful eyes set into a face the colour of parchment. Wearing immaculate apparel, he had a whole array of expensive rings on both hands.
Nicholas summoned one of the servingmen, asked him to deliver a message, then slipped him a coin. He withdrew to the next room and waited. Bevis Millburne eventually waddled out, eyes blinking with curiosity. Nicholas closed on him.
‘Master Millburne?’ he enquired.
‘Are you the fellow who asked to speak with me?’
‘I am, sir, merely to congratulate you.’