‘I greet you well, Master Treviot. My name is Sarah Walling, wife to Benjamin Walling.’
I hope I covered my surprise. ‘Then, you are welcome, Mistress Walling. Your husband has been a good friend to me,’ I said, leading her to the parlour.
When we were seated before the fire, I asked, ‘Is Ben well? Is he not able to come with you?’ I was suddenly anxious for the young man. I had strongly counselled him to quit the capital in case my enemies decided to pursue him. Could it be that he had ignored that advice and was now languishing in some damp cell awaiting interrogation by the bishop’s officers?
‘Thank you, Master Treviot,’ Sarah replied. ‘Ben is in good health.’ She lowered her head. ‘I fear it is shame that keeps him from your company.’
I was puzzled. ‘Shame? I can think of nothing that he could possibly reproach himself for.’
‘Then, by your leave, I must explain. Ben and I have been in love for more than three years. My father was furious when he found out. He made life very difficult for Ben but Ben stood up to him and told him that we wanted to be married. No daughter of his, my father said, was going to marry a penniless apprentice. They had a terrible argument and my father threw Ben out. The poor lamb was reduced to begging for work — any work. Ben is strong and clever and diligent and honest. If he can only get a start in life, he will be very successful. He got occasional labouring jobs and saved whatever he could so that, one day, he could make me his wife. And I promised to wait. But my father was very determined. He arranged what he called a “suitable” match. If Ben and I were ever to be together we had to act quickly. That was when Ben met you. He was standing by the Standard in Cheap, hoping to be hired as a day labourer, when your friend was so horribly murdered. When you paid him to make some enquiries, well…’ She hesitated. ‘That seemed to be our chance. I escaped from the house and Ben gave the last of your money to an old priest, who married us. That was four weeks ago.’ She sighed a long, shuddering sigh. ‘I brought a few trinkets with me but they are gone — sold or pawned. And now we have nothing. I said to Ben, “Perhaps, you might turn to your friend Master Treviot for help”, but he would not hear of it. “Master Treviot has his own problems,” he said, “and I have not been wholly honest with him. I cannot face him.” So I have come in my husband’s stead to plead with you. He doesn’t know I have come. I feel as though I am betraying him — but we are desperate.’
‘You must tell Ben to have more faith in his friends,’ I said in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. ‘If he comes to see me I will certainly see if there’s anything I can do…’
‘You have you not heard all.’ Sarah stared mournfully into the heart of the fire. ‘We have a room in a tenement in Love Lane, off Coleman Street. ’Tis small enough, God knows, but now we must share it with a great friend of Ben’s, newly returned from the North.’
‘Would that be a young man by the name of Bart?’
Sarah nodded. ‘Aye, Bart Miller. Do you know him?’
‘We have met briefly. I understand he went back to his own country to join the rebels.’
‘Yes, beef-witted fool! Now he is here again, minus an arm and lucky still to have his head, from what he tells us.’
‘And he is staying with you?’
‘Aye, when his “great cause” collapsed he ran back to London to cast himself on his old friend, who is already at wit’s end to know how to support a wife. Ben’s trouble is that he is too soft-hearted — or, perhaps, it would be truer to say “soft-headed”.’
‘I can see it must be a great strain for you.’
Sarah nodded. ‘Now you know all our troubles. Can you do anything to help?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘the least I can do is fill your bellies. Bring Ben and Bart here this evening and we’ll talk about things over supper.’ I recalled what Ned had said about the people for whom I was responsible. It seemed that the list was longer than I had thought — and still growing.
The next arrival that day was altogether more welcome. William Locke’s head groom appeared, bringing with him a sprightly looking Dickon, now fully recovered from his injury. We welcomed each other warmly and the grey whinnied with pleasure when he was led into his old stall. Was this an omen that the bad times were behind us both? I dared to hope that it was.
Chapter 33
When my evening guests arrived I had supper served in the parlour. I had asked Lizzie to join us so that Sarah would not be the only woman present. I also hoped that her essentially sympathetic nature might help to dispel any awkwardness in the atmosphere. The three friends were a subdued trio and it was clear that there were tensions between them. Gone was the careless ebullience of youth. Ben and Bart bore the signs of young men pitchforked into responsibilities and experiences that had sapped their energies and troubled their minds. The transformation was most marked in Bart. The studious enthusiast who had spurred northwards to join in an uprising that would right the wrongs being perpetrated by the current regime had returned defeated and bearing the scars of battle. His left arm was missing below the elbow but that was not what immediately struck me as different about him. His thin face was scored with the lines that indicated strain. His clothes were shabby and his hair and beard unkempt. No longer was he ready with a jibe or a laugh. Ben and Sarah were equally reserved — two people divided by their love. Looks and gestures made it obvious that they had been arguing — and that they loathed themselves for arguing.
‘Sarah told me I had to come and apologise,’ Ben said, standing by the fire as the rest of us took our seats around the table.
‘Then she mistook my meaning,’ I replied. ‘I am overjoyed to see you and to know that you have not suffered as a result of your association with me. If anyone should apologise, it is I for putting your safety at risk. Sit down, Ben, and let us hear no more of recriminations.’
He took his place at the table rather grumpily and for several moments we sat in awkward silence. The sombre mood might have lasted all evening had it not been for the excellent — and obviously much needed — food. While my guests ate I regaled them with an edited account of my recent travels and some of the people I had met. By the time I introduced them to Sir Sebastian Humphrey they were smiling and my description of the impossible Mistress Flower produced laughter.
‘The ass from the North!’ Bart almost choked on his hippocras. ‘I know who she meant — Robert Aske. For sure the king has made an ass of him.’
‘Who is he?’ I demanded.
Bart sneered. ‘He was our chief captain,’ he said. ‘He is our chief betrayer.’
‘Can you give us a clear picture of what’s been happening?’ I asked. ‘We get only garbled reports here.’
‘I well believe it. All’s been confusion beyond Trent and Humber too — rumours, squabbles, purposed misinformation. All is at six and seven.’ He laughed. ‘Do you know there was even a story going round that the Duke of Norfolk, the king’s general, was really on our side. Some said that he and Cromwell had come to blows and that the duke had stabbed Cromwell and killed him. How’s that for an example of wishes giving birth to thoughts?’ He drained his beaker and held it out for a refill.