Morice nodded sagely. ‘’Tis important we have no falling out among the leaders of the shire. His grace hopes you will make your peace with Master Treviot. As to the escort, we have another errand to perform of a more difficult nature. Indeed, by your leave, Sir Thomas we must be on our way. We bid you good day.’
As we travelled westwards, the mood of our party was very different from that which had marked our outward journey. Morice and I rode on a little ahead of the guards. I was too humiliated and ashamed to find words. After a long silence Morice said, ‘You realise the grave embarrassment you almost caused his grace – to say nothing of the total waste of my time.’
‘I’m sorry, but-’
‘There are no “buts”. You’ve stirred up suspicion against Sir Thomas, who may have papist sympathies but is certainly no traitor.’
‘The evidence I had seemed to point-’
‘The only evidence I can see is that you don’t know the difference between a mole and a badger.’
‘That’s unfair,’ I protested. ‘I’d only seen them carved in stone at Fletcham and drawn very small on Holbein’s goblet design. Without colour they did look very like the seal on Moyle’s letter to his grace.’
‘I believe you saw what you wanted to see because you don’t like Sir Thomas. I should have checked your story myself. If I had made enquiries about Fletcham we would have been spared today’s indignity. Unfortunately, I was too busy – and I trusted you. My mistake!’
After another mile or so of silence, Morice seemed to have calmed down a little. ‘Moyle is a powerful man who sometimes abuses his power and must be watched. But he is, nevertheless, someone his grace has to work with in the county and the diocese and cannot afford to antagonise unnecessarily.’
‘I will, of course, make my apologies to his grace in person.’
After another silence, I said, ‘At least we do now know how to track down the real ringleader of his grace’s enemies.’
‘Thanks to Johannes Holbein.’
‘Yes, thanks to Johannes Holbein, but I think you might acknowledge that I had something to do with rescuing his information and bringing it to Croydon.’
Morice made no response. He was deep in his own thoughts and muttering almost to himself. ‘Affairs in Kent have absorbed all my time. I have the commission to organise. Letters to send all over the shire. I’m never in bed before midnight. Nevertheless, I should have gone to London to consult Christopher Barker.’
‘Barker?’
‘But then, of course, I couldn’t be sure he would be there. Belike he has left for his house at Wanstead.’
‘Who is Christopher Barker?’ I persisted.
‘Garter King of Arms. He can tell us who the real coat of arms belongs to. I must gain permission to call on him without more delay.’
‘And then we can …’
‘Then we shall have to embark on a completely new line of enquiry. That will mean discreetly examining the movements of the owner of Fletcham. That could take us weeks – weeks we can’t afford.’
After this exchange Morice was wrapped in his own thoughts – doubtless calculating all the extra work he thought my blundering had caused him. Darkness fell and we continued our journey. Morice ignored the grumbling of the troops and when I offered a night’s hospitality at Hemmings he declined, saying that he could not afford any more delay than I had already caused him. We parted at Ightham and I reached Hemmings sometime in the small hours, cursing Moyle, and Morice, and Black Harry, and the owner of Fletcham manor – but mostly cursing myself.
When I came down late the following morning the hall was echoing with commotion and laughter. Lizzie, Adie and the children were playing blind man’s buff. Henry Holbein, with a cloth sash tied round his head, was charging around making fierce growling noises, which he seemed to find necessary for his role as the blind man. The others, with much squealing, were scurrying to and fro to avoid him. The boys kept rushing up to within inches to taunt him, like braves at a bear-baiting, while Adie was helping Annie avoid being caught.
‘So you’ve returned to us. How did you enjoy your fine company?’ Lizzie came up as I stood by the screens passage, watching.
‘I don’t think they enjoyed me very much. I managed to blacken my reputation in a certain area. But what’s happening here? You all seem to be having a good time.’
‘We’re trying to keep them occupied.’ She nodded towards the revellers. ‘Occupied and cheerful, but some scars run deep.’
‘Have the boys been told about their father?’
‘Yes, Ned managed that beautifully. He talked to them about the heaven where brave men go and hugged them when they wept. He even made me cry. They’re sensible children. If you can give them peace and security for a few years, they’ll be fine.’
‘And Adie?’
‘More difficult. She has built a wall around herself. It’s the only way she can see at the moment to stop herself being hurt. She spends all her time with the children. She knows she’s safe with them. As for the rest of us – she’s very polite but always on edge. She can’t relax because she can’t allow herself to feel that anyone can value her for herself.’
‘I suppose she must think that all men are rutting stags.’
‘That’s only part of it. I know all about the wants and needs of men. I was younger than her when I was put in the brothel. All whores – or all sensible ones – learn to distance themselves from their work. You almost become a looker-on, watching yourself going through the motions. That way you keep your self-respect and persuade yourself that, someday, a man will come along with whom it will be different. Adie feels deep down that she’s been spoiled for ever. Someone will have to coax her back into a belief that she’s lovable.’ Lizzie stared at me long and hard.
‘Well, we must do what we can,’ I said, and went in search of breakfast.
The next couple of days were an interval of calm. The tone seemed set by the yellowing leaves that drifted down from the trees. Stubbornly, they had clung to the elms which lined the drive and the beeches bordering the nearer fields when blustering tempests did their best to shake them free. Now, of their own volition, they yielded to the changing season. I, too, felt buffeted by the recent days of hectic activity and welcomed the freedom to reflect on the situation of the little society at Hemmings and make my own plans. I rode around the estate, often taking the boys with me, to attend to routine matters. I dealt with correspondence forwarded from Goldsmith’s Row by the small staff I had left there. I sent to London for Raffy’s tutor. My son had already had an overlong holiday from his books because I had been too distracted to attend to his schooling. Now that it seemed further time would elapse before it would be safe to return to the capital, it was time to establish a routine for Raffy and his new classmates. I also tried my clumsy best to help Adie.
I came upon her one evening after the children were abed, sitting in a corner of the kitchen, sewing a patch on a garment.
‘I’m sorry about your master,’ I said, drawing up a stool facing her. ‘I expect you will miss him.’
She nodded, keeping her eyes on her needlework.
‘How long had you been with him?’
‘Three years.’
‘And he had been good to you?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Have you heard from your brother recently? Would you like to go and see him?’
‘I think he is too busy.’
‘He serves Lord Graves, does he not?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘In Leicestershire?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Tell me about him.’
She shrugged. ‘He’s tall … fair … He works hard. He’s very good with animals.’
‘Older than you?’I prompted.
‘By two years.’
‘And you have no other family?’