Tombland

He smiled. ‘You brought me because her status means you should not arrive without someone to serve you.’

‘You know that is the way of it. Though there may be documents to copy. But access to the Lady Elizabeth is strictly controlled by Master Parry and her ladies.’

Nicholas leaned forward, his green eyes alive with interest. ‘What is she like now?’

‘I have not seen her these eight months,’ I replied. ‘Not since I went to deliver my condolences when – when Queen Catherine died.’ I stumbled slightly over the words, swallowed, then continued, ‘Elizabeth is fifteen, but you deal with her as with an adult. She has never known a secure childhood.’ I smiled sadly. ‘She is extraordinarily clever, though, quick with words, and she can use them sharply. When I was first appointed to work under Master Parry, she told me that her dogs would wear her collars. And so she expects.’

Nicholas hesitated, then said, ‘This business – do you think it might be connected with what happened in January – her trouble?’

‘No,’ I answered firmly. ‘The scandal involving Thomas Seymour died with that wretched man. That I do know.’ I looked at him firmly. ‘Remember, the Protector publicly acknowledged that the Lady Elizabeth was involved in no illegal marriage plans with Seymour. That is all I can say on the matter, Nicholas. I have my duty of confidentiality.’

‘Of course. Only—’

‘Only everyone from that innkeeper to every lawyer at Lincoln’s Inn would love to know the details,’ I answered with asperity.

‘No, sir.’ He looked a little uneasy. ‘It is just that, this matter we are summoned on being urgent and confidential, I wondered if there might be some connection. Whether –’

I nodded. ‘Whether there might be politics involved. No, I am sure not. And I am sorry to have snapped just then, only so many have fished for gossip, knowing I work with Parry.’ I shook my head. ‘Better sometimes, Nicholas, to know as little as possible. There, a free piece of advice from an old lawyer.’

* * *

LATER , WHEN NICHOLAS had returned to his room, I went and opened the window. The rain had stopped, though the sound of water dripping was audible through the still night. A half-moon cast a dim silver glow over the fields surrounding the inn. People were already saying this would be a bad harvest, the first in four years. I wondered what would happen if there was a dearth of grain on top of everything else.

I turned from the window. I should really do the exercises my doctor friend Guy had prescribed before going to bed, but I was too tired. I worried about Guy. For the last month he had been ill, with a low fever it seemed nothing could abate, and for a man now in his mid-sixties that was serious. I would visit him again as soon as we returned to London. In truth, I feared him dying. I had lost so many people these last few years, not only Queen Catherine. Jack Barak, my former assistant and friend, I saw seldom – and clandestinely – for his wife Tamasin, once also a friend, had never forgiven me for leading him, three years before, into an affair where he had lost a hand, and nearly died. Their little boy, George, nearly four now, was my godson, but Tamasin would not allow me to visit the house. I had never even seen their daughter. My former servant boy, Timothy, was gone to be an apprentice, my old servant girl, Josephine, was now married and far away in Norfolk. Her last letter to me had suggested that she and her husband were in difficulty; I had sent back some money and asked her to let me know how she fared, for I knew she was pregnant, but there had been no reply, which was unlike her, and it worried me.

I sat on the bed and thought, I am become melancholy. And then the realization hit me, starkly: It is because I am lonely. I had seen Timothy and Josephine almost as the children I had never had. It was foolish, foolish. And I was becoming bored with my work, the endless land conveyances, the negotiations to buy farms and manors that sometimes petered out into nothing. I had been much happier in the years when I represented poor men at the Court of Requests. I had looked forward to getting Nicholas to assist me in such cases, perhaps knocking some of his gentlemanly prejudices out of him, but when, two years ago, Rich became Lord Chancellor, it was indicated that my post was needed for another. I shook my head sadly.

* * *