The Midsummer Crown (20 page)

The woman turned and went down the steps, the boatman steadying his craft as she stepped into the bows and took her seat. A final wave, and she was being rowed upstream towards Westminster, while Amphillis walked slowly back towards the castle. But before she could reach the landing-stage door, another figure bustled out to meet her.

Dame Copley!

The nurse took Amphillis by one arm and turned back with her towards the building, her head bent to catch what her companion was saying. This seemed to be a great deal, which surprised me. I had not gathered from Dame Copley's previous remarks on the subject that she and Amphillis were anything but nodding acquaintances; certainly not on the friendly terms that now appeared to exist between them. And twice during the short walk, Amphillis paused, gesturing behind her towards the water-stairs and obviously imparting information about the woman who had just left her. I cursed my bad luck that from my eyrie I was unable to hear a single word that was being exchanged. (And I dared not lean out of the window for fear of being seen.)

I returned to the sewing-room landing to find Piers hobbling up and down in frustration. ‘What, in the name of all the saints, have you been doing?' he demanded without waiting for me to offer an explanation. ‘In spite of the pain I'm in, I was just about to go up to look for you. It hasn't taken you this length of time, surely, just to change your clothes?'

I made no answer to this reprimand, but asked instead, ‘How well does Dame Copley know Amphillis Hill?'

Piers blinked a little at this abrupt change of subject and stammered, ‘Sh-she knows her. Well, you know that she does. It-it was Rosina who mentioned her to you as being the last person to have seen Tutor Machin alive. You must remember!'

‘Of course I remember!' Once more I was startled by Piers's easy use of the nurse's Christian name. ‘But I didn't get the impression that they were friends.'

‘They're not.'

As we began descending the stairs, I told him what I had just observed, reiterating my conviction that I had met the third woman at some time in the past, but not that I had seen her the previous day. Indeed, I continued to keep the whole of yesterday's adventure a secret. Why, I wasn't sure.

Piers refused to be impressed or see any significance in what I had recently witnessed. ‘They were simply having a gossip, that's all. You know how women love to chat.' He waved a dismissive hand. ‘And now for heaven's sake hurry up! Sir Pomfret will be having an apoplexy by this time and that poor page will be in trouble.'

Neither prediction came true.

The page, having conducted us to the great solar, had the good sense merely to announce us as quickly as possible before making himself scarce. As for Sir Pomfret, he was plainly too travel-weary, and had his hands too full comforting his wife to be concerned with any tardiness on our part. Besides which, both his brothers, Godfrey and Lewis, and his sons, Bevis and Blaise, were already with him, making the room feel uncomfortably full of people. For several minutes our presence was ignored, while Lady Fitzalan was coaxed into abating her sobs with a platter of doucettes and another goblet of wine. Finally, however, young Bevis, prodded in the back by Piers, condescended to notice us and announced our arrival again to his father. The huddle of anxious relatives drew to one side.

My change of raiment evidently failed to impress Sir Pomfret, because he eyed me up and down with obvious suspicion, and his tone, when he spoke, was decidedly chilly.

‘So you're this . . . this . . . this chapman –' the word when he at last produced it was redolent with contempt ‘– that the Lord Protector has appointed to look into my son's disappearance, are you? Well, I suppose Duke Richard knows his own business best. Although I shouldn't have thought—'

Blaise interrupted him. ‘Master Chapman has a great reputation for solving these sort of mysteries, Father. At least,' he added ingenuously, ‘so I'm told.'

I saw Piers, standing a little ahead of me, suppress a grin.

Sir Pomfret, having digested this, inevitably posed the question I was dreading. ‘So what have you discovered, my man?'

I was saved from immediate reply by the sudden entrance into the solar of Dame Copley, coming to pay her respects and duty to her employers. At the sight of her, Lady Fitzalan gave a little scream – rising to her feet and spilling wine down the front of her gown as she did so – and stumbled towards her.

‘Rosina!' she sobbed. ‘Where is he? Where's my baby boy?'

Bevis and Blaise exchanged glances, the former making a gagging sound which, mercifully, was heard by neither parent.

The two women clung together, mingling their tears and making sufficient noise to call forth a terse reprimand from Sir Pomfret, demanding quiet. He then, as I had been afraid he would, turned his attention back to me.

‘Well, Master Chapman, I'm waiting to know what you've discovered.'

I had, by this time, marshalled my thoughts into some sort of order and was ready with my excuses. ‘Sir Pomfret, I regret that I cannot, just at present, reveal any details. Protocol compels me to present my findings first to my lord of Gloucester before telling anyone else. Also secrecy at this point in my investigation is vital.'

Out of the corner of one eye, I saw Piers's head jerk round, his eyebrows raised, but I stared doggedly ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.

‘So you have discovered something?' the knight demanded.

I made no direct answer, but smirked knowingly. Sir Pomfret could make what he liked of that.

He was not disposed to make anything of it and barked at me that he supposed, as Gideon's father, he had as much right to be informed of my discoveries as anyone, including the Lord Protector.

There was a general all-round nodding of heads, but once again, I was saved by the opening of the solar door. A diminutive page announced the Dowager Duchess of York and Cicely Neville made her stately, unhurried entrance, leaning on an ebony, silver-handled cane and attended by two of her women.

There was an immediate flurry of bobbing and bowing, in acknowledgement of which she gave an impatient wave of her hand as if bored by such homage; as no doubt she was, I reflected, after a lifetime of adulation. In her youth, she had been known as the Rose of Raby, one of the loveliest women in England; and remnants of that beauty still showed in a face that wore its age with dignity, making no attempt to hide the wrinkles beneath a layer of white lead and paint.

I studied her carefully as she advanced on Sir Pomfret and his lady, holding out a gnarled hand for them to kiss. She was dressed austerely in a black gown and white coif, as nearly akin to a nun's habit as was seemly in a woman still very much of her world, however much she might wish people to think otherwise. I imagined that the shrewd, keen eyes missed very little, and had no doubt whatsoever that she was wholeheartedly behind her remaining son's bid – if that was indeed what it turned out to be – for the crown. She had never made any secret of her dislike of her daughter-in-law, the queen dowager, and her cohorts of Woodville relations, and was outspoken, so rumour had it, in holding them responsible for the execution of the Duke of Clarence. The young king might be her grandson, but he had been raised surrounded – smothered one might almost say – by his mother's kinsmen from early childhood. The poor boy could not help but be more Woodville than Plantagenet.

‘Sir Pomfret!' After a brief nod, she ignored Lady Fitzalan. (I fancied she did not care overmuch for her own sex.) ‘I cannot express how deeply distressed I am that this terrible murder should have taken place in my house. And the disappearance of your son! I, too, have lost children. I can enter into your feelings.'

This assumption that Gideon must be dead was of no help to his parents, Lady Fitzalan immediately falling into another fit of hysterics, which her agitated husband strove vainly to assuage. In the end, it was a sharp word from the duchess which stemmed the flow of tears.

‘Control yourself, madam!' She then bent her disapproving gaze on Bevis and Blaise who were trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. ‘Are these your sons?' Sir Pomfret assented. ‘Then one of them must take his brother's place. You!' She pointed at Bevis. ‘You must present yourself at the royal apartments at the Tower as soon as possible to wait on the k– on my grandson.' I wondered if anyone else apart from myself had noticed her balk at the word ‘king', but there was nothing in any face to suggest that someone had. She went on, ‘My son wishes Edward to have people he can trust around him.'

Lady Fitzalan stretched out a trembling hand. ‘Your Grace, Bevis won't . . . won't disappear, as well, will he?'

The duchess deigned no reply to this, merely snorting impatiently before suddenly swivelling round to confront me.

‘Ah, Master Chapman, we meet again. It's been a long time.' She looked me up and down. ‘You've put on weight. And smarter, too, I notice.'

To my annoyance, I found myself colouring up under that keen scrutiny. I managed an ingratiating smile.

The duchess continued, ‘I understand my son has summoned you to London to unravel this mystery. Have you done so?'

‘N-not yet, Your Grace,' I stuttered, feeling like an errant schoolboy. (Or should I say a fat errant schoolboy? Had I put on weight? Probably. I liked my food too much and Adela fed me too well.)

‘Do you have any ideas?' the duchess shot at me. ‘We need this unfortunate matter cleared up before the coronation.'

She forbore to say whose coronation, and once again I wondered if I was the only one to think the omission significant.

I gave the silent smirk another airing, but it had as little effect upon my interlocutor as it had done on Sir Pomfret.

‘Well? Yes or no?'

I lied through my teeth: there was nothing else to do.

‘For the moment, my lady, I prefer to remain silent. I need first to speak to my lord the Protector.'

She regarded me thoughtfully for a second or two, pursing her lips, then nodded briefly. ‘I understand,' she said. (I prayed to God she didn't.) ‘Sir Pomfret, rooms have been prepared for you and your lady. I will send my steward to conduct you to them. Meanwhile this young man –' she once more indicated Bevis – ‘can be escorted to the Tower.' She looked at Blaise. ‘And his brother may as well accompany him.' The duchess seemed to become aware of Godfrey and Lewis Fitzalan for the first time. ‘Ah! The twins! You are in good health, sirs?' They both acknowledged the question, each with a deep bow. ‘And the rest of the brood? Henry? Warren? Raisley? George?'

There was a general gasp, and Godfrey said admiringly, ‘Your Grace is a marvel to remember all their names.'

The duchess smiled. ‘I never forget the names of our loyal adherents. The House of York has reason to be grateful for your family's support over the years.' She turned to Sir Pomfret who had momentarily forgotten his troubles and was goggling at her with admiration quite as open as his brothers'. ‘You, too, I believe, have four other sons besides these two lads here and . . . and Master Gideon?'

As the last name was uttered, Lady Fitzalan gave a convulsive sob, and the duchess, without waiting for a reply, took her leave on a somewhat hurried note.

‘God be with you all,' she said, and swept from the solar as quickly as her rheumatic limbs would allow.

I decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat of my own before the bereaved father could question me further. Fortunately, Lady Fitzalan's renewed attack of the vapours gave me an opportunity to slip away quietly while her husband's attention was otherwise engaged. Piers followed me out.

‘A little of that caterwauling goes a long way,' he remarked callously as he caught up with me and slipped a hand through my arm. ‘Let poor old Sir Pomfret and Mother Copley deal with my lady.' He looked sideways at me. ‘Did you really mean what you said in there? Have you found out anything?'

I hesitated, tempted to admit the truth, but pride held me silent. ‘Perhaps,' I said.

‘You know how the murder was committed? What's happened to Gideon?'

I disengaged myself. ‘You ask too many questions. Listen! There's the trumpet sounding for dinner. I don't know about you, but my encounter with Duchess Cicely has left me extremely hungry.'

‘You're always hungry,' Piers laughed. And mimicking the duchess's voice, added, ‘You've put on weight.'

I treated this jibe with the disdain it deserved and quickened my step, leaving him to make his way to the servants' dining hall in his own good time. I heard him laugh as I rounded a corner.

Later that day, in the warmth of the June afternoon and to ward off the somnolence that threatened to overcome me after two large helpings of pottage followed by oatcakes and goat's milk cheese, I left Baynard's Castle and went for a walk through the crowded city, pausing every now and then to watch the erection of stands and decorations for the forthcoming coronation. But nowhere did I see the name Edward or any reference to the young king at all. It was almost as though he had ceased to exist. And what of his mother and sisters? They were all still in sanctuary, and I had heard no rumour that they were about to come out.

I wandered on, lost in thought and taking no real heed of where I was going until I suddenly found myself in Bucklersbury, outside the inn of St Brendan the Voyager. I was standing staring at the painted sign over the door of the saint in his cockleshell boat, wondering vaguely how I came to be there, when a hand smote my shoulder and a familiar voice spoke in my ear.

‘Master Chapman! Roger? It is you, isn't it? I thought you'd gone home to Bristol.'