Wheel of Fate

TWELVE

I caught my breath.

‘You saw her? You’re sure of that?’

‘I’m not absolutely certain, no. But as sure as I can be. As I said, she was walking towards the Bishop’s Gate. I was just on my way to ring the bell for sext, or I would have tried to attract her attention. That’s how I know it was before dinner.’

I frowned. ‘I thought sext was at noon.’

‘Not in the summer,’ he reminded me gently. ‘The office is said earlier once the warmer days arrive.’

‘I’d forgotten,’ I answered vaguely, my mind only half on what the priest was saying. I laid a hand on his arm and shook it. ‘Can you recall if she was alone, Father, or was there someone with her?’

Sir Berowne shook his head. ‘Now that I couldn’t tell you. There were so many people abroad this morning. What with it being May Day and then folk crowding into the city to hear the Duke of Gloucester’s proclamation at Paul’s Cross as well as all the usual traffic of a normal day, the track was very crowded. Mistress Godslove might have been accompanied, it’s true. There was a man close on her heels, but that could just have been coincidence. I’ve told you, the roadway was busy. Even busier than normal. But for sweet heaven’s sake, my son, why are you so concerned? At the risk of repeating myself, Celia is a grown woman; even, some might think, a little long in the tooth. Oh, don’t misunderstand me.’ He threw up his hands, grimy as always from digging in his garden. ‘An attractive enough woman, but long past the age when she should be wed. And she’s not a prisoner. Surely, she can come and go as she pleases?’

Impatiently, I pulled him into the side of the track where we were less likely to impede the progress of others. We had already given offence to more than one person in a hurry and caused at least three carts to swerve to avoid us.

‘You don’t understand, Father,’ I said. ‘Celia went out without leaving word for anyone as to where she was going or who she was going to visit, and has not been seen since early this morning. She joined the children in the garden, just after breakfast, to play hide-and-seek. .’

‘Oh, was that all the noise I heard, then?’ my companion interrupted with an air of enlightenment. ‘I had occasion to visit one of my parishioners who lives further up the track, a poor childless widow who has been unwell, and as I passed the Arbour I could hear the children laughing and shouting. Such a merry sound I thought it, and just what that old house needs, so sombre and gloomy as it always seems. And good for Mistress Celia, I should-’

I cut in ruthlessly on these happy reflections. ‘For heaven’s sake, man, Celia hasn’t returned from wherever it was she was going and it’s nearly suppertime! Her sisters are frantic with worry after all that’s occurred these past two years. They are beginning to believe that something terrible has happened to her. So try to remember, I beg of you, what exactly you saw this morning.’

The blue eyes widened in sudden comprehension. ‘Dear me! Dear me! How very stupid of me not to have thought of that. But do you know, Roger, I’ve never really believed in this mysterious stranger who is trying to kill them all, one by one. Nobody has that sort of time and patience. People’s sense of injury cools, you know. All right!’ Once again he flung up his hands, but this time in a gesture of submission. ‘I accept that the Godslove family believe it, so naturally they are worried about Celia’s absence. But I’m afraid I’ve told you all that I can regarding my sighting of her this morning. There was a man behind her, it’s true, near enough to make me think that he could have been accompanying her. Then again, he could have been a stranger walking a little too close, in a hurry, trying to get past. Why? Do you think there might have been someone with her?’

I explained about Adam and what he had overheard. Father Berowne remained unimpressed.

‘There you are, then! Somebody came for Celia’s help. It was urgent and all she had time to do was to grab a cloak. She probably thought it wouldn’t take long and that she would be home again in time for dinner. But, as I know from my own experience, these cries for assistance are not always as simple and straightforward as they seem. She’ll be back eventually telling you all not to be so foolish.’

But plausible as his words sounded, and much as they chimed with my own ideas on the subject, I wasn’t entirely convinced. A nagging worry was beginning to eat away at my common sense.

‘Can you recollect anything at all about this man?’ I persisted.

The priest sighed and shook his head. ‘No, nothing,’ he said, ‘except that he wasn’t young and was smartly dressed.’

My thoughts went at once to Adrian Jollifant, but after a moment’s consideration, I rejected the possibility. Coming from Cheapside, he would hardly have travelled on foot. And the same reasoning applied to the doctor. Indeed, we knew for certain that Roderick Jeavons had been on horseback, so where would he have stabled his mount? And why would he have left it behind? No, the whole idea was ridiculous. No one had been following Celia, who was about some business of her own.

I smiled wanly and clapped Sir Berowne on the shoulder. ‘Just one last question, Father. Can you tell me the names of any persons hereabouts who might ask for Celia’s help if they were in trouble of any sort? Mistress Rokeswood did mention that Celia occasionally took food to one or two of the families near the Gate.’

The priest seemed vaguely surprised to hear this and said austerely he was unaware that the Godslove family had ever assisted any of the poor in the vicinity. I think it was the first time I realized that, taken as a whole, he did not like them very much. Until then, I had thought him their friend — and no doubt there were some members he preferred to the others — but his tone of voice was suddenly cool and even a little hostile. He must have been aware of it himself because he became anxious to make amends.

‘I’m not saying that they don’t,’ he added hurriedly. ‘It’s just that I’ve never heard it mentioned.’

I wanted to reassure him that I didn’t care for the Godsloves myself and could hardly blame him if he didn’t either. They were not, in my estimation, a lovable family, but somehow I was unable to say the words. I was a guest in their house and they were, however tenuously, related to my wife. So I thanked him for his help and said I would make enquiries in the cottages and at the Bedlam and St Mary’s Hospital before returning to the Arbour to tell them what he had told me.

As I turned away, I heard my name shouted yet again and saw Oswald Godslove riding like a madman towards me. He drew rein and fairly fell out of the saddle, his face white, his limbs shaking. He clutched at my sleeve.

‘Celia,’ he croaked. ‘One of the girls came to find me at the courts. Says she’s missing.’ He could barely get the words out. ‘S-say it’s not true!’

‘I’m afraid it is,’ I said, supporting him about the waist. ‘She hasn’t been seen since this morning, but we don’t know for certain that any harm has befallen her. Indeed,’ I went on bracingly, ‘it’s more than probable she’ll turn up again soon, alive and well.’

Oswald made no answer, and, with a little moan, burst into tears.

The priest aimed an ineffectual pat at his back, missed, then stood looking at me, faintly embarrassed. I tightened my grip on Oswald and urged him to complete his journey.

‘Your sisters will be glad to see you,’ I said. ‘They’ll tell you all that’s happened. Meantime, I’m going to make a few enquiries of my own, but I’ll join you at the Arbour just as soon as I’ve done so. Pull yourself together, man.’ Oswald’s noisy sobs were beginning to attract unwelcome attention. ‘Father Berowne and I are both agreed that there is probably nothing to worry about. Celia may have gone on an errand of mercy and will return of her own accord shortly. But, as I said, Clemency and Sybilla will explain everything to you.’

Oswald knuckled his eyes like a child and, also like a child, turned on me viciously, transmuting his fear into anger and venting it on my innocent head.

‘Of course you’re not worried! What’s Celia to you? Or him?’

He flung out a hand, catching the priest a painful blow on the side of his jaw. I wondered if it were as accidental as it appeared to be, and I saw the same thought flicker at the back of Father Berowne’s eyes, but his expression of concern didn’t alter, nor did he raise a hand to rub his face.

‘You’re overwrought, Master Godslove. Go home,’ he said, adding his voice to mine. ‘While Master Chapman, here, knocks on a door or two, allow me to walk as far as the Arbour with you. I’ll lead the horse. Short as the distance is, you’re in no fit state to ride.’

This kindly offer was spurned, not in words but in action. Oswald flung himself back into the saddle and galloped off up the track, at a pace which forced all oncoming traffic out of his path, with a total disregard for anyone else’s convenience.

The priest sighed. ‘We must make allowances for a very frightened man,’ he said magnanimously, at the same time tenderly feeling his jaw. ‘Now, away you go, my son, and make your enquiries. And God grant that you discover something useful as to where Mistress Celia might have gone, or even where she is, and put her poor family out of their misery.’

An hour later, footsore and weary, hoarse from asking the same question over and over again, and depressed from receiving the same negative answer each and every time, I returned to the Arbour no wiser as to Celia’s whereabouts than when I set out. I did not see Father Berowne, but I heard vespers being sung as I passed St Botolph’s church, a reminder that I had been lax in my attendance of late. I couldn’t remember the last occasion on which I had been to confession.

As I passed the almshouses, I overtook a small, weary figure trudging up the road and recognized it as one of the Godsloves’ kitchen maids; the one, presumably, who had been sent to Westminster to fetch Oswald home. I offered her my arm to which she clung gratefully.

‘Couldn’t your master have taken you up behind him?’ I asked indignantly.

The girl looked shocked. ‘Oh, no, sir! He’d never do that. He would never overburden his horses, and besides-’

‘Besides what?’

‘Well, he wouldn’t want to be seen with the likes of me, now would he, sir? Him a smart lawyer and all.’ She turned her head to look at me, taking in my brown hose and green tunic with its silver gilt buttons, and finally my hat with its fake jewel on the upturned brim. ‘And you’re looking very fine, sir. Are you sure you don’t mind being seen with me?’

‘Of course not! You’re a very pretty girl.’ I felt suddenly angry with Oswald and was made sharply aware of how much I disliked the man. Perhaps, after all, it was not impossible that someone, somewhere, wanted to harm him and his.

‘Is there any news of Mistress Celia?’ my companion asked as we left the houses behind and rounded the bend into open countryside, the Arbour, set in its rambling garden, coming into view.

‘No, nothing, I’m afraid. I’ve been making enquiries around the Bishop’s Gate in the hope that she was visiting one of the cottages there, but no one’s seen her. I even asked at the hospital and the Bedlam, but to no avail. Everybody knows her by sight, of course, but very few know her to speak to. Mistress Rokeswood said she took soup and bread to the poorer families, but I don’t think it was true.’

The girl shook her head. ‘I’ve never seen her do so. Master Godslove wouldn’t let her, for one thing. He’d be too frightened she’d catch something nasty off one of ’em. He’s that fond of Mistress Celia, you wouldn’t believe.’ There was nothing in her tone to suggest she found this circumstance in any way odd, and she went on, ‘I suppose it’s because of that terrible secret they all share.’

I caught my breath. ‘What secret?’ I asked, my voice coming out as a croak.

Our feet had been dragging for the past few yards, and now we both came to a halt. The girl turned her head and regarded me with concern.

‘Are you getting the rheum, sir? You really ought to be careful. You only got up out o’ your sickbed yesterday. You shouldn’t be running about like this.’

‘No, no! I’m quite all right,’ I answered hurriedly. ‘What terrible secret do they all share?’

‘Sir?’

‘You just said that Master Godslove and his family share a terrible secret. What secret?’

She laughed, taking my arm once more as we slowly resumed our walk.

‘Lord, sir, if I knew that it wouldn’t be a secret, now would it?’

‘Well, then-’ I was beginning impatiently, but she interrupted me.

‘It was just something I overheard once when nobody knew I was by. Mistress Rokeswood had sent me to fetch a bowl she needed from the big cupboard in the dining parlour, and the window was open into the garden. Master Oswald and Mistress Clemency were outside, talking about the attack on Master Martin. Him that was killed when he was set on by footpads,’ she added by way of explanation.

‘Yes, yes! I know about that! Go on, girl! Go on!’

She eyed me curiously, and I could see her wondering if she ought to say anything further. But she continued, ‘Well, Mistress Clemency was saying she thought the attack hadn’t been footpads at all. Leastways, not real ones. She thought they were people who’d been paid to murder Master Martin, and that someone was trying to kill the lot of them, one at a time. Master Oswald wouldn’t have it. Said she was talking nonsense. Who’d want to do such a thing, he said. And why?’

We had stopped again, outside the Arbour garden wall, close to the gate. ‘Go on,’ I urged my companion as she paused for breath.

‘Well, then Mistress Clemency said something about the terrible secret they all shared, but the master told her not to be so foolish. No one knew about it except themselves. He said, sort of sharpish, “You haven’t told Arbella, have you?” That’s Mistress Rokeswood.’ I nodded and she went on, ‘Mistress Clemency said she’d never breathed a word to anyone, ever, and Master Oswald said that was all right, then.’ The girl’s forehead puckered momentarily. ‘But he did say something rather odd.’

‘What?’

‘He said something like, “After all, they never knew themselves, did they? So we’re quite safe.” And he laughed. After that he and Mistress Clemency moved away and I didn’t hear any more. I took the bowl and went back to the kitchen and got a right telling-off from Mistress Rokeswood for having been so long.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Have you ever told anyone else about this?’ I asked. ‘About what you overheard?’

The girl shook her head. ‘I never give it another thought, really. Not until this minute. I didn’t understand it prop’ly, so I forgot it. Should I have done?’

‘No, by no means. You’re sure you didn’t even tell your little workmate?’

The girl snorted. ‘And have her snitching on me that I’d been eavesdropping on the master and his sister? I’d have lost my place as quick as winking. Same if I’d told Mistress Rokeswood. I just forgot about it.’ A sudden doubt shook her. ‘You won’t go telling on me, will you, sir? I didn’t mean to say anything to you. It just popped out somehow, when we were talking.’

‘I won’t say anything,’ I promised her, ‘not to anyone. Not even my wife.’

But I shan’t forget it, either, I thought as we entered the Arbour garden and approached the house, my companion to drag her weary limbs round to the back door and thence into the kitchen — where she would doubtless receive scant sympathy for her long, dusty walk to Westminster and back — and I to join Adela and the remaining Godsloves in the hall.

As I entered, four pairs of eyes swivelled in my direction.

‘Roger!’ Adela exclaimed, starting towards me. ‘Have you any news of Celia?’

I sank down thankfully on to one of the settles, easing my legs out before me. ‘No, nothing I’m afraid. At least, not this side of the Bishop’s Gate. I didn’t go further. Father Berowne is the only person who thinks he might have caught a glimpse of her sometime this morning. But even he isn’t sure. He thinks there might have been someone with her, but again, he can’t be certain.’

Sybilla burst into noisy sobbing, but while Adela and Clemency went to comfort her, a white-faced Oswald, who seemed to have regained a precarious control over his emotions, announced savagely, ‘Your efforts were a total waste of time, my dear Roger. Any fool could have told you that. It’s as plain as the nose on your face that Roderick Jeavons is the villain of this affair. I’ve heard how he accosted Celia in the garden and inflicted his unwelcome attentions on her.’

‘But according to Elizabeth and Nicholas, he went away again,’ I pointed out. ‘He didn’t force Celia to go with him.’

‘Not then, no. But your other son overheard her talking to someone later. It’s perfectly obvious to all but the meanest intelligence’ — mine, I supposed — ‘that he returned and persuaded her to accompany him somewhere or other.’

‘But would Celia have gone with him,’ I protested, ‘in view of their previous quarrel?’

‘God knows what blandishments and persuasive arguments he used to lure her away. Celia has far, far too kind a heart. She can be so easily led, particularly by a rogue such as Roderick Jeavons. Why, once he even persuaded her into a betrothal against her will.’

‘Are you sure it was against her will?’ I asked quietly. Adela sent me a warning glance, but I chose to ignore it. ‘Couldn’t she have been genuinely in love with the man?’

Oswald turned on me as though I had uttered the worst kind of blasphemy. He was shaking with temper and his eyes burned with fury in his parchment-coloured face.

‘Celia would never have married him! Never! She would never have deserted the rest of us.’ He gave a wild sob that caught in his throat, before once more making a visible effort to take himself in hand. ‘In those days, of course, Charity and Martin were still alive. We were a close-knit, loving family. Celia would never seriously have considered leaving us for a stranger. But Roderick Jeavons has been trying for years to make her change her mind, all to no avail, and now he’s become desperate. He’s abducted her by force.’

‘In broad daylight?’ My tone was sceptical.

Oswald’s voice rose almost to a shout. ‘He’s lured her away with some story or another, I tell you, and then imprisoned her.’ The spittle flecked his lips. ‘That’s why we’re going straight away, now, to visit him.’

‘We?’

‘You have to come with me, Roger. He’s more likely to admit the truth if he’s confronted by two of us instead of one.’

‘No.’ It was my wife who spoke in the tone of voice she reserved for the children when she intended to brook no argument. ‘Roger has been ill. He only got up yesterday. He has already over-taxed his strength with all he’s done today. He looks worn out and I insist that he rests.’

Oswald and his sisters looked shocked. ‘After all we’ve done for you, Adela,’ Sybilla breathed accusingly.

The colour suffused my wife’s face, but she stood her ground. ‘I’m aware of that, Sybilla, and I’m very grateful, believe me. But I will not have Roger’s health put at risk.’

‘Roger’s health!’ Oswald flung back at her. ‘What’s that compared to the fact that Celia’s life might be endangered?’

At this point, Arbella arrived to tell us that supper was ready at last, urging us to come to table before it got cold, only to find her words falling on deaf ears. Clemency informed her brusquely that no one present felt like eating, but to see that the children were fed.

‘What is this nonsense?’ the housekeeper demanded angrily, adding gruffly, ‘Celia wouldn’t want you to make yourselves ill, you know, whatever has happened to her.’ She glanced towards Oswald and real concern lit her eyes. She laid a hand on his arm. ‘My dear man, you look done to death. Come and get some food inside you, and if Celia still isn’t home by the time you’ve finished, then go and alert the Watch, the sheriff’s men or whoever you think fit, but-’

Oswald flung off her hand and turned on her, his features contorted with fury. He was a desperately frightened man and, as before, his fear was transformed into rage. If I hadn’t begun to dislike him so much, I could have found it in my heart to be sorry for him.

‘Don’t call me your dear man,’ he hissed, ‘and don’t ever lay a hand, unbidden, on me, again. You can throw supper out for the pigs for all I care. Get Old Diggory saddled. Master Chapman and I are riding to Dr Jeavon’s house and demand that he tell us what he’s done with Celia.’

Arbella Rokeswood’s face had turned as red as his was white, and she was breathing short and fast. Her whole body was rigid with humiliation and suppressed rage. I saw her hands clench into fists, but she said nothing, swinging abruptly on her heel and going out of the hall, walking blindly as though unaware of what she was doing or where she was going.

‘You shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, my dear,’ Clemency said unhappily. ‘You’ve hurt her feelings. Besides,’ she added tentatively, ‘Adela’s right. It would be foolish for you or Roger to neglect yourselves and become ill. What good would either of you be to Celia then?’

I could see that Oswald was more than tempted to brush this good advice aside; his impatience to be gone was palpable. But he was a lawyer, with a lawyer’s logical mind, and he knew that what Clemency said made sense.

‘Very well,’ he breathed at last. ‘One of you run and tell Arbella that we’ll come at once, but there’s to be no delay in serving the food.’ As Sybilla hurried from the room, Oswald rounded on Adela. ‘And keep those children quiet. I’m in no mood for their chatter.’

At that moment I was very close to rounding up my wife, my children and my dog and quitting the Arbour altogether, leaving this unpleasant family to wallow in their misery and sort matters out for themselves. Moreover, if what my little friend, the kitchen maid, had told me were true, then their troubles might well be of their own making. According to her, Clemency had referred to a ‘terrible secret’ which the Godsloves all shared, and which Oswald had not denied. Had she heard aright? Was there the slightest possibility that she could have mistaken what was said? I didn’t think it likely. And then there was Oswald’s reply. ‘After all, they didn’t know themselves, did they?’ I longed to demand an explanation, but without betraying the girl’s confidence and probably getting her dismissed, my hands — or, at least, my tongue — was tied.

Supper was eaten in almost complete silence. Adela had no need to keep the children quiet, the atmosphere alone was sufficient to dampen their usual high spirits. Hercules was not present, nor was Arbella Rokeswood. She made the excuse of having the horses to saddle, and although my wife would again have protested against my accompanying Oswald, I gave a little shake of the head. My natural curiosity, now thoroughly aroused, would not allow me to abandon the investigation at this juncture, and the excellent food and wine were sufficient to reinvigorate me. It had been a very long day, it was true, and one full, if not over-full, of incident, but I knew I could summon up from somewhere enough energy to see it through.

Oswald and I rode back into the city, passing under the Bishop’s Gate arch where the workmen were still toiling away on this fine Mayday evening, an overseer from the Steelyard continuing to hover in the background, keeping a beady eye cocked for anyone who might feel like slacking.

‘Where does Dr Jeavons live?’ I enquired as we rode down Bishop’s Gate Street and approached the outer wall of Crosby’s Place, where the morning’s activity had slackened somewhat so that only a solitary cart, and an empty one at that, stood outside its gates. Of Timothy Plummer there was, of course, no sign.

‘Not far from Alder’s Gate, in Old Dean’s Lane. Near St Paul’s,’ my companion grunted, in between roundly cursing everyone and everything that impeded his progress. ‘I knew we shouldn’t have wasted time eating,’ he snarled, as we were again forced to pull the horses into one side of the road in order to let a troop of men, all wearing Lord Hastings’s livery, overtake us.

It seemed to me that the mood of the city was gloomier than that of the morning, when people had at least roused themselves to go out maying, and when news of the three arrests at Northampton had not really had time to sink in. Now, as we rode along Cheapside, through Paternoster Row and turned into Old Dean’s Lane, faces were even more solemn, the street cries of the vendors even more muted as if, I thought, people were bracing themselves — but for what?

‘Here we are!’ Oswald had reined in outside a three-storey house about halfway along the lane. He threw himself out of the saddle and, without bothering to tether his horse, hammered with both fists on its nail-studded, oaken front door.