A Divided Inheritance (12 page)

An officer pointed a pistol at them. ‘Drop arms! You are the cause of this, they say.’

‘Not so, sir. It was Lagarde’s boys – look, one of them went for me.’ Zachary showed them the gash in his sleeve, the velvet mushed with blood.

‘No matter, nimble Jack. You are under arrest. You will come with us to the Marshalsea and the magistrate will decide who’s at fault here. You too.’

‘Good sir,’ said Gin Shotterill straight off, ‘I can pay. Here, my purse. I was innocent of blame. You can ask around. He is the one who fought with Lagarde, ask
anyone.’

Zachary shook his head. Trust that turncoat Shotterill to blame him.

‘What do you say?’ The officer turned to one of Lagarde’s men who was squinting round the tavern door.

‘Yes. Not him. It was that one.’ He pointed at Zachary. ‘He fight with Monsieur Lagarde. He is the maker of the trouble. See what he has done to my face.’ He touched a
finger to a long wound down one cheek, and grimaced.

‘All right,’ said the King’s man, taking Shotterill’s purse. ‘Get out of here.’ Shotterill slipped away like the devil.

‘A thousand thank-yous to you too,’ Zachary yelled after him. ‘Bloody weasel.’

As Zachary was led away the crowd of young men doffed their hats to him. Like him, they knew skill when they saw it and, like him, they had seen too many rash claims and not a one proved in
combat. He had lost his rapier, but he held his head up high and saluted with a wave of his buckler, his righteous pride a keener sensation than the gash in his arm.

‘What is it, Father?’ Elspet said.

His face was marble-white. He came back to the table and supported himself on it as he lowered himself down into the chair, the letter in his hand.

‘Zachary. I thought I did not hear him come in last night. They’ve arrested him.’

‘Are you sure? What for? What does it say?’

‘
Your nephew Zachary Deane was arrested last night and has been taken to the Marshalsea.
It’s been written by a scrivener, and I can barely make out the signature
–
looks like
Shotterill
– whoever he is. Broadbank says the messenger boy ran off before he could question him.’

‘You don’t think—’

‘I don’t know what to think. But I must go there directly.’ He scraped his morning correspondence into a pile and stood up.

‘Finish your meat and bread first, Father.’

‘No.’ He paced the room. ‘If he’s been arrested because of the Faith, then we could all be at risk. Father Everard is with us this week, as you know.’ Agitation had
taken hold of him; he screwed up his napkin between his fingers. ‘What if they saw us coming out of Bainbridge’s? It could all be my doing. Martha, the shutters!’

Martha hurried over and closed them sharply against the day.

‘Go and tell Father Everard to go to another safe house. Anywhere but here or Bainbridge’s. And put everything into the priest hole,’ he said. ‘Quickly now. Martha, tell
Broadbank to saddle my horse.’

Father hurried out into the hall, his sleeves still flapping as he hadn’t had time to fasten them. A few moments later, she heard the sound of his boots and caught a glimpse of him as he
bundled his cloak around his shoulders. The dogs barked in the hall at the sound of the door opening, and he shouted, ‘Get back, Jakes! Leave it.’ There was a yelp, then silence once
more descended on the house.

Elspet hastened to Fr Everard’s chamber and knocked hard on the door. The priest opened it, and she began breathlessly, ‘My father says—’

‘Oh no. Again?’ Fr Everard’s face fell.

She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid so. My cousin Zachary’s been arrested and we don’t know why. Best to be safe. Is there somewhere you can go? Not Bainbridge’s,
though.’

‘I suppose I must try Lady Gawthorpe.’

‘Here, I’ll help you.’ The poor man had not even broken his fast and already he was stuffing his tracts and papers into the panniers that stood waiting by the door. By the time
he had taken his travelling cloak from the peg, Broadbank had appeared to help him lug everything downstairs.

‘Oh, what a day for it,’ Fr Everard said, glancing out at the sheeting rain. ‘I’ve never known such a wet spring.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and embraced him. ‘I’ll miss our lessons whilst you’re gone.’

‘And I.’

‘I hope you will be back with us soon. Father will write to you at Gawthorpe Hall.’

‘My prayers are with your father, and with your cousin,’ Fr Everard said, bowing to her. ‘I hope, for all our sakes, he has a tight tongue.’

Could Zachary be trusted? She did not know. ‘God speed,’ she said as the priest hurried away, ‘and God bless.’ But the priest was holding his hat to his head and did not
hear her.

Poor Fr Everard, she thought, always going from hearth to hearth with never a place to call home.

She passed the window on her way down to the cellar steps, and caught sight of the priest’s bowed figure trotting away on his mule, face turned to the side against the rain and wind, one
hand still clamped to his hat to stop it blowing off.

Elspet and Martha ran down to the cellar and bundled everything into a basket. She did not have time to fold the altar cloth but just used it to cushion the chalice and the other fragile things.
Heaving aside the stone slab that formed the second lintel of the chimney was a struggle, and Martha, being the smaller, squeezed through the narrow gap.

Elspet thrust Martha the gold cross, the statue of the virgin, the candlesticks, and the missal on its cherub-carved stand. In her hurry they had become weights of wood and plaster, metal and
paper, not holy things at all. Her heart beat fast as she climbed in with Martha to help her cover everything over with a dust sheet.

Was this all it was, their faith? How could it have become so reduced? From fine stone monasteries and vaulted aisles to a few paltry ornaments stuffed up a chimney?

She felt suddenly suffocated in the tiny space. The priest’s hole was airless and reeked of dusty masonry. She pushed her way out of the gap and into the room, yet when she and Martha
shunted the stone slab closed it was as though they were closing the door on their souls.

Martha looked up, like a frightened wren. ‘They’ll not come for us too, will they, mistress?’

Elspet gave a reassurance she did not feel. ‘No, we’ve done nothing wrong. But we don’t know yet what’s afoot. We are taking precautions, that is all.’

‘But what will happen?’

‘Nothing, I hope. No one will have told anyone Father Everard was here, and he will be safe with Lady Gawthorpe. It will be a false alarm and we will all go back to our duties as
usual.’

‘But—’

‘Thank you, Martha, you may go.’ The maid bit her lip and hurried away.

Elspet spent the day on the household orders, but was distracted by any little noise and the figures would not come out. Late in the afternoon, the sound of horses alerted her to Father and
Zachary trotting into the yard.

‘Thank God,’ she murmured. The dogs barked, and scratched at the door. ‘Only Father,’ she shushed. She picked up Diver to fondle his ears and pulled back the drapes to
look out of the window.

Father dismounted and led his horse towards the stable, limping as usual from his old hip injury which had turned aguey. Zachary slid clumsily off Father’s new skittish horse and handed
the reins to Broadbank. The horse tried to nip him but Broadbank hauled it away.

She moved away from the window. She had seen enough. Zachary was bruised again and a dirty blood-soaked bandage was tied around his upper arm. He walked as if he was an old man with a limp and
stiffness in his joints. A night in the Marshalsea had obviously done him no favours. He did not turn to speak to Father, who was following him.

She bounded down to the hall to take her father’s cloak. By the time she got down, there was no sign of Zachary; he must have gone to his chamber.

‘You look terrible,’ she said, taking her father’s arm.

‘It’s all right,’ Father said, waving away her concern. ‘He was not arrested for the Faith.’

‘Then why?’

‘For fighting.’

She pressed her lips together. ‘I thought as much. Oh, Father. I sent Father Everard away, and now he’s gone to Gawthorpe Hall. He had such a long-suffering face when I told him to
go, like a dog put out of doors. And all for nothing.’ She shook her head and hooked an arm in his to lead him to the drawing room where she had bade Martha light a fire.

Father sat before it and his fingers trembled as he unbuttoned his cloak. Obviously coping with Zachary was too much for him. Indignation rose in her. She fetched a glass of port wine and placed
it in his hand.

‘It’s not to be tolerated,’ she burst out. ‘He’s had the whole household in turmoil, dreading the worst. Poor Father Everard feared for his life! And all for
nothing, just that wastrel, brawling again. He’s running you ragged, Father. Is there no place else he can stay?’

‘No, Elspet. He stays here.’ He would not look at her. ‘He is our kin, and I have a duty. I promised his mother.’

‘Beg pardon, Father, but he takes no thought of you, he sends no message when he’s to be late – he didn’t even apologize when he failed to arrive for the meeting at the
Lace Guild the other day. He was brought home half-drunk after a duel. And now he’s locked up for brawling in the street. What will folk think of us?’

‘It was not his fault, it was a Frenchman who started it.’

She let out an exasperated sigh. If he believed that, then he was more of a fool than she thought. ‘What did the arresting officer say?’

‘Nothing. I’ve already said that it was a general affray. Zachary says he was caught up in it, that’s all.’

She felt suddenly as if she were the parent and he the child. ‘You look tired, Father. You wait up for him every night, and he is always well after the watch. Is there perhaps some useful
task you could put our cousin to, something for the business? Some education that will keep him occupied of an evening?’

The atmosphere changed in an instant as he snapped back, ‘Do not be impertinent. What do you think? That we should lock him up here and give him a catechism to learn? Fie on you, Elspet.
Let that be an end of it. He is settling, that is all, and we must learn to be tolerant. Young men get in the occasional scorching, it’s only natural. Now, leave Zachary to me and go and
check that someone has walked those blasted dogs. They are getting out of control.’

She bowed her head and left him. There was no reasoning with him in this stubborn mood. Of course, there was still no word from Zachary himself, not a whisper of apology for the worry and
trouble he had caused. Why, even the servants were on edge, thinking the whole household might be clapped in irons. Did Zachary give a fig for all that? Oh no, he was lying in his chambers like a
king, sleeping off his ale-head.

A week later, Father called her into his chamber to talk. He had done nothing about Zachary’s behaviour in all that time. Her cousin continued to keep his own erratic
hours and have Father run after him like a serving wench. But she was glad she would have the chance to reason with Father once more. It felt good to see his cluttered desk again, his lace-stuffed
drawers that would not quite shut, his dusty, rolled parchments poking from overfull chests.

‘I have made a decision,’ he said, once she had sat down. ‘Perhaps I was a little hasty in dismissing your idea of an education for Zachary.’

Elspet clasped her hands in her lap and smiled at him. At last, he had seen sense and realized that she was right after all.

Father wrapped his fur-trimmed robe more closely around him. The fur was frayed at the collar. It made her think of Hugh Bradstone. She repressed the disappointment that he had not asked them to
dine in return for their hospitality, even though the thought of that dinner made her grimace with embarrassment. She recalled her clumsy attempts at conversation, and how she had tried to follow
her cousin’s ill-conceived advice. It was hardly surprising Hugh Bradstone had not invited her out.

Father cleared his throat. ‘This afternoon I met with my friend Tenter; we had some business to do and met in the Black Swan. He tells me his son is undertaking a Grand Tour. Apparently,
it is part of a gentleman’s education these days, to travel a little and see our neighbours and colonies, make contacts and learn other languages.’

Her heart leapt in hope. ‘I, too, have heard people talk of this. So Will Tenter is going on a Grand Tour. Are you going to ask if Zachary may accompany him?’

‘No, Tenter’s son is quite unsuitable company.’ Father looked at her as if she were crazed. ‘He is only a mercer. No, I will send him. Zachary and I will plan the Tour
together. He can go to Italy, to Rome. And to Paris, for the Cathedral, and to visit the abbeys and monasteries of France. Perhaps take my greetings to Joan. It will strengthen his faith, round off
his rough edges. And he can go to the Low Countries and to Brussels where we barter – it will give him an edge in society, prepare him for his life as a master of trade. And when he returns
home to us, he will be more mature.’

She reeled from this list of destinations. Father had always been a bit of a miser. He could not help it. Her mother had always wondered where the money went to, since he paid a pittance to
their servants and domestic staff. Now he was employing no tutor but the priest for her Latin and Spanish lessons, yet here he was, planning to spend what must amount to a small fortune on that
ne’er-do-well of a cousin.